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#i guess i'll cross that bridge when the time comes

stellamancer · 9 months

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Hello Niku, I hope you're doing well today! ^^

(I tried checking to see if you were comfy with recieving anon asks out of the blue, but I had little luck😔 and I figured that the only way to know was to ask, so I truly hope this doesn't impose or anything of the sort! If you'd rather not read beyond this point, don't answer, or simply delete this ask I totally understand! <:) )

I hope this ask reaches you at a good time. I don't really know how transition from greeting to question so I guess I'll just rip the band-aid off lol. How do you feel about the idea of followers sending in little concepts or random thoughts? I've had a crumb of a Gojo thought simmering in my head for the past few days and it's been driving me insane (positive), and as much as I would love to expand the possibilities and maybe even develop it, I'm just plain stumped.

I've loved JJK since the anime released, but have only recently become a true Gojo enjoyer, and your writing has greatly sped up the process lol. I adore your creativity and characterization for the mad lad, he's got the perfect balance of sweet and smarmy bastard with a hint of seriousness, but he can also be frustratingly endearing when it's least expected, your rendition of the guy has oodles of charm! ^^

Sorry for getting off topic and letting this ask get so lengthy, but essentially! Would you be comfy with followers sending in bits and bobs of ideas and maybe sharing your own two cents on it? Thank you so so much not only for your time, but as well as all of the hard work that you put into all of the content that you create, it is always appreciated!

hiyo anon!!

so first off! thank you so so much for your kind message! i was so happy to receive it! it's very sweet of you to check with me concerning anon asks! i'm sorry i don't have any… like, i suppose guidelines for that sort of thing— to be honest, i'm just a little niku with a fairly small blog so i've never really thought about it!

but to answer your question, i totally don't mind if any of my followers want to send me little thoughts or what-have-you at all so long as they're being nice about it (so nothing hateful!!). i'm actually surprised anyone would want to actively hear my opinions (not in a bashing myself kind of way, but like… i feel like i am very thoughts empty LMAOOO). so please, feel free to send me any thinkles you may be thinkling! i'm always happy to listen (or i suppose read) that being said, i might not answer right away if i'm working doing something.

that being said! i'm honestly really happy to hear that you like my take on gojo! i've said once, and i'll say it again (and continue to say it even), but i'm alway so worried about his characterization when i write him!! he's got layers upon layers! but golly, saying he's got a lot of charm makes me wonder, maybe i really should make him a little bit more pathetic; i think he should be at least a little pathetic.

and finally, thank you so much for taking the time to send me a message i don't mind that it was lengthy at all! i hope you have a wonderful weekend!!

#on anon #wahhhh thank you truly!!!#it really does boggle my mind a little like #someone wants to talk to me?? little ol' me???#wowieee #i guess what i should also say is that i don't take requests? but no one has ever asked so...#i guess i'll cross that bridge when the time comes

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least-carpet · 1 month

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Chapter 1 of Wen Ning Gets a Life is up!

OK, I looked at the poll results and it seems like the consensus is "just fucking post it," so without further ado: Chapter 1 of Wen Ning Gets a Life is up. Let's get that fierce corpse (disappointingly) laid! (You will need an AO3 account to read it.)

Title: Wen Ning Gets a Life

Rating: E

Pairings: Wen Ning/Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian/Wen Ning, Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian (background)

Summary:

Sometime after the events of the novel, Wen Ning receives a series of good surprises: 1. Wen Qing is alive. 2. She has a plan to make him alive, too. 3. That plan involves sex with Wei Wuxian, his best friend and long-time crush. (And Lan Wangji.) Unfortunately, nothing has ever gone according to plan in Wen Ning's entire life, and it looks like his unlife won't be any different—especially once Jiang Cheng gets involved.

#jiang cheng #wen ning #wen qing #wei wuxian #ningcheng #wangningxian #wen sibs #mdzs +#fanfic #my fanfic #least-carpet thoughts #how do I tag the weird yunmeng shuangjie/chengxian vibes. they never touch. for most of the fic they are not in the same room #wwx only makes it weird near the end so I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it #jc makes it weird the whole time but not in a sex way so maybe it's not relevant

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fyorina · 1 month

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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.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

369 notes · View notes

winterzsurprise · 1 year

Text

Thirty Minutes || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: After convincing Miguel to take a break from working, he generously granted you thirty minutes with him and you know how you'd spend it.

Words: 1.7k

Tags: NOT BETA READ, smut, rough sex, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, squirting, big dick Miguel, standing sex, deep penetration, fang play, office sex (i guess?)

This is so rushed but he just do things to me. He breathes and I start giggling and twirling my hair. I am so feral for him I'm sorry (not sorry). I swear I'll bring more flavor next time :''DD

forgor to note that the glasses part is heavily inspired by that one scene from a kdrama named "Business Proposal".

hermosa - beautiful || cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || mi amor - my love

Being the leader of the inter-dimensional spider hub, it's expected for Miguel to be drowning with tasks and reports to analyze at any time of day. You accepted that fact when you started dating him on the down low.

You didn't care that he's busy since your time is also taken by fighting crimes and eventual missions. Plus, at the end of the day, the make up sex is godly.

But you find it hard to tolerate it when days and nights blurs without him leaving his office unless he needs to eat and use the bathroom.

Apparently, Jessica has held a few interventions for him with Peter B. and it failed every time. Miguel threw them out and threatened to shut Layla down if she didn't block their access to his office.

Passing by you in the lobby after another mission, Peter B. asked you with a stern look while Mayday babbled, mirroring the seriousness of her dad.

"Please do anything to get him to leave his office. I beg of you."

So after dinner where there's less activities and presence in the hub, you head straight to his office with barely a plan in mind. Clearly confident you'd make the man rest, even for fifteen minutes.

The hatch parts open and you are met by the image of him reading out a report in formal clothing and square glasses, sitting at the edge of the platform. He briefly looked up from the report before returning back to his task.

"Let me guess, Peter sent you here?"

"I heard they've already hosted a couple of interventions and rallies."

Miguel huffed, pitching the bridge of his nose. "Such a waste of time, they could have been in their home world watching over their cities."

"Come on, you know that they're just concerned about you."

"And you're here because you're also concerned?"

You laughed, webbing onto the ceiling and pulling yourself up to land beside him. “Are you really going to act this way, Miguel?”

Miguel didn’t respond, focusing on reading on the report about the paper Doc Ock variant found in Earth 2199 written by the Victorian Spider-Man. You settled on sitting next to him in silence after retracting your suit back.

His subtle glances on your skin tight shorts didn't go unnoticed but you ignored it in favor of

You took the time to observe the man whose bulky body is covered in a simple dress shirt with three buttons down and black pants that complemented the thickness of his thighs. The square glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose only added more flavor to his attire.

He's criminally dashing.

After being away for days to catch an anomaly and crime fighting in your own world, you couldn't ignore the simmering desire bubbling in your abdomen.

How could you not be when your darling looks like a five star Michelin meal in front of you?

Your attention seemed to bother Miguel, who let out a defeated sigh. “Alright, what do you want?”

“I just want to spend time with you, is that so bad?”

Miguel deadpanned at you, seemingly disturbed by the thought before putting the reports down and turning to face you fully with his arms crossed. His eyes scanned your form up and down, letting his head fall back before groaning.

“Alright, I’ll bite. You got thirty minutes.”

You grinned. "That's all I need."

He raised an eyebrow at that but before he could question it, you captured his lips with yours. As if the kiss was a droplet on the water, the ripples caused by the taste of his lips awakened the lust simmering in the pit of your stomach.

His hands found your hips and pulled you close until you rediscovered your rightful seat on his thighs. Rough and calloused touch sneaked past your top and crawled up to the swell of your breast.

Miguel pulled away, removing his glasses—quite erotically—before diving back to lose himself in your lips.

"Is this what you plan on using your thirty minutes for?"

"You know it'll last longer than thirty."

"I doubt that."

His words sent jolts of pleasure down your spine, igniting your nerve endings alight.

"Are you really going to fuck me in your office, boss?"

"Don't 'boss' me, hermosa and you know I'd spread you open no matter the location."

His hands unclasped the front of your bras and spared no time in covering your flesh with his. The rough texture of his palm rubbing against your firm nipples got you moaning, hips twisting in his thighs desperate for stimulation.

Pulling away, Miguel's lips fell to your throat, his tongue roamed the skin above your heartbeat that rose when his razor sharp teeth grazed your flesh, threatening to pierce. With the soft suckles on your neck and the rough massage on your mounds, you were a moaning mess, tugging helplessly on his hair and grinding pathetically on him.

"You're so desperate for me, mi amor. Did you miss me that much?"

"Shut up and just touch me, please."

He groaned, deep. "You sound so adorable when you beg, baby."

He quickly made work of your shirt, tossing it along with your bra before moving to tugging your shorts off. Your hands busies itself with his dress pants, desperate to feel the heat of his skin against your own and to feel the curve of his girth once more.

It didn't take long before you're both naked and bare to anyone who dares enter his chambers. A shrill excitement electrifies your skin at the thought of being caught, the riskiness of being discovered and seen being devoured by the man you love oddly arouses you further.

Though you're sure with how possessive he is, Miguel has already shut the gates to anyone till he's done with you.

But it was an interesting thought to have while his three of his fingers savagely thrusts in and out of your hole, the other hand grounding your hips made it impossible to escape the onslaught of pleasure after pleasure striking your nerves down, you screamed, clawing at his broad back as he fingered you open.

Miguel grunts. "Scream louder for me, mi vida. I want to hear how good I make you feel."

His thumb found your clit and started drawing figures of eight on them, the knot in your abdomen twists tighter as you climb towards your orgasm. There's a wet squelch building up to bounce in the chamber and you flush red yet Miguel took it as a compliment, increasing his speed and curling three fingers upwards more.

Your legs shook violently from where they stood beside his wide thighs before the knot unfurled and you came with a shout, trembling pathetically in his hold. The sudden onslaught of serene euphoria makes you light-headed and you rest your forehead on his shoulder.

He pulled away, choosing to be merciful and let your shaking figure settle down before continuing.

"You didn't squirt? What a shame."

"F-fuck you."

"Don't lie, cariño." There's a grin in his voice as he pulls you flush to him. "I know you like it when I leave you writhing pathetically."

Not sparing any second, he stands up and you wrap your arms around his neck, already sensing his plan as he reaches down to line the tip of dick with your sopping heat. The sensation of his girth so near your entrance re-igniting the suffocating arousal and desire in your body.

"And god, do I miss seeing you cock-drunk and shaking."

Plunging in deep, your mouth falls and you scream. The hilt of his girth grazing your uterus along with the burn of the stretch sparking every nerve endings alight. The familiar feeling of his cock reminding your hole who it belongs to made you feel dizzy, it was too much but it feels so good.

His thrusts are unforgiving, rattling your soul every time his hips collide with yours, leaving you breathless and moaning unintelligible words. His fangs digs into the crook of your neck as he pants and groans into your skin.

The sensation of your pebbled nipples rubbing against his chest sends electric shocks down your spine, adding onto your quick climb to your high.

You could barely make out the Spanish words he's whispering like a prayer, mind fogged with nothing but the pure nirvana he was handing to you.

"Fuck, you feel so good for me. Always so sweet and tight for me, yeah?"

"Yes yes yes…!"

One of his hands grabbed hold of your jaw, forcing you to meet his dark red eyes. "You're not leaving this fucking room until I'm done with you, understand?"

You nod vigorously, wanting nothing but to please him enough to reward you with another orgasm. His lips found your neck once more, nibbling on your skin and teasingly dragging his fangs in his conquest to mark you, which shook you from your stupor, pushing his head away.

"No-not too much. It'll show."

Miguel's eyebrow raised, unfazed. "And?"

"T-they'll find out."

He scoffed. "I don't fucking care. Let them know who fuck you well and bare."

Angling his hips, he grazes a spot and you cry before the next plunge hits it, your legs began to shake around him with every thrust. Tears blurred your vision as pleasure invaded your very being, it didn't take long before you burst in his arms, your arousal painting his clenched stomach.

"That's it. Give it to me."

Ramping his speed, you howled. Pain started to mix with euphoria but you couldn't stop, it's not enough to satiate your famished soul.

"F-fuck…! I-I don't think I can a-anymore."

You squealed at the sharp stinging pain left by his hand on your clit. "You will and I'll make sure of it."

Palming your bead more gently than his savage thrusts, he tightened the coil in your stomach tighter and tighter until it exploded and splattered once more unto his glistening abs, legs writhing helplessly in the air.

With the unbearable tightness of your velvet walls around his dick, Miguel soon followed. Hot liquid arousal painting your insides white with every pulse of his dick. You groaned at the familiar feeling of fullness before wincing at the pain of overstimulation.

Slapping his back, you whined. "I'm so fucking sore and you'll make me walk out by myself. How fucking cruel of you."

Miguel grumbled, catching his breath as he sat you both down on the floor.

"Who said you're leaving, cariño?"

#miguel o'hara x reader one shot #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #spiderman smut #spiderman fics #marvel smut #marvel fics

3K notes · View notes

v3nusplanetofluv · 4 months

Text

camp

i; fishbowls

｡･ﾟﾟ･atsumu x fem! reader

｡･ﾟﾟ･college and 90s au

description...

atsumu miya was the bane of your existence growing up. always making it his job to tease and taunt you daily. as time went on you detached yourself from the neighborhood kids, your frequent, unwanted presence merely becoming a thing of the past. however, the summer of '98 causes you and atsumu to face the past.

content!

2.1k words

"ma, when yer son comes home from college yer supposed to keep him in not kick him out!" atsumu groaned as his head fell onto the cold kitchen counter, "especially when i'm your favorite-"

"what-"

it was finally summer vacation, and all the miyas were back in their nest. the formerly eerily quiet kitchen was once again full of life; the sweet smell of vanilla filled the air as pancakes were flipped on the electric griddle; the bright sun warmed the table cloth that covered the glass dining table; and loud hearty accents were doubled in sound as the two boys were back.

"both of y'all are gettin' kicked out," the older woman places the now finished pancakes onto a plate. "it just so happens that samu listens to what I have ta say, and chooses where he wants ta go ahead of time."

the grey haired twin smiles up at his mom with a 'thanks' as she places a stack of pancakes in front of him. "i'm goin' to grandma and grandpa's farm ta help out at their cafe," he sticks his tongue out at atsumu making him roll his eyes.

"whatever," his arms crossed over his chest, "I don't like that stinky farm anyway." atsumu flinches as he feels his mom yank upon his ear in disapproval.

"good! ya won't have ta 'cause yer workin' at a summer camp!" mrs. miya smiles as atsumu's jaw practically reaches the depths of hell. "our neighbor suggested it--"

"which neighbor so i know whose lawn koda can piss on--OW!" mr.miya strikes the faux blond with his now rolled morning paper.

"language," the older man sits beside his son, coffee now in hand. "y/n's mother came up with that great idea--the girl's been working there since high school--ya remember her right?"

"yeah, i remember fishbowls--OW!" osamu was now on the receiving end of the sunday morning paper, the boy now reaching for his battered forehead. the action instantly stifled atsumu's laughs.

the faux blond covers his head, "ya want me to go work with that freak for the whole summer?" he asks through gritted teeth, actively guarding his head.

"y/n is a beautiful young lady who is doin' great things," mama miya points her spatula at the boys, "she's actually in school studyin' biology to become a doctor now!"

"oh, who would've thought that fishbowls was gonna be in a nerdy major?" atsumu comments, sarcasm dripping in his tone, making osamu snicker.

osamu sits up straight, "'do ya wanna come over and see my new experiment?" he mocks a nerdy accent as he pushes his fake glasses up the bridge of his nose making his brother burst at the seams in laughter.

"come on! y'all haven't seen the girl since she changed schools in middle school," the older miya says as he sips his coffee.

"yea cause she was always cooped up in her room readin' or some shit," atsumu mumbles as he messes with the pancakes in front of him.

"well, i guess this summer will be the perfect time ta give her a chance!" mama miya smiles as she brushes her hands off on her apron, ignoring his groans, "and ya better get packin' 'cause ya leave next week."

insane in the membrane by cyrprus hill blares through the stereo setup of the 1989 lexus is 400. osamu's sunglass rest upon his nose as he drives through rural hyogo, fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the beat. atsumu sits in the passenger seat mumbling along to the lyrics, hand resting outside of the window.

atsumu furrows his eyebrows as he looks over at his brother, "is it too late for me ta come ta the farm with ya?"

"...ya called it stinky--"

"but a whole summer--three months with fishbowls--sounds like i'll be slittin' ma wrist with a spoon," atsumu groans as he sinks further into his seat.

osamu chuckles as he glances over at the drama queen, "think positive! what if she's like hella fine now?"

the two look between each other before bursting out in laughs.

"i'll miss yer goofy ass this summer 'samu!" he says as he wipes a fake tear from his eye.

not even thirty minutes later the sight of tall trees completely consumed the car. the smell of marukawa bubble gum was replaced with fresh water and earthy cedar trees. the road got bumpy as atsumu poked his head out of the window, finally seeing the massive sign marking the entrance of the summer camp: ' firefly valley.'

as osamu slowed the car atsumu instantly started to scratch, "i think i'm allergic ta this place."

"they're called mosquitos--now get outta my car!"

"we won't see each other for almost three months and this is how you wanna say goodbye?" atsumu fakes a pout as he unbuckled his seatbelt making his twin roll his eyes. as osamu pulled his bag out of the car, atsumu looked up at the trees that never seemed to end; and down at the dirt that somehow already got onto his white sneakers.

the feeling of his duffle bag shoved into his chest grabbed atsumu's attention as he looked up to be met with the flash of osamu's digital camera. he sighs with a smile as he pulls the camera from his face, "man, grandma is gonna love this! might even hang it on the fridge." he snickers making atsumu glare but the frustrated feeling is instantly dropped as osamu pulls him into a hug.

"ya better not come back with headgear and a new love for readin'" he teases making atsumu laugh.

"no promises!" he says as he pulls away, "call me when ya get ta the farm."

"i will," osamu waves one final time as he gets into the car, driving off leaving atsumu at the camp. dirt kicks up from the wheels making the faux blond flinch back, unfortunately bumping into someone. he swiftly apologizes as he turns around but he's quickly dismissed as the man doesn't seem phased.

"ya must be atsumu miya," the man smiles, "welcome to camp! i'm kyo," he sticks his hand out and atsumu shakes it with a tight lipped smile. "follow me and i'll show ya the leader cabins and around camp along the way."

with wide eyes, atsumu looks around the camp in awe. even though he just moved to a bigger and busier city--tokyo--he hadn't realized how much he missed this. he was instantly transported back to his earlier summers spent at his grandparents' farm. the bright blue sky created a stunning gradient into the shimmering lake. the trees looked as if they could go on forever--as if they were reaching for the sun. the oh so familiar smell of sunblock attacked his nostrils as the smaller versions of his volleyball nets made a smile creep upon his face.

atsumu looked ahead at the sound of kyo's voice, directing him to his cabin that he would share with other leaders for the next three months. the faux blond thanked him as he rested his bags on the floor beside his bed. the brown-haired man was about to leave before he remembered something.

"make sure to stop by the main office to get yer shirts and badge--someone should be in there to help ya out!" and before atsumu could ask him where exactly the main office was, he was gone.

he sighed as he hooked his sunglasses onto the collar of his t-shirt,. atsumu made his way out of the cabin, looking around intently for any resemblance, or sign that could possibly lead him to his destination.

after about ten minutes of wandering around, the dark green and white building came into his view. one could tell it was old with the way the paint was chipping--the intense weathering it endured was evident.

he opened the screened door to be met with a welcomed blast of air conditioning, a content sigh left his lips as he looked around. the sound of a voice caught his attention leading him to follow it around a corner and into what looked like a waiting area.

the back of a spinny chair was what atsumu first saw. the back of an occupied spinny chair! a finger peeked out as it twirled the cord of the phone, looping and unlooping as you talked on the phone.

"yes, ms.tanaka i will personally make sure that hiro has easy access to his inhaler..." you smiled into the phone, adjusting in your seat completely unaware of the nearly drooling simpleton behind you.

he couldn't see you but he could just tell that you were hot. maybe it was the way he could imagine your perfectly manicured nails combing through his hair as you whispered sweet nothings in his ear with your heavenly voice or maybe he was simply deluded.

"of course, you know i've never let anything happen to hiro--i figure you'd want him back in one piece at the end of the summer...yes yes of course! it is my job," you laugh softly making atsumu's heart skip a beat, "feel free to call back if you have any more questions...alright, I can't wait to see hiro!...have a nice day , bye bye."

as you hang up the phone atsumu can barely contain his excitement as dozens of scenarios run through his mind of what he would say to you--a grin kept sneaking up his lips which he quickly pushed away to keep up his cool facade.

he quickly gets into position as he rests upon the desk, instantly grabbing your attention as he knocks down a pen holder. you whip your head around only to feel the wind get stuck within your throat.

it suddenly becomes hard to breathe as you're unable to say anything let alone move, and you think that you could use hiro's inhaler right about now. your horrified expression makes atsumu's heart drop as he quickly scrambles to pick up the mess he had made.

"h-hey it's alright, i can get it cleaned up real quick!" he awkwardly laughs in nervousness and embarrassment as he realizes he had just made a fool of himself in front of one of the prettiest girls he's ever seen. he tries to fight off the blush on his cheeks, and runs through excuses in his mind--the heat!

you finally manage to catch your breath and look up at him. the boy who made your adolescence a living hell. the man who is now invading one of your safe spaces.

"what do you want?" your tone is harsh, but not harsh enough in your opinion. however, the blond doesn't take much notice as he stares down at you with a goofy look on his face.

"atsumu miya," he sighs dreamily, "name please," he grins, completely oblivious to your look of disgust and the incoherency of his sentence. your eyebrow raises and confusion coats your face. you think he must not recognize you and it's a fair assumption considering you made it a mission to avoid the miyas and the other neighborhood kids once you hit puberty to preserve your sanity...and dignity--what was left of it.

on the other hand, it was as if you had no chance to erase his face from your memory. hell, the universe never gave you a chance to.

"look at the twins! they're committing to that powerhouse school!"

"did you see that atsumu's the best high school setter in japan?"

"can you believe that atsumu's ready been offered to join msby?"

"atsumu looks amazing in his media pictures for msby don't ya think?"

you allowed your expression to soften, "so...you don't know who I am?" you cross your arms over your chest, leaning onto the desk making the blond's hands grow sweaty.

"the girl of ma dreams," he bites down on his lip to hide his smile.

you deadpan before rolling your eyes making atsumu straighten up, "o-or i'd like ta get ta know...if ya let me." he suddenly feels bashful? something the faux blond is greatly unfamiliar with...maybe you were a witch.

you look him up and down, making his cheeks heat up all over again, "i think you'll freak when i tell you." you narrow your gaze at him, unknowingly feeding his supicsions.

in one of his boldest moves of the day, he leans down towards you, "try me," he smirks.

you look up at him through your lashes, quickly thinking of all of his possible reactions. your lips begin to twitch up into an almost wicked smile, "do ya really wanna know?" he you lean up closer towards him, making his heart rate increase.

"more than anythin'," he breathes out, tuning out the sound of his beating heart.

your gaze darkens, "does fishbowls ring a bell?" your sickening smile doesn't dare to falter as you watch atsumu flinch back in confusion, his face twisting into multiple emotions as he tries to process the sound of the cruel nickname leaving your lips.

he leans forward a bit to look at your face, looking for any features that may have resembled his insanely nerdy neighbor.

"...y/n?"

"in the flesh."

notes !

☆ mr. and mrs. miya adore y/n. they have always admired her manners and academic ambition. that led to them always urging the twins to hang out with her and also partially ignited their disdain toward the girl.

☆ y/n never picked up the hyogo accent even though she lived there her whole life. immersion wasn't enough as her parents didn't speak the dialect either. this further isolated y/n from the neighborhood kids.

☆ when y/n said her name atsumu didn't buy it at first until he looked at her closer and noticed the scar that she had on her eyebrow. the same scar that he gave her after throwing a ball at her too hard while trying to be funny. the ball broke her glasses and they cut into her face.

☆ y/n honestly thought she was gonna pass out from lack of airflow to her brain when she saw atsumu again in person after all of those years.

i hope you enjoyed! this is a draft from my wattpad that i'm reworking :) if you'd like to be tagged just let me know!

dividers by @plutism

#hq x reader #hq fluff #hq fanfic #haikyuu fluff #hq imagines #hq x y/n #haikyuu!!#hq hcs #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #msby atsumu #atsumu headcanons #hq atsumu #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x female reader

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vodika-vibes · 3 months

Note

Can you write a Crosshair x reader and him with his shaky hands like we saw in season 3 and maybe reader comforting him...

For The Love Of A Bounty Hunter

Summary: Crosshair goes missing while dealing with your family. You have opinions about it.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Bounty Hunter Reader

Word Count: 1919

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I decided to make this story a sequel to one of my Event Fics, I'll add the link so people can find it easily. Also, there are no spoilers here, because I haven't watched TBB at all. ^-^

For The Love Of A Sniper - Part 1 of this Mini Series

You stare, blankly, at the calendar on the datapad in front of you as you draw another red X over another day.

Three weeks.

It’s been three weeks since Crosshair went to deal with the PI who was looking into you on behalf of your family. Three weeks since he vanished.

You carefully set the datapad down on the table and release a shaky breath. Carefully shoving the burning rage down, for now.

Crosshair would sooner cut his own hands off than betray you. You know this. You know him. He would never tell your parents where you are. And, the fact that they haven’t shown up at your ship, is proof enough that Crosshair didn’t tell them anything.

The bigger question is, is Crosshair still alive.

Stars, you hope so. You’re not sure the galaxy will survive your rage if he isn’t. You’re not sure you’ll survive your rage if he isn’t.

You jerked out of your thoughts when your holo chimes.

For a moment you consider ignoring it, you’re not in the mood for chatting. But, in the end, you cross the room and hit the button to answer the holo, “I’m not accepting any jobs at the moment.” You say bluntly.

“It is me.” Tech’s image flickers to life above the holo, “I have the information you asked for.”

You blink, “Oh. Sorry.”

“No harm done, I know that you are stressed.” He looks down at his datapad, “I am sending you the information I have.”

You pick your datapad back up as it chimes with the information he sent you. “Are you sure this is accurate?” You ask, as you see the information, “Last I heard the people who took him are wealthy.”

Tech sniffs, “Very sure. According to what I have found, they used to be wealthy. But then spent most of their fortune looking for their missing child.” He pauses, “That would be you, I am guessing.”

“Right in one, Tech.” You reply with a grimace.

“I am sure you had your reasons.” Tech says after a moment, “If Crosshair is anywhere, it is there.”

You scan the image that Tech sent you. Figures, it would be your childhood house. Not home. Never home. “Thanks Tech.”

“You are welcome.” He pauses, “Are you quite sure that you do not require aid? We can be there in a couple of days.”

“I have it.”

“They are your family.”

“Not all families are created equal, Tech. And this,” You hold up the datapad, "has been a long time coming.”

Tech sighs, “Comm when you have him back. And if you should think that you need our help-”

“I’ll be sure to let you know. Thanks for the intel, Tech. I mean it.”

“You do not have to thank me. Crosshair is my twin brother. I want him safe just as much as you do.”

“Even so. I know you’re not my biggest fan.”

Tech is quiet for a moment, “I will concede that, perhaps, I was too quick to judge.”

“Yeah, well…so was I. Water under the bridge.”

Tech smiles at you, a small smile, but a smile all the same, “I think I am beginning to see what Crosshair sees in you. Happy hunting.”

You flash a small smirk, “Yeah. Right back at you.” And then you kill the holo. You look back at the datapad, and swipe through the information.

“Hold on, Cross. I’ll be there soon.” You whisper to the empty ship.

“It’s a simple thing,” Crosshair rolls his eyes at the massive Devaronian looming over him, “All you have to do is tell us where the little mistress is.”

“I told you the truth weeks ago,” He drawls, “I can’t help you.” He grunts in pain as a large fist slams into his stomach, “Kriff-”

“Mistress,” The guard says with a frown, “I’m beginning to think that he’s telling the truth.”

‘Mistress’ is a slender woman with white blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Though slender isn’t really the right word. Crosshair would personally call her skeletal, but the first time he asked how they managed to make a corpse walk and talk, he was electrocuted, so he’s learned to hold his tongue.

“He has to know,” The woman’s voice is cold. “Why else would he have gone to the PI?”

“Because you’re offering a hell of a lot of credits, lady.” Crosshair lies.

“You do not speak to the Mistress,” The guard snaps, taking a menacing step towards Crosshair.

“No. Leave him. I tire of this.” The woman says, before she turns to the side, “What do you think, darling.”

‘Darling’ is her husband. Just as thin and skeletal as his white, though his hair is more of a golden blonde than the silvery blonde of his wife. If Crosshair had to guess, one of them bleaches their hair, though which one isn’t something he cares about.

He’s also crueler than his wife.

Crosshair will likely have scars from the stun batons that ‘Darling’ used against him. If he hates ‘Mistress’, then Crosshair absolutely despises ‘Darling’. How either of these people could parent someone like his Princess is beyond him. Maybe she’s adopted.

He glances to the side when the door to the dungeons slams open and a trembling twi’lek hurries his, “Master! Mistress!” He gasps, “The Little Mistress is here.”

The room falls silent, “Are you quite sure?” The Mistress asks.

“Yes ma’am,” The Twi’lek bobs into a bow, “She consented to a DNA scan. It’s her. Would you like me to bring her down?”

“No, we’ll-”

The door slams open again, “No need. I thought I’d come and say hello.”

Crosshair has always thought that his Princess is stunning, but seeing her standing in the doorway, clad in tight leather, and with her short hair falling into her eyes…she looks like an avenging angel and he’s never been more attracted to her in his life.

Impressive, since he can hardly keep his hands to himself as it is.

“Sweetheart!” The Mistress takes half a step towards her, “Your hair…your face! Why are you so fat?”

Princess closes her eyes for a moment, and then she turns and blatantly ignores everyone in the room, “Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, and for a moment, Crosshair can pretend that they’re on the ship and it’s just them.

He slides his arms through the bars of the cell, and holds out his trembling hands, “Better, since you’re here.”

Her sharp eyes linger on his trembling hands, on the burn marks on his arms, chest, and stomach. Her gaze lingers on the bruises covering his face and his torso.

And her eyes go cold.

“Sweetling, why are you talking to that-” His Princess’ father says as he takes a step towards her, reaching out to touch her.

There’s a flash of silver, only noticed because he was looking for it, and then there’s screaming as ‘Darling’ falls back, clutching his blood soaked arm. His Princess carefully uses a cloth to wipe the blood off the blade.

“You took Crosshair.” Her voice is flat, emotionless.

She’s clearly pissed.

“You know,” She continues, some emotion returning to her voice, and she directs her comment towards him, “I really only considered two options when coming here.”

“Oh yeah?” Cross asks as he leans against the bars.

“Hm. Option 1, they took you and killed you.” She continues lightly, “And if that was the case I was going to kill them all, burn this place to the ground, and then throw myself at the Empire until they managed to kill me.”

“Dramatic.”

She shrugs a single shoulder, “Option 2, is that they took you and were using you as bait to make me come here. In this scenario, you were uninjured, just annoyed, and I just threatened great bodily harm and we carried on our way.”

She casts her gaze over him again, “Somehow,” She continues, “The idea that they might torture you never crossed my mind.”

“They are still your family, Princess. I’m not gonna blame you for not wanting to believe the worst of them.” Crosshair says lazily.

She turns to the cell door and effortlessly picks the lock and swings the door open, “Well, you’re the injured party, Cross. What do you want?”

“You have a blaster?”

She smiles and wordlessly passes it to him.

Even with nerve damage, and trembling hands, he’s still the best.

Three shots. Three blaster rounds.

Three dead bodies.

His Princess takes the blaster back and slides it in her holster, before she helps him with a shirt she brought him, “Are you ready to go?” She asks.

“More than ready.” He leans against her, needing her support to make it back to the ship, “Let’s get out of here.”

A week later, you step into the bedroom on your ship, your gaze lingering on Crosshair. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, glaring at his shaking hands. Nerve damage takes weeks to heal, even with bacta.

His hands will be shaking for a while.

Maybe you’ll take Tech up on that offer for a 3 month long vacation on Pabu.

But first-

You enter the room and kneel in front of him, taking both of his hands in yours and pressing light kisses against the palms of his hands. “Do they hurt?” You ask.

“It’s mostly just an ache,” He admits, bitterly, “I’m not going to be able to-”

“Shh,” You release one of his hands and reach up to cup his cheek, “Crosshair, your only responsibility right now is to heal.”

He scowls at you, though you know he’s more annoyed at the situation than at you. “I feel useless.”

“Nonsense. You could never be useless.”

“You’re biased.”

“Mm, perhaps. A little.” You stand and settle on the bed next to him, “But I’m also honest. You will heal. You will get back to 100%. It just takes time.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t be like that.” You say as you lay your head on his shoulder, “After that Wookie broke my leg in three places, you didn’t accuse me of being a burden or of being useless, even though I felt like I was.”

Crosshair shakes his head, and then leans his head against yours, “You gonna use my words against me?”

“If I have to.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I suppose you did pay for the best doctors to see me.”

“Yes, I did.” You reply smugly.

“Alright.” He turns to look at you properly, “I’ll be patient.”

“You’re a sniper, patience is your thing.” You tease him, throwing his words back at him.

His arms, strong and steady, hook around you and he pulls you onto his lap, “Yeah, yeah.” Crosshair leans in and kisses you hungrily, nipping at your lower lip roughly enough that you squeak, “So. You gonna tell me what you and Tech have been talking about?”

“...he’s invited us to come to Pabu until you finish recovery. I’m thinking that agreeing might be a good idea.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he sighs, “If you think it’s a good idea, Princess, then I won’t argue. But I refuse to stay with my siblings.”

“Of course not, we’ll be staying here or in an inn.” You brush your fingers across his cheek, “I’ll go let him know.”

Crosshair tightens his grip around you, “You can tell him later. I want you for myself right now.”

You beam at him, “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

#star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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mindshelter · 2 years

Text

speaking as someone who wasn't part of the DC fanbase in the 2000s by virtue of being a small child, can you. fucking imagine. what it was like to be a fan of tim and kon back then. nothing huge, they'd be cute together now that they've grown out of their past antagonism and are now the best! of friends! who support each other -- tim assures kon of his own humanity, refers to kon as family. kon, in turn, helps tim shoulder the grief of losing jack and is notably territorial over tim's status as robin. aw, that's sweet--

and then kon fucking dies, as one does. crosses the wrong rainbow bridge. body's going cold by the time tim reaches him. they were his colours.

and then, for the next few years, you're periodically hit with the most deranged content possible. what happens next far, far exceeds whatever inhinged nonsense DC's own timkon fans could have come up with. tim is pretending to be coping well, and a full year later, he is in fact coping so well that he's trying clone or ressurrect kon through any means possible. this brings him (and the titans) in direct opposition against the brotherhood of evil, whose leadership consists of, wait for it, a gay gorilla and his gay lover, a gay brain in a jar. their gay evil goal is to give the brain in a jar a new body so they can live happily ever after. tim is quietly devastated when their attempt at cloning Brain said new body fails. their final appearance in that issue has the Brain quote nietzsche: "there is always some madness in love. but there is also always some reason in madness."

seven (7) pages later, tim's ninety-fifth attempt at remaking kon fails. he starts destroying his lab equipment in a fit of rage. cassie exclaims that even if tim did succeed, it wouldn't really be conner, to which tim says, he'd be close enough. we could make him close enough.

hey tim what the fuck is wrong with you (don't answer that)

absolutely nobody at all, zero people:

DC: this disembodied brain and his boyfriend, a french gorilla named monsieur mallah, mirrors tim's struggle to live without his beloved friend and show tim the futility of trying to bring him back to life

it. it just keeps. just keeps going. no time to catch your breath. my best friend died. i couldn't accept it, tim says melodramatically, a single manly tear rolling down his cheek. i couldn't lose you too. i know it wouldn't have been you, conner, but it would have been something.

and it keeps going. bleeding out. will i see conner? hope so, tim thinks, because his priorities are in order. the rooftop hug. why so happy? let me guess. sale on leather?

if you need me, just yell. i'll hear you. i know you will, conner. and thanks. for what? for believing in me.

elsewhere, a sentient plant makes kon hallucinate his greatest fears and they are, get this,

1. tim not liking him (agh!)

2. tim hating him (agh!)

3. tim dying (agh!)

we haven't even reached you'll always be my robin. you'll always be my clone boy. that's the gratuitous, almost vestigial cherry in top at this point.

... like. imagine being a DC fan pre-infinite crisis and thinking robin and superboy were pretty cute, and had great chemistry, not expecting anything too crazy. and then spending the next five to six years getting repeatedly kicked in the face. i just know those livejournal forums were popping back when adventure comics #3 (2009) dropped

#I dont think enough people know that timkon was compared in canon to a villanous gay couple #that's a real thing that happened how did they come up with this shit #got slightly overshadowed by the lab tantrum in the same issue lmao #dc #timkon #for all the weirdo behaviour both of them lapse into around each other they are delightfully healthy when things are going well lol #this isnt even all of it. Not even Close #comic blogging

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miasmaghoul · 11 months

Note

Miasma, im a lil sick and if its not too much to ask could i get a lil fic of sick dew with mountain and swiss and cumulus taking care of dew? It'd mean a lot 🥺🥺❤️❤️. (Ty in advance for your consideration)

Sick little guy ahoy.

I hope you feel better soon! ♡

"Has anyone seen Dew this morning?" Cumulus pokes her head into the common room, searching for a telltale blond head.

Mountain shakes his head, not looking up from the pan of eggs he's in the middle of scrambling.

"Not yet," he rumbles, cracking some pepper into his breakfast. "He missed sunrise."

Well that's concerning; Dew never misses his early morning coffee with Mountain and they all know it. A grunt sounds from the couch, and Swiss's head appears over the arm of it.

"Haven't seen him since yesterday," he says, stifling a yawn. It's still early, and Swiss has never been a morning person. "Why, he owe you money or somethin'?" Cumulus rolls her eyes.

"He's supposed to help me organize the storehouse today," she informs them, watching Mountain pluck a few fresh chives from the base of one of his horns. He snips them into the pan, and her mouth waters. Mountain makes the best eggs. "I can't find him anywhere. I think he's hiding from me."

Swiss snorts out a laugh, shoving himself up and stretching both arms over his head.

"Sounds about right," he scratches at his chest, sauntering towards the kitchenette to steal a sausage link from the plate Mountain has prepared. He earns a wooden spoon to the knuckles for his trouble, but it's not enough to dissuade him. Mountain grumbles, but doesnt whack him again. Swiss plants a wet kiss on his cheek in thanks. "You check his room?" He leans against the counter, munching on his prize. Cumulus nods.

"I knocked," she confirms, crossing both arms over her chest, "he didn't answer." Swiss rolls his eyes, smirking.

"C'mon, Lus," he chides, popping the rest of the sausage into his mouth and licking grease from his thumb. "You really think he'd answer if he's hiding?"

That's...a fair point, actually. Cumulus pinches the bridge of her nose. She'd like it noted that it is still very early, and she can't be blamed for her brain not firing on all cylinders.

"You're probably right," she sighs, running manicured fingers through her curls. "I guess I'll go try again."

"Do you want breakfast first?" Mountain asks it over his shoulder, stirring a spoonful of creme fraiche into his eggs. "It's just about ready."

"I'll be right back," she assures him, giving the pair a wave. Hopefully with a grumpy little fire ghoul in tow. Swiss pushes away from the counter and pads his way over.

"I'll come with," he offers, "in case you need backup." Mountain trills in discontent and Swiss ruffles his hair, gives him a chuckle. "Hush, grasshopper. We'll be back before you know it."

Mountain grumbles regardless, but doesn't argue further. Swiss hooks an arm around her shoulders and Cumulus does the same to his waist, the pair of them striding down the hall towards the stairs that will take them to the dorms.

"It's not like Dew to miss sunup," Cumulus murmurs after a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek. She can count on one hand the number of times this has happened, and it's never been for anything good.

"I wouldn't worry," Swiss replies, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "you know how he gets when it comes to chores."

That much is true. If anyone is going to shirk duties, it's Dewdrop. Cumulus hums, but something in her isn't convinced. There's an unease in her belly, something not quite right. She doesn't speak on it though, the rest of their short journey made in silence. Soon enough, she's knocking on the little ghoul's door once again.

"Dew?" Cumulus calls through thick oak, Swiss leaning against the wall nearby. "You in there, sugar?" There's no response, and that wiggly feeling in her stomach grows.

"C'mon, firecracker," Swiss says, louder than Cumulus had been, "rise 'n shine, you got shit to do!" He wiggles the doorknob, but it doesn't move. Locked.

"I don't think he's here," Cumulus mumbles. Swiss is less convinced.

"One way to find out."

Swiss drops to his knees and presses a large palm just below the lock. Cumulus watches wide-eyed as tendrils of shadow leak from the tips of his fingers, slithering up into the keyhole like tiny snakes. Seconds later there's a clunking noise, and Swiss fixes her with a grin as he stands.

"That's new," she comments. Swiss gives her a wink that makes the little hairs on the back of the neck stand up.

"I'm full of surprises, sweetheart." The way he says it has her stomach fluttering for a different reason, but Cumulus tries not to think about it. She clears her throat, knocking one more time.

"Dew? We're coming in, okay?"

Once again, no response, and Cumulus pushes the door open with no further warning. They step into the little ghoul's room, and are greeted by darkness. Dew's curtains are still drawn, the only light leaking from between cracks in the heavy drapery. Swiss crosses the room to throw them open, letting the sun in and revealing an empty bed piled with messy blankets.

Now that they're in the room, though, she can hear water running, and it makes sense why Dew hadn't responded. He's in the shower. Of course he is, it's the only place he could be. She feels silly for being so worried in the first place.

Something, though, still doesn't feel quite right. She'd last knocked nearly thirty minutes ago, and Dew isn't the biggest fan of long showers. The worry bites at her again, and before she can stop herself Cumulus's legs carry her to the bathroom door.

"Dew, baby? You in there?" She knocks, presses her ear to the door, and over the rushing sound of the shower she hears...something. Soft whimpering. Then,

"L-Lulu?"

Cumulus shoves the door open without a second thought, spurred by the weakness in Dew's voice. She finds him sitting in the corner of his shower. Fully clothed, drenched and shaking like a leaf. Hugging his knees. There's steam rolling off of him in waves, and it takes a moment for her to realize that it isn't coming from the water itself.

It's coming from Dew.

"Lulu," he rasps, voice as shaky as he is, "p-please..."

Cumulus reaches through the spray and finds it icy cold, turning the faucet off before stepping into the stall, dropping to her knees.

"Dew? Dew, sweetie, what-"

Cumulus sets a hand on his shoulder and immediately puls it back with a gasp. Dew always runs hot, but right now he's boiling. The little ghoul stares at her with foggy eyes, blinking so slowly.

"Help."

Shit.

"It's okay, lovebug, I'm here." She rests a hand on his cheek despite the heat, stroking too-pale skin. "Swiss!" Cumulus calls, trying to keep the encroaching panic from leaking into her voice. It's a skill she's developed over the years, staying calm on the face of even the worst things. "Need a hand in here!"

Dew doesn't seem to know that she's speaking, breathing shallow though his mouth and leaning heavily into her hand. He looks half dead, pasty and gray. Swiss pads in a moment later, and Cumulus hears him suck air through his teeth. She doesn't bother acknowledging it.

"He's roasting," she says gently, eyes never leaving Dew's face. She's not sure he can see her, but she's not going to risk it. "Help me get him out of here, would you?"

Swiss doesn't hesitate, stepping into the stall to scoop the suffering ghoul up in strong arms and hissing at the heat of him.

"You aren't kidding," he murmurs, carrying Dew back to the bedroom. Cumulus follows close behind, shedding her now-soaked leggings along the way.

"He must have finally picked up the bug we had the other week," she says, mostly to herself. Dew is their defacto caretaker when sickness hits, his natural heat keeping him insulated from the ills that float around the abbey from time to time. When it does hit him, though, he suffers. Mightily.

"Guess so."

Swiss sounds concerned now too, a rare tone. He sets Dew down in his desk chair, the little ghoul whining and clinging to him with weak limbs. He strips Dew with careful hands while Cumulus gathers a change of clothes from his dresser - an old shirt of Aether's and a pair of sweats that must have been Rain's at some point. They're too long, but they'll be warm and that's what matters.

She and Swiss work together to get him dry, Swiss channeling his fire to blend with her air and pulling the moisture from his skin and hair. Dew shivers through it, and through the pair of them getting him dressed again. He looks so tiny in the oversized clothes, and Cumulus's heart clenches. Poor thing must be miserable. She certainly was when she was stuck with this garbage.

"You'll be okay, bug," she assures him, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. "You'll be okay."

Swiss picks him up again once he's dressed, the little ghoul unconsciously burying his face in Swiss's chest for comfort. He deposits Dew on the mattress, only stepping back long enough to pull off his own shirt before crawling in after him. He hauls Dew onto his bare chest, that slight body limp and obviously heavy. Cumulus follows, organizing the blankets enough to get the pair of them covered. Swiss is already sweating by the time she's done, focusing his own power to draw some of the heat from Dew's trembling form.

"He's in bad shape." The other ghoul strokes Dew's back under the covers, and Cumulus nods.

"Yeah," she agrees, tucking a blanket around Dew's shoulders. "Where's Aether when you need him?" Of course this would happen the one week their resident healer was away, he and Rain accompanying Papa on a press junket.

"Seriously," Swiss huffs, forcing a chuckle. He presses a kiss into Dew's hair. "Guess it's up to us to play doctor for a change."

Cumulus sighs, perching herself on the edge of the bed and rubbing Dew's leg though the blanket. They sit in silence for a few long minutes, the quiet broken only by the little ghoul's soft, distressed whines. Swiss keeps his lips pressed to temple, gauging his temperature through thin skin.

"There you are."

The voice makes them both jolt, and Dew makes the saddest little sound until Swiss settles again. Cumulus turns to find Mountain in the doorway, a large tray in his hands and a crease between his brows.

"I figured I'd find you all in his bed, but uh. Not quite like this."

Cumulus can't help her sad smile.

"Little guy's sick," she says, barely more than a whisper. "Nasty fever, like we all had."

Mountain's frown deepens. He sets the tray on Dew's desk and Cumulus sees that's it's full to bursting with a wonderful spread. Eggs, sausages, toast and fruit. It's easily enough food for for all of them, and alongside it all are four steaming mugs. Two have teabags, the other two black coffee. The ideal breakfast in bed.

She hopes it won't go to waste.

"I can help," Mountain says, eyes slipping closed.

Cumulus raises an eyebrow, but before she can ask how she's greeted by small clusters of white flowers blooming at the crown of Mountain's head. He plucks them carefully, crushing the tiny blossoms between his palms and dropping them into one of the mugs of tea.

"Elderflower," he says by way of explanation. "It's a natural fever reducer." Mountain gives the concoction a stir, licking his spoon clean with a satisfied nod. "Tastes nice too. Can he sit up?"

"Dunno," Swiss rasps, now visibly drenched in sweat. Dew has more or less stopped shaking, though, so that's a positive. "He's pretty weak."

"We have to try," Cumulus whispers, biting her lip, "before his brain poaches."

Swiss chuffs out a laugh, one echoed by Mountain, and together they work to get Dew into the proper position. Swiss moves himself to the headboard, and Mountain lifts the little ghoul with no effort. Arranges him to sit against Swiss's chest, head tipped back against his shoulder. Cumulus gathers the mug and spoon while Mountain climbs in next to them, getting a large hand on the back of Dew's neck to keep him upright. Cumulus settles herself between Swiss's legs, kneeling and giving the drink in hand a stir.

"Dew? Sweetheart?" Swiss gives the little ghoul's waist a squeeze as Cumulus speaks, Mountain rubbing a thumb along his hairline. Dew blinks up at her, hazy and lost.

"Mngh...Lus?" Cumulus smiles, stokes his cheek.

"That's right, baby," she coos, offering him a small smile.

"Wha...wha's goin' on?" He squirms a little in Swiss's arms, but he has no energy to fight.

"You're sick, Sparky," Swiss breathes into his ear, kissing just behind it. Dew makes a soft sound, drooping against Swiss's chest. "Don't worry, we're here to help."

"Mount made you some medicine," Cumulus tells him, tapping the spoon against the rim of the mug. "It'll help. I'm going to feed it to you, alright?"

Like he's in any condition to argue.

Dew gives a weak nod, and there's no more talking after that. Cumulus feeds him the tea spoonful by spoonful, the floral scent of it permeating the air around them. Dew hums after each sip, licking at his lips every now in then. It takes a while to get the full mug into him, and by the time they're done Dew's barely conscious.

He's boneless between Swiss's legs, supported only by his arms and Mountain's hand. Cumulus sets the mug to the side once he's done and the others waste no time in getting Dew settled back into the bed. Laying him out on the center on the mattress, Swiss molding himself to the little ghoul's back. Mountain gets up long enough to take his shirt off, and in the process Cumulus catches him glancing at the breakfast tray he'd brought. She rests a kind hand on his bicep.

"I'm sorry," she says, a genuine apology. "We should have come and told you what was happening, but Dew-"

"Shh," Mountain soothes, dropping a kiss between her horns. "It's alright, Lus. There are worse things than cold eggs." She smiles up at him.

"I'll make it up to you," she promises, and Mountain will certainly hold her to that. She knows from experience. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss his collarbone, and Mountain gives her ass an affectionate squeeze.

"Lulu," comes a sad little voice from the bed, and the ghoulette turns to find a spidery hand reaching for her. "'mere."

Who is she to say no to that?

Cumulus climbs in where Mountain had been earlier, pressing a soft kiss to the little ghoul's forehead. It's a touch cooler than it was earlier. That's a good sign. Dew snakes an arm around her waist, nuzzles into the softness of her chest, and to their shared delight a rusty purr kicks up in Dew's chest.

Swiss wraps his arm around the both of them, and Cumulus hums. The blankets shift and Mountain makes himself comfortable at her back, mirroring Swiss's position and getting them all tucked in.

"Rest, now," she whispers, knocking her horns against Dew's affectionately. "You'll feel better soon." Dew whines, tired eyes searching hers.

"Promise?"

Cumulus kisses his cheek.

"Promise."

Dew drifts off quickly after that, and the rest if them are content to let him. Content to care for him as he cared for them.

It's the least they can do for their favorite little fire ghoul.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #dewdrop ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #sickfic #this is so much longer than i meant it to be lmao oops

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sleepynxri · 3 months

Text

"Come here, you can sit on my lap while I work"

A/N: Yeah I know it's another one lmao, don't come for me it's 2 am and I'm sleep deprived (hence my name) hehhe

Pairing/s: Wyatt Quinn x gn!reader

Warnings: curses lmao

“What in great heavens happened to your room darling?!"

This is why you should never show your room to Wyatt. The Beige blonde male stood around your little room almost starstrucked seeing the boxes laying around the floor aimlessly.

You expected this would happen considering how a clean freak he is sometimes and the constant…… lines of his added routine to make himself more beautiful.

You defended yourself saying that you didn't expect to be stranded in the middle of a street and arrive at Brine Bay for the summers. You were actually planning to head to your family house but well- you know what happened but you didn't explain it to the man at hand.

At this point you aren't sure if he's fuming red in anger, frustration, embarrassment or all of the above. His hand twitched slightly in annoyance as he took his surroundings for a second and took a deep sigh.

“Darling… you told me this before, at which point I'm aware of your situation. But you could have at least cleaned your room even when you knew you had a guest over” Wyatt did have a point.

Your guess was you didn't have to pick up the boxes since you will be temporarily staying in the room for who knows how long. So it's a waste to clean everything when any day or week you could be gone after a phone call from Kai.

A small hum accumulated from your mouth as you started on cleaning up your room to help on Wyatt’s sanity(I heard that darling 💢)

You pick up the boxes and stack them together in an area where no one can get hurt from it. You opened up your windows (I assume they can?) To let some of the dust flow outside your room and do a mini clean up on your area.

To your surprise, Wyatt curled up his sleeves and helped with the cleaning. Who knew he could clean? You were aware that he had a personal chef so you expected that he had someone to clean his house for him as well. People were right on the phrase “don't judge a book by its cover"

With the help of Wyatt, the cleaning went more smoothly and we're practically finished on doing the mini cleanup on your area.

You pummelled yourself on your bed with an exhausted sigh, relief stretched around your body as you didn't expect the cleaning drained you. Then again you did just finish your shift and met up with Wyatt to head to your hostel room for some “bonding time".

Speaking of the said blonde male…

Your eyes scanned on where the model was, to your luck your angle was able to see that he sat himself down on your desk chair- is that a laptop?? Where in the fuck did he get that from??

Blinking your eyes in surprise, you manoeuvred your body around to look at him in a better angle. He looked… enchanting while he works.

His brown eyes locked focus into the dimly bright screen of his laptop, as his glasses were planted on the bridge of his nose. His beige blonde hair was on its normal hairstyle with some of his hair strands drapped around his straight shoulders.

A leg was crossed over from his thigh as his hands continued typing on the keypads like he was busy with a rushed assignment. You cringed slightly from the memory of the sleepless nights in college with a paper due around 11:59 at night.

You didn't realise you were still staring at the male as Wyatt glanced his eyes towards you with amused brown eyes. You felt the stare as you snapped out from your thoughts immediately.

“Staring is considered rude darling. But I'll give an exception since it's you of all people who’s staring at me like that" Wyatt gave a small courteous chuckle as his eyes scanned back to the laptop and continued on typing out his work.

A blush creeped into your cheeks as you tried to hide it using a plushie/pillow that you had in your bed. It got worse after hearing another chuckle coming out of Wyatt’s mouth.

A few hours? I think it's been like half an hour since both of you even talked a single thing. The silence was comforting, but you worry that you might be loud sometimes by scrolling around your phone while watching WikWok videos.

You suddenly felt the bed dip beside you as your eyes glanced towards the area and Wyatt was there holding his phone.

Before you could question what he was doing, he just smirked slightly and gently patted his lap. You looked… . Confused?

“I can see you have a lot in your mind, come sweet thing. Lay on my lap while I continue working." Your eyes widened at this.

Was he- inviting you to lay on his lap? THE Wyatt Quinn is asking you to place your head on his lap??

Before you could protest, he placed a hand around your waist and dragged you over to him.

The position ended up with Wyatt sitting down on the bed with a leg hanging from the edge and you laying down into his lap while your back was facing his chest.

You blushed darkly at this, Wyatt didn't mind the position as he started on typing his phone while using only 1 hand while his other gently caressed your hair.

You were nervous at first but relaxed at some point. The hand on your hair was already enough to make you calm down, as it reminded you of the time of a parental figure you had caressing your head while trying to make you fall asleep.

You smiled slightly as you closed your eyes in bliss. A small sigh of relief could be heard from you as you can feel the tiredness creep around your body.

“Have a nice rest Doll, I'll be here when you wake up”

Threads of You: Beyond the Bay

Lavendeer Studio Discord Server

Disclaimer: I am not part of the Lavendeer Studio team, I'm just placing the links here to whoever wants to play the game or wants to join the server for more updates and upcoming events!!

#threads of you: beyond the bay #Wyatt Quinn x reader #Wyatt Quinn x fem reader #Wyatt Quinn x male reader #Wyatt Quinn #Wyatt Quinn x gn reader #male reader #female reader #gn reader #what do i tag this

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iliumheightnights · 9 months

Text

Sanctuary | Danse x Male!Sole Survivor

Pairing: Danse x Male Reader Fandom: Fallout 4 Ask: Paladin Danse's response to seeing your network of interconnected settlements, all with heavily-armed defenses and the growth of a new civilization, all without Brotherhood assistance?

~~~ This would totally happen pre-relationship between them. When Danse is still part of the Brotherhood. ~~~

"We're almost there." M/n said as he walked ahead of Danse.

The Paladin made a noise in acknowledgement. He let M/n lead the way. This was a resupply mission. The two were bringing some much-needed supplies to his settlement.

Danse hadn't wanted to deviate from their mission for the brotherhood, but M/n had been a good help and friend. He figured this wouldn't be a bad distraction.

They had just passed through the abandoned city of Concord and were at an old Red Rocket stop. However, the building was surrounded by walls and had a few watch towers.

"M/n! Hey M/n!" One of the guardsmen waved to them. "You stopping in or heading to Sanctuary?"

"Sanctuary! Have to drop off something!"

"Understood! We'll call ahead and tell them you're on your way. Make sure there isn't any surprises or anything."

"Thanks Donick!"

Soon the little outpost was behind them as they continued forward. Danse took the opportunity to ask M/n the question that had popped to his mind. "What was that place?"

"One of our Outposts. It was set up as a good forward waystation to Sanctuary. That way in case Raiders or Bandits try to make a move, we'll be ready for them."

Danse nodded. That made sense. He just hadn't expected that.

Soon both men arrived at a bridge. It was nice and seemed to have been rebuilt. Across the river, a large walled community was seen. Lights were on in the windows with smoke drifting up chimmnies. A whole community. A functioning community.

"Come on. I'm sure if we hurry there will still be some good dinner left for us."

They crossed the bridge and arrived at the gate. Danse noticed how the gate was surrounded by automated machine gun turrents. A few rocket launchers were stationed above the watch towers.

"M/n! You're back! About time too! Doc needs those meds like ASAP."

"Sounds good. Go ahead and open up Rhonda!"

She didn't waste any time. Soon the gate opened up and they could walk through. It was then that Danse noticed how they weren't in the community yet. There was in fact another gate they had to walk through and more turrents. "What? You think we're idle with our safety?" M/n teasingly asked Danse.

The other gate opened as the one they just walked through closed. They were then able to finally enter Sanctuary.

As they walked through the community, Danse couldn't stop looking around. He saw people laughing and smiling. Kids playing around with each other. Pets. He saw pets. Everyone seemed...happy. A lot more than he could say about some of the other brotherhood settlements he had seen.

"Everything alright?" M/n asked once he noticed how Danse seemed to be a bit lost in his thoughts.

"What? Oh! Oh yeah. I'm fine. I just...hadn't expected all of this." He motioned to everything around him. "I'll be honest. I kind of expected a few small shacks and turrents. Not a town."

"Ah. I see. Let me guess, that's what Maxson told you about the commonwealth? That we needed your help?"

"Well...yes."

M/n laughed and shook his head. "Of course." He knew it was the truth. Maxson was a pompous self-absorbed asshat. He thought anything outside of the brotherhood was impure and unnatural. That's why he didn't enjoy being near him.

The two made it to a building that was used as the town's hospital. A doctor in a white coat came rushing to meet them. "PLEASE tell me you have it." M/n smiled and reached into his bag pulling out a few packs of Radaway and some other healing stims. "Right here." The doctor seemed relieved. "THANK YOU." That's all the doctor said before turning around and rushing back to their patients.

"Come on. Let's get something to eat and rest a bit. It's been a long trip." He gave Danse' shoulder a pat and moved out of the building, the larger man following him.

The two were heading towards another building when a man in a long coat and hat approached them. "General! Glad you're back." Preston Garvey. Danse had met him a few times before. Not many, but enough to recognize the man. "We just got a call from Starlight. A group of supermutants tried to get through. Luckily those new turrents ended it rather quickly."

"Good. I'm glad. Any other trouble?"

"The occasional raider here and there, but nothing to really report on."

"Even better news. Thanks Preston."

"General." With that, the minuteman nodded his head and turned to continue his patrol.

"Starlight?"

"One of our other settlements. About twenty-five minutes south of here. Old drive-in." He entered the building with Danse and grabbed two bowls of soup that had been made in the kitchens.

The two sat down on the second story of the building on a patio that overlooked the settlement and a bit of beyond. "Another settlement? How many others are there?" Danse was curious. He had never heard of settlements working together. They were usually on their own.

M/n counted on his fingers and held up five fingers. "Five. Sanctuary and Starlight are two. There's also the Castle, Somerville, and Bunker Hill. Those are our big settlements. There's also a handful of outposts around like the red rocket we passed."

"How did you do this?"

"They really teach you that people suck in the brotherhood huh?" He pointed his spoon at Danse. "People want to live and not fear for their life Danse. Trust and Friendship can do wonders." He took a bite of his soup. "We help each other out. We're connected with the radio towers we built. We also make sure to keep our defenses updated and practice drills regularly. We also share supplies between settlements so that we're all successful."

"And it works?" Danse was amazed at hearing everything he had been told. M/n motioned to the settlement they were in. "Obviously. It's been a few years like this now. Of course, it's not always easy, but we make it work. We REALLY aren't as helpless as you were taught."

"I'm starting to see that." Danse' voice was low. He let a sigh escape his lips before he took a bit of his soup. It tasted nice. Felt very homecooked and filled with warmth.

Was this what home tasted like? If it was, he liked it.

#fallout #fallout 4 #paladin danse #danse #x male reader #x male!reader #male reader #male!reader

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ddollipop · 2 years

Text

AS A DUTIFUL MAID SHOULD. . . ! — ( KAMISATO AYATO. )

#. synopsis! — the reader accidentally walks in on ayato masturbating when he’s supposed to be attending a banquet and blows him to take the edge off .

#. contains! — explicitly nsfw content , employer x employee relationship , oral sex (giving) , inexperienced!reader , gentle ayato , sex acts in a semi-public place , male masturbation , blowjobs , cum swallowing .

#. word count! — 2.2k .

"Y/n," Thoma approaches you with an apprehensive expression, "—have you seen Ayato?"

"No," you answer, "why? Has something gone wrong?"

"Nothing like that," your close friend assures you, "the banquet is going smoothly enough, but you know just as well as I do that the majority of these people are here to speak with Ayato. They're not here to mingle and make new friends."

He keeps his voice down as the two of you shuffle off to the side, moving out of earshot of the guests that have gathered.

You sigh.

"Of course. That's how things always are at these events, I'm guessing."

"For the most part, yes," Thoma confirms. "But I haven't seen him since he addressed everyone and welcomed them to the event."

"He probably snuck away for some peace and quiet," you note. "You know how he is with small talk and public recognition. . . This really isn't his area of expertise."

Although you've only been working under the Kamisato siblings for just over a year, you know very well that Ayato is not a fan of showing himself as the face of the Kamisato Clan. Handsome and capable as he may well be, —Ayato is reserved, preferring to do his diligent work behind the scenes. Unfortunately, duty calls from time to time, and he musters up the nerve, steeling himself for a night of discomfort. He's incredibly strong, and he never asks for help, although you truly wish he would. He shoulders far too much all on his own.

"Could you please go look for him?" Thoma asks. "I'll accompany Ayaka to give greetings for now to stave them off, but that won't work forever."

"Am I really allowed to just walk through this building?" You question, anxiety rippling through your veins.

The last thing you want is to be scolded by anyone tonight. These events always unnerve you, having to walk around with fragile bottles in your shaky hands, refilling glasses of wine for rich, powerful people that could likely have you beheaded and swept under the rug if you weren't working under the Kamisato name. If not for your ties to Ayato and Ayaka, they wouldn't even glance your way, nonetheless value your life.

"You probably won't run into anyone, —they're all gathered for the banquet. If anyone asks, just tell them what you're doing, or fib a little and say you got lost while looking for the bathroom," Thoma answers.

"Where should I even look?" You ask.

"There's a room on the third floor of the building that's often reserved for Ayato when he does overnight business in the area," he explains. "Try there first, and if you can't find him, take a look around outside. If that doesn't work, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

With that Thoma went on his way, falling into place at Ayaka's side. You took a deep breath and made your way to the third floor. The staircase of the building was so elegant, you almost felt it was inappropriate to steady yourself with the handrail. Beautiful decorative vases lined the halls, some housing exotic plants with thick, vibrantly green leaves. Your footsteps tapped softly along the waxen floor that gleaned under the light of crystalline chandeliers. Glancing at each of the doors as you passed, you were almost to the dead end of the hall when you noticed one of the doors was cracked open slightly, and light shone from the inside.

You tap your knuckles gently against the wood, but the door still swings inward as a result. When a brief flash of pale blue hair flickers along your gaze, there's a brief moment of internal relief.

"My lord, I don't mean to disturb you—"

The words catch in your throat, jaw slacking and breath hitching. Your body all but freezes in place as a burn etches itself into the skin of your cheeks. You feel your heartbeat pound, hammering against your chest so roughly that you fear it's only a moment or two away from bursting.

Ayato's body rests against the wall of the bedroom, his normal, refined posture replaced by slouched shoulders and a dipped head. His cheeks are flushed, mouth hanging open as he gasps softly. You can tell his breathing is unsteady by the way his chest is heaving lightly. One of his strong hands is pressed to the wall, palm flat against it, while the other is stationed above his thighs; —lithe fingers encircling his exposed cock. The reddened tip glistens with a mixture of his own spit and beads of precum.

"I-I am so sorry," you sputter out, averting your gaze as soon as you have half the mind to do so.

He moves quickly, stuffing his length into his pants haphazardly. The skin of his face is painted a dark, blushed pink.

"Forgive me," he says, his deep, smooth voice ringing in your ears to the tune of your frantic pulse. "I. . ."

His voice trails off in a way that you're wholly unfamiliar with. He's always been so eloquent with you ever since the first day you met, —even in his original letter of work proposal to you. Ayato has never been one to falter in verbal expressions.

"I'm sorry to have let you see me that way."

"It was my fault," you reply, brain still feeling cloudy from the sudden rush of adrenaline, "I didn't mean to. . ."

It's your turn to let your words drag off. You can't look him in the eyes now.

"The blame is mine to shoulder," he assures, "—it was inappropriate. Now is hardly the time to be. . . Indulging myself," he seems to say the words with distaste.

"The preparations for this banquet have been taxing and time consuming," Ayato elaborates. "They've taken up a great majority of my attention, and all other things have been pushed to the wayside. I suppose the lack of sleep has gotten to me, among other things."

"I understand," you say in a small voice. "These events aren't comfortable for me either. I haven't slept well since I found out about it."

"I wish you'd brought that to my attention. I would have made other arrangements for accompaniment if I'd known," he tells you.

"If you can brave it, so can I," you offer him a gentle smile.

He returns it, and for a moment, you almost forget that less than two minutes ago you'd accidentally walked in on him masturbating.

"That's hardly your job," he comments, "but I appreciate it wholeheartedly nonetheless."

He steps forward, hand grasping for the doorknob. Ayato looms over you, cheeks still a bit red. You can see lingering teeth marks on the skin of his lips.

"I should return to the banquet," he says, though he sounds less than convinced of that himself. "I'm sure Thoma already noticed my absence and sent you to search for me."

You stare up at him, unable to tear your gaze away. Ayato has always had a magnetizing quality, —one that's pulled you to him from the beginning. Sophisticated charm with a caring soul, someone who seeks peace and harmony. He's all too easy to fall for, especially now. His hesitancy to leave speaks a million words not even someone as articulate as him could muster up the courage to say.

You swallow roughly when his fingers ghost against the skin of your cheek.

"Thank you for coming tonight," he whispers, face coming closer and stopping just when his nose is about to brush along yours.

"I'd like to kiss you," he requests, "—if I may."

Unable to force words out, you nod, and he leans in. His lips are sweet and warm as they cover your own. He's gentle and anything but greedy. Ayato matches your pace, and he pulls away when you reach aside and close the bedroom door.

"I. . . I can help," you tell him.

He needs no confirmation as to what you're referencing.

"It isn't necessary," he answers. "I'll have feelings for you either way."

"I want to," you say, quickly adding "—if you want me to, anyway."

He kisses you again, soft and light. It feels comforting, despite the circumstances.

"The choice is yours," he parrots. "I'll be content no matter the decision."

Ayato thinks it's cute when your hands fumble with the band of his pants, determined but inexperienced all within the same breath. His back presses to the door and you mouth at the skin of his neck, confidence growing when he hums in pleasure at the feeling. You refrain from bruising the skin, knowing that wouldn't bode well for him downstairs amongst the banquet guests. Many of them are pretty young women looking to elicit his romantic interest, after all.

When you slide down to your knees, he stares down at you with those ocean eyes. They tell you he expects nothing that you aren't willing to give. A large hand smooths along the crown of your head, caressing your hair.

You've never done this before, and you suspect he already knows as much, so you don't feel the need to explain yourself directly. You're not innocent enough to have no idea as to what you're supposed to do, but you start slow. Gripping his cock in your hand, you part your lips and offer a few kitten licks to the tip. He tastes salty, if the slightest bit bitter, —but nothing inherently unpleasant. The grip you hold along his shaft tightens a bit.

He's already hard, clearly too turned on for his own good, maybe even to the point of discomfort, but Ayato relishes in the slowness of your process. He watches with eyes glossed over as you part your lips further and suction your mouth around the heated tip of his length. A small, breathy sigh escapes him.

When your tongue licks a solid stripe along the underside of his cock, from base to shaft to the head, Ayato feels his insides twist. He doesn't have enough shame in the moment to be embarrassed about the fact that he's already so close to bursting.

"Ah," he breathes, "that feels good."

The hand on your head feels encouraging as the fingers play absentmindedly with locks of your hair. His voice is laced with such raw desperation that it feels almost humbling to you.

When you take him in fully for the first time, Ayato moans in pleasure. He's too sensitive to keep it in. You're thankful that he doesn't, —it sounds like music to your ears. Having your mouth stuffed this full isn't a natural thing for you, but it doesn't strike you as unwelcome. . . Just new, and for whatever it's worth, you're glad your first experience of this nature has been with Ayato. He's gentle, still seeking to soothe your nerves even when all of his are on fire.

He twitches against your tongue, startling you a bit. You adapt, pressing his cock to the roof of your mouth in response. When his eyes close, head tilting back in ecstasy, you can't help but feel proud. Sliding his length in and out of your mouth, being sure to avoid grazing him with your teeth, you offer him a virgin's first attempt at a blowjob. And the best part of all is that he eats it up for every moment he can manage to hold himself back.

He doesn't complain that you don't force yourself to gag on him, —doesn't fist your hair and force you down on him for the sake of his own release. Ayato's hand stays put atop your head, offering you a comfortable feeling in this maze of unknowns. He offers you a sense of warmth as you seek to trek this previously unexplored territory with him.

"Love," he says, voice uneven under the pressure building in his gut, "I'm close."

You back off a bit, scared of him releasing down your throat. You don't mind it on your tongue, —but the thought of choking on his cum is humiliating, and if it'll ever happen at all, it certainly won't be now. Your hand does most of the remaining work, stuttering through the imperfect movements. Ayato doesn't utter a single complaint. As he is with all things, he accepts whatever you can offer to him with grace. Just the fact that you're willing to do something so clearly outside your own realm is enough to push him over the edge.

When he reaches his limit, his cum spills onto the flat of your tongue. The taste is faint, and you only pause for a moment or two before swallowing it down. He whimpers softly above you, cracking a small smile when you pull off of him, wiping at your bottom lip with your thumb. He smooths that hand along your hair again in silent thanks before taking it away to adjust his clothes. The quickness at which he regains his composure is almost astonishing.

"I should return to the banquet," he says. "Thoma is probably worried for the both of us by now."

He's right. You take Ayato's outstretched hand, and he helps you to your feet. You're uncertain as to how he could seem like such a gentleman, even after all of that.

"Thank you," he whispers softly with his hand on the knob.

You smile when his lips ghost the skin of your forehead.

#genshin smut #ayato #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato smut #ayato kamisato #genshin impact #ayato x reader #ayato smut #ayato kamisato x reader #ayato kamisato smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #ayato x you #ayato x y/n #kamisato ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x you #kamisato ayato x y/n

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darkwitch1999 · 4 months

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Akuma Idea: 💡🎩The Phantom🎭💡

Okay, so this idea occurred to me a while back and I have been mulling it over ever since I first watched this video:

youtube

After listening to this song dozens of times on repeat and watching the animatic, I decided to akumatize someone into a villain based on a character from a musical or a play. So I bet you can guess from the title of the post which character I went with:

So I was thinking that the Phantom's design would be heavily based on the "Phantom of the Opera" but I was also thinking about adding some elements of Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon into the mix (more specifically his top hat, cape, white gloves, and maybe the cane? Idk)

I'm also planning on writing out his design to have the tuxedo that the Phantom of the Opera wears as well as the mask that covers half of his face. I was thinking about giving him a mask that covers his whole face, but I thought that would kill the aesthetic. I have zero ideas on what to do with the Phantom's hair, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

So far for the Phantom's superpowers, I was thinking of giving him the power to go intangible and pass through solid matter as well as turn invisible. I'll confess I also had Danny Phantom in mind when I was thinking of ideas for powers for this akumatized villain, except this Phantom can't fly 😅😂😂. He will also carry a couple of weapons on him as well like a dagger and a theater sword.

So the reason why the Phantom has intangibility and invisibility powers ties in with his personality and the reason why he was akumatized. So basically, the Phantom is a drama student from Collège Françoise Dupont who is participating in a play being organized by a theater group consisting of students from several different schools in Paris (still deciding on what play they will be performing). This student auditioned for the lead role in the play, but his audition was sabotaged when students from a particular middle school decided to pull a cruel prank on him during his audition. While he didn't get the lead role, he did get the part as the lead's understudy and begrudgingly accepted the part that he had been assigned and strives to be the "best damn understudy that anyone has ever seen". Unfortunately, the bullying doesn't stop at his audition, and it is one final act of cruelty a week before opening night that breaks the camel's back and leads to him becoming akumatized. As the Phantom, he uses his powers of intangibility and invisibility to sabotage the play in any way possible whether it be falling stage lights and sandbags, graffiti on stage props, cut-up costumes, writing on the walls, causing drama on the stage, etc. But his main goal is to get back at the assholes who have tormented him relentlessly since Day 1, especially the ringleader who ruined his audition.

Lavender Leyva

As for who will be akumatized....drum roll please 🥁

It's this guy right here! Jean Duparc!!!!

Well, that's about all I have to say about this akumatized villain. Feel free to share your thoughts and opinions in the comments section below. Peace out ✌️☮️

@nerd-chocolate @artzychic27 @andromeda612 @princessbutterflysposts

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writingintheshadowsforever · 1 year

Text

Imagine getting captured with Riri and Shuri by the Talokanils

Part 2 to Being Riri's Roommate and a Ex Avenger

"Y/N wake up come on please" a familiar voice called out to you. The same person was softly patting your cheek.

Your eyes started to flutter open as you finally came to with a groan. Riri's face filled your vision once your eyes did open for good. She sighed in relief letting a smile take over, and replaced the distraught look on her face. "There's my girl" she whispered.

Your throat was dry and felt as if it something was stuck in the back of it resulting in a coughing fit. As you finally sat upright bringing a hand up to your neck.

"Aye can we get some water please?" Riri asked rubbing your back.

You had no idea who she was talking to, or where you guys were even located. The last thing you could remember was being locked into battle with two blue people who came from the water. While you, Okoye, Shuri and Riri were crossing the bridge to escape the cops. You don't even remembered what or who knocked you unconscious. A woman looking exactly the ones on the bridge kneeled in front of you holding out a cup. Panic surged in your body and before you could think about it. Your hand was lashing out knocking the cup away as you scrambled backward trying to get to your feet.

The woman held out both of her hands and slowly stood back up. She didn't seem like a threat, but you were still a bit out of it.

"Y/N" another voice called out with a bit more authority. Your head snapped in that direction to see it was none other than Shuri. She walked over placing a hand on your shoulder. "Easy Avenger you're safe the lady means you no harm" she told you.

You gave her a small nod and finally took the time to really take in your surroundings. It was obvious you were in a underwater cave kept lit up with thousands of blue and green glowing worms attached to the ceiling. The space you were occupying was wasn't too big, and there was a decent size hammock. Your clothes had been changed out as well instead of the shirt and joggers. You were now wearing a brown shirt decorated with scaly material, and matching pants made out of a strange material.

"What happened" You croaked hand still massaging your throat.

Shuri offered you a cup filled with liquid that you were guessing was water. You took it and garbled it down.

"I'm not sure exactly where we're located just that we're in a underwater cave. Namor's soldiers brought us here" Shuri explained.

Your eyes scanned the room searching for one more person you had to see since waking up. "Where's Okoye?"

"They left her behind but she's alive and okay. I heard her calling out for me when the whales took us away." Shuri said looking away in shame. She knew her mother was going to blame the General for her capture, but its not like she had other options at the time.

"Why did they bring me?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. If leaving the General behind was a strategy tactic then why bring an actual Avenger along for the ride?

"I told them you would keep Riri cooperative" Shuri answered. A hint of smile playing on her lips.

You gave her a playful glare and shoved her away. It really irked you at how fast she was able to pick up on your crush for the young engineer. It wasn't like you did anything to make it super obvious.

Riri was back in your line of sight throwing her arms around your neck without warning. Your body stiffened for a second but you returned the hug almost immediately. "Damn it y/n I thought you were in a comma, or some shit when I first woke up. Don't do that again please."

"What get knocked out yeah I'll do my best." You chuckled but she shoved at your shoulder after pulling away from the hug. "What?" You questioned her still a bit too relaxed for her liking.

"What happened to this being one big adventure huh?" She said mimicking your voice. Reminding you of the comforting words you gave her back at the dorm, before everything went wrong.

You shrugged "is getting captured not part of every adventure story you ever read?"

"This isn't funny" Riri exclaimed throwing her hands up. "Of course you are all calm you're not the one they want to kill."

At those words your gaze darkened and you shifted your eyes to Shuri who gave you a slight nod. Riri walked over and threw herself back into the hammock. You followed her crouching down to be on eye level with her, and placed a hand on her knee.

"Hey you're still with me okay I'm here and as long as I'm here no one is going to touch you alright. They'll have to get through me first" You swore giving her a knee a quick squeeze.

"She's right Riri and while I'm not going to make a speech out of it. Just know I'm not going to let them hurt you" Shuri agreed having come up behind you.

Riri glanced back and forth between the two of you, and even though she was still worried. Some of the fear did evaporate from her body knowing you two had her back. Your hand left her knee as you rose up and took a seat beside her. "You know in all my years as hero this is my first time being captured." You admitted throwing your arm over Riri's shoulders letting it hang loosely. "I don't like it."

"No one likes being kidnapped y/n like seriously name one person who wants to be taken against their will" Riri said. Her voice more than moody as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Riri you need to calm down" Shuri whispered. She could tell by the way you threw subtle glances around the cave. You were trying to figure out the best escape plan, and it eased her own nerves knowing she at least had you with her. While you were never taken captive before. You had certainly pulled off more than a few rescue missions, and infiltrated a plenty of enemy bases. She was a bit more appreciative of your decision to tag along.

"Can't Wakanda just send the Black Panther down here to rescue us?" Riri asked nervously. She leaned forward resting her elbows on her knees with hopeful eyes.

Shuri hated to crush the little bit of hope the young girl had left, but she wasn't going to lie to her. "No it doesn't work like that anymore we don't have a Black Panther."

Riri threw herself back into the hammock with a dejected look on her face. "Of course y'all stop having a Black Panther when I get kidnapped" she muttered under her breath. Although both you and Shuri were able to hear her. Her comment earned her a hard pinch on her arm from you. She let out a loud yelp flinching away from your hand.

"What was that for?" She hissed at you rubbing her sore arm.

"Watch your words" You whispered in her ear. The Black Panther was still a touchy subject for Shuri, and you saw the pain flash across her face for a brief second. It wouldn't surprise you if the Princess was beating herself up about her refusal to no longer run any experiments to restore the heart-shaped herb.

"Okay fine can't you call the Avengers, and have the assemble to save our asses?" Riri asked turning her glare onto you.

"No technically I'm not a Avenger anymore, and it doesn't work like that anyway" You told her.

"Why not" she sighed in exasperation massaging her temples with her fingers.

"Well the team isn't as put together as before I couldn't tell you who is, and who isn't on the team to be honest."

Before she could reply to your statement another blue woman appeared, and both you and Shuri recognized this one. This was the warrior who knocked you unconscious while you were locked into a battle with the three lackeys. In a blink of an eye you were on your feet standing protectively in front of Shuri and Riri.

"Easy hero I'm not here for a fight" Namor tried to reassure you, but she was speaking her native tongue.

You didn't understand a single word of what she was saying, but held off on attacking since all three of you were at such a huge disadvantage. Shuri placed a hand on shoulder making you look back at her.

"Relax I think its me she wants."

"You know I wasn't just talking about Riri earlier right."

Shuri gave you a soft smile. "I appreciate the concern and the protection but I did request to speak with Namor. Just stay here and keep an eye on her."

Riri was on her feet hovering behind the Princess with waves of fear rolling off her body. There was a slight tremble in her legs, and her eyes were locked onto Namora.

The warrior stepped forward with a piece of clothing in her hands. She held out towards Shuri and said something else.

"What does she want?" Riri asked quietly.

"I think she wants me to put it on." Shuri whispered to both of you. The young engineer finally found the courage to step forward to grip Shuri's arm.

"No way every time a king offers a princess some fancy dress it usually ends with a sacrifice. You can't put that thing on." Riri warned her looking to you for back up.

"She might have a point Shuri" You agreed.

"I don't think I have a choice guys just stay here alright" Shuri said walking over to Namora. The warrior gave her a nod and turned to walk away. "I'll be back" she promised were the Princess's last words, and then she was gone.

"Man we goi-" Riri started to say but paused when you shot her a hardened look.

"We're going to be fine like I said a million other times. I won't let anything happen to you got it?"

Riri nodded.

"Good now, do you want to hear the story of how I got my powers."

#mcu imagine #black panther imagine #riri williams x reader #riri williams imagine #riri williams #shuri x reader

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accio-victuuri · 1 year

Text

520/521 Fakes 📝

so the zsww fake house have posted 3 contributions and for archiving purposes, i will share them here. we can use some candy right about now. ✌🏼 treat these all as fanfic.

=====

Story #1: A sneaky movie date

WYB : I'm here

XZ : No rush

WYB : Let's go go go!

XZ : Still good on time

WYB : I saw we can only get down there after the bridge (yadda yadda yadda)

XZ : I know the way, there's a shortcut

WYB : Ge, you know so much.

XZ : Of course.

WYB: Oho

XZ : I said we can watch at home, you insisted to go out. So I asked XX to come here first..

WYB : Ah, next time I'll come first.

XZ : Don't, don't. You attract too much attention.

Oh I really hope they got a chance to watch a movie together or even just a meal outside. This is why most ( if not all ) turtles are happy when they were able to go outside China and feel “normal” for a moment. Maybe one day, they can both have a break outside.

I love how XZ knows “a shortcut” cause he is a “ninja” who i really think at this point knows how to dodge the media. Also asking someone to go there first. and him telling WYB that he attracts too much attention 😂😂😂 this reminds me that if you know WYB, all you need to look out for is Lele & YanYan, then that’s a sign that WYB is just around the corner. LOL.

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Story #2: Love transcends time

Love is the one thing we're capable of perceiving that transcends time and space.

WYB: zhan-ge, do you think you can really cross time?

XZ: I can.

WYB: How are you sure?

XZ: What if I have already crossed time to find you here?

WYB: Like 6 years older than me?

XZ: (speechless) A bit more romantic okay?

WYB: If we really have to cross, how about a half each?

XZ: You seem to have a plan

WYB: This way I can see you sooner.

The first part, the quote was submitted in english. I love this line cause it’s from ( my favorite ) the movie Interstellar. and I think it fits the subject of the conversation about time. It’s a common theme with wyb, how he always wants to make it seem like there is no gap between him and xz in terms of age.

This is so sweet. It’s sickening. I’m not even gonna be surprised if this kind of talk happened between them or even worse. 😂😂😂😂

=====

Story #3 A one-way conversation with XZ 📲

XZ: finished?

XZ: certainly

XZ: I will tell you there will be no surprises

XZ: don't

XZ: You come to the dark night to understand what to look forward to...

XZ: You made me say it 🙄

XZ: Then I won’t say it 😂

XZ: good good you are amazing

XZ: see it

XZ: Afraid of you bumping into it

XZ: good intentions

XZ: need somebody... ( this is in english )

XZ: listened

XZ: bang bang

XZ: Can't hit.

XZ: Then you come back and hit me 😂

XZ: Iron Man doesn't need to sleep, does he?

XZ: Then you sleep on it, I don't care

XZ: ✌🏼☺️

XZ: like to eat

XZ: ✌🏼🤓

XZ: replace it with a new one

XZ: 👋🏼👋🏼

The popular guess with this is that he was talking to WYB who was in LA at the time. and the whole “bumping into it” was a comment about his roller skating. Also the whole emoticons used with ✌🏼 is XZ imitating his ( WYB ) pose in his ig photo. 😂

The line XZ said where he later complained “you made me say it” to WYB was from a poem Shi Tiesheng wrote for his wife.

Finally, “replace it with a new one”. hmmmm. what could it be??? I hope not the phone cases. Or maybe they can, but still a subtle type of couple phone case.

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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