#wow you can really tell my preferences from here :^))

[onlyrains]

𝓽𝓲𝓷𝔂 thing | 𝓵𝓱𝓼

relationship is scary; what if your partner is too tall for you to kiss them?

“morning…?” you greeted confusedly at your boyfriend in your kitchen when you just freshly out of a shower.

“morning—you finished already?” his wide back still facing you, unbothered.

yesterday, he called and said he was gonna take you two to have brunch somewhere. but here he was, busy in your kitchen with sleeves rolled up to his firm elbow.

a chopping sound filled the room as you approached him. “aren’t we going somewhere, hee?”

he dropped his knife and spun quickly. “god, ’m sorry, i forgot to tell you. it's just… i watched some recipe videos last night and i think i’m going to try that out today…” his voice disappeared at the end. “is it okay…?”

you gasped. “seriously?” you were genuinely surprised. he was never show an interest in cooking before and preferred to just take a delivery or going out if you both were feeling it.

so today was the first time and you believed it will be written in history.

you glanced at his scattered groceries on the counter. “it is okay, boo. it's even better that you are one who cooks for me. wow.” you give him a wide smile then cupped his face.

he scratched his head, flustered when his favorite pet name came out. “we still could go if this fail, you know. i’m not sure either,”

you chuckled. “have some trust in yourself, can't you?” you tiptoed, tried to give him a peck on the lips but you kissed his chin instead.

you couldn’t reach his lips. that was a new fact for you too. you just realized he was always crouched down or the one who initiate a kiss. you almost hit your own head, couldn’t believe you missed such a crucial thing in your relationship.

he was laughing his ass off when he saw you pout and refused to see his face by hiding it on his chest, embarrassed.

still chuckling, he hugged you and rubbed your back, assuring. “it's okay, baby. it's cute.” actually, he also just noticed how your height just fell around his chest, not even his neck, not even his shoulder.

how could he not noticed his dear girlfriend is so tiny? well, he knew you were smaller than him, but he didn't know that you were basically tiny? even when he hugged you like now, your figure was completely disappear in his body. how could he not noticed that earlier? oh, maybe because he was too busy control his composure everytime he's around you, right?

“don’t mock me.” you mumbled.

“eh? i’m not? why do i have to mock about it? it's so cute, baby, trust me i love it.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “i can't. you can be childish—”

“says a child—AW! baby, your pinches is someth—”

“but i’m not a child!” you sulked.

“okay, okay.” he grabbed both of your hands in his. “from now on, i’m going to love you like my own child, baby.” he kissed top of your head ran around the kitchen as you chased him.

he was glad he canceled the plans for brunch at a fancy restaurant he found a few days ago. otherwise, he wouldn’t been able to enjoy this stupid moment with you after a week of non-stop working. he was thankful your laugh could literally heal his mind and soul to stay sane.

the brunch he promised was still happened tho it would be more realistic to call it a lunch. thanks to him for always bring your height up every chance he got. don’t get it wrong tho, it wasn’t a bad thing. he loved it, he really did.

it gave him an instant ego boost whenever he noticed you need to looking up fully when you look into his eyes. even sometimes, it made him thinking about the other thing that might put him in an advantageous position.

you were still sat in your dining table when he suddenly towering you after doing the dishes.

you tilted your head with anticipation. “what?”

“nothing.” a smug smile appeared on his lips.

“still haven't giving up?” you asked then stood up on your chair. now you were the one towering him. “what now?”

he wrapped his arms in your waist. “it's nothing, really.”

you rested your hand on his shoulder and finally pecked his lips in a sudden move. you felt his arms tensed up in your waist.

“baby, that's dangerous, y'know.” he whined, his voice low.

you smirked. maybe you both have a same thought today.

taglist [open]: @llvrhee

[hazbinwhoree]

Guardian Angel

Part 1/3 Part 2

A/N: Starting a series where f!reader is the child of a demon and a human and Adam’s been tasked with keeping an eye on her. Please leave requests!

“It has recently come to my attention that a demon and a human have reproduced,” Sera announced. 

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “No shit. For real?”

“The spawn is already grown. So far she hasn’t caused any trouble so I do not see the need for actions further than simply keeping an eye on her.”

“Okay and what does that have to do with me?” Adam asked, taking a long sip from his drink.

“You’re going to watch her.”

Adam spit out his drink. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re going to be her guardian angel,” Sera smirked. Adam’s jaw dropped idignantly. “Do I have to?” He whined.

“Yes.”

That’s how Adam found himself on Earth, stalking some random demon/human hybrid.

Although despite his apathy, she wasn’t just some random, a demon/human hybrid was almost unheard of. She was the third documented instance of that happening.

But as far as he could tell, she led a boring, painfully bleak life. Adam almost felt bad for her. She seemed really depressed. But his job was getting boring. Her routine was always the same. Work, sleep, eat, shower. It seemed that the hybrid was completely unaware of her origin and the powers she possessed. It made Adam’s job easy. Easy and boring.

He started fucking with her, using his ability to be invisible to the human eye in order to fuck with things in her apartment to mess with her head.

One day, while her roommate was out, she stood in the middle of her room, staring at nothing. “Come out you annoying fuck!” She called out. It took Adam by surprise. “I know someone is here,” she hissed. “And you’ve been fucking with me, and it’s pissing me off, and I know you’re here right now, so show yourself!”

Adam debated for a moment. Sera had just said to watch over her, she’d never said it had to be no contact. In fact, Adam was pretty sure Sera would prefer he try to bring the hybrid to the light, but she chose the wrong angel for that task.

Tired of watching her while she was unawares, Adam let himself appear to her. He appeared behind her, just to fuck with her one more time. She turned and jumped, and Adam snickered. To his surprise, she recovered rather quickly.

“What the fuck are you?”

Adam was once again taken aback, and then offended. “I’m an angel, babes, could you not tell by the halo and wings?”

“Well you look like a demon," she replied.

Adam scoffed indignantly. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Who are you and why have you been following me?”

“I’m Adam. Like, first man ever, Adam.”

“Wow, I’m so impressed.”

“And who the fuck are you, bitch?”

“Shouldn’t you know that since you’ve been following me?”

Adam was seething. “Yeah well I didn’t give enough of a shit to remember your name when Sera told me.”

The hybrid narrowed her eyes. Adam narrowed his. The attitude on this bitch! He hadn’t seen such life in her in the weeks he’d been watching her. He definitely didn’t enjoy seeing her come to life like this. Totally not (he did).

“Well you might as well tell me cause you’re stuck with me now that you can see me.” Adam smirked.

She huffed. “(Name). I’m (Name). Why am I stuck with you?”

“Because my job is to follow you, babe, orders from the Seraphim herself.”

“But why?”

Adam thought about fucking with her for a moment, before spitting out the truth. “Because you’re a Cambion, and Cambions are dangerous.”

(Name) blinked at him. “The fuck is a Cambion?”

“A demon/human love child.”

“What, so you’re saying one of my parents is a demon and I’m like, half a demon?”

“Basically.”

They stood in silence for a moment while (Name) processed this information.

“So,” Adam broke the silence. “What’s for dinner?”

[buckets-and-trees]

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for quite a while. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond anything you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your above, over, and below the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, andI've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

[redsray]

Red Robin Au where after Battle for the Cowl, Jason (instead of donning that ridiculous pill helmet) goes back to visit Talia and blow off some steam with the LOA; it's an effective way to do so at first, as long as he keeps Ra's at arms length and has all the Bats away from him. Except is that Timothy fucking Drake working with Ra's al Ghul.

So now Jason's like oh my god are you kidding me why is Tim here working with Ra's of all people??? Last he checked, Dick was Batman now and Tim was part of that gaggle of Robins in Gotham. Not here, in Nanda Parbat.

Tim, fresh from a splenectomy: Jason?!

Jason: What the fuck are you doing here?

Tim: ??? I could ask you the same question??

Jason: No the fuck you couldn't?? I trained with Talia and now I'm back here for a bit, and I'm not the one missing an organ right now?! Why aren't you back with Dickbat in Gotham??

Tim: Well. Let's say I'm not Robin anymore

Jason: ... Not... Robin?

Tim, scowling: Dick gave it to Damian.

Jason: Dick is Batman for like a month and already gave the traffic light leggings to a mini assassin? Nice.

Tim: Ugh

Jason: And... this was enough reason to run away and get impaled by assassins in Iraq? While working with Ra's al Ghul?

Tim: Well, not really. I need to find Bruce, and Ra's is the only one who will help me. Even if he's a freak of nature.

Jason: Bruce... are we talkin' about another Bruce or did I miss a memo? Bruce is dead, Timbo.

Tim: He's not. He's trapped in the timestream and trying to get back. And don't- don't tell me I'm going insane with grief or in denial. Laugh all you want, then leave. I don't need this shit again.

Jason: Trapped in time? Damn motherfucker can't even stay dead?

Tim: ... You believe me?

Jason: Sure. Not the craziest shit we've seen. I have a feeling you wouldn't go as far as Ra's if you were actually going off nothing. (mumbling) stealing my schtick. What a bastard.

Tim, blinking: Wow. That... just wow. That was easy. Dick thought I was losing it with grief and so has everyone else.

Jason, shrugging: B is definitely stubborn enough to get lost in time instead of dying and, frankly, I know what being off yer rocker looks like, and this ain't it. I climbed out of my grave, for god's sake, is time shit really off the table? Wouldn't hurt t'look if the old man's still kickin'.

Tim: Uh-

Jason: First stop: away from Ra's, preferably. Talia's not bad, but Ra's is a whole other can of worms. Get up or I drag you.

[osarina]

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.”

[weebsinstash]

I know the show isn't out yet but Stayed Gone is stuck in my head and I'm chugging my yandere Vox juice so hard right now. I think he has the capacity to be absolutely insufferable

---for starters THE SPYING POTENTIAL WITH THIS MAN. You're telling me he can directly plug himself in to the city power grid and see through all televisions, potentially even phones and computers too? Could he put himself on your phone and start going through your texts? Could he even just put himself on your phone real quick while you're sleeping to check in on you? You couldn't even have privacy in your own home because of whatever screens are around he could potentially shoot himself to or watch you through. Imagine just being in your apartment completely alone and he's suddenly on your tv. Like what if you had just been sitting there topless or with your dick out or something or 👀 I mean. He could see so much, really...

---God honestly like. You know I keep mentioning the Instagram without ever attaching pics or anything because I'm on mobile and I'd have to use the hazbin Instagram archive blogs here on tumblr to go find them back like, you know Val would openly post the meanest shit, would literally post Vox's face being busted up because he woke Val up from a nap or i think it was he literally just brought him the wrong soda (which to be fair was taken from Velvet and was half empty), and then you go over to Vox's account and his pic was taping his pieces back on while being really frustrated and kinda lowkey looking like he would cry

Like Val's out here "women are stupid also men are stupid too" and talking about how he adopted a dog and killed it within like 48 hours and here's Vox celebrating his pet's birthday with cake and a party like. Why are these men together. Why. Why. Don't get me wrong I love to be the involuntary third in a toxic codependency but--

look all I'm saying is... do any of you get really really upset when you see someone being mistreated, especially more so a friend of yours?

READER JUST LOSING THEIR SHIT GETTING FERAL ANGRY SHOUTING AND SCREAMING AT VAL BECAUSE HE PULLS SOME SHIT and like that's IT for you because 1. Valentino might like actually backhand you one as well, do you think he wears rings so it hurts, 2. Vox sees you defending him and like, it's based on your own preferences really but if he wasn't already gaga this CEMENTS it and 3. especially if he watches you have to take a blow for trying to stick up for him. Like what if you cry. I have a low pain threshold, I'd be sniveling and crying at the least. Valentino storms off and Vox is helping peel you off the floor cause you curled up into a ball or some shit and he's sitting there thinking "wow they suck at this but they still did it for me 🥺"

---during his song with Alastor, it's a little confusing because they show an actual camera crew when he's turning the TVs on, but i think it's pretty clear that he can control whatever the screens show visually, thus his little zany sketches and being able to talk to himself and at one point, showed the visual of himself blocking the radio Alastor was projecting on right next door. I can just see him using this to kind of.... fuck with you, really! Or do whatever he wants? He's trying to suck up to you and he's surrounded by roses, or you're his co-host/guest host and he thinks your joke was funny and gives a little audience laughter as a treat

Or you know... you're running from him down the street, passing all these different screens and displays as they power on and show things like, him "jumping in front of you" while demanding you stop or, trying to show some kind of blackmail publicly, or just, begging you to just ACCEPT HIM and showing you all the fun things he could do with you, "cmon, I said I was sorry, stop freaking the fuck out! We can- we can do that thing you've always wanted to do, what about that?!" as he tries to project you two doing something fun, but most importantly, doing it TOGETHER. You're running from him terrified and he's showing you images of like you two smiling and happy or, it becomes scarier as he's more desperate

"Don't-don't make me do something fucked up!! I'm serious, STOP RUNNING" and he's like freaking out, showing shit of trying to hold you down, tying you up, and/or shoving you into a locked room

Sudden thoughts of "what if the more emotional and unstable he becomes, the less he can control his intrusive thoughts and shows his more impulsive darker desires". He's tweeking and the screen glitches and you briefly think you see yourself completely restrained, blindfolded, gagged--

---he's just like OBVIOUSLY so prideful but also immature and whiny ("who gives a shit about alastor?" Well you, mr hes just quietly minding his own business and I'LL start beef because i feel threatened and STILL LOSE, like awww my poor little pogchamp got publicly humiliated in an argument HE started out of nowhere, he's my little sad wet baby lmaoooo) and we already know his relationship with Val can become physically abusive, so, you pair him staying in that kind of relationship, being codependent, with this personality of his, and I can just see.... ACTUALLY FUCKING TRIGGERED LIKE LITERALLY CRYING UPSET VOX BECAUSE YOU REJECTED HIM like he's pissed he's hurt he's lonely he's heartbroken and HELL NO IS HE GONNA ACCEPT THIS

Vox would be over here proudly claiming on his TV show that NO HE REJECTED Y O U, not the other way around! He's not upset! He's totally fine! Meanwhile everyone watching can tell this man is manic and visibly hotboxing copium, "I didn't even really like you anyways!!.... no, I mean, shit, fuck, COMMERCIAL BREAK--" *cut to technical difficulties screen because the man is CRYINGGG*

-- Valentino and Reader bonding over teasing Vox and making him flustered and of course, obviously, the inverse. I still kinda like the idea of "they both think you're cute but like nothing exciting until one night they bump into you unplanned and you're all dressed up". Like Val is from the 70s or 80s so they go to a roller rink disco whatever kinda place because I'm sure the coke game there is INSANE and you're just like, swaying your hips spinning around to Let It Whip or September or something dressed in some shorts that make your ass look just right 🤌

You're sneaking back into the studio after a night out and they're both lounging somewhere and Val's like "uhhhh who is THIS coming in without saying hi to Daddy?" and you pull your sunglasses down like "SIR??? 😳" And now HE'S flustered because he didn't know that was you and Vox is feeling some new kinda way because he's used to seeing you in like, your work uniform or casual wear

Val who then makes your work uniform really slutty and you have to serve him and Vox wearing it 😩❤️

---I have this thought of like lmao imagine walking down the sidewalk with Angel and seeing Vox on TV and Angel is like "ya know he can see everything outta dese things when he's plugged in" and you're like "bullshit, he couldn't possibly process that many screens at once, it'd overload his brain, he wouldnt be able to concentrate" and you're like "here I'll prove it, hey Vox, check it out you fucking dweeb" and flash him your bare titties or you MOON HIM

scenario A would be that he INSTANTLY barks out laughing, "hey Val, that dumb slut who brings you drinks just flashed me!" And he just totally shows it on the air, maybe partially censored, maybe not at all, your phone is ringing IMMEDIATELY, of COURSE it's Val, and Vox is broadcasting your mortified embarrassed expression, "our big story tonight: drunk bimbo fucks around and finds out! More updates after this word from our sponsor!" and the man will noooootttttttt stop bullying the fuck out of you afterwards, because he's got a crush on you and you're like someone weaker than him his insecure ass can punch down on

Scenario B is that he instantly turns pink and about 5 seconds later he blue screens and the entire city experiences a blackout and when he comes back on the air he's like stammering and, glancing at, it FEELS like he keeps glancing at you, but, is he really?

------

I dunno... like I'm sure Valentino is gonna wind up being unstable in his own way but I guess there's a certain, ALLURE to Vox being a little bratty and whiny while also having these very VERY handy, actually quite scary abilities and resources 👀 like boy show me what that screen do 😫💦

[dadddybangtan]

‘And There Were Three’ | (m)

pairing: sylus x zayne x afab/fem reader

contains: smut mdni, loosely l&ds based plot, unprotected sex, threesome, dom sylus, service top zayne, docile reader, mentions of abortion, strong language, short violence, sleepy sex, multiple orgasms, choking, daddy/kitten/doctor, established relationship between reader and zayne, big dick zaddy zayne, shlong slinging sylus, filthy unapologetic smut, slight zayne x sylus

word count: 3.5k

a.n. wow we’ve only known sylus for less than a week and my brain already went wild. before sylus came, i was very loyal to zayne, now i romance both of them and i couldn’t be happier with the game. and yes, that’s my avatar in the cover lol

my pronouns are he/they and i usually make afab/gender neutral smut to align with my own preferences. but i use she/her pronouns for the reader here to have continuity with the game’s canon.

anyways! tell me what you think of this threesome and if i should continue writing more (this definitely feels like part one to a bigger smut story…)

READER POV

Sylus was finally beginning to drive on some streets I recognized. My anxiety only worsened when I realized he was on the street of my own house. How does he know where I live?

"You're taking me home?" I asked.

"You won't resonate with me because you're uncomfortable with me," His dark voice said, "We should get to know each other in the place you're most comfortable."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. He was so focused on modding my Evol, it made me sick. When he parked in front of my house, I saw the lights on inside. Zayne was home from the hospital already and it was only ten o'clock at night.

"It's not good to leave the lights on."

"I-I didn't..." I stammered, "My boyfriend's home from work."

"So that's why you don't like me," He chuckled, "You've got your heart set on someone else. I guess I'll just have to give him a little greeting."

He grabbed his gun from his hip and reloaded bullets from his chest pocket. Assuming his plan, I swung the passenger door open and jumped out. Only for Sylus to catch me by my arm.

"You think I'm just gonna go in guns blazing," He asked but I remained silent, "This is just in case he tries anything with me. Self defense, kitten. Not like you'd know anything about that."

He let go of me and I was out of the car. He followed me to the front door and watched my shaky hands unlock it. Once inside he looked around for Zayne, but he wasn't reading on the couch like usual.

"Doctor Zayne?" I called, "I'm home."

"You call your boyfriend doctor?"

I ignore this and headed up the stairs. I could hear his loud footsteps behind me.

"Stay down here."

He took a step back and crossed his arms. His face made a cocky smirk that annoyed me, but I continued up the stairs and to my bedroom.

"Zayne?" He was no where to be found.

I took off my jacket and tried to settle in before going back downstairs. As soon as I caught my breath, I heard a sudden gunshot from the distance. I darted out of my room and down the stairs. I ran into the kitchen to see Sylus pointing his gun at Zayne.

"Sylus, what have you-." I paused, finally noticing the bullet frozen on the ground.

"You didn't tell me he had an ice Evol."

"Who is this man?" Zayne said calmly.

"Zayne, this is Sylus. The leader of Onychinus."

"And what is he doing here."

"I'm here to get properly acquainted with your girlfriend so we can resonate."

"Excuse me, [Reader], you're letting him do this?"

"We made a deal. I have to." I said weakly.

Zayne stepped forward, over the bullet on the ground. He wore the shirt I love him in, glasses and barefoot. He was comfortable. I felt horrible for bringing this mess home with me.

"Sylus, is it?"

"Doctor Zayne," He coos lowly "You're really a doctor?"

"Heart surgeon," He said with a stern voice, "Judging by your pale skin and red eyes, you're a vampire. Would I be correct?"

"You're smart," He looked over at me, "How did a ditz like you get someone like him?"

With that, Zayne froze Sylus' hand to his gun and pushed him against the wall.

"Don't talk about her like that."

"Or what, Doctor Zayne," He asked rhetorically, "If I can't insult her, what should I say? That she'd make the perfect fuck doll and she'll need you to patch her up when I'm done with her."

My heart pounded. How could he say that out loud to my boyfriend of all people?

"Arguably, I'd say that's worse," Zayne hissed, still holding the man against the wall, "Sylus, I think you should leave before you cause any more trouble."

"Ah, come on, Doctor Zayne. You can't tell me you've never looked at her and didn't want to tear her apart."

Sylus cracked the ice on the wall, put his gun in the holster and grabbed Zayne's face. He forced my own boyfriend to look at me. My heart beat only increased.

"I mean look at the way that top hugs her breasts. And how tight her pants are. Those hips would be perfect to grab onto as you rail her from behind."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted to sleep with her."

"And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you got hard just by looking at her," Sylus sneered before fixing Zayne's gaze to himself, "Or was it the sound of my voice?"

"That's enough," I said, trying to separate the two, but they were both much stronger than me and neither of them budged, "It's one thing to objectify me but it's another to seduce my boyfriend. What are you trying at?"

"I'm just playing a little game, kitten."

"What kind of game?" Zayne asked, I felt his shoulders relax and heard his voice soften.

"How about I make you a deal," Sylus said, finally using his strength to push Zayne off of him, "I need her to be comfortable with me to resonate with her. How about we make her cum-fortable?"

"You think I'm going to let you screw around with my girl?"

"As much as I want to, and as much as your cock wants me to," He said, snickering at Zayne's twitching bulge, "I had something else in mind."

"And when were you gonna ask me?" I interjected.

"Kitten," He growled as he brought his cold hand to my chin, "Can daddy help Doctor Zayne make you cum?"

I was appalled. But I couldn't lie; I was intrigued. And judging my Zayne, he seemed to be intrigued too.

"Zayne, why are you okay with this?"

"I'm not asking him, I'm asking you like you wanted. So answer me."

"You're not gonna hurt me, are you?"

"Not unless you want us to."

"You're not gonna hurt Zayne?"

"I promise I won't hurt Doctor Zayne."

I think on it a bit more. Zayne isn't protesting and he's managed to retain his erection in his sweatpants. This must be something he was into for a while, but hadn't told me about.

"Under one condition." I say.

"Yes, kitten?"

"Leave all of your weapons on the counter."

"As you wish." He says, releasing my chin and unloading his gun, tasers, and pocket knives onto the kitchen counter.

Zayne grabs my hand and leads me to the couch. He sits down and puts me on his lap.

"You didn't answer my question," I say, "Why are you okay with this?"

"To help you with your deal."

"That's not all, Zayne." I said, palming his clothed bulge.

"You already look so beautiful with one person treating you," He said as his hand gently snaked up my back and to my neck, "I've always imagined what you'd look like with two."

I knew it.

"R-really?" I asked, my body became hot, "How come you never told me?"

"The desire was never that extreme to ask a prude to engage in a ménage à trois. Plus, I've never had a third candidate in mind until now."

"Prude? You're bi?"

"You ask too many questions, kitten," Sylus said from behind me, startling me, "It's not that he's bi, it's that he wants to see how fucked out you can actually be."

"And if I was bi?" Zayne asked, looking up at Sylus. I'd never seen him look so submissive.

"You couldn't handle me, Doctor Zayne," He chuckled, "Besides this isn't about your pleasure, it's about hers. Don't be selfish."

Sylus snuck his hand under mine and prompted me to stand up. He turned me towards Zayne and stood tall behind me, silhouette engulfing my boyfriend. His presence was so daunting, intimidating. I always knew Zayne was strong but Sylus' strength is superhuman... Vampiric. I thought he was joking earlier.

I felt his cold hands hovering over my shoulders. They reached down my chest to the collar of my shirt.

RIP

I gasped, looking down at my bare breasts. To my surprise, Zayne doesn't struggle to look me in the eyes.

"Her tits are down here," Sylus propped my tit up in his hand while his arm supported the other. It was like he was presenting them to Zayne, "Perform your oral, Doctor Zayne."

Only then did Zayne's eyes wander downwards. He leaned in and let his tongue play with my nipple. I saw one of his hands come to my side and the other to his core. His mouth felt so good on my body.

We didn’t have sex often due to our work schedules. So when we do got time like that, I was always blissfully reminded of how good my lover feels.

Sylus hummed in my ear and it genuinely sounded both devilish and heavenly. The deep richness was born in hell. But the smoothness and seductiveness made it heavenly.

His free hand went down to my waist and the button on my pants. He was an expert, it seemed. He unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans with ease.

"W-what're you doing?" I moaned.

"I'm not gonna finger you, that's Zayne's job."

Sylus pressed his middle and ring finger on my clit from the outside of my panties and slowly toyed at the nub. Am I already about to cum? Is it because I don't orgasm often?

Regardless, the pleasure made me throw my head back on Sylus' chest. I knew he was attractive, but how was he so hot even from upside down.

"Fuck." I whimpered as my I felt my underwear become wet with cum.

"Our kitten came already? We're nowhere near done with you."

Sylus let go of me and I fell into Zayne's lap again. Zayne kissed my neck as he inches my pants off. Sylus took off his pants too. Even in his underwear, his cock was huge.

Without a word, Zayne readjusted me so I would sit directly on top of his dick. It slid inside me easily. He used his knees to separate my legs. My pussy seemed to be on display for Sylus. That prompted him to throw his underwear down, making his cock spring up and hit his stomach. With Zayne thrusting into me and watching Sylus play with himself, I felt a bit overstimulated.

"Look at yourself." Sylus eyed my pussy as Zayne slid in and out of me.

I looked down to see what Sylus was on about; Zayne's cock glistened with my slick. I don't know what turned me on more. Was it watching Zayne disappear inside me or was it Sylus watching Zayne disappear inside me.

Sylus stepped toward me, thick, hard cock staring directly at me. I could tell he wanted me to put my mouth on him, but I refused. I knew Zayne well enough to know he'd get jealous if I gave another guy a blowjob.

As Zayne continued to thrust inside me, his hand went under my arm and to my neck, lightly choking me. I remember asking him for this months ago, but he didn't understand why I wanted him to do something like that. What’s gotten into him? Whatever it is, I love it.

I looked back at my boyfriend and caught him staring lustfully at Sylus' member. He was so focused and I could feel him twitch and throb inside of me.

Sylus lifted his leg onto the couch, bringing his dick dangerously close to my face. Zayne's firm hand on my neck prevented me from pulling away. Just when I thought Sylus would bring his dick to my lips, he put his hand on the back of Zayne's head and forced his dick into his mouth. I’d never seen Zayne like that before. It was shocking, but it was so hot.

I stared intently at Zayne’s mouth as it stretched to Sylus’ size. I saw him wince and moan everytime his tip hit the back of his throat. His eyes began to water behind his glasses and when the first tear fell, I felt his grip on my neck tighten.

“You’re fogging up his glasses, kitten.” Sylus moaned.

He decided to give Zayne’s mouth a break as he carefully removed his glasses and dropped them onto the far end of couch.

“Why’d you stop?” Zayne groaned lowly.

“You didn’t look like you could handle it, Doctor Zayne,” Sylus said, taking his foot off of the couch and sitting next to him, “Taking me is not for the weak. Isn’t that right, kitten?”

I struggled to protest. Zayne felt so good inside me and his grip felt so erotic on my throat. I couldn’t find the words to assure Zayne that I’ve never fucked him.

“You’re not weak, are you, [Reader]?” Zayne whispered into my ear.

“N-no.” My moan was cut off by the strong pulse I felt in my core. I closed my eyes to focus on the feeling.

My clit was pulsating and my walls were closing in on Zayne’s member. The feeling was so intense, I couldn’t control my legs from shaking. I clawed at Zayne’s strong arm, but I didn’t want him to take his hand off of my neck.

“Fuck…” Zayne moaned softly. He never cursed in front of me before, “Can I fill you with my cum, baby.”

Before I could answer the question, I felt his warm seed coating my insides. And my legs only shook more violently. I opened my eyes and glanced over at Sylus who just was watching us and stroking his cock.

Zayne lifted me off of his dick and I saw his cum pour out of me and onto his pelvic mound.

“Look at you whimpering and shaking like a leaf,” Sylus chuckled, “Are you sure you’re not weak.”

“I’m sure.” I said, trying to catch my breath.

I lied back on Zayne’s chest. I wasn’t weak, but I was tired. I had already orgasmed twice at the end of a long day. I wasn’t sure I could take anymore.

“You’re nearly drifting off to sleep,” Sylus got up and scooped me into his arms, “Doctor Zayne, show me to her room. I think we should finish her off in the bed.”

My boyfriend led Sylus to the bedroom upstairs with me in his arms. Zayne lied on the bed first and Sylus put me down softly. Zayne snuck his arm under my head and cuddled me from the side. He spread my legs and rested one of them on his thigh.

Through my eyelashes I saw Sylus remove his sweater, and revealing his insanely muscular body. He was completely naked, staring at me and eating me up with his eyes. He then climbed onto the bed and on top of me.

“Even when you’re weary, you still look scared of me,” He said, “Don’t worry, you can handle it.”

His tip flirted with me dangerously. Sylus ever so gently pushed his member into me. My eyes widened at the girth as he stretched me out so much. Zayne is big but Sylus is bigger. He’s not even all the way in. I felt my face contort in reaction to his size.

“Oh my god.” I whisper against my will, I didn’t want Zayne to hear me.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus said, glancing down, “You take me so well, kitten.”

When I looked down, I saw a lump in my lower stomach from his cock. I let out a shaky breath from the sight.

“You’re doing so well.” Zayne said.

With that, I melted into his voice and my body melted onto Sylus. He pulled out just enough to let his tip remain inside then slowly trusted into me. He kept that rhythm, letting me feel every inch of him.

Zayne caressed my face and lovingly kissed my forehead and cheek. But I was needy. All this fucking and not a single one of them kissed my lips. I angled my lips to Zayne’s and he kissed me back passionately.

“That’s cute. Kissing your boyfriend makes you cream all over my cock.”

I didn’t realize my body reacting to that sensation. But hearing him say that brought me close to another orgasm. I moaned into Zayne’s lips and he kissed me harder, letting his tongue play with my lips. Sylus kept his pace steady and I felt my walls closing in on his cock, same way I did with Zayne.

“Come on, kitten, cum on daddy’s cock.”

I bit down on Zayne’s lip. He slid his hand down my torso and massaged my clit. My legs started shaking again.

“You can do it.” Zayne said into my ear.

“Cum for me.” Sylus demanded.

“You’re almost there.”

“Good girl.”

All of my senses muted as I fell into a deep sleep.

3rd PERSON POV

Her body lied limply on the bed as her orgasm put her to sleep. Once Sylus pulled out of her, Zayne closed her legs to give her some decency. Then he took his arm from under her head and went to the bathroom attached to the bedroom while Sylus sat on the edge of the bed.

He came back with a warm, damp towelette and began cleaning her up as she slept peacefully. He used the towel to soak up the fluids from around her core so she can sleep more comfortably.

“You didn’t cum inside her, did you?” Zayne clarified.

“Not even close. It takes a lot more than that to get me off.” Sylus said as he reached over to grab the towel.

“I can do it.”

“I believe you, Doctor Zayne, but you missed a spot,” He said, quickly correctly him, “Besides when I do cum in her, trust I have the means to take care of it.”

“As if I’d let you touch her again. As if I’d let you raise her baby.”

“When I say ‘take care of it’ I mean abort it. A ditz like her can’t raise a child.”

“What did I say about talking about her like that.”

She began stirring in her sleep. Both Zayne and Sylus remained silent until she settled down, refusing to take a breath. Once she was still again, Zayne moved to properly take off her ripped shirt.

“I assume you have the means to replace this then.”

“Tenfold,” Sylus chuckled darkly, “Y’know, it’s funny that you hold such animosity towards me since my cock was down your throat just a minute ago.”

“Sylus, is it? The only thing we have in common is [Reader],” He said, covering her naked body with the blankets on the bed, “I only did that to help her.”

“Sure.” He smirked.

Zayne swallowed hard and went to the nearby dresser. He retrieved a pair of night pants and a hoodie before throwing both at Sylus.

“Cover yourself,” He said before getting his own pair of pants and sliding them on, “If you’re going to spend the night you should be comfortable.”

“I don’t need these. And I don’t need to spend the night.”

“You’re [Reader]’s guest. You should say a proper goodbye before you leave. And you’ll do that when she wakes up in the morning.”

“I suppose a proper goodbye would make her trust me enough to Resonate with me.”

“Precisely. But surely there were other ways to get her comfortable with you, hm?”

“Of course. This was just much more fun.”

Sylus slipped on the clothes that were surprisingly a good fit. Zayne gestured him downstairs and Sylus followed.

“You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen, although we need to go grocery shopping. If you’d prefer to order something in, you’re more than welcome to. You can sleep on the couch tonight.”

“I must admit, your hospitality is admirable. Especially considering how the night began.” Sylus said, looking over at the bullet with a melted ice puddle beneath it on the floor.

“It’s for her, not for you.”

“Sure.” He said again, sitting on the couch.

“Goodnight, Sylus.”

“Your glasses, Doctor Zayne?” He said, holding up the specks with a small smirk on his face.

Zayne grabbed them but Sylus didn’t let go.

“I can tell that you don’t trust me around her. But you have my word when I say, I’d never try anything funny without her permission or without your knowledge.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I didn’t become the leader of Onychinus by being a liar. My people trust me because I never gave them a reason not to.” He said, finally letting go of the glasses, “Goodnight, Doctor Zayne.”

[jgracie]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ BASKETS OF STRAWBERRIES AND BIRTHDAY GIFTS

luke castellan x demeter!fem!reader

warnings (not really a warning but) pre tlt/no betrayal au whatever u prefer, luke is implied to be taller than reader

an i have awful writers block so i thought now is the time to finally write smth for mr castellan!!! and then i realised i haven’t written a demeter reader in SO long despite being a member of cabin 4 and so here we are. i also cannot stand this but i can’t tell u why so soz in advance

“petals,” you heard a voice - luke’s voice, you could recognise it anywhere - say from behind you. rolling your eyes, you chose to ignore him. he was probably here to bug and tease you like he usually does, and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction

unfortunately for you, luke was persistent, “petals, c’mon, don’t ignore me!” he said. from the tone of his voice alone, you could imagine the look on his face: a wide smirk and mischievous eyes you knew all too well. what luke didn’t know is that you were just as persistent, so you simply continued picking strawberries and putting them in your wicker basket

luke waited for a second, then two, then three. after three, it was made pretty clear to him that you weren’t budging. however, he wasn’t a quitter

“hey! give that back!” you exclaimed, finally turning around to face him. luke had one arm behind his back and the other in the air, with your wicker basket clutched tightly in his hand. at the pout on your face, luke couldn’t help but smile. you were really cute when you were frustrated

“why hello there, ms petals! it’s nice to see you today,” luke said before taking a strawberry out of your basket and eating it, “wow, these are really good, did you plant them yourself?”

as soon as luke uttered those words, you began raving about all the hard work you’d put in with the strawberries, and he listened intently. he loved asking you questions about your plants, since the way you seemed to immediately fill to the brim with excitement as you explained every detail never failed to brighten his day

right as you were about to tell luke about how you wanted to grow other berries, you caught yourself, "wait, you're doing this just to distract me from my work, aren't you?" although that wasn't the reason why he asked, luke's grin couldn't help but widen as you crossed your arms over your chest

"just give me back my basket, luke," you said, your brows furrowing in annoyance

"fine," he began, "but first, i'm gonna give you this." luke then revealed what he'd been hiding behind his back: a potted plant. more specifically, your favourite plant in a lovely little pot

you took it from him suspiciously, your lips parted in a mix of shock and confusion. surely, this had to be some prank. luke castellan would never gift you something just for the sake of it. however, as you examined the plant, you immediately could tell it was real

"why're you giving me this?" you asked, trying to squeeze any ulterior motives out of the son of hermes

putting a hand on his chest, right above his heart, luke feigned heartbreak, "wow, petals, i'm hurt. can i not just gift you something out of the goodness of my own heart?"

when you simply raised your eyebrow at him, luke dropped the act and explained himself, "last week, i found out from travis who found out from katie that it's your birthday today, so i wanted to do something nice! y'know, petals, you shouldn't be hiding this information. i wouldn't have been able to grow this thing in time if it weren't for your sister's help."

you blinked at this, not fully believing the alternate reality you seemed to have entered. since when did luke castellan want to be nice to you? ever since you’d arrived at camp, he made it his personal mission to be a nuisance. still, you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up at his explanation - no one had ever cared about your birthday that much, which is why you never really mentioned it

looking down at the plant, then back up at luke, you mumbled, “thanks, luke; that’s really sweet of you.”

he gave you a smile - one that actually looked quite friendly - and said, “you’re welcome,” before walking away like nothing ever happened

you stayed put, unsure of how to feel as your brain conjured up new ideas of luke, ideas that involved friendship and maybe even an eventual romance? you’d never thought of him as a friend let alone a boyfriend before, but there was always a first time for everything, right?

when you set down the plant and decided to get back to work, you finally noticed that luke had taken your basket of strawberries with him

“damn you, luke castellan!” you muttered, huffing as you ran in the direction he left

[strwbberrriii]

Leon Kennedy Headcanons ♡

my Leon headcanons because i love him and think about him about him constantly, so enjoy my hcs about this man <3

some are silly and random, some are romantic.

-he's such a SWEETHEART.

-omg. he's a sweetie. i can't with this man. he makes me smile and giggle every time i see him. he's such a himbo you guys.

-he speaks italian, english and spanish. since he is from Italy (or rather, his parents are), he's known the language since birth. then learned english when he got to kindergarten.

-i don't think his english or spanish are the best though since they're not his first. he'll sometimes be forget some english words when talking to somebody, so he replaces them with italian ones and his coworks are just like "what???" 🤨

-has definitely said "wow there partner" or "wow there cowboy" when somebody pisses him off.

-he likes both women and men. he has no preference either. i see him as either bi or pan, probably more pan leaning since that's what i am.

-he's literally such a good boyfriend, i can't. even if you too aren't dating and are just friends, he's so sweet. i would gladly given him a kiss on the cheek if i could.

-if you we're to get your period, he'll buy you pads and tampons. if you get cramps, he'll sit on the ground or lay in bed with you and rub your back. he'll go "i'm so sorry baby." :(

-his favorite colors (and color pallet) are blue and black. the blue is meant to represent stylishness.

-he's so dog coded. like just full on golden retriever energy.

-likes lizards. bc i said so.

-goes to NICU and rocks babies with Rebecca sometimes, it makes his life feel somewhat normal and i love that for him <3 also girl dad leon. "girl dad leon!" we all say in unison.

-his birthday is around july-august, my brain says July 25th for some reason.

-if you're taking to long to get ready, he will threaten to leave you behind but he's not. you know it. he knows it. everyone knows it. "will you hurry up baby? i will leave you." "no you won't." "you're right, i probably won't...just hurry up, please."

-calls you baby, babe, and sweetheart. i just picture him calling you something basic or something.

-goes to a coffee shop every morning and gets the same coffee to start his day off strong. his drink choice is either really plain or stupidly girl 😭😭

-also leon is a fashion icon. especially older leon. you can deny it all you want, but in the end, we know he's cunty. like cunty cunty. like he has his bachelor in cuntology with a major in motherlogical studies at the university of servington.

-motorcycle rides!!!!!!!!!! :3 (re6-)

-as a teenager, he had really bad acne, so during re2 and generation he has a skin care routine but never tells anyone (only Krauser knows. he kinda approves, Krauser is all about taking care of yourselves to improve), so he washes his face before bed, takes meds for his skin, and puts medicine all over his face.

-however as his mental heath declines, he'll stop doing it, and his acne will either stay the same or get as bad as it was in teenager.

-also Krauser is HIGHLY against facial hair and forced Leon to shave it. but after he dies, leon stops giving a shit.

-his favorite my little pony characters are fluttershy and rainbow dash of course.

also i made a playlist for him, so you wanna listen to it, here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0uLAoUjwZaXzxcH8uCt7yP?si=a3f2e9cf27b54365 also the songs are not what i think he would like, it's just songs that remind of him :D

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

get friendshipped, idiots

Vaggie: “Alright, form up. We stick close, stick together, we get out of here as fast as we can.”

Husk: “No shit.”

Angel Dust: “Aye aye captain Vagatha!” (pulls face) “Ugh…. new guy’s barely even moved in an’ he’s already slitherin’ ‘round my head...”

Husk: “Heh.”

Angel Dust: “Slitherin’ like a hot tongue ‘round a big hard-”

Vaggie: “Wrong side morons. Get on my left.”

Husk: “You can’t see shit on your left.”

Vaggie: “Wow really. Had no idea.”

Husk: “Why the fuck put us there? I don’t want you fucking accidentally stabbing me with that fucking spear of yours.”

Vaggie: “I won’t.”

Angel Dust: “Seeing us hot dudes really that hard on your EYE, huh?”

Vaggie: “Not like that’s an issue with you two around.”

Husk: “Seriously then why the fuck. Your girlfriend always stays on your right, so that’s the safest side to be on.”

Angel Dust: “Oh honey Husk, ya know we can’t compare to smokin’ hot demon princess of hell~”

Vaggie: "Just, get on my left.”

Husk: “Tell me fucking why.”

Vaggie: “Because I’m asking nicely?”

Angel Dust: “Could’a asked it nicer, toots. Could’a said ‘please’.”

Vaggie: “Will you two idiots stop wasting time and get on my fucking left side.”

Angel Dust: “Hmmm, lemme think about it.”

Husk: “No.”

Angel Dust: “I’m with Whisky Whiskers on this one. I’m all for things goin’ in me in general- not from you though. Not when they’re pointy. Not even if it WAS a dick, honestly. Not even if it had batteries an-”

Vaggie: “Alright I get it. I don't need to get your preferred dildo size."

Angel Dust: "How 'bout the brand~?"

Vaggie: "Cállate. Charlie give me patience….”

Husk: “Don’t you mean give me fucking strength?”

Vaggie: “If my demon hell princess girlfriend gave me strength you’d both be dead.”

Angel Dust: “Ya prayin’ to her was so cute I’m gonna ignore that.”

Vaggie: “Look-”

Angel Dust: “Us lookin’ isn’t the worryin’ thing here, Vag-EYE.”

Husk: “Uragh.”

Angel Dust: “Yeah I didn’t think that one through… So toots? Ya gonna admit you don’t mind if we get shived while ya not looking?”

Vaggie: “Not wanting that is WHY I need you on my LEFT, assholes!”

Angel Dust: “Oh Puh-leeease…”

Vaggie: “Shut up.”

Husk: “Wait-”

Angel Dust: “Charlie’s not here, ya don’t have t’ pretend you care-”

Husk: “Wait a fucking second-”

Vaggie: “NO. No more waiting. We’ve wasted that second, thanks to you two. Now shut UP, form up- and get in my fucking blind spot so I can keep my good eye out for your dumb, stupid, undisciplined asses!” (growling) “Ay demonio mio… deja de estar chingando…” (yelling again) “Fall in and don’t fall behind!” (marches off)

Husk: “….”

Angel Dust: “Well fuck that. She don’t got my soul in chains. I ain’t-”

Husk: “She wants us to watch her back.”

Angel Dust: “-whHAt?”

Husk: “You fucking heard me.” (following vaggie) “Come on.”

Angel Dust: (catching up) “You’re kiddin’. She’d sooner get help from a rabid-”

Husk: “She trusts us on her shitty blind side and doesn’t want anything getting the jump on us if she can help it. You heard that, yeah?”

Angel Dust: “…. she could’a just said so.”

Husk: “Like how you always say what you fucking mean?”

Angel Dust: “Sure as sugared tits, Huskers~” (sighs) “Whatever. Charlie Puff’d kill us if anything happens to her anyway.”

Husk: “She wouldn’t. You’d still feel like shit about it.”

Angel Dust: “Whatever.”

-after-

Charlie: “What. Happened.”

Vaggie: (sitting on couch face in hands, eye covered)

Husk: (hunched over, paws over ears)

Angel Dust: (hiding his grin with all four hands)

Charlie: “Guys.” (deep breath) “I’m gonna ask again- You’re covered in blood- which ISN’T yours? Right Vaggie? Definitely not..?”

Vaggie: (nods despondently without looking up)

Charlie: “Okay.” (breathes out) “Okay, we can work with this. But. WHAT. Happened.”

Them: “….”

Charlie: "No?"

Them: "....."

Charlie: "No one is getting off this couch until I hear what happened."

Angel Dust: "Keep sayin' stuff like THAT an' I know one person who'll for SURE be gettin' off-"

Vaggie: (GROANS)

Angel Dust: "See?! SEE!!! She ain't even denying it!"

Husk: "She's planning your funeral."

Angel Dust: "Oh she's plannin' something alright."

Charlie: "If we could not change the subject, please?"

Them: "...."

Charlie: “... Angel Dust. Since you have so much to say, would you mind?”

Angel Dust: (grinning) (grinning)

Angel Dust: “…..it was fucking adorable.”

Husk & Vaggie: (scrunch down)

Charlie: “The BUCKETS OF BLOOD was adorable?”

Angel Dust: “Naw, the-”

Vaggie: "Put a cock in it."

Husk: "You fucking swore-"

Angel Dust: (stretching out across the couch across the other two) “Oh c’mon gays! This is ME we’re talkin’ about-”

Vaggie: (shoving him off) “Don’t touch me.”

Angel Dust: (draped over husk) “-even for hell, this vow of silence shit is TORTURE!”

Husk: “Your whining in my fucking ear is torture.”

Angel Dust: “I could trying moaning instead, if ya want.”

Husk: (hairball sound)

Charlie: “Vaggie. What vow of silence.”

Vaggie: “… the one… that friends should keep for each other..?”

Angel Dust: “MMMMMMRRRRGHGH.”

Charlie: "Wait. Wait- the what..?"

Husk: "The vow of shut the fuck up Angel Dust."

Angel Dust: "MRRRGHGHGH!!!"

Charlie: “Unholy shit.”

Vaggie: "Charlie I swear on my right eye we're not coving up a murder- n, not one we planned on anyway, not premeditated- it was at most a collateral killing-"

Charlie: “Not that. You called them your."

Charlie: (anime eyes) "... friends…?”

Vaggie: “….”

Vaggie: “If I say ‘yes’ will you not ask any more questions about the blood.”

Charlie: (already tearing up) “Ye-ess.”

Vaggie: “Then yes. These two…” (lowers hand) (GLARES) “…. Stupid, annoying, moronic idiots are my.” (grits teeth) “FrIENdS.”

Charlie: (bursting into tears) “OH VAGGIE-! THAT’S SOOOO-”

Angel Dust: (shrieking) “THEY TRIED TAKIN’ A HIT FOR EACH OTHER!!!”

Demon Charlie: (also shrieking) “-a WHAT!?”

Vaggie: “You…. bastard…”

Husk: “We should have left him there to die.”

Angel Dust: “But ya didn’t~”

Charlie: “WHAT HIT WHERE WHAT DO YOU MEAN HIT WHO TRIED HITTING YOU DID THEY HAVE HEAVENLY STEEL WHAT IF THEY HAD HAD HEAVENLY STEEL- VAGGIE WHAT THE F-”

Angel Dust: “Welp!” (gets up)“My sexy work here is done!”

Charlie: “-WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE OUT GETTING FUCKING GROCERIES! HOW MANY TIMES-”

Vaggie: “You ruined everything, asshole.”

Charlie: “-START SENDING DAZZLE OUT WITH YOU AGAIN HOW DOES THIS KEEP-”

Angel Dust: “Correction- I’m getting YOU ruined later tonight, by HER.”

Charlie: “-WASN’T EVEN THERE TO PROTECT YOU IT HAS TO STOP-”

Angel Dust: “Enjoy the feral possessive demon smex, Vagswag~“

Vaggie: “Husk, kill him.”

Husk: “You really can’t go through a single fucking sincere moment without hiding behind sex and shit, can you?”

Vaggie: “Thank you.”

Charlie: (wrapping self around gf) “-ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY!? AND YOU, HUSK???”

Angel Dust: “They would both fo’ real rather take a knife in the chest before callin’ each other pals, but yeah, other than that they’re just our average fuck ups.”

Charlie: “A WHAT IN THE WHAT!?!?!?”

Angel Dust: “Don’t worry, Princess Charmin’. They hugged it out. It was adorable.” (grins) “I took pics.” (flounces off)

Vaggie: “…. We might need to actually kill him now.”

Husk: “Damn.”

Charlie: (slowly stands)

Charlie: “H u g g i n g . . . ?”

Vaggie & Husk: “Shit.”

Charlie: (beaming) (Looming) “Show me… The HUG..:”

Vaggie: “…..”

Vaggie: “husk quick stab me”

Husk: “fuck no I don’t want to fucking die”

Vaggie: “it’s that or hug!”

Husk: “….stab me instead.”

Charlie: (singing) “The only things getting stabbed around here~! Are all my feeeeeeeeeeels~!”

Charlie: “Oh look Angel Dust sent me the pictures!!!!”

Husk: “We’re killing him.”

Charlie: “Oooooh these would look GREAT on the hotel web site!”

Vaggie: (horror) “Charlie don’t-“

Charlie: “It can be our new FRIENDSHIP banner image!!”

Husk: (bristling) “My fucking reputation-!”

Charlie: “Annnnd done. Perfect! You two look so CUTE, jumping into each other arms like that.”

Vaggie & Husk: (clinging to each other) “NOOOOOO!!”

Charlie: “Exactly! Awww~”

-late night group chat-

charliesgirl: i hate u

AnnoDickus: Congrats toots <3 felt this whole junk heap shake from that last one <3 <3 <3

charliesgirl: fuck u

charliesgirl: do u want a bath waiting in ur room aftr work

AnnoDickus: unholy shit! was it THAT good????

charliesgirl: u were stiff af running for ur life

charliesgirl: do u even stretch

AnnoDickus: Depends~

FourLettersFluffye: do not fucking ask on what.

AnnoDickus: Dicks mostly <3

AnnoDickus: Store bought is great too btw <3 <3 <3

FourLettersFluffye: answer her fucking question.

charliesgirl: my brain needs a bath aftr every talk with u 2 i stc

AnnoDickus: XD "stc"??

charliesgirl: swer 2 charlie

charliesgirl: evry 1 else can go fuck themself

AnnoDickus: XD XD XD you are SO lesbian for her it's painful XD

FourLettersFluffye: shithead.

FourLettersFLuffy: answer her.

AnnoDickus: Yes pleeeeeeease have a hot bath waiting for me to get wet in aaaaaaaall over again~ after a hot day being wet at work~~~

charliesgirl: bubbles y/n

AnnoDickus: What the fuck kinda bath you having that's got no bubbles?????

charliesgirl: i shower y/n

AnnoDickus: Now that's just SAD

charliesgirl: bubbles roger

charliesgirl: gg

AnnoDickus: To get fucked in the shower~?

charliesgirl: gf cuddles asshol

AnnoDickus: Bet you'd be getting it again if you took /baths/ ;D

charliesgirl: charlie cuddles > sex

charliesgirl: gn

<charliesgirl> has fucked off

AnnoDickus: And with that last bit of bullshit at long last the lesbian was defeated

FourLettersFluffye: she cares. maybe fucking answer that.

AnnoDickus: Excuse you?? i did!!!! i said bubbles!!!!!!

FourLettersFluffye: no you fucking didn't.

AnnoDickus: How is cuddling better than sex anyway. Do ppl cum while cuddling? fuk no you don't!!! more of her <3 bullshit <3

FourLettersFluffye: you're so full of it.

AnnoDickus: could be so full of you instead Mr Husky~

FourLettersFluffye: go the fuck to sleep.

<FourLettersFluffye> has fucked off

AnnoDickus: IM not the one with my secret hug pics posted all over the hotel front page

AnnoDickus: Pussies!!!!

<charliesgirl> is turned on

charliesgirl: hav u thot about being real w/ him for 1 sec

AnnoDickus: THOT LMAO

charliesgirl: guevón

charliesgirl: u changed log in notif

AnnoDickus: Maaaaybe I did toots~<3

charliesgirl: fix. it.

AnnoDickus: Nah <3 <3

[monalogs]

huge fan !!!

i made an ao3 account just to give you more kudos lol

if its okay, can i request for some headcanons for Luther? dating him/being his pet specifically, but i go so feral for how you write him that im sure anything you write will be amazing

have an amazing day 😭🙏💞

Pet/Girlfriend headcannons ! | Luther Von Ivory

➷ Paring - Luther Von Ivory x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - master/pet play, use of 'sir', unsafe sex, clothed sex, fingering, possessive/controlling tendencies, praise, overstimulation, isolation as a form of punishment, domestication kink (?), breeding kink, use of German words (translations provided) he is ur boyfinrd

a/n - AH cheesing that you like my work, thank you for supporting me :3 !! Luther is definitely my sweetheart... so cute... i love writing for him... as always requests are open friends !

Luther Von Ivory… such a nice guy!

Whether you consider yourself his pet or girlfriend, (why not both?) he will always make sure to take care of you

✽ Trust that he will spoil you.

New clothes, new gifts, new everything!

Makes really good use of his everything catalog subscription

He won't willingly say that you are spoiled, that's favoritism! He cares for all his family, you're just a very good pet/girlfriend! (despite everybody knowing it)

✽ Every morning, he chooses your outfit

He makes sure to lay it all out for you out on his vintage dresser, showing multiple options before he ultimately decides on one

Luther’s favorite thing to dress you in?

Skirts, skirts, skirts! A couple cute dresses here and there – but wow does he go crazy for skirts!

There's just something so lovely about them; how the waistband perfectly hugs the curve of your waist, how it exposes your sweet thighs for him whenever you do chores around the house, how easy it is to slide his large hands under…

Luther also really likes clothed sex. He appreciates skin to skin but scheiße (language!) is it a sight to see you all messy in the clothes he got just for you

✽ Tracks EVERYTHING

Have you eaten? Brushed your teeth? Did you do your chores? What room are you going to? What did Sebastian just say to you?

He wants to know it ALL

Your business is basically his business. When you're a couple, it's important there are no secrets!

Even has a little notebook consisting of your daily doings and schedule

Trust that it's to keep you safe and healthy, he truly does care about you a lot. More than you’ll ever think

✽ He's very big on discipline

He expects you to behave and listen… like a good pet!

It’s easy to imagine Luther as a brat tamer, which he can be, though the novelty wears off for him if you continue to be difficult

So, it's much preferred if you just listen to him

✽ It goes hand in hand with domestication

Girlfriend or pet, he still holds you to that standard of taking care of yourself and the house

Wifey behavior – if you must

Luther just loves to see you on your hands and knees… scrubbing the floor, of course!

✽ Adores using pet names and honorifics.

He likes to call you pet, but he finds calling you dear and geliebte (beloved) much more endearing

Call him Sir or Master and he loses it! It's so cute coming from you, he’ll make you say it hundreds of times and cause you to lose your voice

Don’t worry, he always has tea ready to soothe you with later :)

✽ You guys are attached at the hip

Moreso, he keeps you there

You both share his room, sleep in the same bed, wake up at the same times, do everything together!

It's impossible to do anything without him hovering around you

Isn't sneaky at all... it's easy to spot him staring at you through a tiny sliver of an opened door

"Don't worry, dear. Just checking up on you. Keep doing what you're doing."

It’s exactly how he wants it. Bonding is very important, don't go thinking otherwise

✽ It's safe to say that he gets very possessive

He knows you won't ever leave, he's made sure of it by convincing you of how lost you’d be without him

He’s had Randal tell you terrible stories of monsters and freaks, just so you can run into his arms

“Outside pets don't last long,” he tells you. “You're much safer staying by my side, okay?”

Luther makes you nod and promise that you won't ever leave him

He gives you everything a good little human pet needs, so why would you?

So unlike his catmen or even Randal, he rarely ever lets you outside the house

The world can be dangerous, and he’d much prefer to keep you in the “controlled” environment that is the Ivory house

Right where he can keep his eyes on you.

✽ Dates tend to consistently be on the Ivory property

Again, he loves spending time with you!

Luther totally does make that effort to plan dates with you, he'll dress up in his nicest dress shirt and help you pick out a cute dress and do your hair<3

Then, he'll hold your hand and give you your favorite flowers, complimenting you like he didn't help you get ready

He plans out nice activities for you two, something you can spend hours doing... he wants you by his side for all of it

Favorites are: reading books in the study room, cooking dinner together, watching tv for hours as you lay your head in his lap (with petting, obviously), and gardening

Can anything be considered a date if you are constantly together in the same space?

On the rare occasions Luther lets you out with him, he likes to take you shopping! Just don't be greedy and ask for too much…

Either that or drive in movie theaters. Simpler the better.

He has you home by 10 pm (what a gentleman!)

✽ Like I said in my last post about Luther, he is very intimate

Everything is a process when it comes to sex with him

He usually prefers to lie you down on his king bed, thin lips trailing down your collarbone

Let him hold you just a little closer, hands slipping underneath the cute panties he bought you

His long fingers always tease – even if he doesn't intend to

Luther just wants to hear your soft moans, urging him to do more

He’ll shush you, but he doesn't actually want you to be quiet. It's more to comfort you – to say that it's okay, Luther will take care of you now, dear<3

He likes to tell you what to do, as if you don't already know

Luther tends to almost treat you like a lost baby animal, petting at your hair and whispering sweet nothings as he unbuckles his dress pants above you

Once you envelop his lengthy cock, he always makes sure to kiss at your forehead as he pushes in inch by inch. You poor thing, he is quite big… you take it so well for him

Luther doesn't tend to moan or grunt, but he makes sure to let you know how great it is with praises of good girl and so perfect, meine süße (my sweet)

His pace stays slow and deep, hips thrusting rhythmically as he listens to your pleasure and reactions

It's maybe a little crazy how he knows exactly all the spots to have you blushing and squirming under him

Luther isn’t a fan of mess, considering how neat of a person he is

So expect him coming inside a lot, totally not because he has a breeding kink…

Either way, It always ends with him matching your orgasm with his, how cute is it to finish together!

There's purpose and intention behind his every movement, it shows just how much he loves and cares about you. How you are his<3

✽ Though, he could always be a lot rougher if he deems it necessary… i.e, you misbehaving

He's trained you properly that it rarely happens but when it does…

His strong grip will pin your shoulders back, Luther then wedges between your spread legs as his (surprisingly) skilled fingers rub at your clit

You writhe, gasps loudly escape you as he soon ten folds the overwhelming sensation by filling you with his cock.

He purposely tries to overstimulate you, hips snapping roughly against your soft thighs as his thumb rubs at your swollen clit, drawing out shaky moans from you

“It’s too much… isn't it, pet?” Luther says lowly, the contrast is clear as day to his typical sensual doings

“Ah– please, slow down! I can't–!” He hums at your cries, shaking his head and choosing to angle himself to hit your g-spot

“You know better, haustiere (pet). Will you behave for me?”

He’ll make certain that you understand that there is no disobeying him, if it takes plowing you into his silky bed sheets over and over again… so be it

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry– I’ll behave. I promise!”

Ah, such music to his ears to hear you proclaim your compliance.

He’ll lead you to repeat yourself a few more times, each time going faster and faster as the words draw shaker and shaker from your mouth. Just so you really understand :)

✽ A good thing is that he won't ever harm you

Unless… you actually try to escape. You’d never do that to him though! You guys love each other too much!

Besides overstimulating you until you cry and pass out, his other punishments can include isolation

He’ll lock you in his room for days to a couple weeks (depending on the crime), making sure you get no contact with anyone else. Not even the rest of the family

If you don't lose your mind like that, you are sure to when he takes away your privileges of using the internet/watching tv, reading books, drawing.... basically anything that could take your mind off of what you have done

By the end of it, he wants you on your knees begging for forgiveness

And the ever kind humanoid he is, he’ll wipe the cute tears off your red face and pet your hair to comfort you

“It’s okay, geliebte. I hope you have learned your lesson.”

He knows it's harsh, but training is important for pets. How else do you learn?

If you're going to be the future bearer of his children… he needs you to be on your best behavior :)

[junrenjun]

Gone

alpha!wonwoo x beta!reader (mentioned ot13 x reader)

genre: angst, fluff (wow are we sensing a trend here?)

wc: 1897

warnings: mentions of arguments, implications of violence (jokingly), slightly suggestive at the end, polyamory

summary: wonwoo and the pack return to the apartment after practice to a sulking seungcheol and a missing y/n.

a/n: here's wonwoo's part! you can start to see some hints of reader and the pack's past, especially with wonwoo and seungcheol. enjoy :)

Wonwoo was, to put it quite plainly, tired. Exhausted even. Today’s schedule had them learning two completely new dances and his brain kept getting them mixed up. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the performance unit and respects their choreographers, but they might have been a little in over their heads. 

As they finished the last hour of rehearsal, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the clock. He was counting down the minutes until he could go home and bask in the presence of his beta. Maybe it was due to the fact that Wonwoo’s rut was set to hit within the next few weeks, but he felt the need to be around you 24/7. To the point where you told him that he was becoming a “grade A clinger.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to care though, you were taking the affection in stride. It was a clear improvement from when he first integrated you into the pack. 

The alpha shook his head to bring him back to the present, right as the choreographers finally cleared the group to head home for the day. Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s ever packed his practice bag faster. Vernon seems to take notice of this. “You good bro?”

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up as he shoves a hoodie over his head. “Yeah, I just can’t wait to get home.”

He sees Vernon’s lips curl into a smirk from the corner of his eye. “So you can whisk y/n away to your room and keep her to yourself for the night? The rest of us would like a little time too. Nice sweatshirt by the way.”

A scent that is clearly not his own invades his senses. He looks down and curses. This hoodie is definitely not his. How did Mingyu’s sweatshirt even get into his bag in the first place? Remembering Vernon’s first comment, Wonwoo finally looks up at his packmate. “I don’t steal her.”

Vernon snorts and mumbles out a “whatever you say dude,” before turning on his heel to go bother Seungkwan. Shocker. Wonwoo resists the urge to roll his eyes. His packmate’s words start to take effect though because he’s pulling out his phone and texting you.

“You can tell me if my clinginess gets too much you know? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or steal you away from the rest of the pack.”

He sends the message before shoving his phone in his (Mingyu’s) pocket. The rest of the pack is slowly making their way to the door, so he follows suit. As they sluggishly head to the vans, he observes his mates. Junhui and Minghao are conversing in Mandarin, Vernon has his arm over Seungkwan’s shoulder and is attached to him like a leech, and Jeonghan is typing away on his phone.

He feels his own phone ping in his pocket and rushes to grab it, hoping you had responded. He deflates when he realizes it’s just Jeonghan, who must have been texting the group chat when he looked over.

“Getting Japanese for dinner. If you want something, say what you want now or forever hold your peace.”

The group chat instantly explodes with everyone’s orders. Wonwoo quickly sends what he wants but frowns when he realizes neither you nor Seungcheol have responded. He tries to brush it off but it’s difficult. He knows that your phone barely leaves your side. 

He purposefully climbs into the seat next to Jeonghan when they get into the van. The omega raises a questioning eyebrow at him. He knows that Wonwoo prefers sitting by Jun and Minghao on the way home after a long day. It is usually the quietest after all.

“What’s wrong?” Jeonghan finally questions.

Wonwoo bites his lip. He’s really questioning himself now that he has to voice his concerns out loud. Is he being overdramatic? Is this just him being a clingy alpha in almost pre-rut? Might as well just get it out he supposes. He knows the pack omega won’t make fun of him. “Have you heard from y/n? I texted her earlier and she hasn’t responded. And then you asked for everyone’s dinner orders and she and Cheol didn’t respond.”

The alpha perks up when Jeonghan responds. “I was kind of worried too. I texted him like 30 minutes ago asking what he wanted for dinner. Never responded so I just decided on the Japanese place he likes. I figured he was sleeping or something, I don’t know. It’s weird that y/n hasn’t responded yet though.”

The omega doesn’t even finish what he’s saying before Wonwoo is clicking your contact and calling you. The phone rings for what feels like an eternity. And then, he hears your voicemail greeting. Fuck, something is wrong. He can feel it.

Jeonghan feels Wonwoo’s uneasiness from his side. He reaches out and runs his hand through the alpha’s hair, murmuring something about how it’s only a few minutes until they get home and that they would figure it out together. Wonwoo isn’t sure he’s actually going to survive these next few minutes without imploding, though. 

After the longest 5 minutes of his life, Wonwoo yanks the van door open and races to the pack’s apartment. He’s slightly comforted by his pack omega’s presence hot on his heels. At least he knows he’s not a delusional, overbearing alpha for worrying like this. Jeonghan steps in front of him to unlock the front door and Wonwoo releases an audible whine. Your scent hits him like a truck and it smells like stress. You’re distressed and he’s not there to calm you down. What a horrible, terrible alpha his mind tells him.

He and Jeonghan step into the entrance, the rest of the pack finally catching up and throwing questioning shouts into the air. Wonwoo immediately goes to search for you when his mate throws his arm out to stop him. “She’s not here hyung.”

Wonwoo’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull. “What do you mean?”

The omega points to the shoe rack by the door. Your shoes are gone, and in their spot, sit your usual house slippers. Seungcheol’s, however, sit undisturbed. Jeonghan turns and heads straight for the pack alpha’s room, leaving Wonwoo to fend for himself when the pack immediately begins to question him. 

The alpha offers no response, sitting down at the kitchen table and sending a location request to your phone, hoping and praying you send something back. The others seem to take the hint and disperse until everything works out. He hears Jeonghan call out to him from Seungcheol’s room. “I don’t think he knows where y/n is at.”

Wonwoo sighs. “I just requested her location. I’m hoping that she has her phone on her and can respond. If not, I’m not sure what to do.”

Jeonghan responds. “Well she’s always on that damn phone, so hopefully she’ll send her location back soon enough.”

The scent of angry alpha lingering in the kitchen has Wonwoo freezing in his tracks as he catches a whiff. It’s not just angry alpha, it’s angry Seungcheol. Something definitely happened between you two. Knowing his stubborn pack alpha, some sort of argument. 

Wonwoo wanted to scream at Seungcheol. Let him hear every nasty word that comes to mind. But he couldn’t. Not when you were unaccounted for, and, based on the silence coming from his room, the alpha is already beating himself up over whatever happened.

The sound of a text notification rouses him from his thoughts. You had finally responded with your location. Wonwoo can’t help but slap himself on the forehead when he sees where you’re at. Of course you’re at the cafe that you first met him and Seungcheol at.

He’s quick to rush to the door, grabbing an extra coat as he knows you probably didn’t grab one for yourself. He forwards your location to Jeonghan and is taking the stairs two at a time down to the street level. 

The wind is bitterly cold, but at this point, Wonwoo doesn’t think he can really feel it. Though he does sigh in relief when he steps through the entrance of the cafe. Whether that be because of the warmth or because he’s spotted you near the back, at a table he remembers all too well. You’re lying your emotions out for him to see without even saying anything. 

He walks right up to you and hands you the coat (which he now mistakenly realizes is Seungcheol’s) without a word. You take it from him, putting it on regardless of the owner’s scent, and get up to leave. The silence is heavy as you walk back to the apartment. He’ll take your silence over your absence any day though.

Eventually, you slow down and give Wonwoo’s hand a squeeze to signal him to stop walking. He pulls you off to the side and out of the way of the other pedestrians. “What’s wrong?” he questions after a moment.

You look at him from between your lashes. His heart sinks a bit. “Why can’t I do the one thing my subgender was made to do?”

He’s taken aback. “What are you even talking about?”

You look away from him shamefully. “A beta is supposed to be the neutral party in a pack. Someone who can resolve problems or whatever. I feel like all I do is cause problems.”

This is odd coming from y/n “fuck subgender stereotypes” of the Choi pack, which is probably the most unconventional pack to walk this planet. You’re not one to care for comparing someone’s behavior to their designation. 

He sighs when he remembers that an argument between you and Seungcheol is most likely the reason this whole ordeal happened in the first place. “If Cheol made you feel like this I’m going to bash his skull in.”

Wonwoo could’ve caught the eye roll you gave him from a mile away. “That’s a great idea Woo. Murdering your pack alpha.”

Curse you for your defense mechanism being sarcasm. “I’m just saying. And the rest of the pack would probably back me up too.”

Another eye roll. He thinks your eyes are going to get permanently stuck if you keep that up. His sassy little beta, a small voice says in the back of his brain. Ok, his rut is definitely coming early if those are thoughts he’s getting while having a serious conversation.

While he’s trying to clear that thought from his head, you tug on his hand and starting leading him back to the apartment. You can feel his quizzical stare, so you turn around and say, “come on Woo, I’ve got a pack alpha to apologize to. Then maybe you won’t bash his skull in.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes and groan. Yeah, you’re definitely the one causing problems like you claimed a minute ago. Damn, your sarcasm is really rubbing off on him. 

You turn around again and do a double take at the sweatshirt he has on. You look up with a practically shit eating grin. “Nice hoodie by the way.” He’s going to have to have a talk with you about planting his packmates' clothes in his bag. You’re probably doing it so he smells like pack. Little minx. Damn, he really needs to get laid because what is going on with these dirty thoughts.

[lilly-chou-chou]

Gyaru: A guide for newbies and a love letter for seasoned gyals.

There were a lot of things that made me post about this. I thought a lot about it for years but recently I had an interaction which confirmed my mind.

As a woman who had been doing gyaru since the age of 4, I have few guides for gyaru that you may agree with or not, but I am posting this regardless because I want this to be known, especially by new gyals.

Gyaru is a movement which moulds modern japanese feminism and breaks boundaries that previously pushed women to only be of certain category.

This to say, there are indeed a lot of subculture under the umbrella term like hime, rokku, agejo and such.

My guides start from here on. When you first decide to start gyaru fashion I suggest you explore your options, try our different styles, fave fun and go with what works for you.

There is a lot of misconception that just because you prefer one subculture more doesn't mean you are lesser knowledgeable in other subcultures. You are free to do what makes you happy and pretty because gyaru was the staple for just doing eccentric fashion, it was never about rules and policing others. The culture was born because they opposed Japan's view of women. When women were forced to be me meek, sensitive, weak, soft spoken... Gyarus were the opposite they were loud, brash, tanned and knew how to have fun.

Gyarus were safe space for women who didn't want to be judged and just wanted to have fun.

Of course when you start out you always can look at tutorials and what not but remember to always feel pretty and enjoy what you're doing. Stop thinking and flush out people who police you about "wear this" "don't wear that!" "Wtf don't buy this!" "Are you stupid? You don't even own any brands wow you are not a REAL gyal" and the most funniest part is that these things come from just foreigner gyals.

As a person who also lived in Tokyo for a while and used to practically live inside Shibuya 109 I can assure you that Japanese gyals will NEVER EVER say anything like foreigner gyals and police you because they genuinely want you to have fun, gyals out of all people are no. 1 in not caring about rules and just doing it purely for fun.

Back then if you went to Tokyo then you could see every sub culture co existing and hanging out sharing tips, sharing clothes from different brands and hyping each other up.

Never feel you are less or unworthy, never listen to people who tell you, you are doing it wrong because you mix 2 sub cultures in your fashion.

Live your truth and enjoy. You are the most prettiest gyal ever. Live your life full slay.

In conclusions I just wanted to post this so newer gyals don't feel pressured or scared to know and explore more of our beautiful community and for old gyals to remind them once again what a beautiful culture we chose to follow and how fun they really are.

Love you my gyals, let's keep this community thriving <3

[miffysrambles]

Hello :) I would like to request! For Sun Wukong, Macaque and Mk X Reader (can be any gender that you prefer to use) And can It be separate please 'w'

And basically the story is that Reader has caught a nasty Cold/Sore Throat and is not doing so well, until the boys come to the rescue and help them out the best they can, and later on they back on their feet again!

Thank you 👍

Wukong, Macaque, and MK WIth a Sick! S/O

Wukong:

Coughs and sniffles filled the air as you lay in your bed, flipping through channels on your television.

You had caught the cold going around since the weather was dropping for the autumn season, even though you were on top of your hygiene.

You were in the middle of a rerun of an old sitcom when your phone rang. Groaning, you reached over to your nightstand and saw your boyfriend Wukong was calling.

You put the call on speaker as you were too mentally and physically exhausted to put it up to your ear, “Hello…?” 

Ew, your voice sounded gross.

“Peaches, you ok? Gods, your voice sounds awful!” Wow, he could’ve at least tried to lie.

“I’m sick Wukong, we can’t spend time together today…” 

“Who says? I could come over and help ya’ feel better!” You could hear him rustling through his hut at the end of the line, meaning he was already on his way over..

“And before you say something like ‘Oh but my generous and oh-so-kind boyfriend Wukong, I don’t want you to get sick either!’ Don’t worry! Immortals barely ever get sick.” 

You laughed softly at his pathetic impression of you, clearly he was joking but you had to admit he was pretty spot on with your concerns.

“If you’re sure hon, I’ll see you in a bit.” Your hoarse voice added a few coughs at the end.

“Oh, I’m definitely sure peaches, see ya’ in a few minutes! I love you, mwwah!” He added loud kissing noises at the end which made you laugh more.

He always knew just how to cheer you up by putting a smile on your face, even if you felt like literal garbage.

After a few agonizing minutes of lying in your sweat-filled state, you heard the window to your bedroom open as your boyfriend sat on the windowsill.

“You coulda just have used the door like a normal person.” You laughed softly, making him roll his eyes with a grin.

“Not as romantic though.” He jumped from your window as he held a pharmacy bag in his hand, setting it down on your nightstand as he put his palm up to your forehead.

“Sheesh, you’re burning up… How ya feeling hon?” His tail thumped against your bed, signaling he was very much worried for you. 

“Like garbage, but a bit better now that you’re here.” You smiled up at him as his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing circles in a small attempt to help you feel better. 

He reached over to the bag, pulling out some peach-flavored syrup medicine making you raise an eyebrow.

“Peach flavored, really? I didn’t even know they made it in that flavor.” You laughed softly, not even minding the throbbing pain in your throat. 

“Whaaat?! It’s the best flavor and it reminded me of you! Now open wide peaches, here comes the airplane!” He playfully teased you as he poured the medicine into a spoon, pretending it was flying toward your mouth with fake airplane sounds.

You rolled your eyes as you decided to go along with his teasing, opening your mouth as you swallowed the medicine.

Your face scrunched as you hesitantly swallowed the ghastly syrup, “Ugh that is awful!”

Wukong laughed as he smirked, “C’mon you got another spoonful to go!”

“Noooooo!”

Macaque:

Your coughing and sneezing slowly stirred Macaque awake from his deep sleep, rubbing his eyes as he sat up and looked over to see you holding a box of tissues.

“Sick huh?” His voice made you jump as your sickly state didn’t even make you realize he was awake now. 

“O-Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up!” Your hoarse voice made him wince, he could tell by just the way you talked you did NOT feel good.

“Hey hey, it’s ok sweet cheeks. You can’t help it if you’re sick, c’mere.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back down onto the bed, rubbing the back of your head to help ease the throbbing pain.

“But I don’t want to get you sick, I should go home.” You muttered in between sniffles and coughs.

He chuckled softly as he shook his head, his tail wrapping around your waist to keep you close and signaling you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“No can do sugarplum, you’re stuck with me for today. And besides, I’m a demon. We don’t ‘get sick’.” His fingers were tangled in your hair, making the throbbing in the back of your head subside as you sighed in relief and contentment. 

Your head laid against his chest, the room was silent besides the sounds of your clogged sinuses which you really needed right now to help ease your migraine.

“I’m gonna get up and go to the store to get you some medicine, I’ll be right back ok?” Macaque’s low voice spoke into your ear.

You nodded as he let you go and gently laid you back down on his bed, putting on his clothes and using his shadow magic to summon a portal as he fell through it.

A few minutes later he rose out of the floor from the shadows, holding a plastic bag as he sat down next to you on the bed. 

He smiled down at you as you put your head in his lap, his fingers going right back to your hair as he played with the strands with care.

He pulled out a bottle of pills and a water bottle and handed them both to you, “Here you go starshine, I got you everything you needed.”

He also pulled out a washcloth and soaked it in the water, putting it against your forehead to help cool you down.

“Thank you hon…” You were able to breathe out softly as you popped the pill into your mouth and sipped on the water.

“No problem sugar.” His fingers caressed your head, his eyes staring lovingly down at you.

You noticed out of the corner of your eye his wallet on the dresser as you turned your head back up to him, “Macaque, how did you pay for the medicine if your wallet is on the dresser?”

“..Don’t worry about that sweet cheeks.”

MK:

MK was on a noodle run when he noticed one of the orders was for your address, his face beamed as he could use this as an excuse to see you.

Pigsy had worked him to the bone today and luckily yours was the last order of the day so he could take his time seeing you. 

He parked his work scooter in the parking lot of your apartment complex as he walked up to your door, knocking with a pep in his knuckles as he called out to you.

“Heyyy (Name), it’s me! I got your noodles and I wanna see your cute face!”

After a few seconds of waiting, his eyebrow raised as his phone went off in his pocket.

Seeing it was a text from you, he opened it and read it out loud.

“ ‘Come in. There’s a key underneath the mat.’’ Huh, why didn’t they just answer the door?”

He raised the welcome mat and unlocked your door with your spare key, seeing it was completely dark inside as he stepped through the doorway. 

“(Name)? It’s me, where are you?” 

He put the noodles on your kitchen counter as he walked through your small apartment, every single light was off so he used his phone flashlight to work his way through the shadows.

He reached your bedroom and slowly opened the door, peeking his head through as he saw a figure underneath the bedsheets huffing and coughing.

“Oooohhh, that’s why you didn't answer the door.” He walked over as he slowly lifted your covers, seeing your messed up hair and still in your pajamas from the night before. 

You smiled up at him through your miserable state, "Hi hon. Do you have my noodles?”

MK nodded as he retrieved them from the kitchen, sitting down next to you on the bed as he smiled.

“Here, let me feed them to you. The perk of being sick is your boyfriend gets to do everything for you!” 

You smiled as he opened the container, the warm broth filling the air as you sighed in contentment, opening your mouth as he brought the chopsticks to your lips.

He continued to feed the noodles to you, eventually getting down to just the broth as he handed the bowl to you, “Here drink this, the broth helps when your throat is sore. It helped me when I was sick when Pigsy brought me a bowl.”

You brought the bowl up to your lips and sipped on the warm liquid, sighing as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“Thanks for bringing them to me, let me get you your money.”

He laughed as he wrapped an arm around you, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it sweetie, It’s on me tonight. You just work on feeling better.”

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Post Better

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: asss you all know Rowling: women are defined by their big gametesss Helen Joyce: oh yeah definitely Joyce: i'm always saying that

Rowling: and furthermore Rowling: the bigger the gamete, the more woman you are Rowling: now that'ss jusst ssciencce Rowling: really, that'ss all the ssciencce you need Rowling: you can pretty much bin the resst of that shit

Rowling: and alsso Elon Musk: [rising from bushes] eeey JK Rowling! Musk: issa me, elon! Rowling: elon mussk?? in my terf circle??? Rowling: lissten children thiss guy iss a certified sscientific genius Rowling: tell them about the gametess, elon

Rowling: go on, tell them Rowling: women have big heaving gametesss Rowling: that'ss how you can tell a woman Rowling: jusst huge gametes Musk: i'm-a not really here to talka about the gametes

Rowling: then why are you here elon Musk: i justa think Musk: eyyyy Musk: maybe eyyy you can try posting something else ey? Rowling: Rowling: what

Musk: see i posta da transphobia too Musk: but i also hava da other interests Musk: and i'ma not justa talking abouta da racism Musk: although i do find ita VERY interesting

Rowling: oh i'm SSORRY are you telling me how to posst? iss that what you're doing? Musk: si Rowling: oh! world's greatesst possster elon mussk iss giving ME advice on how to posst! Musk: si Rowling: maybe i should carry a ssink around like a fool WOULD YOU PREFER THAT Musk:

Rowling: certified SSUPER POSSTING GENIUSS elon musssk thinkss he knowsss possting better than me Rowling: wow! real "CONCERNING," man!! better "LOOK INTO IT," duuude! here's a catch phrase you better learn for your adult yearss: hey buddy, got a QUARTER?!? Musk: Musk: concerning

Rowling: [coiling in rage] the impudencce!!! get out of my terf circle! your possting is pathetic! Musk: con- Rowling: SSAY SSOMETHING BESSIDESS CONCERNING Musk: Rowling: YOU CAN'T CAN YOU?!? Musk: Musk: mebbe you a da pedophile Musk: mebbe you ara alla da pedophiles

[judasofsuburbia]

So you’re looking to write some smut but feeling stuck, uninspired, or unsure where to start. Smut writing comes easily to some and not others, and that’s okay! Here are some tips I’ve gathered over my few years of writing smut to take with a grain of salt! It's my opinion; you can always do what you want!! <333

It’s fiction writing at the end of the day. So, it’s okay if you haven’t experienced what you’re writing about or maybe you have experienced it but you find it difficult to put it into words. I’ve never fought a creature from the Upside Down but I’ve written about it because that’s what fiction writing IS!! You’re creating a story from your own experiences/thoughts/emotions and applying it to a made-up scenario. So don’t feel discouraged by your own personal journey, anyone can write smut!!

When in doubt, plan it out. When I’m really stuck, just simply grabbing a piece of notebook paper and writing out each event in a sequence, even in the most basic terms, can make things so much easier. For example: making out, blow job, hand job, prep, fuck. Write down positions (sometimes limbs can get lost in the sauce and it is so hard to figure out how they’re actually doing it lmao). Write down settings. Write down if one person is leading it more than the other or if they switch off. Write down desperation levels (personally, I think it’s more fun when desperation is very high but casual fluffy smut is fun too!!) This will help the writing process feel a lot less daunting. 

More specifically, remember that prep is important. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been taken out of a smutty fic because they get to the main act (penetration, typically) way before someone should be ready to. Fingers, mouths, and lube (actual lube or something that can be safely used as lube. Blood is not lube. Blood is not lube as it is a liquid that dries quickly and offers no moisture so it will not help you penetrate anything, as hot as it would be.) Foreplay and prep can be a really good tool to establish a sexy dynamic between your characters and get the reader ramped up to read through to the end! 

If you feel like the action part is getting too technical, this is where you can add in thoughts and emotions that will give your smut some personality. It can feel very silly to write, for instance, your character A thinking “Wow character B is so hot” but it’s a thought that would probably cross their mind!! Write out any nerves the characters are feeling or maybe even the confidence they’re feeling. Write out what sensations they pay attention to. Write out what they like and dislike. Write out what actions cause an immediate response from them (moaning, bucking their hips, groaning, eyes rolling, etc.) Write out how your character would verbally respond (Are they dirty talking? Are they praising? Are they degrading? Are they stuttering through their words? Are they incoherent because the sex is so good?) It’s important that your characters still feel natural and not like sex robots. Unless your story is about sex robots, then go off!!!

The thesaurus is your fucking FRIEND!! Smut can feel ridiculously repetitive, especially if you’ve written it before. I say every time I write a blow job scene that “god blow job scene is blow job scene is blow job scene” because that’s how it FEELS! Use your resources like the thesaurus or there are a million posts with other ways to say “said”, ways to describe a kiss, etc. Just be careful that you don’t fall into using words that seem unnatural to the flow of the story (for example, a lot of synonyms for cock are simply…unsettling and can take your reader out of the story). Find ways to creatively tell the same action again and again which leads to tip #5…

Go read some smut. The tag “porn what plot” is so unbelievably helpful. Even if the writing isn’t exactly your style or your preference, sometimes reading someone else’s descriptions of sexual acts can be helpful if you’re lost! I have a few faves that I go back to read to get inspiration and I have notes about what it is specifically I enjoyed about their work. While you’re at it, if a fic inspires you and you feel comfortable doing so, leave a comment! It’ll make the author’s day, I promise. 

TAKE THIS TIP WITH AN ABSOLUTE GRAIN OF SALT but…go watch it. Or my personal preference, go listen to it. If I’m really lost, I’ll seek out audio porn that follows the same ~vibe~ of whatever I’m writing. There are many websites for this but Soundgasm is my go-to (it’s a free upload site so there are THOUSANDS of sounds and varying quality levels so it might take a second to find what you’re looking for)! Even a sexy playlist on Spotify can put you into a good headspace for writing. Just make sure you’re being safe and looking out for your own comfort levels. Never put yourself in a situation to experience something triggering for the sake of writing a good story. 

All of this to say, it is so different to write smut than it is to write a regular plot. It can feel incredibly daunting to go about it and find the perfect balance between technical actions and thoughts/feelings/dialogue and then make it all cohesive in the end. It’s hard to do but it’s not impossible!