#split into parts again because i really want to get this out there

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.” 

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes. 

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area. 

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean. 

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself. 

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia. 

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally. 

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai. 

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on. 

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers. 

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?” 

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully. 

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on. 

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror. 

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?” 

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there. 

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression. 

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him. 

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.” 

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this? 

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently. 

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears. 

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror. 

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp. 

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box. 

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you. 

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time. 

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out. 

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos. 

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance. 

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias. 

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him. 

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen. 

But is this really any better? 

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress. 

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?” 

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low. 

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall. 

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are. 

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away. 

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners. 

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?” 

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them. 

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer. 

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?” 

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?” 

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick. 

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him. 

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them. 

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths. 

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake. 

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start. 

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners. 

“May I have this dance?” 

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other. 

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting. 

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does. 

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him. 

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him. 

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond. 

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance. 

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth. 

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction. 

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you. 

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?” 

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous. 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

pleaser part 4 pls 🙏🙏🙏

Hiiii! I hope you like it!

Sorry I left it on a cliffhanger again but I'll have the next part this weekend if anyone wants it!

Also, I'm sorry it took so long for me to write this, but I literally had almost 20 requests in my ask box for it. HOPEFULLY it doesn't suck😭

AND I STG BAD IDEA, RIGHT?(Part 4) IS STILL COMING! I'm struggling to get the end just right lmao.

Pleaser - Stepbrother!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader - Part 4

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Summary: You're still sneaking around with your stepbrother, and it's looking like you have the chance to actually be together with your mom and his dad splitting up.

Contains: p in v, fingering-ish, thigh riding, stepcest but like...your mom and Ethan's dad aren't really together anymore so is it really that bad💀(I know I'm probably missing something but if I read this again, I'll delete the whole fucking thing lmao)

A/N: There's a lot of dialog in this fic, even the smut. If that's not your thing, don't read it:)

After a couple weeks of you sneaking around with Ethan, you started to get a little reckless. You knew how close you were to leaving for college, and you knew the odds of your mom sending you away at the last minute weren’t very high. It got to the point where he was sneaking through your bedroom window every night because you didn’t want to sleep without him. Then, he’d have an alarm set to wake up before Wayne and your mom would get up for work and go back to his room.

The situation between your mom and his dad seemed to be civil, even though Wayne had to sleep on the couch while he tried to find a house. He even contemplated getting an apartment for him and Ethan while they figured it out, but your mom was adamant that it wasn’t a big deal. As irritated as she was over the situation, she didn’t feel right for Ethan to bounce from place to place right before he was leaving for college anyway.

You were sure that your mom had no idea that you were still spending time with Ethan, but she started to notice little things. The flirty glances, the sneaky subtle touches. But what really let her know that you’d found a way to spend alone time with Ethan was when you were helping her make dinner, like you always did, and you put your hair up to get it out of the way. She saw the huge purple mark on the nape of your neck, and she realized that you had no idea it was even there once Ethan walked into the kitchen to see what was for dinner, and his eyes grew wide the second he saw it. He motioned for you to put your hair back down, your cheeks turning bright red. You thought she didn’t notice because she didn’t say anything, but she was planning to later that night after dinner.

Just like clockwork, you and Ethan excused yourself to go to bed right after dinner was over. He was crawling through your bedroom window as you walked over to cut the lights off, your room only lit by the moonlight that was pouring through the window before Ethan closed it and drew the curtains shut.

As you crawled in bed with him, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Your back was pressed to his chest as your legs were spread for him, his fingers rubbing over your panties as he placed open mouth kisses along the side of your neck.

“You’re so hard,” you said, as your ass was pressed against his cock that was straining in his boxers.

“You always do this to me,” he mumbled against your neck. “I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

“You can,” you whispered, as he slid your panties to the side.

“You think you can be quiet?” he asked, a gasp slipping past your lips as he slid one of his fingers inside you.

Before you could say anything else, you heard a light knock on your door before it eased open. Ethan pulled his hand away from you as you closed your legs. You both froze in fear as you saw the silhouette of your mom as she made her way inside your room.

“Are you still awake?” she whispered, as she tried to navigate through the darkness of your room.

“Yeah, I was almost asleep. Just don’t cut the light on,” you said, your anxiety creeping up as she sat down on the foot of your bed.

“We need to talk about you and Ethan,” she said softly, “I know you’ve still been sneaking around.”

Ethan was trying to be as still as possible as he laid beside you. He was so thankful for your blackout curtains, and how you really couldn’t see anything in the room.

“I know you’re probably going to try to deny it, and I don’t want you to lie to me right now. Please be honest with me,” she said, as you took a deep breath.

“When am I going to dads?” you asked, confirming her suspicions without actually admitting to it.

“Do you love Ethan?” she asked, as you tensed up. You hadn’t said those three words yet, and you knew she was just trying to have girl talk with you to know where your feelings were, but you didn’t want to tell her when he was right behind you. “I think he loves you. He looks at you like it’s way more than just some fling.”

“It’s not just some fling,” you said, as you felt Ethan's hand rubbing against the back of your thigh. “I guess I do have really strong feelings for him.”

“I know I was upset when I first found out about the two of you, but I really like him. I’ve seen a different side of him since the weekend that Wayne and I went on our little trip,” she said, as she started to laugh to herself. “You know he used to annoy the shit out of me.”

“He’s actually really sweet,” you said, as his hand just kept moving.

“I’m not going to send you to your dads…and I think I’ll ask Wayne and Ethan to take the cameras down. They don’t really seem to be serving a purpose,” she said, “But, don’t think that I’m okay with the two of you going crazy. I don’t want to walk in here one morning and see him in your bed or something.”

“I’m not that stupid,” you mumbled, “But I’m really tired. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?”

“Of course, honey. Get some sleep,” she said, as she stood up to make her way towards the door. “If you want, we can go get stuff for your dorm tomorrow. Ethan can come, too.”

“Cool, I’ll ask him about it in the morning,” you said, as she opened the door and walked out, quietly closing it behind her.

You and Ethan laid in silence for a few minutes to give your mom plenty of time to go to bed, but he still snaked his arm around you to hold you close.

“Did she just give you permission for us to be together?” he whispered in your ear.

“I think so,” you said, smiling at the thought of it. “I’m sorry if she made things awkward.”

“I think the only awkward part was me being in the bed with you and she had no idea,” he said as he softly laughed against your neck. “Are you talking about the feelings stuff?”

“Yeah…I know we haven’t really discussed that yet. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Do you have really strong feelings for me like you said?” he said, as his hand ran up your thigh.

“I do,” you said softly.

“Good, because your mom was right…about me loving you.”

“You love me?” you asked, as he nodded his head against you.

“I have since we were left alone for the whole weekend.”

You adjusted on the bed so you were facing him, your legs tangling with his as he held you close.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you questioned, as he sighed.

“It’s a complicated situation. I didn’t want to say it until I knew we actually had a chance to be together.”

“I love you, too, babe,” you said, as you leaned up to kiss him. You started to laugh against his lips once you felt how hard he still was, his cock brushing against you. “You’re still hard.”

“I told you; the idea of getting caught is my kink,” he mumbled against your lips. “You still want me to fuck you?”

“Mhm.”

He connected his lips to yours again, his hand running over the curve of your ass as he rubbed his cock against you. You were getting more wet by the second, the anticipation building as his tongue moved across your bottom lip. He moved his leg so his thigh was pressed against your pussy, as you started to grind against him, gasping at the friction on your clit.

Your breathing got heavier as you kept moving your hips, and once his hand on you ass was helping you move faster, you were trying so hard to be quiet. He started to groan once he felt how wet you were, your panties completely soaked as you rubbed against him.

“You think you could cum like this?” Ethan said, his tone teasing as his hand went to your hip to hold you down harder against him.

“Oh fuck,” you whimpered, as he softly laughed.

You reached between the two of you to palm him over his boxers, as he helped you move. He attached his lips to yours again to keep quiet himself, because his cock was throbbing so hard as your hand moved over the fabric. He wanted to fuck you so bad, but he wanted you to fall apart over his thigh in between your legs first.

You were whimpering into the kiss as you felt yourself start to get close. He pulled his lips away from yours, his bottom lip in between his teeth as he helped you move as fast as you could.

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice strained as he helped bring you closer to the edge.

“Try to be quiet, baby,” he said, his voice raspy as your legs started to tremble.

“I can’t,” you panted, “Fuck, we’re gonna get caught.”

“No, we’re not,” he said, as he leaned down to kiss you, hard. His mouth caught all the sounds you were trying to hard to hold in as your orgasm hit, your hand still shakily rubbing over his cock.

The grip he had on your hip loosened as you slowed down, your moans turning to soft whimpers as you started to relax against him.

“That was so hot,” he said against your lips, as your breathing started to slow.

“Now, I need to make you cum,” you said softly, reaching into his boxers to pull his cock out.

He let out a low moan once you started stroking, paying extra attention to his sensitive tip.

“Try to be quiet, baby,” you teased, “You want me to suck it?”

“I need to be inside you,” he said, “I want to feel your pussy.”

“Okay, let me grab a condom,” you said, untangling your legs from his before you rolled over to reach into your nightstand.

“I still think it’s funny that you don’t hide them under your bed anymore,” he said, chuckling as you reached into the almost empty box.

“What’s the point? My mom knows I’m not a virgin now,” you shrugged, as you felt him move closer to you, his hand pulling you towards him so your back was against his chest again.

“I can’t believe she thought you were just so innocent,” he said, as his lips went to your neck again, his hand running under the big t-shirt you were wearing. He squeezed your breast, a soft moan slipping past your lips at the feeling.

“I am innocent,” you said, your words making him squeeze you harder.

“You’re far from innocent…especially when you’re in bed with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, playing dumb as you moved so your ass was firmly pressed against his cock.

“Keep that shit up and you won’t be able to be quiet,” he playfully warned, as he started to suck on your neck.

You moaned at the feeling as his hand moved to your hips, hooking your panties under his thumb as you adjusted to make it easier for him to slide them down. You passed him the condom, your anticipation building as you heard him open it. He rolled it on and grabbed your leg, spreading them open so it’d be easier for him to slide inside of you.

“Don’t be loud,” he reminded you, as he started to push inside you.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, feeling him stretch your walls.

“Shh, you can take it.”

Once Ethan was all the way in, he stilled to give you time to adjust, but that wasn’t what you wanted. You started to move your hips, giving your pussy the friction it was craving. He groaned at your actions as his hand started to roam under your shirt again.

“You gonna help me out or not?” you asked, once you’d been moving for a little bit and he wasn’t.

“I want you to beg me for it,” he said, as you kept moving.

“Please?” you asked, as he chuckled.

“Not good enough,” he teased, “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“So fucking bad,” you said, as his hand moved to your hip. “I need you to fuck me, please baby.”

He started to move, but it was so slow. He was helping you meet his thrusts, the tip of his cock hitting that spot every single time, but you needed so much more.

“Ethan,” you whined, as he shushed you. “Please.”

He didn’t know how quiet you were going to be, but he couldn’t hold back anymore. He started giving you hard, deep thrusts, as your hand slapped over your mouth. The grip he had on your hip was getting tighter, as your free hand started to grip at the sheets. He placed kisses along your neck as he started to whisper in your ear.

“You take my cock so well.”

“Your pussy is perfect.”

“I’ve got you.”

He knew you were getting close, the sounds muffled by your hand just getting louder as he started to go faster.

“Keep moving your hips, baby.”

You did as he said, his hand leaving your hip to rub fast circles against your clit. You were whimpering as your toes started to curl, your entire body getting hot as he brought you closer to your orgasm.

He let out a low groan when your pussy started to clench him, his fingers pressing even harder as he rubbed your clit. Your body started to arch against him as you cried out against your palm, your eyes rolling back as the intense euphoric feeling washed over you.

“Gonna cum,” he panted, as his hand went back to your hip, his cock giving you a few more hard thrusts before his grip on you got shaky. “Fuuuck.”

You both laid there, the only sounds in the room were the heavy breathing coming from the two of you until it started to return to normal. He slid out of you and crawled off the bed to navigate around the darkness of your room to the trash can to dispose of the condom before he laid back down and wrapped his arms around you. You soon dozed off with Ethan’s head nuzzled against your neck.

The next morning, you woke up with Ethan’s arms still wrapped around you. You reached over to your nightstand to check your phone, your eyes growing wide once you noticed that Ethan didn’t set his alarm.

“Babe, wake up,” you said, your hand shaking his arm as he sleepily mumbled. “Ethan, it’s almost eight.”

“Fuck,” he whispered as he sat up and jumped out of bed. “Where’s my sweatpants?”

He walked over to your curtains to let a little light in so he could see, his heart pounding in his chest one he noticed your mom working in the flower bed right outside of your window. The moving curtains caught her attention, and when she glanced up, she saw Ethan quickly trying to close them.

“Your mom’s out there,” he whisper-yelled, feeling around on your floor until he finally found his sweatpants.

“Did she see you?” you questioned, jumping off the bed to put your pajama bottoms on.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” he said, “I’m so stupid.”

You tried to think of a plan, but once you heard the front door open, you walked over to your bedroom door and eased it open to see your mom walk in.

“Out the window, now,” you said, rushing him as he did what you said.

Once he was out of your room and you closed the window behind him, you turned around to walk back to the door to see your mom standing there.

“Maybe we do need to look into you going to your dads.”

[georgiapeach30513]

Bullet In Your Heart, Part 8

Summary: you and Clark....

Pairings: Clark Kent X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding kink, judgmental people, grief, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.2K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers dig into the sheets, and your eyes roll in the back of your head as your back lifts up off the bed. Holding onto whatever ounce of your senses you have left while you bite on your lip, it was the price you paid for having two small children.

Your back starts to rise off the bed, but his meaty hand press your stomach, holding you down. His right hand drives in and out of your core, while his mouth makes a meal of your honey. You can feel the rumble on your bundle of nerves as he chuckles when you slap a hand over your face. Muffling a scream you couldn’t stifle.

Clark’s mouth is a work of art. If you were artistic you would have already made a shrine to the godlike qualities he possesses. Starting to wiggle around, and then he curls those fingers. Hitting over your g spot over and over again until your body trembles. Still he begs for more. Using his shoulders to keep you good and spread. Your legs try to close at the overstimulation when his fingers pound into your sex. Seeing stars, you come undone, squirting into his mouth, and he laves up every bit of your juices like a man starved.

You’re left panting. Gazing up at the ceiling while your husband feasts, and you wait for the room to stop spinning. Lifting up to your elbows you watch Clark smirk at you as he wipes off his glistening face. “Don’t you look proud of yourself,” you huff out.

Clark nods as he stands up out of the floor. Picking your body up, he launches you up the bed before he’s splitting your legs, and crawling in between them. Slapping his cock over your clit, smiling even bigger, “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that, my sweet little Cricket bug.”

“I really despise that nickname.”

“Why’s that?”

“The nickname of a child,” your eyes go cross eyed as he slams his girth into your body. “Oh my god.”

“You know why I like that nickname?” You shake your head no, and grab onto his hips as he starts a slow thrust into your body. Dragging his veiny cock out of you slowly, and leaving you breathless before he stabs back into you. “Because even though you’re not this tiny little girl anymore, there is this tight little cunt that I get use every fucking day.”

“Clark,” you whimper, and your nails dig into his back. “Clark, they’re gonna wake up.”

“And it’s time for us to have another one,” you nod your head up at him. Wrapping your legs around his waist, and you pull him even closer, yipping when his bulbous head grazes over your cervix, “You always did like me deep, huh? Like to feel me in your pussy for the rest of the day. Aren’t we going to that pool party?”

“What?” Pulling himself out of you, he goes harder than ever before. Moaning out loud, and he places a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet, Cricket,” he starts at an earth shattering pace. Leaving you begging for mercy. “I want you to go to that party with my seed dripping out of you. I saw Frank staring at you. There’s only one man you’re slutty for, and that’s me, understand?” You give him a head nod, and you cling to his back for dear life.

“Got me in a damn vice grip. My god, you’re coming aren’t you?” Another nod as your body becomes completely pliable for him. “Good fucking girl,” pulling out of your body, he flips you to your knees, before crawling behind you. Burying his cock balls deep into your cunt, he mounts you, and you have to hide your face into the pillows. “It’ll take this way. You're such a pretty little slut for me in the morning.”

You can feel him all the way your stomach as he splits you open. Using his body for his pleasure when you hear him use his strangled voice. “Are you coming a-a-again? It’s because you feel my cock throbbing, huh?”

“It’s because you’re fucking me so deep,” that was too loud, but you’re in a different world. Your body rocking with every hammer he does into you.

“Right…right there. Best pussy I’ve ever had,” Clark’s hands pull apart your ass cheeks, and he stares at where the two of you connect. Watching as he nearly turns you inside out, and your walls cling to him so tightly. “So fucking sloppy for me. Fuck — me!” One last hard push into you, and ribbons of hot cum fill your belly, and you look back at him with the softest smile. Your walls milk every last bit of his essence, making you all warm and tingly.

“That’s the one, Cricket. I don’t know if I want a little Lottie or a little Henny,” keeping himself inside of you, he adjusts himself down to his knees. Those crystal eyes look up at your satisfied face before back to the two of you. “I gotta keep it in there, okay?”

“Okay,” you whine. You didn’t want him to pull out yet anyways. “Clark?” He finally looks up at you, and you preen, “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Cricket bug. I meant it, you’re the best pussy.”

“I really don’t want to think of all the women you’ve been with while you’re inside of me.”

“Deep inside you,” he gives you a wink, spreading you wider apart. “You know, there is another hole back here,” you shake your head no, starting to giggle, “Dot let me…”

“Clark!” He starts laughing, spitting down to your ass, “No!”

“Come on. One time.”

“You’ve already came.”

“So if I get hard again?” You want to kick your husband off you, but then he looks back at your hole, starting to slowly slide himself out. Dropping out of your body when he just stares, “I love seeing how gaping I make you. God, I made such a mess.”

”Daddy!” The door handle wiggles a bit, and you’re thankful Clark was smart enough to lock it. It wiggles again when a big bang happens, “Daddy! Henny is in my room! Wake mommy up, and get your son! Daddy! I hear you laughing.”

“I’ll deal with this,” you say, standing up, and Clark points to your panty drawer. “Yes, daddy. Let me put this on, so I feel your mess inside of me while we’re with the neighbors, but you got to wash your filthy mouth. Lottie will want kisses. Go,” you motion towards the bathroom, and Clark walks towards it. But stops to pinch your nipples, and pull you towards him.

Slamming his mouth against yours, and you can still taste your arousal on his tongue. Moaning at how good he feels, “Daddy!” Lottie knocks on the door a bit, and he pulls back.

“I’ll make sure to fuck you again tonight, Mrs. Kent.”

“How about you let me fuck you?” He growls, and jogs into the bathroom, leaving you to pull on your panties and a nightgown. Opening the door to see your exasperated daughter stare up at you.

“What took you so long? Were you and daddy having a tickle fight again?”

“Yes, darling. Come on, let’s deal with Henry. He is just like your daddy, you know?”

“Wild man,” he really was. He was every bit as wild as Clark used to be. But marriage and children really calmed Clark down, and you couldn’t be more thankful. Life was different than you had planned, but you had finally learned to love where you are currently. Happy that you get to see Carter through Charlotte. She is every bit as sweet and loving as he was.

You give a curt smile to the host. Everyone here judged you for being with more than one man, and several hated you for taming Clark. He leans in behind you, kissing your neck, and placing another behind your ear, “They’re jealous that they couldn’t get me to settle down.”

“Oh, so Susie is someone you made a mess of?”

“Absolutely not. She’s someone I turned down. Such a prude. Here, take Henry, I’m going to go cook with the dads. Have yourself a cocktail,” he gives your ass a little swat before walking away, leaving you to kiss over Henry’s chunky cheeks.

“You know, I don’t know how you do it?” Judith, one of the more distant neighbors, says while walking up behind you.

“Do what? He’s really not that heavy.”

“Oh, no, dear, she means you and Clark,” you glance between her and Susie confused, and the host offers you a cocktail, “He can walk, right?” You answer yes, and she gives a point over to the kiddie pool. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure Clark won’t mind keeping an eye on him with you.”

Confused, you let Henry step onto the grass, and he runs right to his daddy’s legs. Crashing into them with a belly laugh, “See.”

“What about me and Clark?” You feared these women would never accept you as one of them. Bitter Betty’s. Throughout the years, the whispers never stopped. It didn’t help that you kept to yourself.

“Oh, honey, don’t get defensive. Of all the men that you could have found, you chose Carter’s best friend? Ain’t that a trip?” You smile sweetly at her, when in reality you want to gather your children and go back home. “How do they compare? I mean nobody was talking about Carter’s size, if you know what I mean.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Batting your eyes, you look straight at her, and thankfully her smile starts to fade.

“Don’t do that, it’s all good fun.”

“Yes, my first husband dying in a war is a riot. Thankfully Clark wasn’t drafted.”

“Did you ever, well, you know?” Judith shakes her head no at Susie, and you look between the two of them again. What were these women on. “I mean, everyone thought about relations with Clark. He’s practically slept with every woman in town.”

“Except you,” she shuts her mouth, clearing her throat. “No. I never once thought of Clark like that. In fact both of us were distraught when Carter passed. We fell in love during grief, and we fucked before we were married,” Susie gasps, placing her hand on her chest, and Clark turns around, now holding Henry. His face is full of concern as he watches you leave the women.

Leaning down to Charlotte in the water, “Lottie, come on, baby.”

“No, I’m playing with my friends.”

“Charlotte Abigail Baizen, out of the pool now!” You feel your cheeks inflame with anger as she pouts, climbing out of the pool, and Clark hands you the baby.

“I got her. Hey?”

“Don’t you thank them for inviting us either,” Grabbing Henry with a huff, and kisses his cheek you start to stomp home. Fuck all of them. They could go straight to the pits of hell for all you cared. They had no idea the inner battle you feel every single day. Feeling guilty that you can’t love Clark the way that you loved Carter because Clark would never be him.

But somehow in the midst of your turmoil you fell in love with Clark. The way he fathered your children. The way he looked at you every morning. You were feral for the way he treated you when it was just the two of you. It wasn’t the same, and would never be, but you and Clark had created something entirely different. You created a love that bloomed from grief and friendship.

Clark finds you in the living room, dancing around with Henry while an old record plays, shooing Lottie into her bedroom, when you kiss over Henry’s closed eyes. Humming along with the music when Clark comes back. He stands at the entrance of the living room, watching the two of you. “Cricket, go put him in his crib.”

“I need him right now.”

“Don’t use my son as a way to avoid this conversation,” looking up at him, you scowl. That isn’t what you’re doing. “Cricket, he’s asleep. Either you take him or I will.”

“Clark, you don’t understand.”

“Then put my son in the bed and explain it to me.”

“Your son,” you hold his body closer to you, wishing you could rewind the day, and never go to that stupid party. You didn’t need friends. “You never tell me what to do with your daughter. I guess because she’s Carter’s?”

“Go put Henry in the bed, and let’s talk about this because you’re being unreasonable. Now!” With a final kiss, you stalk out of the living room. Laying him down in his crib, and you pet along his perfect skin. He is one of the most beautiful little boys you have ever seen. Deciding it’s best not to make Clark wait too long, you walk back into the living room.

Clark is now in his chair, lighting up a cigarette when he looks at his watch, “That took almost five minutes. His room is just down the hallway.”

“You timing me? Can I not take my time to look at your son? I thought about stopping in Lottie’s room to help her change, but thankfully Carter’s daughter is smart enough to change out of her wet bathing suit.”

“What the fuck is your problem? Lottie is my daughter, Henry is my son, and they’re our children,” he watches your chest heave. Breathing angrily, you try not to shed a single tear. Clark has always been there. Was there the moment Charlotte was born, and you have built a beautiful life. “Why are we bringing up Carter?”

“Because he’s always going to haunt us. Because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, and you had to fuck his widow. Your best friend, Clark.”

“You weren’t complaining much,” you hate how he can be so calm when you are raging. You want to throw something at him. He is the reason you went to the party. “So why are we bringing him up?”

“Because those stupid bitches hate me. They hate that I married you, hate that I tied you down, and have your child.”

“They hate that you know what I feel like, and feel me everyday.”

“You’re such a slut.”

“Yeah, for you,” you roll your eyes, starting to walk away, but Clark stands quickly, grabbing your wrist, and pulls you into his body harshly. “You’re my little slut, and I’m yours. I don’t care what those women think.”

“But I do! You insist on trying to be friends with the neighbors, and going out and being social. And I go there and they talk to me like I’m trash because I’ve had two dicks.”

“Who the fuck cares?! Are we happy? Are our kids happy? Did I not fuck my seed into you just this morning? Cricket, I don’t care about them. I care about you. You don’t want to be social, fine. We’ll get us a pool. Get the kids a playground. You and them are all I care about. And I’m not going to spend the next six months arguing about Carter. He’s gone. And…I’m glad.”

You lean back to gaze up at him, tears filling your eyes while you search his face. “I wouldn’t want to have missed this with you. So yeah, you tamed the slut. If he’d come back, I wouldn’t have you and our home. I love you, Cricket Bug. You’re my favorite person, followed by a tie for second. I can’t change his death, but I can love you fiercely, and take care of you. But I will not be the other man in my home. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” he wasn’t coming back. You could have done so much worse than Clark. And this man adored you. Worshiped you every morning while he kneels before your altar. “But don’t say you’re glad.”

“I am glad. But I’ll promise never to say it again. Just like I promise I won’t make you go to one of those parties ever again. Now, let’s eat some sandwiches, and then we’ll go find a playset for our children. Okay?” You nod your head. They were yours and Clark’s, Carter’s in spirit.

His hands slide around your middle, lips starting to nip around your neck, and you let out the most adorable giggle. “Clark, where are the kids?”

“Lottie is out front playing on hers and Henry’s new playset. The swings are her favorite. And I just laid Henry down for his nap,” he twists you around. Grabbing onto your waist harshly, he places you up on the counter. Planting his body in between your thighs.

Clark’s hands swipe away the baby hairs around your face, and he starts pressing soft kisses all over your face, “The kids.”

“Shh,” he whispers. His mouth moving behind your ear, following on down your neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for the life you’ve given me.”

“It’s me that should be thanking you.”

“Why’s that?” His head pops up, and those baby blue eyes bounce around your face. You smile up at him, biting your lip. “Honey, why should you thank me?”

“You saved us.”

”Us? What are you talking about, Cricket bug?”

Your hands roam up his chest, and around his neck, “You saved me and Lottie,” he starts shaking his head no, but you cup both his cheeks, grinning. “You did. You didn’t have to stay with me, with us. I was a wreck, and pregnant, and you made sure I ate, and…you loved me when I couldn’t love myself. You took care of her when I was still learning to cope. You kept us alive. And…”

“Please, stop. I did that because I love you, and her. And I love this life that we made.”

“Aww, Clark does have some sweetness, and not just need to fuck me.”

“You’re ruining this moment,” both yours and Clark’s heads look towards the door when you hear your daughter scream. “Lottie?” Jumping down off the counter, you head towards the front door. That is a scared scream.

—

Charlotte climbs up the slide ladder before going down it again. Stopping at the end of it, and she looks back at the house exasperated. Henry always had nap time when she wanted to play. Huffing, she moves over to the sandbox, starting to play with the tools while she waits on her brother’s short nap.

A man walks down the road to the house. His eyes look around the property longingly before stopping far enough in the distance to see Charlotte. Not close enough to alert her, but close to hear her voice. She sings a sweet little song while her fingers dig into the sand.

The man’s fingers run over the picket fence, it has been freshly painted, and he sighs. Walking a bit closer, the girl spots him, and gives him an odd look, “Are you here to see my mommy and daddy?”

“Daddy?”

“They’re inside,” she gives a point towards the front door, and the door is open. Letting a light breeze blow through it, but he can’t see anybody. “Mister?”

“Yeah,” he asks, squatting down to look at your daughter closer. She gives him a little giggle. “What’s so funny?”

“Why do you have a beard? My daddy and grandpa don’t do that, no sir,” she said that word again. The man gulps before sitting down beside her. Sticking his hand in the sand. He picks up a wad of it before letting it fall back in the sandbox. “You don’t talk much.”

“I didn’t even know who I was for a long time.”

Scrunching up her nose, she looks at him funny. Giving a little scoot back, and even the man timidly scoots back, too. “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte. I was named after my angel daddy’s grandma,” the man gives her a soft smile, but then she looks into his eyes, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m overwhelmed right now.”

“Let me get my daddy. He’ll know what to do.”

“No,” he grabs her tightly, and she lets out a scream. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Charlotte, don’t scream.”

“Stop! Mommy!” The man goes to stand. Dropping her arm, and he sees the door open. “Mommy!” She turns running towards you, and you and him stare at each other for far too long. Seeing a tall shadow walk up behind you, he turns to leave.

You can’t believe what you saw. Trying to calm your breathing. It was all right, and so wrong, “Carter?” The man freezes, and Clark places a hand on your hip. “Carter Baizen?” Slowly he turns around to see you, but sees his former best friend behind you. “Carter?” He nods his head, and you gasp, covering your mouth.

Visions of your life with Carter flash through your mind. The moment a sweet little boy gave you a dandelion and told you he was going to marry you. Your first kiss behind the school house while Clark kept watch for the adults. The first time Carter touched you and you felt actual sparks fly between you. That first ‘I love you’. Every moment with your best friend, and the love of your life plays like the greatest story ever told.

Placing your daughter in Clark’s arms you walk over to him. It was him. A bit grown out and rough, but it was him. The same eyes. And the way he looked at you was the exact same. “I thought you were dead.”

“I did, too,” he looks back at Clark holding Charlotte, and then down to you. “What’s he doing here?” His eyes move towards your hand, noticing the ring on your finger. “No,” he shakes his head as tears stream down his face. “I told him not to fall in love.”

“What?”

“Carter, maybe we should go inside, and have a talk,” you look back at Clark. Unsure of what you need to feel. But Carter is alive, and he’s here. Clark turns with Charlotte still in his arms, but leaves you with your husband? Former husband?

“Cricket, what happened?”

“Life. Come on,” you aren’t sure what this means. Aren’t sure what you should think or react. But your Carter was right beside you. Following you into the house that you made a home with his best friend.

Getting into the living room with Clark now in Carter’s chair and Charlotte hugged up against him. “I’m sorry, bud. I couldn’t keep my promise,” hearing a creaking door, Carter’s eyes look down the hallway, and sees a little barefoot boy running towards you. Outstretched arms and calling for his mommy.

“This is my son, Henry Carter Kent,” Carter’s eyes slowly close. Swallowing the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. “Cricket, we can’t have this conversation with Lottie.”

”What comver — comversay — saytion…why can’t you talk in front of me?”

“Don’t make me do this,” Clark stares up at you shaking his head. Hoping you remembered the last ten minutes over right now. While you had happy memories flowing through your mind, he felt like his happy moments were being stole from him. “She won’t understand.”

“Tell me!” Charlotte grabs his cheeks, trying to get him to look at her, “Daddy, I wanna know.”

“What are we supposed to do with them?” Your words come out stiff. If you allow all the emotions to pour out you might just collapse on the floor. Everything is so overwhelming right now, and you don’t know what to think. What to do. What you had to do. Was yours and Clark’s marriage now a lie? What did this mean for your family? What did you want to do?

Carter was your everything. And then life happened and you settled into your new something. Yours and Clark’s relationship could be volatile at times. Things never flowed as easily as they did with Carter. But you two fought to make them work. Because you wanted to. Or did you just not want to be alone? And Clark was there accepting you when other men would turn away.

“Your folks can get them. Don’t make my daughter try and understand this,” Carter clears his throat, and Clark shakes his head no, pointing at him, “Don’t. She is mine. Cricket, honey, call your folks. I don’t want the kids to be part of this until…please, just don’t.”

“Can you give — just a moment. Clark’s right. Okay? They’ll be right here,” Carter nods. Having a seat on the couch in front of Clark, glaring. That was supposed to be his chair. His daughter. His home. His family.

His wife.

His life.

His everything.

It was all stolen from him. It should have been Clark.

Carter

or

Clark

A/N: Yes, this will be a choose your own adventure. So who do you choose? Carter or Clark? What is the right decision? is the decision for you or your children?

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @missus-shadowsinger @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @charmed-asylum @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @mrsevans90 @slowdownbeforeyouregretit @suunnnieeeee

[fixfoxnox]

Summary: Just a short little thing I wanted to write since my back is hurting again (which naturally means Roach's back is hurting again). This is technically a mini-sequel to Replacement, which I wrote a long while ago, but you don't have to read that to understand this! Enjoy!

"This is it," Roach groaned, feeling pain shoot up his spine as he shifted, "I'm done for. I love you both, split my items amicably. Make sure the worlds best son mug goes to Eddie, just to see Johnathan pout about it."

There was a small laugh from next to him, "You're not dying bug."

"Besides," Ghost chimed in from the other half of the room, "you wouldn't be dead for long, I'll drag your ass up from hell. No getting rid of me that easy." He didn't look up from his stack of paperwork.

"You would force me back i to a world of suffering and pain?!"

"You're being dramatic," Soap chimed. He took Roach's hand in his own, rubbing circles onto his skin with his thumb. "You've just thrown your back out again. Dr. Sanchez said you'll be fine in a day or two."

"My own boyfriend, doubting the depth of my suffering." Roach threw his head to the side dramatically, only to groan again as the movement jostled his back.

The heating pack he had on was helping a bit, but it couldn't erase all of the pain he was feeling. Not even the Tylenol could really help with that. It was just something his body would have to deal with and fix on its own. Just as it had caused the problem on its own.

On the bright side of things, Roach had the privilege of being doted on by his darling boyfriends for a few days. The two hadn't been willing to leave his side after his rather dramatic moment of his back trying to kill itself.

He'd just bent down to pick up his dropped keys, then the moment he'd started to rise back up and there had been a shooting burning pain down his spine. The pain continued on, flooding down through his legs until it felt like it was at the tips of his toes. His knees had given out then, and before he'd even had time to realize that for himself, both Soap and Ghost were at his side checking on him.

"Why do I have to have these issues?" Roach gave a whine, finally done with his dramatics. At least for the moment. "I'm not that old yet!"

Soap gave another laugh and moved into Roach's side, cuddling up to him with his head on his chest. "You know thats not why your back does this."

Roach gave a huff, "You get hit by a car one time and now you've got to deal with lifelong back problems." He shook his head, "Sick and fucking twisted."

Soap gave a small hum and Roach knew the man was likely agreeing with him. After all, Roach knew that Soap had his own issues and recurring pain with his shoulder. He remembered well enough the panic he'd felt when Soap had taken a bullet to the shoulder. Then the panic that came after that when months after healing Soap had a few days where even lifting the limb slightly would cause him pain.

Ghost didn't say anything, but Roach figured the man dealt with much of the same issues as them. He was certainly better at hiding it, but Roach always noticed when he was favoring one leg over the other or would give a wince under that mask because he'd stepped a bit wrong.

It was part of the job. Roach knew that, and he knew that they were all lucky to have only those slight problems, rather than lost limbs like Alex and Jackson, or worse like the many men he'd seen fall in battle before him.

He gave a final sigh, deciding that it would be more beneficial to just enjoy the warmth of his boyfriend next to him rather than complaining further. He needed to take the opportunity to relax anyway. And what an opportunity this was.

Bonus:

"So are you guys gonna blow my back out like you did the last time I was bedridden or what?"

[braisedhoney]

Don’t you know it’s rude to wake someone when they’re trying to rest?  First (You are here!) - Next @tracobuttons (tagged as requested)

[screampied]

Heyyyyy 🩷🫶🏾

Ex-husband! Choso who refuses to get remarried because he’s still in love with you. Even though you filed for divorce due to his lack of time, He still comes by the house to take care of the kids and sometimes cooks dinner. You realize that he’s not going anywhere when after every visit he fucks you like the night of your wedding. (NSFw please)?

MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE.

*ೃ༄ fem!reader, ex husband!choso, overstim, unprotected sex, whiney choso, breeding, praise, mdni. wc: 0.9k

ex-husband choso never stopped loving you, despite the two of you separating.

he couldn’t.

he’s always had a deep love for you, he couldn’t be bothered with trying to move on. he still happily wears his ring, there’s probably never a moment where he takes it off because he’s just that in love with you.

it happens every time. he ends up coming over, claiming he forgotten clothes, wants to visit the kids, anything else. yet once he has you alone with the kids being at your parents house, he shows how much he misses you.

he’s so gentle with his touch—sweet whimpers escape his lips as he creates kiss trails all over your body, savoring your sweet taste that he’s always missed.

“really missed my wife,” he’d mumble out, and his lips felt so soft, tender you started to pulse. it was incredibly embarrassing. yet you and choso both knew he knew every inch of your body. every inch that makes you whine out his name. “gorgeous body. ‘s perfect ‘n all for me.”

“c-choso,” you’d moan, bringing his head close up to your neck. he sucks on your tender collarbone, he’s buried balls deep with you being sprawled out on your back. he’s gripping your thigh, caressing it before he starts to moan against your ear.

you’re nearly losing your mind at how good your warmth swallows him, gripping tight around him, it makes him dizzy. “fuck..”

“hey hey,” he mumbles, hovering over your body, his warm breath wafts against your neck, he’s so addicted to sucking softly on your skin, nibbling it playfully to drag out and elicit the sweetest sounds from your mouth.

“don’t talk baby, jus’ want you to feel me. got me so obsessed,” he goes on to say, and he grabs onto your hand. his hands were bigger than yours, a smooth surface of his palms yet as his fingers interlock with yours, you felt the coldness of the metal. the wedding ring he still wore after all this time brush against his ring finger. “woman, y’don’t know how crazy you drive me..”

choso’s heart pounds the more he stares into your eyes. and he’s always gentle with his rhythm, but with its own sprinkle of roughness.

“can never stay a-away from you,” he moans, rutting himself against you. you’re just tightening and squeezing down on him that his jaw clenches. “baby, ‘m gonna get milked by you again. i-i feel it.”

“kiss me.” you spit out, just yearning for his touch, for more of his taste. at this point, you could care less that the two of you were split. your trembling legs locked around his slim waist as he’s pumping in and out of you.

your body cutely jerks and jolts against him, your frame he always found out to be so adorable in comparison to him.

he huffs out a breath before furrowing his eyebrows, growing more needy himself. “open your mouth then.”

you do—parting your lips, and choso leans in to kiss you, sloppily. you wrap your arms around him, his soft darkened hair tickles against your forehead, it wasn’t in its usual ponytails. he had it down because after all, he’s always had a thing for you pulling on it.

he moans in your mouth. still jackhammering his hips against yours at full throttle, your legs twitch and rub against his bare back. choso’s so high from your lips, running his tongue, tracing it against yours before you whimper once you feel him reach a hand down towards your pussy to give it a squeeze. he pulls away before whispering against your lips. “tell me you still love me, baby.”

“i-i still love you.” you whined, feeling your orgasm about to reach itself. it was approaching heavily, and your head went back against the pillow. choso’s eyes glimmer at your words, tracing a thumb against your lips before sneaking a kiss onto your mouth.

choso starts panting. “all i wanted to hear,” his muscles flex from his constant friction he creates with his sharp hips. you’re so full, his dick was purely appetizing, all you could even think of was your ex-husband spilling a thick load inside of you like he always does.

it always comes out a lot, thick stringy ropes of cum. his favorite thing to do would be to pull out and let the remains splatter all over your tummy.

“i wanna make you a mommy again so bad,” he stammers out. hiding his head inside of your neck, he’s nibbling near your collarbone once more. his right hand rests on your tummy as he’s still pumping in and out of you, his own strength making him whimper out. “miss seeing your pretty tummy so plump ‘n round. gorgeous body.”

“do it then,” you whined, brushing your heel against his back. his eyes light up, he prepared himself to say something but he just moans instead. choso’s voice, you could listen to it all day, whether he was whimpering or just conversing conversation. “gimme another baby, choso.”

“i’ll give you twins,” he whispers, his voice was undeniably shaky. peppering your nose with kisses. his hips rock back and forth in such a sensual way you find your nails dragging down his back. “but first,” he pauses, stopping mid thrust to bring out your hand, kissing it once. his voice was so gentle, he moans from how tight you squeeze around him.

choso slides off his ring—squeezing it on yours and it was a perfect fit, he leans in to kiss you before letting off a moan. “marry me, again?”

an. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. requests open <3

[riality-check]

DILF!Steve concert saga, featuring Eddie POV for this part! part 1, part 2

"I have to open it."

"Nope."

"Gareth. I need to open it."

"The vault is sacred," Archie says.

At the same time, Jeff chimes in, "The vault was your idea, Eddie."

Eddie thunks his head against the wall. "I know. But I need-"

"They're on the last song," Archie says, putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder. It's probably meant to be comforting, but it feels patronizing as shit.

Eddie is a good friend, though. He doesn't shrug him off.

"Once they're through, I'll unlock it," Jeff says, dangling the key slung around his neck.

"But you could do it now," Eddie protests.

Gareth sits protectively on top of the black lock box. "Absolutely not."

Eddie sighs and waits for the guitar solo onstage to end, nodding his head along to the beat.

It's what he usually does when they're backstage, but this time, it brings a smile to his face. Miss Anna was a natural yesterday for her first time headbanging, and her dad is the reason Eddie wants to break the sacred vault tradition.

He wants, no, needs to know if he got the note. If he decided to write something. If he wants to go a little further than PG flirting.

Eddie for sure wants to go further than that. God. Steve's handsome face and his big hands and his thick thighs (deliciously exposed by his shorts in the summer heat) are all wonderful incentives to skip a few steps and go straight to ramming him into a mattress.

Or, with how that shirt clung to Steve's biceps and how his shorts clung to his ass, let him ram Eddie into the mattress. He isn't picky.

(He isn't desperate, either, thank you very much, Gareth. And no, he won't admit how long it's been since he got laid.)

From the house, the audience roars, and Eddie jumps off the arm of the couch he was laying on.

Gareth sighs and gets off the lock box.

"Jeff, open it," Eddie says, staring at the vault and subconsciously making grabby hands toward it.

"Is that how we ask?"

"I could always yank the key off you."

Archie sighs and, ever the peacemaker, takes the key from Jeff and unlocks the vault. The second it's open, Eddie snatches his phone and turns it on.

Please please please let the DILF text back, he thinks to himself as he waits for this stupid metal brick to turn on and give him a resolution to this whole ridiculous situation.

Because, first, Eddie doesn't really jive with kids. Sure, they flock to him in the same way they flock to every other vaguely cool-looking person, but aside from asking if he has to draw his tattoos on every day or if his mommy is okay with him having his hair that long, they generally leave him alone.

And that's okay. Eddie easily made his peace with not having kids about ten years ago. Between his strong preference for men and the way that significantly decreases those odds and the choice to not pass on his truly abysmal family history of mental illness and addiction, it seemed obvious and a lot more selfless.

But Anna was cool as hell. Smart as hell, too, in a way that made Eddie feel like he was looking back at a time before school punished him for being bright and verbose and energetic.

Anna didn't make him want kids. Again, the whole family history thing is a real vibe killer. But she did give him enough fuel, for just an instant, to think that dating someone with a kid might not be a deal breaker anymore.

Or maybe Steve was just that hot.

He whined a lot yesterday, in the hotel, about how hot Steve was.

His phone turns on, and, front and center, is a text from an unknown number:

I guess I don’t have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we’re even on that front, I’m a teacher, and Anna’s full time job is preschool.

Eddie grins so hard he feels like his face will split in two.

"Is it him?" Jeff asks, trying to look over Eddie's shoulder.

"Of course it is," Gareth scoffs. "Look at his face."

"What did he say?" Archie asks.

Eddie takes the easier way out and lets him have the phone.

Gareth and Jeff crowd over Archie's shoulders, and Eddie watches their faces change as they read the message.

"Oh, he's bitchy," Gareth says.

"That means he's perfect," Jeff says, with a pointed look at Eddie.

Eddie shoots Archie a clear "back me up" look and gets a shrug in return because all his friends are assholes who know his type way too fucking well.

"What do I say?" he asks.

Archie tosses him the phone. "I don't know. Flirt back."

"I don't know how!"

"You ground against a guitar-"

"And kissed me onstage," Jeff continues. "But you don't know how to flirt?"

Eddie puts his head in his hands. "I didn't have enough sex in high school to know how to do this!"

"That's not an excuse when none of us did!" Gareth says.

Jeff barks out a laugh.

"Just ask if he's free tomorrow," Archie says, like the rational, wonderful friend he is. "This was the last stop of tour. It's not like you have to get anywhere else at a specific time."

"Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that," Eddie says, hyping himself up. Before he can second guess himself, he writes back.

Since it's summer, I'm assuming you both have off. Can you fit it in your busy schedule to have dinner with a humble musician tomorrow night?

"Oh, shit, did you send it?" Gareth asks, snatching his phone.

"Wait," Archie says, like the rational, horrible friend he is. "Do we know if he's single?"

"Oh, shit," Jeff whispers.

Eddie takes his phone back and refuses to look at it. He wants to shut it down. He wants to drop it. He wants to drive to nearest river and throw it there.

"Am I a homewrecker?" he asks absently.

"Only if you succeed," Jeff says.

"He might have a wife," Archie muses. "He might be straight."

"Okay, dude, enough," Gareth says. "This was supposed to be exciting! Eddie was supposed to get ass!"

"He might be ace."

"Archie, shut the fuck up."

He holds his hands up in surrender, and Jeff pats his shoulder, a little comfortingly, a lot condescendingly.

Eddie sits down on the couch. Puts his head in his hands. Breathes.

He's flirting with a married man. He's absolutely flirting with a married man. This is a new low. This is worse than the time he licked the floor of a restaurant, drunk, for five bucks. This is worse than when he greened out in the parking lot of a Chuck E. Cheese. This is worse than when he accidentally told the gas station cashier that he loved them and immediately walked into the glass door behind him.

This is. So bad.

And then his phone rings, so it'll get worse. It has to. That's how these things go.

Eddie has always been self-destructive, so, of course, he looks at the screen.

I can't swing dinner, but how's lunch? Fair warning: it might be a playground picnic if my babysitter bails.

"Holy shit, I'm not a homewrecker," Eddie says.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Jeff says.

"He's single!" Gareth cheers.

"Can I talk now?" Archie teases.

"I'm not a homewrecker!" Eddie says, and he launches off the couch to hug the nearest person, who happens to be Jeff.

They have to get out of the venue. He has to figure out the logistics of the date and how to be normal by the time he gets there and what to wear and everything else.

But, right now, Eddie is over the fucking moon that Steve is even giving him a shot. And he hopes, giddy as all hell and hanging off of Jeff's shoulders, that Steve feels even a little bit like this.

He writes back, once he's calmed down:

Lunch might just become my new favorite meal.

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

☒ Summary: "Alastor said we've met before. In the living world. But I seriously don't ever remember meeting him." Angel looked puzzled. "Soo... what do you remember from your life?" 

☒ Warnings: fem!reader she/her pronouns used, hurt with no comfort sorry, tons of confusion for alastor and the reader, one kiss, very suggestive language (its from angel- are we surprised?), slight self harming (alastor), blood, tears, arguing, desprate!alastor, toxic themes, split pov (second devider is when alastor's pov starts!)

☒ Word Count: 2,653

"You- WHAT?" 

Angel shot up from his spot on your bed. His eyes widened, eyebrows knitting in perplexity.

"I know- I know! It's bad... but I wasn't thinking clearly!" You slumped under Angel's judgemental gaze, pulling your knees up to your chest from where you sat on your bed. 

"Toots, there is no way his pussy eating skills are good enough to fuck you that dumb!" You averted your gaze. Heat rose to your cheeks from Angel's crass words.

"Oh, but they are..." You mumbled before you felt two of Angel's hands grip your shoulders, shaking you out of frustration.

"Did you really have to pick an absolute psychopath to be the one to pop your cherry? Toots, you're gorgeous. You could have anyone you want!" You were flustered beyond comprehension as Angel stopped shaking you. Opting to glare at your heated face instead. 

"We didn't go all the way! Plus he's the one who's been pursuing me all this time- I didn't get it at first, and I still don't. But-" Your expression morphed into one of contemplation. Angel's jaw went slack as he impatiently awaited your next words. "But what?! Spit it out!"

"He said we've met before. In the living world. But I seriously don't ever remember meeting him." Angel nudged you to the side before slotting himself atop your bed once more. "Soo... what do you remember from your life?" 

You froze. 

Angel's inquiry filled your mind with more questions than answers. 

"I... not much," You paused, turning to face Angel before you continued. "The earliest memory I have is waking up in a hospital bed after surviving a blow to the head from some hunting accident." 

You closed your eyes, wracking your brain for every last detail you could remember; no matter how small. "I ended up falling into a coma only days after that mishap. The next thing I know, I'm in fucking hell." You chucked bitterly. Angel let out a laugh of his own. 

"No offense, babe, but that has to be one of the saddest fuckin' things I've ever heard," Angel outstretched his legs, overlapping them atop yours. "That accident, what else can you remember about it? Maybe that's the ticket!" 

Your eyes shot open from Angel's question. "Wait... before I fell into a coma, there was this nurse- she told me that I was led into the woods by a dangerous fellow," You paused, eyes scanning Angel's wildly as he perched himself forward. Literally hanging on the edge of his seat from your musings. 

"She told me the gunshot wound saved my life, fucking ironic now because It ended up killing me anyway. She also said that... the man who took me into the woods was a serial killer who had been on the run for decades. He ended up getting shot in the head that night, also. Except he died instantly..."

Angel was hanging on to every word you uttered. He could see the pieces falling into place from your look of awe. "What was the man's name, toots? What was it?!" Angel shouted a little louder than he intended. You jolted back from his outburst, taking in a shaky breath. You replayed that memory with the nurse over and over again. 

She had to have said it at some point. 

Come on! Think, think- think!

“Turns out the man you were out in those woods with was a wanted serial killer. That 𝘈⃒̅𝘭⃒̅𝘢⃒̅𝘴⃒̅𝘵⃒̅𝘰⃒̅𝘳⃒̅ fellow was an active murderer for decades! The papers say he was good at steering clear of the cops for all these years. The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer.”

"His target was a nearby deer."

A deer... 

Again. 

Retrace.

"That ɹ̸o̸ʇ̸s̸ɐ̸ʅ̸Ɐ̸ fellow was an active murderer for decades! The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer."

Fuck- it was just out of reach. 

One more time, one more fucking time. 

Think carefully. 

"The hunter wasn’t even aiming for That A͊l͖a̪sto̶̸̅r̷̦͍ fellow. His target was a nearby deer."

You gasped sharply, startling Angel. You felt your heart sink into your stomach as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"Alastor... his name was Alastor." 

Your voice was distant as you spaced out. Angel's face blurred out of focus through your line of sight. 

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me. That freak was going to kill you when you were still alive-? And now... you belong to him? Shit- toots! This is rough... and not the good kind of rough." 

Alastor sat at the piano. Staring at the keys with that ever-present smile— but not daring to strike a tune. 

You’ve been avoiding him again.

What was it going to take for you to realize that he was your fiancé on earth? 

Sure, his features were more creature than man, but at the end of the day; Alastor was still the same man you fell in love with. 

Maybe he should have held off from his… desires. 

Could you blame him, though? He’s been waiting nearly a century to be reunited with his beloved. 

You’re the person he thought about for all these lonely years in hell. The only solace for Alastor was the notion that you survived, lived a long happy life, and inevitably made it to the pearly gates. 

So imagine his despair when you showed up at the Hazbin Hotel, looking to be redeemed. 

Alastor recognized you immediately. He could spot that grin of yours in a crowd of billions. 

Smile at the world, and she smiles back at you. 

But— you didn’t even spare him the time of day. Alastor gave you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you just needed some time to reignite your memory. 

And so, he gave you time. You’ll come around, Alastor thought. 

But he couldn’t have been more wrong, as much as he hated to admit it. 

He grew impatient— losing all of his resolve when you admitted to his voice reminding you of home. 

Alastor presumed maybe a passionate encounter would jumpstart your adoration for him. You had never breached that level of intimacy when you both were alive. You were adamant about waiting until marriage, but those dreams never came true. 

Yet even still, it was not enough. 

Was he really that forgettable to you? 

Suddenly, a knock on his door pulled him from his stupor. Alastor quickly cleared his throat, straightening his bowtie and taking steps toward his door. 

The second he swung the door open, he was met by the person who invaded his every thought; you. 

“What a pleasant surprise! Come in, my dearest.” Alastor piped up, stepping aside to let you into his safe haven. 

Your face was devoid of any vibrancy, and your eyes frantically avoided his. Alastor watched you closely as you hesitantly stepped past the threshold of his space. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Alastor hummed as he shut the door before turning on his heel to face you. 

You rubbed at the sleeve of your dress nervously. Alastor’s mind instantly flashed the memory of your first meeting. 

The sight of you soothing yourself with a gentle caress to your bicep. Clammy hands seeping perspiration through that gorgeous vermilion dress of yours.  

“I-I remember you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Legs trembling from where you stood before him.

Your words caused Alastor’s heart to race wildly. 

At long last— you remember him! 

“I knew you would, my smart girl! Ah- you have no clue how elated I am to finally hear those words leave your lips!” He invaded your personal space without missing a beat. 

Alastor’s eyebrows knitted in confusion as you dodged his hand— that had full intention of clasping around your cheek. 

“Don’t… don’t touch me.” Your voice was shrill as you took a step back from him. 

Alastor took one step forward. 

“My darling, why are you being so cold? You know how much I loathe teasing.” Alastor forced out a chuckle as you took two steps back. 

Alastor took three steps forward this time. 

“You’re sick! You’re the one who’s been teasing me all this time— how dare you?!” You spat, raising your hands to push him away, but to no avail. 

Alastor grasped your wrists with his large palms. He gazed down at you with a frenzied look, grip tightening scarcely around your wrists. “Darling… this isn’t funny anymore.” His voice was low, and the corners of his lips twitched in irritation. 

“It never was funny to begin with! I mean, how could you try to kill me on earth and then think it’s okay to fool around with me in hell?!” You glared up at him, tears of frustration now rolling down your cheeks. 

Alastor’s grip loosened from your words. He was utterly astonished. "You think I... tried to kill you?" His voice was quiet, crimson orbs frantically searching yours. 

You grimaced at him, rolling your eyes before you shouted, "You led me out into the woods, and the next thing I know, I'm in the hospital with a gunshot wound to the head and no memories before waking up in a stiff hospital bed! Everything I know about you and the accident was spoon-fed to me by some crappy nurse!"

Alastor's smile dropped. He wasn't even aware of the frown that crossed his features. The only giveaway was the absence of that standard achy feeling in his cheeks from holding an everlasting grin. "Darling, I-I'm not following... you mean to tell me you... don't remember your life before that mishap?" 

You looked puzzled by Alastor's uncharacteristic display of distress. His hands slipped from your wrists as he wobbled backward. "Yeah, and It's your fault! If you didn't haul me out into those woods to kill me, I would still remember who I was! And my whole life before all this bullshit!" 

You took a step forward. 

"I would remember my family, my career, if I even fucking had one! I would remember my joyful memories, my painful ones, and— and- maybe I would remember somebody who actually loved me!" You furiously glared up at him. Pointing your index finger into his chest in an accusatory fashion. 

Alastor snapped at your last words. 

Somebody who actually loved you?

It was him.

It was always him. 

Was his love for you really that immemorable?

"You truly aren't joking... you... don't remember me." Alastor felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. You were the last thing keeping it intact. All that he felt in his chest now was your blunt fingernail piercing his skin from where you jabbed him. 

"I just told you I do! What the fuck are you talking about?!" Alastor could tell your patience was wearing thin. You were probably just as confused as he was but for all the wrong reasons. 

Alastor's arms fell limp against his sides. Yet his fists were balled up so tightly that he could hear the pitter-patter of his blood spilling onto the carpet from how deeply his nails sunk into the flesh of his palm. 

You weren't ever going to believe the truth, but Alastor still needed to try.

"My dearest... that is not how we met. And my intentions were not and never will be to end your life." Alastor paused, taking in a shaky breath before continuing. 

"You're frustrated about not remembering somebody that loved you, yes? As am I..." You tilted your head in confusion. Finally pulling your finger away from his wounded chest. "What the fuck are you trying to say, Alastor?" Your voice was laced with annoyance, and your scowl was unwavering. 

"Darling, that somebody that loved you was me-and still is. It will always be me," Alastor paused, hands now finding purchase on your shoulders. "That accident should have never happened! We were scheduled to be wed at the courthouse later that evening... but... we never... made it..."

Why were his cheeks burning unbearably so? 

And why was your countenance blurring before his very eyes? 

Alastor's grip on your shoulders was unwavering, but his hands now trembled. Your expression was one of perplexity as you shook your head incredulously. "I loved you in life and now in death. I've loved you all this time, my sweet girl. Nothing will ever change that! Please, I beg of you- you must believe me!"

The definitive radio static crackle to his voice was nowhere to be found. Instead, his voice was laced with desperation. You looked disoriented through his blurry gaze as you took a weary step back. 

Alastor felt wetness trickle down his burning cheeks. 

Oh, he was... crying?

The last time he wept was when he first arrived in this grim place otherwise known as Hell. The realization that he left you on earth all alone tore him up. Alastor was inconsolable for years.

You truly knew how to put him together just to rip him apart all over again, huh? 

There is no undoing grander than love itself. 

"I-I don't believe you..." Your voice was just above a whisper as you slipped out of his grasp and approached the doorway. You turned your back on him, literally and metaphorically. 

Alastor didn't miss a beat. He rushed to you, large palm slamming flat against the wooden door. "We worked at the same radio station! Your bitch of a friend Elaine and her parents took you in after your pill-addict parents abandoned you on your eleventh birthday!"

You let out a sharp gasp as he hovered over you. Alastor couldn't read your expression, with your face practically pressing into the wooden door. All he could see was the top of your head as he pushed his chest into your rigid back. His arm was outstretched, keeping the door shut and caging you in entirely. 

"It was love at first sight for me! We went dancing for our first date. Did you truly fail to notice how effortlessly we moved along the dancefloor at Charlie's last gathering? It's because deep down, your body remembers every dance we ever shared,"

Alastor flipped you over faster than you could process. Your back was now flush against the sturdy door, his arm still caging you in. He peered down at you as his thumb and index finger from his non-dominant hand grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Every lingering touch..." 

He felt you tremble beneath his intense stare from how his chest now squashed against yours. Alastor's face dipped lower, invading your personal space. He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, breath fanning over your tear-stained cheeks. 

"And every kiss..."

Alastor observed you desperately as he pressed his lips against yours. He poured all his love into the shared embrace, hoping it would jumpstart your memory. But instead, you just shoved him away harshly, breaking away from his embrace. Alastor felt his world crumble around him as you wiped his kiss away with the back of your hand.

"You're fucking crazier than I thought!" With Alastor still reeling from the rejection, you took your leave. The sound of the door slamming thundered through his head. 

Alastor sunk to his knees. His hands came up to tug at his messy tufts of hair. Allowing the tears to flow freely now that he was completely alone.

Alastor did not think you were capable of hurting him until now. 

Alastor yanked at his locks furiously as his cheeks burned brightly in frustration. His knees quivered as his forehead kissed the carpet that was stained with his blood from earlier—when he unintentionally ripped up his palms. Alastor curled in on himself as he wept. 

This pain was worse than any other.

But more than anything, his love for you only burned brighter.

As did his determination to have you remember him and the pleasant life you both shared before all was lost. 

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86 @saccharine-nectarine @c-thegingergirl @tsunaki @geminixbunny @softangxlicss @alleystore @sirens-and-moonflowers @fairyv-ice @honey132 @alastorsaries @zenix108 @michi-keinz @fokrilove @yourdoorisunlocked @willowshadenox @izakyun @fangirlbitch02 @kyana-chan @aquariaries @sincerely-lorely @maxlynn17 @ivebeenthearchersstuff

[stwrkeys]

rafe with an innocence kink / inexperienced reader

“you’ve really never done this before?” rafe asks as youre straddling his lap, his back against the headboard and hand up your top. you shake your head, feeling embarrassed. unbeknownst to you, your lack of experience only makes you ten times more attractive to rafe. he doesn’t think you have any reason to be embarrassed at all. he thinks it’s so adorable how you’re so clueless. you follow every instruction and command of his. you’re completely under his demand because you have no idea what you’re doing. “let’s take this off, yeah?” he tugs on your shirt. “wanna see your tits bounce when you ride me.” you cross your arms over your torso and pull the fabric over your head. you stare into his eyes, waiting for his next instructions. he smirks at your obedience. “take your shorts off.” you untie the string on your shorts and rafe helps you slip them off. in only your panties and bra, you feel exposed. rafe moves his hands behind your back and swiftly unclips your bra, taking in the sight on his lap. “so, you’re telling me,” he pauses as he licks his lips, eyes trained on your tits, “no other guy has ever seen these? or touched them?” you shake your head, feeling ashamed. the smirk on his face turns to a low chuckle.

suddenly, a hand is on either side, massaging both of your breasts. the contact is new to you. before you can react to his hands, you feel his tongue on your nipple, beginning to suck. your eyes widen and you yell his name. “i’ve barely even touched you. not even inside of you yet.” you begin to feel an ache in your core. you needed rafe to touch you. “i’m gonna have you ride my cock like a good girl. think you can do that for me?” he moves your hands to the waistband of his pants, using your hands to unbutton them. he quickly pulls them down his legs, boxers coming down with them, and throws them aside with your clothes. “i can do it, rafe. just need you to show me how. he fucking loves how you’re willing to do anything he asks you to, despite never having done it before. “course im gonna show you how, bunny.” he grabs his cock and gives himself a few slow strokes before lifting you up and positioning it in front of your entrance. “gonna put me inside of your pussy, then you’re gonna fuck yourself on my cock. understand me, pretty baby?” you maintain eye contact with rafe as you grab his shoulders and begin to sink down onto him. your eyes roll back at the new feeling and you let out a whimper. he’s not even fully inside of you yet and he feels so fucking big. you can’t comprehend how it’s going to fit without splitting you open. your grip on rafe’s shoulders tightens as you lower yourself further, allowing him to stretch your hole. “rafe, it hurts too much,” tears start to well in your eyes. “no, no, baby. you can take it. i know you can take it. know you can take it so well.” soon, you feel him completely inside of you. you feel so full. for a moment, you stay in this position. your pussy hugging his cock, arms gripping his biceps, as you catch your breath. “see? you’re doing so good. hardest part’s already over.” he whispers in your ear. he puts his hands on either side of your waist, “ready?” you nod hesitantly, wanting to follow through but paranoid about the pain. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i got you.” he sends you a wink and slowly pulls you up. he begins to move your hips up and down at a slow pace, letting you get used to his size. the pain quickly subsides and you start to feel a wave of pleasure. once you get used to rafe’s movements you start to mock them, moving your hips up and down. he stops moving you, resting his hands on your hips as you bounce on his cock, “fuck, that’s what im talking about, baby. teaching you so well, aren’t i?” but you were too distracted to answer him. he grins and moves his hands down from your hips to your ass. he grabs it and lifts you up, helping you move yourself again. you let out a whimper at the touch. rafe’s head falls back, a groan escaping his throat. he presses his hand to your clit, rubbing it back and forth while bucking his hips into you. “rafe! oh my god!” your back arches and that wave of pleasure turns into a ball in your stomach. “i know, baby, i know. im right behind you. go ahead.” the two of you move sloppily. a euphoric feeling takes over your body and you fall into rafe’s shoulder. as you’re catching your breath, you feel a warmth filling you up. rafe thrusts into you a couple more times, pushing the warm liquid further up into you. you’re still catching your breath against rafe’s shoulder. he takes this time to press a kiss to your neck. “catch your breath now, baby. gonna teach you how to suck me off next.”

[rootbeerworshiper]

Secure

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summery: an argument with your boyfriend leaves you more insecure than ever, his words ringing in your head until he finds a way to make it up to you.

warnings: angst, hint of fluff not rlly, fem!receiving, so much praise, some use of pet names, slight overstimulation, fingering……yeah!

@nicksmainbitch hopefully you enjoy i tried my best to do your request justice

a/n: this is so short i’m so sorry im working on so many series rn but i wanted to get a oneshot out feel free to hate me

love, sienna <3

“maybe you’re just too insecure to be in a relationship” Chris yells, releasing every ounce of anger he stored away with one simple sentence.

you feel frozen, feet planted heavily in the ground although you’re knees could give out at any moment. this conversation was not supposed to be happening, not here.

not when Chris was supposed to go film a video and especially not when you had a major final coming up—the stress of both things clearly manifesting it’s way into your relationship.

the fluorescent lighting of the boys room sends rays over your whole body, ironically making you feel like a spotlight is shining at you, egging you on to say something in reply—but you can’t.

your body reacts to his words before your brain does, a quivering lip and eyes full of tears that want nothing more than to pour out.

is this really how he saw you? some insecure fragile girl who’s not ready for a relationship?

maybe he’s not entirely wrong about the fragile part, because all you can do is cry, and as pathetic as it may be, it’s the only thing you have the strength for.

you and Chris have been fighting for the past few weeks, it started off as small snarky responses but developed into arguments that left an echo on practically the whole neighbourhood.

subconsciously, you hug yourself, wrapping your shaking hands around your waist to seek some comfort, even if your boyfriend is standing directly across from you.

for a second, you see a glimpse of pity in his eyes, something in his brain telling him for a split second telling him he’s in the wrong, but before he can walk over to replace your hands with his own you snap.

“do you think i’m stupid or something? is that what you genuinely think of me?” you attempt to raise the volume behind your voice but instead it comes out more croaky, more weak.

Chris starts defending himself, as he does far too often. “of course not y/n i just-“

“rachel. you’d rather spend time with fucking rachel than your own girlfriend.”

he’s silent, taking his own turn being dead frozen.

“maybe i am insecure, Chris, but at least im respectful enough to not cancel on my long term girlfriend for some girl i just met on fucking instagram” your sadness is replaced with anger when you lay everything out.

“you know, i had just finished fucking pouring my heart out into my journal about how you’re the one for me, about how i saw a forever with you, and then” you let out a petty laugh. “and then i go on instagram to see my boyfriend, Chris Sturniolo at boa steakhouse with some instagram influencer”

“she’s just a-“ he starts, ultimately getting cut off by your own anger yet again.

“do you know how embarrassing that is for me? going with with some friend to a fucking fancy steakhouse, the steakhouse you took us on our first date to?”

It really is insane when you lay it out like this, even when part of you felt like you were in the wrong, his wrongs outweighed any insecurities you had.

you let out a sigh, seemingly signalling the end to your anger because he begins speaking again. “i know what it looks like, i do. but it’s not like that and i don’t know how else to explain that to you, i think you just need to grow up and understand that i can have girl friends while you’re my girlfriend”

nope. no fucking way.

“i think you need to grow up and realize that you’re dumbass just lost any chance you had at saving this relationship, have fun with rachel” you turn away immediately, slamming his door behind yourself before he can’t even chase you down.

the walk up is uncomfortable, both of Chris brothers splayed out on the living room couch, ready to begin filming a funny car video while you’re walking up the stairs with a red, tear covered face.

they both look to you with sadness, and seemingly an understanding of your position, but their mouths remain closed as you quickly put your shoes on and walk out the door.

————————————————————————

it’s been a week.

you wish you could say you were doing amazing, ridding yourself of a toxic boyfriend and focusing on your own mental health but that was… far from the truth.

but instead you’re crying while watching 10 things i hate about you and eating ramen—not exactly the best way to show you’re the bigger person.

it’s pathetic. scrolling on instagram to constantly check what Chris is doing while you simultaneously have unfollowed him.

relationships are not easy, but deep down you know you’re in the right, you just wanted Chris back… before he met another girl.

you don’t know what made his priorities change. maybe that’s what hurt you the most.

what is it that made you unlovable, what is it that rachel did better than you.

no. you know this isn’t about some girl named rachel, you know this all stems from yourself.

the constant comparisons you made to any girl you deemed better than you, the way it never failed to make you feel terrible about the cards you were dealt.

it was hard enough to except the fact that Chris liked you to begin with, and on one of your many late night walks you had told him that, told him that sometimes you’re lack of self confidence can get the best of you.

and for majority of your relationship he was supportive of that, supportive of you.

so once again, what changed? was it him or was it you?

you let out a heavy sigh, stirring your noodles and lifting the fork to your face when you hear a knock on the door.

it takes a second for you to even comprehend the noise, racking your brain trying to figure out what you had ordered online when you were up till two am sobbing.

either way you need to answer, so you make the embarrassing walk to the door while still wrapped in your fuzzy blanket m, as it replaces an embrace you miss.

you make it down the stairs, expecting a package to be delivered at your doorstep, instead you see him.

he’s stood there, a journal in his hand and an insane look of sorry overtaking his blue irises.

“hi” he says simply, moments before you go to slam the door in his face, his hand being the only thing stopping it from latching onto the hinges. “wait, please” he’s fighting back tears of his own, not that you feel bad for him in the slightest.

“what do you want Chris? i have a romantic comedy to attend to since my life kinda lacks one right now” you say with an ounce of pettiness escaping your teeth.

“y/n please” he squeezes the book in his hand, clutching to it like his life depends on it. “can i come in?”

part of you wants to say no, most of you wants to say no, but he’s Chris, your Chris, and you hate seeing him sad regardless of how much he deserves it. “fine make it quick” you mumble, opening the door fully and walking over to plop yourself on the couch, the boy awkwardly following behind you, as if he is literally walking on eggshells.

he sits beside you, not getting to comfortable as your unwelcoming demeanour leaves him anxious next to you. “i uh” he coughs, sniffling his noise and shaking his mess of hair to the side. “i don’t want you to ever think i’d choose someone else over you, ever. because i couldn’t, i-“ he sighs, as you sit there at stare at him, unsure of how to feel. “i can’t imagine being with anyone else because i see a forever with you”

“did you tell this to rachel too?” your mouth speaks before your conscience can stop yourself.

“no obviously not i mean, i don’t even know what i was doing with her, it was dumb and i don’t even have an excuse for it but i never” he breathes. “i never wanted anything with her, it’s always gonna be you”

it’s silent for a second, you processing his words and him praying mentally you’ll give him another chance. “what’s with the book?” you ask, slightly less anger backing your tone as you gesture to the journal placed in his lap.

“are you gonna promise to not make fun of me?” he says, an innocent look plastered on his face, god you missed his face.

“i can’t promise anything but ill try” you say, smiling out of the fake frown you displayed for him.

he scratches his head. “Matt kinda told me to start journaling a while ago and i thought it was stupid but then when i met you i kinda had too many thoughts to keep in my brain and-“

you place a gentle hand on his bouncing knee. “take your time Chris it’s okay”

he could cry at the contact but he continues speaking, slower this time as per your request. “i needed to write down the overwhelming thoughts i was having about you because im so in love with you i can’t keep it to myself” he sighs. “but i want you to have this because it shows how perfect you are. i never want you to feel lesser than anyone else because to me you’re everything, and im sorry i lost track of that”

you could cry at his gesture alone but instead you lean in, closing the space between the two of you and returning to a pair of lips you’ve been craving for the past week.

he kisses back hesitantly, caught off guard by your sudden act of affection.

the rhythm at which your lips move has you in a trance, beginning as an innocent kiss and immediately becoming more passionate when your tongue explores his mouth, your teeth biting gently on his bottom lip as you pull off. “i missed you”

he smiles, the same dorky smile you missed creating on his lips. “can i make it up to you?” he asks, leaving you confused.

“you already did make it up to me” you say, his head dipping down to your neck before you get a chance to keep speaking, a soft whimper leaving your mouth instead. “oh”

he’s comfortable on your neck, his hands immediately taking the blanket off of your shoulders as he moves himself to hover of you, his knees digging into the rug on the floor. “wanna really make it up to you”

it’s hard for you to speak, his hands cupping your clothed chest giving them a light squeeze before you can say another word, his lips now placed softly on your own.

for a while you’re comfortable like this, but you need more—and by the way you squeeze your thighs together on the cushion, Chris can tell.

his fingers go to lift your sweater off, immediately exposing you to him. “you’re so beautiful” he mumbles, his mouth nod focusing on your nipples as you arch your back into the couch—his tongue swirling your bud and his hands rubs soft lines on your legs.

“missed you so much baby” he’s says quietly, his mouth now placing teasing kisses on your exposed stomach, causing you to inhale at the soft sensation.

his hands now tug at your sweats, a familiar set of eyes looking up at you to ask for permission, all you can mutter out is a quick. “please”

“yeah? you miss my mouth?” he says, causing you to roll your eyes before his hands pull down your sweats and your underwear at the same time, one swift motion leaving you on display for the boy below you.

he kisses your thighs while hands hands work to remove the fabric off of your ankles and it’s safe to say you’re getting impatient, your legs spreading above him the moment the fabric is done restricting you.

“aren’t you just needy” he chuckles, his hands traveling up your sides to make contact with your chest once more. “can i take my time?”

you nod, fighting back a moan as you feel his hot breath over your folds, teasing his entrance.

but instead of giving you what you’re practically begging for he take his hands and props your legs on the couch. “god i haven’t been able to stop thinking about this”

“then get to it” you joke, only receiving a delicate kiss to your inner thigh as a response.

your own hands immediately make their way to his hair, pushing away the strands that cover his face so you can see more of him.

he makes eye contact with you, kissing everywhere on your lower half expect where you’re aching for him. “chris i need-“

there it is.

he kisses your clit, eyes making contact with your own that you could melt under, his innocent gaze as he makes you feel everything but innocent.

it’s unfortunate how much he loves teasing you, especially with make up sex, because his tongue has yet to make contact with you.

“so prefect, just for me” he continues mumbling praises as his hands roam your body.

before you can argue you’re cut off by the contact you were craving, his tongue immediately encapsulating your clit into his mouth and twirling it in slow, sensual circles.

your knees threaten to cave in at the contact but his hands are quick to push them back out as he leaves open mouthed kisses on yourself as you squirm above him.

soon enough the muscle finds a rhythm to follow, flicking up and down at a more intense pace than before. “fuck Chris, so good” you moan out.

your eyes shut almost immediately, the feeling of his warm tongue causing an embarrassingly fast build up in your stomach. “mmm just like that”

you can feel his smile below you, but his tongue doesn’t let up, instead, he places a familiar finger in your soaked centre.

instinctively you arch into him, your body chasing the pleasure that is consistently building throughout your body.

the pace at which he’s moving is addicting, and with the addition of another finger curling into you, you’re a moaning mess.

the tips of his fingers reaching deep inside of you along with the pressure and speed at which is tongue glides on your clit is overwhelming. “baby im” you whimper again. “so close just for you”

that sentence alone was enough to have him speed up, increasing the intensity of his fingers and his tongue.

your hips rut into his face, his one hand still pushing your knee to keep you spread for him.

he doesn’t let out once, your mouth left in an o shape as the pleasure overtakes you, your stomach tensing into his touch as you release onto his fingers.

he pulls his fingers out, his mouth meeting your neck while the pads of his fingers rub your wet clit at a speed that has you dizzy, your legs shutting over his hand as he rocks you through your orgasam. “just like that there you go pretty girl, just for me” he mumbles, mindlessly sucking on your bare neck.

his hands stop when your own arms clutch onto him, signalling the sensitive became too much. “i love you so much and i’m so fucking sorry” you’re too out of breath to reply. “let’s get you cleaned up baby i wanna take you on a date”

a/n: i wrote this so fast bc i gotta go to work and i didn’t proofread (are we surprised) but yeah ily bye

taglist: @lolasnoww-blog @tastesousweet @ivypoison @disturbedwoodelf @sturnswift @junnniiieee07 @ellie-luvsfics @sturnified @s7urnfilms @madsdogst @justlivinglive @sluttycupsworld @flowerxbunnie @mbsbaby @sturniolossmut @lustfulslxt @69isabella69 @dracoflaco @mattslatinagf @raekensluver @worldlxvlys @lacysturniolo @greatooglymooglyyy @breeloveschris @st7rnioioss @imwetforyourmom @sturniolololover @immuneweed @sturniolho @its-jennarose @taco-taco-posts @lovelottos

[primofate]

3 am brainrot

Soulmate, but Genshin Impact Style

Warning: angst (lots of potential to be fluff and comfort ending tho)

Vision "resonates" with each other and a thin red line connects your vision to their vision

Thin red line disappears, frays, or splits off when something is wrong with the connection or the other person

You can use their element and they can use yours. If you are the same element it provides an elemental increase.

Element exchange also stops or weakens when there's something wrong with the connection or the other person

There's a kind of "sixth sense" activated wherein you can kind of feel each other's psyche

Imagining what it would be like for power hungry Scaramouche to find out he has access to another element. Meets a complete stranger and suddenly he's stronger. Starts to keep you close only for that reason, doesn't care much about your well being in general. Then finding out that he can STILL use your element even if the two of you are far apart. You part ways rather abruptly, and he's not sure how long it had been when the red line starts to fray and his access to your element starts to dwindle. He doesn't think much of it, but day by day it gets weaker and day by day the red line disappears a little more. A sudden sense of "If that line disappears I won't ever be able to follow it back to y/n" so he starts following it. He doesn't really notice there's a sense of urgency in him, he tells himself its only because he wants the power back, but when he rouses from a short rest to find that the red line is gone... why does it suddenly feel like he's all alone again?

Imagining characters like Xiao, Cyno and Alhaitham who completely rejects using your element. They don't need yours. They are just fine and all is well using only their own. In a sense they take pride in what they have, and doesn't really care for what power you can give. They aren't interested in maintaining a relationship with a stranger either, because, what for? However, you're slightly persistent in at least getting to know a little about them. Just a tiny bit. But that tiny bit is enough to push them to tell you he's not interested in any kind of chit chat, that he's busy and needs to focus on other things. So you turn away. Out of curiosity one day he tries to use your element. It strangely gives him the feeling of warmth. Like someone's protecting and watching over them (and for someone who always does the protecting, this is a big deal). One day, the line breaks off, there's a clear split and he wonders if all is well. He follows the line back to you, and finds out that you've been spending a good amount of time with someone else. Someone who you smile at very brightly, and someone who is interested in getting to know you. What's he to do? This was his doing. So why does he feel like coming over and snatching you away?

Imagining characters like Diluc, Neuvillette and Wriothesley, astounded but somewhat pleasantly surprised by the discovery. He neither rejects you nor accepts you, but feels a sense of responsibility over you just because of the connection made. But because they have their own things to be busy with, they don't exactly actively seek you out or have the time to check in frequently. Perhaps it's a monthly thing, following the line and looking for you. There's a relationship that looks like the beginnings of friendship. A little awkward, asking questions and fumbling for more questions to ask. Still, something builds, and just when the ice is about to break between the two of you, he follows the line...and somehow ends up out in the wild. Your vision is buried next to a tree, for a moment he's struck with panic that he would find your body buried, but judging from how the red line was still intact, you were most likely safe somewhere... however, he would never see you anymore, nor know the reason why you decided to hide. All of a sudden he wished that he had more time. He doesn't know whether this situation was comforting or concerning. He has you in the palm of his hand, but never close enough to fill the empty gap.

Imagining characters like Zhongli, Dainsleif and Tartaglia, who, despite their appearances is instantly intrigued by the connection. They don't need the additional power, but they keep the connection anyway because they partly feel that destiny is something you can't change. The closeness between you two easily grows and here is when you first approach him with a favor.

"Can you help me with something?"

"Of course. Would tomorrow be a good time?"

There's a bit of a pause on your side. "Tomorrow..." and its as if you look up at him with more sparkle in your eyes than usual. "...Yeah. That'll work. Thank you," the way you say thank you is so sincere and loving it almost brings him to a joy he hadn't felt in a long time.

He woke the next day. The connecting red line was nowhere to be found.

[jiniretracha]

SKZ as your boyfriend

How I imagine the SKZ members would act around you as your partners.

Warnings: Fluff and smut

Word Count: 3.4k

MASTERLIST

BANG CHAN

SFW

Worries about you 24/7: This man is a protector. If he’s not there with you, physically, he’ll send you texts every once in a while, asking you how was your day, or if you had something to eat. 

Takes good care of you when you’re on your period: Whenever you are on your period, he’d always come back from work with bags full of snacks that he knows you like and the pads you use (he has obviously memorised the details of them so that he wouldn’t mess up and bring the ones you don’t use).

Gets along really well with your parents: Chan is a gentleman. Your mother adores him and he’s now your dad’s best friend. He’ll thank them for raising such a sweet girl like you, making your mom swoon and hug him. Your parents know you’ve found the one. 

Takes you out on dates any time he can: He likes to spoil you, a lot. He likes to take you out on dates just because he knows you love to dress up and get your makeup done nicely for the occasion, and also because he loves to spend time with you while enjoying a nice dinner. It's a win-win situation. And also… he’s never going to let you pay. He’ll get mad at you if you even insinuate you should split the check up. 

Lets you wear his clothes: If he sees you shiver, he wouldn’t hesitate. Even if it’s 4 degrees outside, he wouldn’t think twice of taking his hoodie off and giving it to you. From one side, because he’d never let you suffer from the cold or get sick because of it, and from the other, because he absolutely adores seeing you wearing his clothes. 

Nicknames I think he’d use on you: Baby, Babygirl, Princess

NSFW

He is possessive: If he sees someone from the staff giving you the eyes, or even someone online commenting how hot you looked, he’d see red. He knew what he had and he’d be damned if someone took you away from him. He’d obviously take that pent up frustration out on you in the best way possible. 

His favourite position: Missionary. He loves to watch your fucked out face as he fucks you. He gets the best view of your chest bouncing in front of his eyes and loves the way you wrap your arms around his neck while your hands are on his hair, gripping it.

He thinks aftercare is so important. He wouldn’t let you fall asleep without cleaning you up with a rag or drawing you a bath. 

After taking you apart again and again, he’d wrap his big ass arms around you and cuddle you, spooning you from behind.

LEE KNOW

SFW

Cooks for you: We have seen it in several blogs, this man can cook. Even if you know how to, he’d never let you step foot in the kitchen. He wants and likes to cook for you.

Gets jealous easily but in a playful way: He’d see you talk to one of the members or a staff member and he’d immediately put on a pouty face. You’d go back to him and he’d pull away, making you frown. “Go back to your new boyfriend” he’d playfully say. He then tells you you can make it up to him by giving him endless kisses and cuddles.

Can read you like a book: I feel like this man knows you very well. He’ll know how you feel with just one look at your face. And the best part, he’d know just what to do. If he senses you’re feeling bad, he'll wrap his arms around you silently and he’ll make you feel better.

Treats you like the mother of his cats: Whenever he’s with his cats and he sees you arrive, he’d tell them: “Look, mommy’s here”, making you coo and lead him on with his antics. 

Annoys you: He knows how to push your buttons. He’d see you on your bed, scrolling the feed of your Instagram and he’d drop himself on top of you, making you huff in surprise and start squealing, pleading him to get off of you. 

Nicknames: Jagiya (Korean for ‘baby’), Bunny, Baby

NSFW

I feel like Minho would be the type of boyfriend who would let out his pent up frustration out on you by fucking you, and viceversa. He’d let you take your anger out on him in the most pleasurable way. 

Favourite position: All fours. Absolutely. This man loves your ass and he loves to watch it as he fucks you from behind.

Booty slaps 24/7: It is known that Lee Minho loves to slap the member’s asses. You aren’t the exception. Hell, it’s even worse. He’d be obsessed with your ass. No matter how big or small it is. He’ll slap, touch or even cuddle it as much as he can. 

Hair Pulling: I know this man is in fact into hair pulling. In whichever position he’s taking you in, he’ll grab and pull on your hair. Even when you aren’t having sex, if he sees you in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, he’ll wrap his fingers around your hair, pulling it gently so that he can pull your head back and kiss your neck as he whispers a “good morning” into your skin. 

CHANGBIN

SFW

Carries ALL of your bags for you: Dating a gymbro (because, let’s face it, he’s one of them) comes with a lot of perks. Changbin would never let you carry your bags. You go to the market? He’ll carry the bags with groceries. You’re coming back from a trip? He’ll carry your luggage. Even if you’re feeling exhausted from walking, he’ll offer his back for you to hop on and carry you. And don’t say no, he’ll feel offended. He loves carrying his girl.

Spams your phone with lots of pics from the gym: Whenever he goes to the gym (which is always), he’ll never forget to send you a mirror pic while working out. 

Walks with an arm around you: Changbin will always walk with an arm around you. Always. He wants you to feel loved and protected. 

Buys you plushies: Whenever there’s an anniversary, a birthday, a date night, or just a random day, he’ll always buy a plushie that reminds him of you or something that you said. Of course, he’ll gift you every single edition that comes out of Dwaekki, always. You need to have them all. 

Stares at you: You’ll catch Changbin staring at you all the time. You’d be talking or ranting about something of your interest and he’ll probably won’t listen to you. He’s too busy staring at your pretty face to pay attention. Even if someone is talking to him, and you’re in the same room, he’ll probably won’t listen to them, he’ll just stare at his girlfriend. 

Nicknames: Beautiful, Babe, Doll.

NSFW

Changbin, a guy with big arms, would like to show you how strong he is by manhandling you into any position he’d like. 

Favourite position: Against a wall. As I said before, he likes to show how strong he is. I’ll bet he’d love to hoist you in his arms, press you against a wall and just give it to you. 

I feel like sex with Changbin will be hardcore or very soft and vanilla. There is no in between. There will be nights where he’ll just want to release and pound into you, drilling you into the mattress. And there will be nights where he’ll just want to make love to you and shower you with kisses and sweet nothings whispered into your ear. 

HYUNJIN

SFW

Museum dates: He loves going to museums, and loves spending time with you. So why not combine those things? Hyunjin would love to walk through a museum or art gallery while holding your hand. 

Gifts you his art: Jinnie loves painting you and sketching you. He’ll show his love and dedication for you through his art. As his number one fan, you’d have them framed on the wall all around your house. Whenever you have a visit, you’d always tell them with a proud smile on your face: “My boyfriend did that”. 

Clingy: As much as Hyunjin loves to say he doesn’t like skinship, I know that thought will fly out of his mind as soon as he meets the love of his life (aka you). He’ll always hold hands with you. Always. He’ll randomly hug you. He’ll press kisses on your neck, cheeks, lips, everywhere in his reach.

Being romantic 24/7: That boy is so romantic and will try to show his love for you in every way possible. He’ll gift you a sketchbook filled with drawings of your face. Gifts you a notebook filled (from first to last page) with poetry written only for you. His muse. Will give you flowers every time he can. Red roses, specifically, because he knows that they embody love. 

Flirty: We all know it’s in Hyunjin’s nature to be flirty. He won’t let it be an exception around you. He’ll flirt with you all the time. When you’re alone, when you’re in public, always. He’ll say the worst and cheesiest pick up lines and the most romantic ones as well. 

Nicknames: My muse, Angel, Baby.

NSFW

Hyunjin loves morning sex. He loves waking you up in the most delicious way. He’ll start by sucking on the soft skin on your neck. Then, trailing his lips to your chest, gives you an orgasm with his mouth and then he’d slide into you and make you come at least twice before you even have the chance to open your eyes. Afterwards, he’d press a long kiss onto your lips and whisper: “Good morning, my muse”. 

Favourite position: Missionary. I feel like Hyunjin would love to brace himself up on top of you with those arms and whisper into your lips the filthiest things. 

I know he’s into choking. He knows he has beautiful and hot hands, and he just loves seeing them wrapped around your neck. He’ll even fuck you in front of a mirror with his hand on your neck, making you watch how beautiful you are while you take him. 

He’s a whore for oral: In both ways. He loves when you sink to your knees for him and you wrap your lips around him. He loves the way you suck him off. He’d commit crimes for it. And vice versa. With those lips, I know he’s good at it. He’ll just plaster his face into your core, his nose pressing against your clit while he devours you. He loves tasting you and pulling those sinful moans out of you.

HAN

SFW

Writes songs about you: Jisung can’t stop writing songs about you. He loves you so much and his hand would grow tired from all the lyrics his mind would come up with about how beautiful you are and how much he adores you as he writes them down.

Let’s you brush his hair: You’d sit him down on a chair or on the bed while you brush his hair softly and he’d just stare at you with the biggest simp grin on his face. 

Sings you to sleep: He knows you love his voice and how soothing you think it is. Jisung would just wrap his arms around you, press a kiss into your hair and lowly sing one of your favourite tunes or a song he wrote about you without you knowing about the existence of it.

Steals your clothes: I know Jisung would love showing up to the studio wearing one of your hoodies. He loves wearing them because they have your scent and perfume, and it makes him feel at home. The member would ask him if it he was wearing a new hoodie and he’d just smile with his lips pressed against each other and shake his head. “Nope, it’s my girl’s”.

Loves to hold you: Whether it is your hand, your arm, or your body in a hug, he has to hold you. As someone who gets anxious pretty often, Jisung finds it reassuring to know he has you there for him and just your touch and presence will calm him down and soothe the anxiety. 

Nicknames: Cutie, Sweetie, honey

NSFW

I feel like Jisung would be the sweetest thing in bed. Always asking if what he’s doing is okay, if he’s hurting you and if you’re feeling okay. 

Favourite position: Cowgirl. He loves having you on top of you. He’d place his hands on your hips and get the best view from where he lies. 

He’s very vocal in bed, always telling you how good you’re making him feel, how good your pussy feels around his cock. He’d never hide his moans from you, never. 

FELIX

SFW

Clingy: Just like Hyunjin, but we all know this man is a sucker for skinship. It is a need. He always has to have some sort of contact with your skin. Holding your hand, his hand on your thigh, your arm, you name it. 

Puts you above anything else: You’re his number one priority. And it is non-debatable. If you’re sick, he’ll drop everything to go to you and take care of you. If you want to go on a date, he’ll drop everything to get you that date. If you want to watch a movie, even if he knows he doesn’t like it, even if it’s a horror movie, he’ll put it on. 

Kisses 24/7: He lives for your kisses. He loves you so much he can’t go one single second without feeling your kiss. He’d see you across the room, and he’ll walk to you and press a kiss to your lips. The reason? Nothing, he doesn't have to have one. He just loves you and loves showing it to you. He’ll always shower your face with kisses. Always.

Creates playlists with songs that reminds him of you: You wouldn’t be surprised if he shared a link to a playlist he made for the two of you, filled with songs that remind him of you and how he feels for you. You wouldn’t be surprised because he’s the sweetest boy ever. 

Heart Eyes: The members are always teasing him about how whipped he is for you. And he doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s always staring at you whenever you’re in the same room as him. He can’t help it. Lix thinks he is the luckiest person in the world because you’re with him. He’ll unconsciously smile as he gives you the most lovesick puppy look. 

Nicknames: Sunshine, My love, Princess (because if he gets called ‘prince’, then you’re his princess).

NSFW

He knows you love his deep voice (who doesn’t) and he takes advantage of it. He’d tell you how good you feel, how sexy and beautiful you are, how he is the luckiest person in the world to be able to fuck you, all with his deep, sensual voice. 

Favourite position: Any position he gets to see your face in. If you want him to give it to you from behind, he just has to have a mirror in front of the two of you so he can see your face as he takes you apart and puts you back together. 

Felix loves your tits. Loves them. He could spend the rest of his life buried in them. It doesn’t matter how big or small they are. He will worship them no matter what. He loves to suck on them, lay on them, fuck them, grab them, squish them, spit on them.

I feel like Lix has a praise kink. He absolutely does. Just like he compliments you, he likes to receive them as well. HIs eyes would roll back every time you whisper against his skin how good he’s making you feel, how big he is or how much you love him.

He’ll get inside the shower without a warning, loving how you feel all wet and soaped up against him. He’d just take you against the shower wall without a warning, and you’d absolutely give it to him because you could never resist him.

SEUNGMIN

SFW

Constant teasing: He’ll tease you with the most cringey nicknames or things, annoying you but on the inside, you know that he does that only to the people he loves. And you love knowing you’re one of them.

Takes pictures of you: Seungmin will take random pictures of you whenever he feels like it. He sees you concentrated on something, or just laying on the couch watching some shitty tv show and he’d grab his phone, and take a picture of you. He’ll have a photo album in his gallery filled with pictures of you. Let’s say that at least 80% of his used storage is simply pictures of you.

Asks you which pictures should he post on his Instagram: The only person he’d ask to pick which pictures he could post on his Instagram is you. He wants your opinion on how he looks and loves to watch you gasp as he scrolls down the pictures he shows you for you to pick. 

Frames your face before kissing you: He’ll put his hands on your cheeks, look down at your lips with those beautiful brown eyes and kiss you in the sweetest way possible. 

Loves your hugs: As someone who claims he doesn’t like skinship that much, you’re the only one who can hug him. He is a sucker for your hugs. He’ll have a hard time initiating them at first, but once he gets more comfortable in the relationship, he’ll randomly hug you, whenever he feels like it. 

Nickname: Darling, Sweetheart, Sugar.

NSFW

He’s a mean dom. We all know that. He’ll tease and edge you all night long if he wants to. 

Favourite position: Reverse cowgirl. He’d love to watch the way you fuck yourself down on his cock while watching the way your ass shakes as it slaps against his thighs, and grabs your hips.

Loves to mark you up, because he’s a possessive little shit. He likes to adorn your neck with purple marks and see the handprints on your ass cheeks. He gets bummed that you can’t give him marks, due to his idol position and all, but he knows he’d love to get marked by his girl.

I.N

SFW

Smiles every time he sees you laugh: This man has such a beautiful smile, and it always pops up in his face whenever he hears you chuckle. He can’t help it. He loves it even more when he’s the one making you laugh.

Loves to take pictures with you: He loves taking selfies and he loves it even more when you are with him in them. He loves wrapping his arms around you and taking a picture in front of a mirror. Loves cuddling you and taking a selfie with you in his arms. 

Brings you food whenever he comes back home: He’d come back with dinner for the both of you after a long day of recording or practising. Even if he’s exhausted, he’d never fail to stop at a restaurant or a market to buy food for the both of you. And he’d never forget to buy you your favourite chocolate or ice cream pint for dessert. 

Gets shy easily when you compliment him: You’d say something nice to him, like: “You look beautiful today” or “I love you so much”, and he’d immediately hide his smile and pretty blush by looking down. You’d tease him about it, poking your fingers on his stomach, making him giggle. 

Lends you his jewellery: He loves watching you play with his rings and his necklaces, so at a certain point he’ll just pull them off his fingers or unclasp it from around his neck and put it on you. He’d reassure you it looks better on you, anyways.

Nicknames: Baby, Beautiful, Gorgeous.

NSFW

The first time he’d get nervous. He’d be hesitant and try things to see what you really like. But once you get started, Jeongin will start getting more and more confident. 

Favourite position: Cowgirl. I feel like he’d let you dominate him every once in a while and he’d enjoy it so much. 

Sex with Jeongin, under normal circumstances, would be pretty vanilla. But if you piss him off, oh boy. Brace yourself to be drilled into the mattress. He’d punish you, overstimulating you and making you come over and over again. 

If there’s a member that loves face-sitting, it’s him. He loves to feel his whole face soaked by your juices. He loves feeling your thighs around his head in this position. 

[angelltheninth]

Hi can I request Honkai Star Rail men carrying you like a princess while your in pain because you twisted you ankle really bad?

The princess carry is so romantic, I love it in pretty much every context.

Pairing: Blade, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, princess carry, injury, worrying, kissing

A/N: I was princess carried a few times in high school by this guy in my class who really liked to show off. It was fun.

Blade thinks about leaving you for a split second, that survival of the fittest mindset still ingrained into him. However in his heart he knows he can't do that, you've managed to win what was left of his heart, the part that wasn't a warrior. There's a slight look of annoyance on his face as he lifts you up and holds you at just a bit of a distance at first to he can scold you about getting hurt and causing him trouble. When you're all better you best be ready for the consequences and he will not go easy on you just because you're his woman.

Dan Heng is by your side right away, examining your injury, wanting to see if anything is broken or just sprained. Just a twisted ankle, its not that bad, after a few days of rest you should be back on your feet, good as new. Until then he will carry you to bed, careful not to touch your ankle even as he sets you down. The only issue if that you don't seem to want to let go of him. You liked being carried around that much? He really hopes you didn't get yourself injured just to experience this, he would have done it you just asked.

Gepard gets really worried about you, not quite panicking because he's seem many things over the years, bad things, but this is the first time he was you get hurt in front of him. Worry not, he'll get you to proper medical care in no time, just put your arms around him. Are you feeling alright? Your face is a little red. He hurries, thinking you might have a fever and that you're worse off then you actually are. The wave of relief that washes over him when he finds out you're okay is only overpowered by the kiss you give him moments after, thanking him for being your personal hero.

Jing Yuan lifts you up right away, he doesn't even look at your ankle, he heads in the direction of his home right away. He's a little aware of the closeness of the two of you, of the warmth he's feeling from you right now but he puts all those thoughts aside for now. Your well being is what's most important to him. He has doctors that look you over but he stays in the room the whole time, casting a thick protective aura around you just from sitting next to your bed. When your leg is wrapped up he lifts is slowly and places a gentle kiss over the injured ankle, trying to reassure you that the pain will end soon.

Luocha knows exactly how to help you but first he needs to carry you back to the little cabin he's staying at in town. Carrying you and hos coffin is no easy task but its only proof of how strong he truly is. He kisses you a few times, comforting you when he knows your injury is flaring up. Very careful when setting you down, almost hesitant because you're holding on so tightly. Don't worry, he'll cuddle up with you when he makes sure your ankle is okay and he gives you some pain medicine for it. His fingers are very gentle as they handle you, goosebumps all over your skin, almost making you forget you're injured.

Welt takes you to the med room on the train because he's not waiting around for the next stop. The room might not be the biggest and he does need to walk slowly as to not risk bumping your ankle into things. He can see you're in pain so while he's princess carrying you he tries to take your mind off your pain by surprising you with kisses and telling you random trivia that he's learned over the years that you might now know. When you get off the train he princess carries you again, even though your ankle is wrapped up and secured. You shouldn't be moving around any time soon, anything you need you either tell him or call him.

[too-deviant]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist

summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour 

notes:  speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild 

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well. 

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours. 

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. 

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it. 

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss. 

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster. 

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty. 

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse. 

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp. 

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got. 

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery. 

It was cute. 

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley. 

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over. 

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan. 

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name. 

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow. 

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.” 

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.” 

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.” 

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion. 

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.” 

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.” 

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly. 

“And that?” 

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did. 

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face! 

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered. 

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp. 

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill. 

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day. 

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go. 

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked. 

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.” 

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response. 

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes. 

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet. 

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable. 

But you really needed to pee. 

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door. 

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke. 

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!” 

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up. 

“Be quick.” 

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed. 

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan. 

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence. 

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.” 

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour. 

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.” 

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.” 

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t. 

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater. 

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be. 

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off. 

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close. 

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” 

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion. 

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe. 

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything. 

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.” 

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse. 

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?” 

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.” 

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on. 

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation. 

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow. 

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

[devilfic]

thinking about lyla hiring you as miguel's in-person assistant because as good as she is, she can't stop miguel from throwing chairs across the room. she introduces you to miguel on your first day and he immediately tries to fire you, insistent he doesn't need someone to "babysit" him, let alone someone with half the muscle mass and twice the mortality. except lyla's the one paying you, and even if it's miguel's money, lyla has made sure he can't stop the checks from clearing. so you're here to stay.

he does his best to ignore you at first and for the most part, you rarely get in his way. he goes about his duties and you shadow him, only ever speaking when spoken to if ever at all. but then one day, he's had a particularly difficult time with an anomaly and suddenly his fangs are splitting his lip, his claws are punching holes into his desk, he's snarling and the rage is taking over him again.

he grabs the thing and flings it across the room-

and you catch it. you set it down, calmly, safely, and it's so shocking to miguel because he's never seen you exert more force than needed to open a door, and you caught it.

miguel's anger melts away just like that. he watches you exhale, watches you drag the heavy thing back over to him where he stands dumbfounded and feeling. silly. he didn't think- "instead of throwing things, you can take your anger out on me."

miguel goes blank. he sounds so pathetic when he fumbles for a "w-what?"

you smile, the first time he's ever seen you do so, "I'm a good partner."

this had to be a. prank, right? lyla had put you up to this? he knows it's been a while, and she'd made the joke plenty of times before, but. were you. really? miguel clears his throat, ready to rebuff you, but he thinks about it and...

I mean, it has been a while. "you work for me." he reasons. it's not a refusal, you notice.

"it's okay," you assure him, stepping closer, "this kind of thing's in the job description."

and god. miguel doesn't know, is it actually? had lyla really. done that? he'd muster up the embarrassment if you weren't standing right in front of him and smelling so good and this whole time he'd been convinced that if he even dared to touch you he might break you but you'd caught it without breaking a sweat. what else could you handle? what were you offering to take?

you step even closer and then-

your fists are up. you're crouching and your fists are up. miguel stares.

"come on, then," you taunt, smiling wider, "I've fought bigger."

sparring partner.

now miguel's really embarrassed. he doesn't even have it in him to actually take you up on your completely innocuous, innocent offer. you wanted to spar. you wanted him to take his anger out on you in a fight. you'd sapped the anger right out of him just from this conversation. maybe it'd be better if he took a nap instead. he hadn't had one of those in a while either.

when he continues to just stand there, staring, red hot in the face, you raise an eyebrow and your smile becomes a little... mischievous. "what? did you have something else in mind?"

part two