#but he feels ashamed to be around the others

[kafkasmuses]

KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons. 

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader) 

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago. 

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you. 

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time. 

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.” 

ahem. 

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression. 

you blink at him, once, twice. 

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.” 

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him. 

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better. 

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“  

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint. 

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement. 

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach. 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything. 

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up. 

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.” 

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it. 

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first. 

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?” 

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.” 

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing. 

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.” 

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back. 

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.” 

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?” 

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him. 

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?” 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right? 

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.” 

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you. 

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind. 

“whatever helps,” you remark. 

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle. 

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.” 

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable. 

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?” 

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.” 

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.” 

“with tennis?” 

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.” 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you. 

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds. 

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really. 

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet. 

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors. 

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before. 

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually. 

“like your wife?” 

“like you.” 

art corrected you. 

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well. 

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe. 

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose. 

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty? 

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy. 

“what?” you frown, confused. 

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing. 

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple. 

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?” 

“what do you mean?” 

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“ 

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours. 

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..” 

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.” 

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now. 

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?” 

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you. 

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying. 

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.” 

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin. 

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.” 

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to. 

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath. 

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness. 

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?” 

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part. 

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.” 

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks. 

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him. 

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance. 

“ready?” he hushes out. 

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already. 

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more. 

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well. 

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas. 

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches. 

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm. 

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.” 

#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson challengers #challengers #challengers smut #mike faist smut #mike faist challengers

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

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

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

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

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the issue then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just don’t understand.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where do you fucking start?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You love him.

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

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

He smiles against your skin.

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

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

“Everyone is staring at us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But is this really any better? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There you are. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels sick. 

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

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

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

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

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

“Osamu.”

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

Hm.

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

Interesting.

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

Osamu,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

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

“Dazai.”

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

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

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

“May I have this dance?” 

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

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

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

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

“Speak.”

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

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

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

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

Who are you, Dazai?

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

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

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren’t so sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

#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

[jaebeomsbitch]

Not Another Werewolf Romance Story (E.M.)

Summary: Eddie finds you reading a werewolf romance book in secret and decides to make your fantasies come to life.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, kissing, fingering, vibrator, nsfw, cursing

A/N: I wrote this so long ago in the middle of the night. Not edited. Sorry for being gone so long, thanks for the like hundred new followers while I’ve been gone.

You lay in bed with a book in your hand as Eddie brushes his teeth in the bathroom. The faint sounds of the water running fill the bedroom as you read quietly. You push your reading glasses up higher on the bridge of your nose as you become more engrossed with the story. Your eyes glued to the page missing your boyfriend walking into the bedroom.

It isn’t until he presses a wet kiss to your cheek that you snap out of it. Your eyes widen slightly as you close the book.

“What’re you reading, baby?” He asks, pulling the duvet back.

“Nothing too interesting” you say trying to sound nonchalant as you place the book on your nightstand.

“Oh really, s’that why your nose was buried in it?” He asks, eyebrow quirked.

He leans over to see the cover, playfully tugging on a lock of your hair. "Let me guess, another one of those sappy vampire romance novels?"

“No!” You protest, cheeks flushed pink. Fuck wrong answer. You see the immediate way his eyes sparkle mischievously.

"Then what is it? Something naughty I need to know about?" He asks with that stupid smug smile on his face.

“Something ‘naughty?’ What are you eighty?” You scoff trying to play it off, you try to be stealthy as you press your thighs together underneath the sheets. Trying to hide how wet you got from the book.

Eddie raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, his gaze lingering on your closed book. "Now you've piqued my interest," he says, crossing his arms over his tattooed chest.

“How, I haven’t said anything!” You protest again trying to get him to drop it.

Eddie chuckles and climbs onto the bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. "Well, you're blushing like a school girl caught with her first Playboy," he teases, nuzzling against your temple. You whine with shyness, not wanting to open this part of yourself up to your boyfriend yet. Unfortunately for you Eddie’s fingers grab the book quickly, yanking it off your nightstand.

Eddie's fingers trace the spine of the book curiously, feeling its weight before flipping it open to the page you were last reading. You gasp trying to grab it out of his hand but Eddie lifts the book up.

“Oh God,” you groan covering your reddened face as Eddie reads the werewolf romance you picked up at the bookstore.

“His strong hands grab my thighs, it sends a shiver down my spine. All I can think about is having his knot inside me” Eddie’s voice drops low and husky as he begins to read aloud. You feel like you could cry at the humiliation.

Eddie laughs harder now, finding your discomfort endearing as he looks down at the page with mock seriousness in his eyes. He finally stops reading and sets the book aside. Your cheeks are bright red along with your neck and the tips of your ears. It’s not often Eddie sees you this embarrassed, you usually have some sarcastic remark to make except when it comes to sex. He never knew something like that would get you horny either, it seems so… juvenile?

Eddie looks over at you with an amused expression. "A werewolf romance, huh?" He says before leaning in to press a soft kiss against your temple. "It's cute."

You stay quiet feeling humiliated beyond belief it’s like he just read your dairy out loud. There’s something very intimate about him knowing this other side of you, one that you’ve tried to keep hidden from him. There’s a certain shame that comes with opening your sexual side to your boyfriend.

Noticing your discomfort, Eddie pulls you closer and whispers in your ear, "You don't have to be ashamed, baby. I love knowing what gets you going". He plants small kisses along your jawline, hoping to ease the tension. You stay quiet, squeezing the hem of the negligee you’ve just become comfortable wearing around him.

He nibbles on your earlobe softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Do you want me to keep reading?"

“Not if you’re gonna keep making fun of me” you murmur, eyes trained on your lap.

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully and snuggles into you further, resting his hand on your hip. "Okay, okay, no more teasing," he assures you, planting another gentle kiss on your cheek. You lean back against the headboard your body tense with mortification.

Eddie watches you closely, sensing your tension. He realizes he might've taken the teasing too far. He strokes your hair softly. "Come here, sweetheart." He pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms securely around you.You bury your face in his neck trying to hide from him, maybe if you hide you’ll disappear into him.

“Princess," Eddie coos, nudging your chin up with his finger so he can look into your big doe eyes. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. You know I love you, right? And everything that makes you happy." He kisses your forehead tenderly.

You sag against his chest, your knees digging deeper into the mattress on either side of his hips. Eddie caresses your cheek softly, trying to wipe away any remaining embarrassment. "Why don't you tell me what happened in the story that had you so turned on? Maybe I can make it better..."

“That’d be even more humiliating” you groan.

Eddie looks at you, his expression softening. He brushes your hair out of your face and kisses the tip of your nose. "Alright, how about this...I'll turn off the lights and hold you while you read it to me?" He offers, running his thumb in circles on your back.

You swallow hard, he’s already seen it. There’s no hiding from what he saw, it’ll only lead him to more questions or to think something bad about you and it terrifies you so you begrudgingly murmur “okay.”

Eddie turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness save for the dim glow of streetlights filtering through the window. He adjusts his position so you're comfortably sitting between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. You try and relax against him but you feel so high strung.

Saliva pools in your mouth as you grab the book, cracking it open to the last page you were on. You can barely see the words with the dim light coming from the window. You clear your throat, eyes scanning the page, face flushing hot instantly. Eddie squeezes your waist trying to reassure you and get you to loosen up.

“Take your time, Princess,” he encourages, pressing a soft kiss on your hair. “I’m right here with you.”

You swallow your spit

“H-he… he splays her out on the bed, her hair fanned out on the pillow as his lips press against her throat. It’s been so long since he’s shared a bed with a woman much less his mate. She’s beautiful better than anything that he could imagine. Her smell, fuck her smell is addicting. He can practically taste the arousal pooling between her legs. He aches to claim her, fill her with pups” your voice trembles shyly as you read, your face flushing with more heat.

Eddie’s heart races hearing you describe something so intimate, not accustomed to it yet but he fucking loves it. He resonates with the book, you’re the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen, he doesn’t believe in a God but everyday he prays to whatever is out there thanking them for bringing you to him.

He grips the fabric of the nightgown between your thighs gently. "Keep going, baby," he rasps out, his breath hot against your ear.

Your breath hitches, fingers shifting in the book before it falls.

“H-he buries his face in h-her…” you stop feeling a wave of discomfort but Eddie reassuringly squeezes your thigh.

“C-cunt,” you squeak, your body sets ablaze.

“-Her panties soaked all the way through. She probably soaked through her jeans if he was paying attention. He breathes her musk in deeply, it sends a shiver down her spine as she moans. Her fingers curl around the bedsheets, she’s too shy to ask him what she wants but he can sense it. His tongue darts out licking a thick stripe over the cotton of her panties” your voice grows more steady as you read to Eddie. He realizes how closely the two of you resemble these characters… well, besides the lycan part.

Eddie’s fingers move to lightly graze the inside of your thigh, your breath catches in your throat as his fingers brush against your soaked panties. You gasp softly, your back pressing harder into his chest while flip the page.

“He teases her with his tongue, the tip just grazing over her slit nowhere near the spot that’ll have her seeing stars” you say, voice trembling as his hand moves under the waistband of your panties, cupping your sex. You moan, toes digging into the mattress. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to continue or not, your mind in a tizzy.

“His fingers finally move the fabric to the side, he growls as he sees her glistening pussy. ‘Mine’ he growls.” You continue reading.

Eddie can't resist anymore. His middle finger dipping between your folds, sliding easily through your slick before circling your clit lightly.

“F-fuck” your grip on the book slacks as your head falls back on his shoulder.

He keeps his movements slow and deliberate, matching the pace of the story unfolding in front of him. He leans forward, whispering into your ear, "Your pussy is so wet for me, baby."

“Fuck,” you groan, it’s the only word you can manage to grasp.

He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of your skin. He slips a second finger into your pussy, curling it to find your g-spot.

You gasp, the book falling from your delicate fingers onto the mattress, you moan, your back digging deeper into his chest. He removes his hand from your pussy and picks up the book, flipping to the next passage. "Continue," he urges softly in your ear.

You whine when he stops, your thighs already trembling. Eddie's heart skips a beat at the sound of your needy sounds. He guides your hand back to the book, encouraging you to continue reading. "Go on, my little vixen," he says seductively. If this was any other context you’d find it cringy but there’s something so fucking hot about his whisper against your ear.

You breathe heavily as you look down, grabbing the book from Eddie in one hand. You thumb and pinky holding it open.

“His tongue darts out, he moans as he tastes his mate for the first time. It’s like something inside of him snaps, he buries his face in her cunt. Tongue moving wildly as he switches from tongue fucking her to sucking on her clit. Her moans fill the room, her nails digging into her palms as she scents the room with her pheromones” you read.

Eddie’s fingers slip back inside of you, his thick digits thrust in and out, restricted by the fabric of your underwear. His thumb finds its way to your clit, moving in tandem. You feel like you could just turn into a pile of mush, already turned stupid by his fingers alone.

“Oh fuck!” You keen, fingers gripping the book harder.

“Her voice gets louder and it’s like music to his ears. He can’t wait to hear what symphonies she’ll create when he’s fucking her” you heave for breath like you’ve just ran a marathon.

Eddie's fingers pick up speed, mirroring the action in the story. "You're doing so good, Princess," he praises, nipping at your earlobe.

“Oh God,” you moan.

He reaches for the nightstand drawer and fishes out a vibrator, placing it against your clit as his fingers continue to work your sopping pussy. The squelch of your cunt filling the room along with the hum of the vibrator.

“Honey” you let out a high pitched shriek.

Eddie whispers encouragement in your ear, "Read more for me, baby."

You hiss in protest but Eddie quickly shuts off the vibrator. You practically sob when he stops, struggling to catch your breath. You were so fucking close to coming already you feel the tendrils of your lost orgasm loosening their grip on you as the seconds tick by.

You finally look down, your voice strained as you read on “Her pussy clamps around his tongue, his thumb rubs over her sensitive nub quickly. Golden eyes trained on every little detail of her face trying to memorize her pleasure. He wants to burn the memory into his brain and never forget it. She’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen especially when she’s screaming his name. Her back arched beautifully as she twitches and squeezes his tongue coming all over his face with a wail”

He turns the vibrator on again with a click, holding it firmly against your clit. He’s almost desperate to hear your moans as you come on his fingers.

“Fuck— ” you let out a strangled cry, you can feel the intense vibration deep inside the root of your clit. Eddie’s doesn’t let you think, his fingers entering you again but this time he shows no mercy. His fingers curl pressing into the spot he’s found since the first time he fingered you.

You let at a garbled mess of desperate filthy moans. His lips press to your ear whispering “look at you taking me so well, Princess. You think ‘bout me knotting you, huh? Touch this pretty little pussy thinking bout me fucking you until you were locked together, yeah?”

You choke on your spit, your boyfriend has whispered dirty things in your ear before but nothing like this.

“Yes— yes, yes, yes,” you chant

“Wanna be stuffed with your cum again and again and again,” your tongue loose with the amount of pleasure Eddie’s giving you. It means so much that this man is willing to play into your stupid fantasies. You grip onto his wrist scared he’ll pull away again. You moan in a way he’s never heard before, it’s loud and wailing, it’s purely you. It’s you running on instinct.

"Cum for me, princess," Eddie whispers against your ear, pinching your clit between two of his fingers and slamming his fingers deep inside her pussy, curling them in a come-hither motion.

“Fuck- ohh fuck” you moan, your head falls back on his shoulder , hips rolling into his fingers, hands digging into his skin. You wheeze for air as your skull digs into his shoulder, pussy fluttering around his fingers pulling them in deeper and squeezing. It isn’t until his teeth press into the juncture between your shoulder and neck that you practically scream. Coming on his hands making a mess of the vibrator, thighs shaking as you babble nonsense.

He shuts the vibrator off when you whine, pulling your sensitive clit away, and throws it somewhere in the bed. His tongue traces the indent he’s left of your skin.

“You’re crazy” you rasp

“But you fucking love it,” he grins against your neck pressing a soft kiss there.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie Munson is a dickhead #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson brainrot #stranger things smut #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf romance #idk how to tag this #unedited #eddie munson drabble #smut #eddie munson / reader #Eddie Munson / you

[beeslibrarycorner]

I was going to say give me the hardest Ghoul smut you could but then that sound weird in my head. but please, anyway. Cowboy hat stays ON during fun time. I want angry. Both of them. Reader x Ghoul. I want to be ashamed to read it in public. Love you❤❤

WARNINGS: MDNI, SMUT

A/N: challenge accepted, I hope you you read the beginning in public and close it to read at home ❤️

Cooper was mad you were mad, it was this damn heat that settled across the Mojave. The both of you were pent up and frustrated, there was definitely a rad storm coming which meant the markets would be closed for a day

“If you figure a way to get us to make peace again sweetheart I’m all ears” he drawls as he sat on a chair cleaning his weapons across the room. You were fed up with his attitude, and you couldn’t stand looking at him sit so nonchalantly with how the two of you were treating each other over the past couple of days.

“I can fuck you. But it would have to be on my terms” You said and he looked at you pointedly, like he was studying you. “What does that intail?” He asks and you meet his gaze and say“Put your hands behind the chair and find out.”.

“Oh your going to tie me up? I ain’t promising that ropes are going to hold me sweetheart” he says and you grin, “It’s a risk I’m willing to take honey” you tease, His pants and underwear are gone before you straddle his lap and tie his wrists together. “You look so handsome like this” you hum and he grumbles in response.

“Look I’ll even give you your hat” you say as you put the hat on his head. If looks could kill you would be dead as you stood there smirking down at him. With his half hard leaking cock out in the open.

You kneel before him and press a kiss to the side of it, it twitches in your hand. You start pumping, “I have to get you hard if I’m going to fuck you” you say teasingly.

He grumbles at you when you deem him hard enough to fuck him you get up and remove your pants. You straddled him and leaned against him and ran the tip of his cock against the wetness and you swollen clit.

When you sank down onto his painfully hard cock all you do was gasp as you get used to the stretch. Once you were fully sat you looked him dead in the eye and smiled at him defiantly.

You moved up, up all the way up so that when you went up and down it hit your g spot with every thrust. You used his shoulders for leverage as your kept moving down the thick tip and 25% of his cock to keep hitting your g spot. It felt so good, cream running down the exposed part of his cock.

He tried to fuck up into you so that he could get more but every up and down of your hips prevented that. After a few more up and down motions you came hard, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hiding your face in his neck.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He asked and all you could do was hum. The rope snapped and before you knew it the two of you were on the floor, with you under his irradiated body. “Let’s try that again sweetheart” he said and pressed the thick tip of his cock into you.

When you felt the stretch all you could do was breathe heavy and look into the eyes of the man above you. You were leaking as he held you close to him, this what needed to happen for the both of you to stop bitching at eachother.

“You’re already creaming on my cock and I haven’t really moved yet” he murmured into your shoulder and you squeezed around him. He sucked in a breath and kept pushing until he bottomed out. Once he was fully seated he sighed.

“You’re so tight, no matter how much I fuck you it never makes a difference.” He said as he started thrusting his hips. You canted your hips up so every thrust hit your gspot.

It was animalistic the way you two were fucking each other, legs locked around his waist as he goes balls deep, tip kissing your cervix.

When he cums in you and you cum all over him you feel the tension and anger dissipate from your body. The both of you lay there in silence, enjoying the body heat the bled from his body to yours.

“I’m sorry for getting on your nerves”you said after a few moments of silence and you felt him smile into your shoulder. “I’m sorry for snapping at you sweetheart, you don’t deserve that” he said looking you in the eye.

A clap of thunder sounds and rain drops reverberate on the roof. Everything is well between the two of you again.

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know the König x secret admirer reader is not gonna be officially continued but I was wondering if you could maybe explore part of it😭 there’s a part that mentioned that König gets laid in the military and I was wondering how angsty it would be if reader found out?🤭

Yes of course! ^^ It would be angsty... and fluffy! These two are the silliest people who ever lived tbh 🩷🐥

König is young in this AU (around his early 20s) and wildly inexperienced compared to some of the other recruits his age.

His first time was with a girl who joined the army when König had been there for about 1.5 years already. Desperate as he was with hiding the fact that he’s still a virgin, he tumbled into bed with this lady after a night out at the bar. She thoroughly seduced him, and König’s instincts told him she was only looking for fun, but he went with her anyway because, well. Loneliness can kill you, you know?!

He tried to woo her a bit after that until it became quite clear that this woman was not planning to settle down anytime soon. If anything, she was looking for a new conquest – and it’s fine, totally fine, except that König had surrendered a tiny piece of his heart to her along with his dick... That’s just how he is, and it took him more than a few months to get over the fact that it was “just a shag” and he “shouldn’t take things so seriously”.

That’s also why he closed off from people again, decided to concentrate on work and training and gym – until our cute little angel stumbled into his life like the prettiest saving grace! König was a goner from the start because this girl's approach was very different, so gentle and sweet compared to grimy shot glasses and smudgy lipstick and raunchy jokes. It’s a given that he was a little shocked when she sent her that pic 🙄 reminding him of promiscuous women who are not looking for a soul but a body, but because he is what he is the first thing he did was crank things up a notch and send her a dick pic back…

Yes, he’s desperate, but he’s also an go hard or go home man and this time, König is relatively sure he’s dealing with a lovely, delicate soul. Someone who wouldn’t just leave him out in the cold after getting what she wants.

And everything is like a fairytale between these two until she finds out he’s not a virgin despite he seemed a bit… like one… (in this scenario I think reader is a virgin and she thought König was one too because of obvious reasons? lol) And it’s fine, totally fine for her as well, except that the image of König having the night of his life with some military babe is haunting her from dusk till dawn.

There’s bound to be some drama when she starts asking timidly whether she’s still there… Whether they see each other every day. If they talk to each other, if he trains with her, etc. What if they test rifles together, or go out again with the sniper crew and get drunk and König feels… a little lonely?

She knows he would never cheat on her, not in a million years, but knowing how much of a wet dog he is she can’t promise that she’ll be all calm and relaxed during weekends, knowing her boyfriend is out there, full of testosterone and heart, his heart somewhat susceptible to female influence… Maybe even good old seduction…

And what’s even worse is the jealousy, the envy.

What if she’s more badass than her? That doesn't take much... She must be fierce if she’s in the military, something completely different, a forbidden apple König might want to taste again. It’s maddening, and when she finally opens up about it to him, spitting it out one night when he asks what’s bugging his sweet angel, there’s a big fat silence that follows.

König can't even believe she has torn her heart to pieces over something like this, alone and upset and ashamed when she's a literal angel. He sits her nice and pretty in his lap and talks her ear off about how he has nothing against this woman, truly, but that she is nothing compared to his first (and hopefully last!) girlfriend. Their love could never be compared to what happened between him and that girl, these things can’t even be spoken together in the same sentence. If he’s completely honest, his first time was... disappointing. Awkward, humbling, a total drunken mess of which he remembers nothing except that the woman wasn’t completely present either and that he was ashamed that his first time had to be like this.

Honestly, he felt like he lost his virginity on the night when he came to see her. She’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, all he thinks about these days... It’s quite annoying, actually, because he’s supposed to concentrate on how the wind blows and that the ammo doesn’t get wet and that he’s properly concealed.

He could be lying in a ditch with dummy rounds whirling past him and all he could think about are her eyes and lips and giggling and tits and, and… that. How warm it is, how nice it is, how he would just want to curl himself next to her when he hops back to his bunk in the evening. Her smile is the last thing he sees before he dreams, her voice is what he hears. All the things she said, all those sweet, silly little things, chime in his ear before he sleeps.

And all the precious moments they’ve already spent together, the times he made love to her under the trees... There’s nothing like that in the whole world and if she thinks something else can top that she's even sillier than he thought. He could comb through all the continents and he would never find a girl like her.

So tell him again... Why would he go to a shot glass of saltwater when he has a jar of wild honey right here at home?

#lmao what könig doesn’t tell her probablyyy is that the lady is not interested in him either #she just hops from D to D so she barely remembers König even exists #he’s only a co-star in some stories she tells her friends #like “Ooh yeah that one guy had a horse cock but he fussed around with the condom so much I almost fell asleep haha” #“what was his name again? shit I can’t remember” #meanwhile our angel reader is ascending to the 7th plane with the help of the horse cock in question like “Köniii T^T” #always the funniest thing when a secret admirer gets jealous of his object of obsession who’s actually fucking enamored with their no 1 fan #König gets jettisoned to the sun everytime she so much as *looks* his way #like are you both completely utterly dense or were you just born this way… #<3 sillies

[faetreides]

cw: 18+ mdni content, painal, blood, period sex, pseudo incest, extreme dubcon, degradation but also praise, typical rafe warnings, fem labels, dead dove: DO NOT EAT

thinking about bloody anal with stepbro!rafe bc you’re on your period! he has no problems fucking the shit out of your puffy pussy, but there’s just something irresitble abour stretching your ass out while watching your cunt bleed. he likes to stare at where the two of you connect, almost treating you more like a pocket pussy than his stepsister. he’s not gentle about it whatsoever, immediately thrusting his tip past your walls and spanking you.

“c’mon, mama, let me in.” he grits out, slapping a hand over your mouth to silence your whines.

on the rare chance that the two of you have the house to ourselves, he’d love to hear you yelp and howl for his dick. but it’s 7 am on a monday morning and he couldn’t wait to pounce on you as soon as he saw the pads in the trash can of your shared bathroom. rafe held a finger to his lips when you started waking up to the sound of your bedroom door lock being played with. he knelt on your pink bed and crawled over you, his pupils blown out and his arms tensing in anticipation.

you try to plead with rafe to at least wait until everyone else is asleep. but he doesn’t seem to care about the sounds of your blended family moving through the house and his dick barges in any way. all you can do is sob against his hand and let him split you open. rafe pretends he doesn’t feel you shake your little ass back on his length, you keep up the charade that you don’t love that this is hurting you.

“shh shh, good girl. keep swallowing this dick, alright?” he whispers against your temple, tightening his grip on your face and bullying more inches into your reddening ass.

“this’ll help with the cramps, i’m doin’ my little slut a favor, honey.”

he’s not letting you go so you can clean up for a reason.

he bottoms out with a silent groan, mouthing ‘FUCK!’ into your pillow. you squeal, too tired and overwhelmed to register anything but your stepbrother’s huge cock inside you. this wasn’t how you imagined fucking him again, though you’re ashamed to say you imagined it all. listening to the soft rain pelt your window as rafe caresses your ass, he’s at least giving you enough grace to get yourself together and adjust.

he bites his lip when some of your blood trickles down to touch where your ass is stretched around his dick. more blood follows suit as he starts at a rough pace, and the sight of your matted pubic hair combined with your wide teary eyes could make him cum in the spot.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. just be a good girl, your big brother’s already claimed this tight fucking ass hole. all you have to do is take it.” he says and tugs your face to his so he can spit on his hand, he can’t exactly take his hand off so he can spit in your mouth but he can imagine it. “just me and not that limp dick boy that’s been following you around.”

after thrusting for a bit, rafe looks down to see that your blood has frothed around his cock. mixing with your slick (because of course you’re so fucking wet) and the cum he left inside you last night to form a pink ring around the base.

“aw, look sweetie,” he coos, pushing your head down to gaze at his cock pistoning in and out of your soaked pussy. “it’s your favorite color!”

you whimper into his fingers and do your best to nod, wishing that you could reach down and rub your clit. but rafe’s got your wrists in his other hand behind your back, and he’s probably the type that would be all territorial about you touching yourself. you were both so drunk last night off whatever you could find in ward’s cabinet, it was your first time trying alcohol and you went a little overboard. but you both were too fucked up to put a name or expectations to what you have.

rafe surprises you and lets go of your wrists. he digs his now free digits into your clit, flicking the swollen bud in time with his thrusts in your ass. he unintentionally edges you because he keeps bring his hand up to his mouth so he suck the blood off of his fingers.

“hmm, you taste good, sis. sometimes i wish i could bite all over this slutty body and really leave my mark, but this’ll be enough for now, right?”

you don’t care about your family making their presence known downstairs, or about the bloody mess rafe is making of you anymore. you always wanted his attention and approval, so you lick the fingers covering your mouth and wiggle your ass back on his dick again. the earth shattering orgasm you later have around him was so intense that he’s almost sad that it wasn’t on camera.

the ridiculous hot pink heart shaped plug he shoves inside your abused hole makes for the perfect lockscreen on his phone though.

#the fem stuff is bc i’m trying to see something #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey smut #tw pseudocest #⚰️.deaddove #outer banks #outer banks x you #outer banks x reader #outer banks smut #obx x you #obx x reader #obx smut #outerbanks x reader #tw blood #tw dubcon #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe obx #drew starkey x y/n

[asimpforyagami]

propmts 1, 5, 6, 7, 8 for kolya please

(if it's a bit much you can excluee 5)

↷ A/N ─ its never too much nonnie :) ilyy ty for sending these reqs!

★ PROMPT ─ 1, 5, 6, 7, 8

!! FT. ─ nikolai

─ wearing his clothes

Nikolai had known for ages that you had your eyes on his clothes. The way you droned about how your date outfits looked so bland and probably needed the addition of boots, how you complained about cold hands wanting to wear gloves, how you put on his hat and sent him pictures captioned "It looks better on me."

Especially with Halloween just around the corner, and you suggesting you two switch outfits for the day, it became all the more obvious.

"But, dove," Nikolai whined. "My suit is a part of me."

"No," you giggled. "I'm the clown of the couple tonight."

"Well, I must say that's a very cute clown. Clowns are supposed to be scary, right?"

"You're not scary."

"You're right," he said. "I'm not scary. I'm completely bonkers!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

─ kissing

"Ah, it's good to be back," Nikolai stretched his arms.

"What do you mean? You were right here," you said.

Nikolai gasped. "How vile of you! To overlook my struggle from the hall to the kitchen, all to get you a refill of the popcorn."

"You could've just used your ability."

"Doveeeeee," he whined, and you sighed. Of course, now that he has said that he's been away, he will not stop until he gets what he wants from you.

"Fine," you roll your eyes, and Nikolai immediately uses his fingers to press your cheeks together in a pout, giggling before pressing a long kiss on your lips.

You close your eyes and he releases your cheeks, your lips still in the duck faced pout. A few seconds passed like that. Then, Nikolai pulled away and stared at you before tackling you on the couch and kissing all over your face. His hat fell somewhere on the ground as he tickled your stomach, your face red with laughter and overwhelmed by the love he was showering you with.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

─ cuddling

"Dove-"

"Shh," you shushed him and Nikolai immediately fell quiet.

You had put one of your legs on his, trapping him with both your arms around his torso, interlocking behind his back. This was probably the first time Nikolai had reluctantly agreed to be the little spoon.

'Reluctantly' because of the reasoning that he did not like being "trapped'. He claimed that he was a 'free bird' and desired 'eternal freedom'.

Nikolai sighed. Sure, the feeling of you practically choking him with your face buried in his neck was different. He felt numb, staring ahead of you as you hugged him.

Thinking... Thinking about you. How you had changed him so much. How he felt much, much more free than he ever was when he was with you. How a hug and a kiss would make him forget all his problems, all that bound him to the world.

He thought and thought. About how if this was any other person he would be ashamed at being trapped by their body this way. About how surreal your warm breath felt against his neck. About how if this was the 'worst case scenario', he was completely okay with it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

─ reading to him

"And the little Swallow asked the Prince, ''Why are you weeping then?'," you recited, book on your lap as Nikolai stared at you with interest.

He was never one to read stories. He'd rather they be read to him, which led to this moment, with you lying on the one-seat sofa and him on the longer couch, propped up on his elbows and feet dangling along your words.

"What did the Prince say then?" he asked excitedly, and you turned the page before continuing the story.

Funny, he thought, how you always managed to get books and stories that he likes. Or maybe, as his bi-colour eyes turned glossy with admiration for your beauty, it was only because you were the one reading them that he enjoyed them so much.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

─ nightmare

You shook Nikolai awake. He had been twitching and shaking in his sleep, breathing hitching when he woke up with a gasp.

"You okay? What's wrong?" you asked, concerned.

"Nothing," he replied too quickly, eyes still hazy.

"You're lying," you said firmly, propping yourself up on one shoulder and pressing a hand on his chest. "I can feel your heartbeat."

"I'm okay, dove," he said again. "Why are you awake at this hour?"

"Kolya, please be honest with me."

Nikolai sighed. He wanted to say that it was nothing, that he wasn't gonna let a stupid nightmare dictate his emotions. But perhaps he could use this as an opportunity for himself?

"Hold me?" he suggested instead.

You narrowed your eyes, but complied anyway. You pressed a kiss against his forehead, and Nikolai couldn't help but think that whatever the dream had been, he was glad that you were there for him always.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

#bsd x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd imagines #nikolai imagines #bsd fluff #nikolai fluff #bsd nikolai x reader #bsd nikolai gogol #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #nikolai bsd #nikolai x you

[slythepuffle]

Another one shot for @dismissivedestroyer’s Dexter Lives AU. Angst was requested and so angst ye shall receive. Plus it’s something that’s already been brewing in my mind. Set during Hollow Sorrows.

TW: Violence against people, Thoughts of Violence, Implied Character Death (If I’m missing anything please let me know)

He didn’t mean to.

That was the one constant thought running through Dexter’s mind as he sat in the front office, looking down at his feet. The principal was talking to his mom, he could hear them through the door, but his racing thoughts drowned out their words. They made him feel like he was underwater, drowning under them while muffling everything else.

He didn’t mean it – Yes he did – He didn’t want to do it – Yes, he did – It was an accident! – NO IT WASN’T– 

The door opened. He flinched, violently, before slowly turning his head. His mother stood there, her expression just… tired, as she looked back at him. Angry, no, furious, no, disappointed, maybe a little. But mostly… just tired.

He stood up quickly, mouth open to say something. “Mom–”

“Let’s go home, Dexter,” she said quietly, and his mouth snapped shut. He nodded quietly, shrinking under her gaze, and grabbed his backpack off the floor. They walked through the front office, Dexter trailing behind his mother, listening to the whispers around the office as they left.

“Did you hear what he did?”

“What an awful boy…”

“His mother should be ashamed of him.”

His shoulders jerked up to his red ears, grinding his teeth together, and digging his nails into his backpack straps. But he didn’t do anything, no matter how much he itched to do something. He was already in enough trouble as it was anyway. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else either.

The whispers lingered, long after they had left the office, now just sitting in the front seat of his mom’s car.

Dexter couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear to see her disappointment, her anger, her shame. He heard her sigh, and then – “So, what happened?”

He blinked, turning to look at her. She wasn’t looking at him, staring straight out the window, hands on the steering wheel. “W–What do you mean? D–Didn’t the principal tell you?”

“Yes, he did tell me,” she confirmed, turning to look at him. Again, she didn’t look mad – she should have been – just tired and expectant. “But, I want to hear it from you too. So, Dex, what happened?”

He looked at her, uncertain. What could he tell her? What should he tell her? A lie? Something to make him sound better to her, like what he did wasn’t wrong? His stomach churned at the thought – He couldn’t lie to his mother.

“I–I did hit the kid,” he mumbled, sinking into the seat. “B–But I didn’t mean to hurt him! I swear I didn’t. I was just… upset. He put spiders in my locker.”

That had been the main reason. The kid was a bully, but had gotten away with things before because he was the teacher’s son. Dexter was his main target for a long time already, and this incident just pushed him over the edge.

But there was another reason. One that scared him.

After he first hit the kid, he felt a sudden, almost euphoric rush. It was… pleasing, to see him hurting and crying after what he did. But then, Dexter kept hitting him. He hit him and hit him and hit him, until the kid’s face was bloodied and bruised.

And some sick part of himself had liked it.

Dexter had liked watching him bleed and had especially enjoyed being the one who caused it. But he also hated it. It felt wrong, to see the other kid in tears, covered in his own blood. But he continued to hit him, up until a teacher pulled him away.

It was worse when he was sitting alone in the office, after the initial rush had faded away, leaving him guilty and scared of himself.

What would have happened if the teacher didn’t stop him? How far would he have gone? Would he have hit him even after the kid no longer moved? Until he was covered in the other’s blood, fists bruised by how many times he threw a punch?

Those thoughts made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to hurt other people, he really didn’t. He just… did. And he had enjoyed it, in the moment, which made him feel even worse.

Dexter felt himself tear up at the memories and thoughts, turning away from his mother in shame. What would she think of him, if she knew what was going on in his head? Would she still consider him to be her little boy?

Would she hate him?

Michelle looked at her son. He was so grown, almost thirteen now. But, to her, he was still her little boy, the one who she hugged whenever he was cold. She knew that he would never hurt anyone without purpose or a reason, regardless of what other people said. He was always striving to be a good kid, never realizing that he already was one.

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward, pulling her son into a hug. Dexter flinched, surprised. “M–Mom?”

“What you did was wrong, Dex,” she said firmly, pulling away. She held him by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes. He shrunk under her eyes, but listened as she continued. “Hurting people is wrong, you and I both know that.”

He shrank away, looking away. She smiled, soft and sad, adding, “But, I also know that you didn’t mean to hurt that boy. Despite what everyone else may say, I know that you, Dexter, are a good kid. You make mistakes, like everyone else does, and you learn from them.”

Dexter blinked at her, eyes wide behind his glasses. He hadn’t expected that. He had expected anger, disappointment, frustration. Not… not this. “What if… what if no one else sees it that way? ”

“Even if no one else sees the good in you, I always will. I’ll always love you, for all the flaws that you may have and the mistakes that you make. And I’ll always be there for you, Dex.”

He could feel his eyes watering but he didn’t want to cry. “Promise?”

Michelle smiled at him, soft and loving. “I promise.”

He couldn’t hold them back – Tears welled up in his eyes as his mother pulled him in close, as he buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed. They hugged each other tightly, just sitting there in the school parking lot, crying until his eyes were red and puffy. When they pulled away, he could see her eyes were shiny, even if she was smiling brightly.

“Alright, enough of the waterworks. We’ve cried enough for today. Wanna go get ice cream?”

He rubbed his eyes, shooting her a watery grin. “Heck yeah!”

~~~~

Dexter let out an angry hiss as he pressed a hand to the newly bandaged wound on his side. Shoulda gone to Patty, she was better at this than he was. “Fucking cultists… ”

He had been hanging out with his honorary nephews earlier, walking them around town along with Father Gregor when he had suddenly been called away. Apparently, there was an infestation somewhere away, just on the outskirts of town. Far from his usual route, but nothing too straining. He knew the kids would be safe with the priest, so he left them with promises to hang out later once he was done.

Except, he wasn’t able to do that.

The call was a trap. When he arrived, the house was empty and when he turned around, he was immediately stabbed in the side. Luckily, he reacted quickly, twisting the knife out of his side and returning the favor on the red-robed psycho that jumped him. He kicked the bastard for good measure, then ran like hell out of there back into his truck.

The guy had tried to follow him, more of them emerging from somewhere in the house, but ended up eating the cloud of dust he left behind. Now here he was, sitting in his mom’s bathroom, bandaging up his wounds. He was glad she was out of the house – She would have freaked out when she saw him.

It was weird though. Her appointments usually didn’t take this long…

Suddenly, there was a loud sharp knock, coming from the living room. He peered out of the bathroom door, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. It couldn’t have been his nephews – The last time they were over, Skid had an allergic reaction to all the cat fur. It couldn’t have been his mother either – It’s her house, she would have the keys.

Dexter decided to go check it out, getting up off of the stool. Cats hissed at him where he walked, but he ignored them. It wasn’t worth it to bother them. Then, he opened the door just a crack, peering out of it to see who was outside.

“Father Gregor?” he asked, a bit surprised, before opening up the door more. The priest looked like he had been through hell, with his leg clearly bitten and bloodied. “Father, what happened to you?”

The priest’s expression was grim. “It’s been a long night, Mr. Erotoph. And many terrible things have occurred tonight.”

Dexter was immediately concerned. “Did something happen to the kids?”

Father Gregor frowned, but shook his head. “No, the children are fine. This is… another matter, I’m afraid.”

The priest reached into his pocket, pulling out something with a golden chain. He looked on, confused, as the man offered it to him. Dexter took it, feeling something round in his hands, and looked down at it. His heart dropped.

It was his mother’s locket, the one that held a picture of him. He ran his thumb around the edge, popping open it just to confirm. Once he did, he looked up at the priest. “Wh-Where did you get this?”

Father Gregor inhaled, standing up straight. “I am sorry that I have to be the one to inform you, Mr. Erotoph. But your mother… was in an accident, at the hospital. One of the staff had been possessed by a demon and she hadn’t known.”

The Father was speaking still, but Dexter couldn’t hear him. He was staring back down at the locket, static filtering out the words, growing louder and louder–

“I–I need a moment,” he interrupted, voice cracking. He knew it was rude, but he just– just– “Please.”

Father Gregor seemed to understand, nodding his head. “My doors are always open for you, Dexter.”

The man limped away, and Dexter shut the door, leaning against it. Now alone, his thoughts rushed forward, flooding his mind. Drowning out everything else–

She’s gone she’s gone she’s gone she’s gone she’s gone she’s gone she’s gone she’s gone she’s gone she’s never coming back you’ll never see her again she’s never going to come home she’s never going to be able to hold you again she’s dead–

“Even if no one else sees the good in you, I always will. I’ll always love you, for all the flaws that you may have and the mistakes that you make. And I’ll always be there for you, Dex.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Dexter let out a strangled sob, clutched the locket hard to his chest, and dropped down to his knees.

She was gone.

#spooky month #spooky month au #Dexter Lives AU #spooky month dexter #spooky month michelle #spooky month gregor

[angstintensifer]

Hunter Huntsman headcanons

Hunter knows more than he'd like about shoes because he always listens to Ashlynn's many facts about them.

Hunter plays Minecraft with Cerise, Cedar and Sparrow, sometimes he teams up with Cerise just to kill Sparrow on Minecraft.

Hunter lets Dexter play Tailer Quick in their dorm room and keeps it a secret because Dexter doesn't want to get teased for it, but Hunter was already used to it anyway because Ashlynn is also a fan.

Hunter always lets Dexter vent to him about anything, he's a very good listener.

Hunter is very good at keeping things to himself as he has been hiding things about himself from his parents for years.

Hunter gets fairy down on himself a lot, because he knows he will never be the son or huntsman his father wants and while he doesn't want that destiny, he feels ashamed that he can't live up to it.

Cerise is older than Hunter and he has often come to her when he needs advice or to vent.

Hunter and Cerise are fairy good friends, he always suspected Cerise was hiding something but since he hides things about himself as well he never asked her about it and respected her privacy.

Their mothers are actually friends. Hunter's mother once made a comment about Hunter and Cerise "liking" each other in front of them and they both laughed because they never saw each other that way.

Hunter's phone contains millions of pics of Fern, Ashlynn, him and Ashlynn, Pesky, sunsets and any of his favourite wooden works.

Hunter always takes a picture of a good sunset or sun rise.

He is a terrible hexter and doesn't use his phone a lot.

He wants to be good at poetry, because he thought it would impress Ashlynn, but he's not, he's awful at it. (Literally the episode Cedar wood would love to lie)

Hunter can tell something is wrong with Pesky if Pesky isn't throwing nuts at him.

Hunter once scolded Pesky coldly for accidently hitting Ashlynn with a nut.

His favourite artist is Hozier.

Ashlynn is his go to person when he messes up.

He does not like Sparrow, at all. At first it was general annoyance, then it was Sparrow teaming up with Duchess in the exposure of him and Ashlynn's relationship, and then it was back to general annoyance but their friendship has improved because Hunter doesn’t like to hold grudges.

Hunter made the tiny satchel Pesky wears, and he made one for Fern as well.

When Fern learned to walk, Hunter insisted on taking her out for her first walk around the enchanted forest, his parents trusted him because they know he would protect her.

Once he tried on a pair of heels at Ashlynn's shop to see what they felt like, he tripped and accidently damaged them, he vowed to never do it again and paid damages for them.

Ashlynn tips him for delivering shoes, he fought her on it because he only did it as an excuse to see her.

He once beat Daring in a sword fight. Daring made him promise to never tell anyone. (He lied and only told Cerise)

Apple was never close with Hunter even though they share a story but after his relationship with Ashlynn was exposed, Apple lost some respect for him for betraying their story and with that causing her friend to betray hers (no one actually talks abt this and I didn’t even think abt it until I read Gumjesters eah rewrite and Apple made one comment to Hunter during true hearts day and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since)

He is a trans man (I know this is v popular headcanon for him but I adore it and I had to include it bc I love it sm)

Despite being a rebel Hunter is still afraid of telling his parents he doesn’t want to follow his story, he knows he will let them down and he wants to put that off for as long as he can. He thinks they won’t support his decision and his romance.

Hunter and Pesky met when Hunter rescued him from a wolf by distracting the wolf with some meat. Hunter showed Pesky he wasn’t a killer and gained his trust.

He is a great horse rider and has ridden Ashlynn’s dragon (the one from dragon games)

#ever after high #eah #ever after high headcanons #hunter huntsman #huntlynn #ashlynn ella #dexter charming #cerise hood #daring charming #apple white #eah headcanons

[beomiracles]

Hii ^_^ okay so i have misophonia (getting triggered by special sounds like typing and ect.) i was wondering if you could do reader having this and just snapping?

By the way I really like you're writing <3

「 please be quiet 」

DREAM RECALL in which your boyfriend triggers your misophonia.

pairings txt x gn!reader warnings descriptions of different sound triggers, Beomgyu's might be considered slightly suggestive toward the end.

#serene adds ✎... had to do a little research about the subject before I wrote, hopefully I captured it in a way that does people with this condition justice, if not lmk >.< also ty for appreciating my writing, that makes me so happy :3

YEONJUN

The small restaurant you and Yeonjun always went to was fairly crowded on this particular day. The buzz of different parties conversing, wine glasses being clinked together and silverware being scraped against plates, were all noises that filled your surroundings.

Yet you could only seem to focus on one thing. And that was the insatiable tapping of your boyfriend's fingers. The way they would drum against the wooden table in an ever so rhythmical way.

Yeonjun mindlessly glanced around the room as you waited for your food to arrive, seemingly unaware of the light motion of his fingers. For whatever reason it made your heart beat faster and faster.

Soon the tapping was all you could hear and it filled every fibre of your body. You felt anger rising within you, frustrated by your boyfriends ignorance and unawareness.

Finally you slam your hand flat against the table. The silverware makes a harsh noise and your boyfriend jumps in his seat, the two of you earn confused glances from the nearby tables.

"Babe?" Yeonjun asks hesitantly as he takes in your frustrated expression. "What's wrong?" he adds and your anger only increases at his dumbfoundedness.

"You, your─" taking in a deep breath, you try and steady yourself before you say something you might regret. Reminding yourself that he didn't do it intentionally and meant no harm.

"The tapping, I hate it, please stop doing it", you lower your voice to an appropriate level.

Yeonjun looks at you, seemingly confused though he quickly nods. "Alright, sorry I didn't mean to, babe" he says as he chews on his bottom lip, a nervous habit of his.

"No, I'm sorry", you sigh, "I shouldn't have reacted like that, it's just...hard to control", you mumble, feeling rather ashamed over your sudden outburst.

Your boyfriend takes your hand in his, a small smile on his lips, "it's okay, I'll be more careful".

"And I'll tell you straight away next time", you add as you lean over the table to press a kiss to his lips. Yeonjun smiles, "deal".

SOOBIN

Soobin had taken you out for an ice cream date that weekend. It had been one of your best dates yet and you found yourself enjoying every moment in his presence. Well almost every moment.

The two of you had walked around the park for a while before sitting down on a nearby bench as you finished your ice cream. Your boyfriend being the fast eater he was, had finished his own long ago.

As your gaze wanders over the beautiful scenery, the persistent tapping of your boyfriend's leg against yours, rips any sense of peace from you.

Soobin always seemed to be restlessly tapping his leg no matter the occasion. Most of the time you managed to ignore it, the sound wasn't particularly loud and you would often occupy yourself with other stuff.

But in the quiet park, as your legs touched, you could not only hear the faint tapping but also feel it. It made your ice cream taste sour.

For a while you tried to ignore it, you tried to think of anything else, anything to get your mind off the rhythmical taps. It didn't work, you felt goosebumps spreading across your arms. Soon you couldn't take it anymore.

"Can you be fucking still?" you half-yell out and your boyfriend freezes next to you.

Immediately regretting your harsh choice of words as you meet Soobin's confused and anxious gaze. "S-sorry?" he says, his voice laced with hesitancy.

You bite your bottom lip to prevent yourself from ruining things further. "Did I do something wrong?" you boyfriend asks as his brows furrow together.

You shake your head, "no, I'm sorry─it's just the...you tapping your leg like that", you whisper as you twist the ice cream in your hands. Soobin's eyes widen as he seems to realise what you had meant.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't think─"

"It's okay", you reassure as you give him a smile, "how could you know?". Soobin gives you a small nod though he keeps on apologising over and over.

You cut him off in an attempt to quiet his rambling, "wanna share the rest of my ice cream?" Your boyfriend returns your smile as he nods, "that'd be nice".

BEOMGYU

Beomgyu wasn't a messy eater, he was just, well he was something. Or maybe it had to do with your already oversensitive hearing. Or perhaps it was the loud crunch that followed each bite of a chip, the rustling of the bag currently in his hand.

Whatever it was it gave you a hard time focusing on the movie the two of you were watching. Shifting around on the spot, you try and block the sound out.

Your boyfriend doesn't seem to notice, too caught up in the movie displayed on the large screen. With every bite he took you felt yourself growing more and more annoyed.

It wasn't Beomgyu that irked you, just the conceding sound of the chip being broken down into tiny pieces in his mouth. It made your nose scrunch up in disgust.

Eyes trained on the screen, Beomgyu's free hand mindlessly moves to rest on your thigh. Usually you would take great comfort in the gesture. But right now it just irked you further.

You push his hand away.

Your boyfriend turns to you with a frown, "what's that for?". You grimace, unsure of how to explain yourself. Instead you reach for the bag of chips in his hand.

As you snatch it from him Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, "if you wanted some you could've just asked", he mutters as his eyes move back to the screen.

You didn't want any though. You just wanted the rustling thing out of your way. Discarding it on the other side of the couch you turn your attention back to the movie.

"Hey, why'd you place it all the way over there?" Beomgyu complains as he leans over you to grab the bag once more. "Don't!" you exclaim and your boyfriend freezes in his tracks as he gives you a confused look.

"I can't stand it when you eat like that", you blurt out, unable to hinder yourself. Eyes widening as you realise what you've just said but Beomgyu only grins.

"Then you'd better find another way to occupy my mouth", he breathes as he leans in to press his lips against yours. Perhaps you would.

TAEHYUN

Your boyfriend always seemed to be engrossed in his work. No matter what time of the day, he'd always have a call to make, an email to answer or a post of some kind to submit.

Today was no different as your boyfriend typed away at his computer. Knowing better than to disturb him, you were quietly reading in the armchair in the corner of his room.

Though no matter how hard you tried to focus on the words on the pages they never seemed to register. Instead your thoughts were interrupted by the persistent typing of your boyfriend.

The light tapping of Taehyun's fingers against the keyboard echoed like hammers against steel in your ears and you found yourself squeezing your eyes shut in order to block the noise out.

Huffing out a frustrated breath, you shift uncomfortably in your chair your boyfriend doesn't seem to notice your comfort as his eyes remain glued to the screen.

The typing continues, almost feverishly. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP─

"Quiet!"

Your words echo through the otherwise silent room and Taehyun turns around in his chair to look at you, a concerned expression on his face.

"Please just─ just be quiet..." your voice is a lot meeker now as you glance between the book in your hand and your confused boyfriend.

"I am..." Taehyun then says as he looks to you with a frown.

You shake your head, "no, you're not". Your boyfriend's frown deepens as he opens his mouth to question you further but you beat him to it.

"Your typing".

"My typing?" Taehyun asks as he turns around fully in his chair. You nod as your gaze flickers down to your back hesitantly. "It...it hurts my ears", you say and your boyfriend's eyes widen slightly.

"Hurts?"

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you run a hand through your hair. "Well yes, not like─ it doesn't harm me physically but it...I can't.." you groan, growing frustrated at your lack of ability to put words on your feelings.

Taehyun gets up from his chair as he walks over to you, kneeling down before you. "I understand", he then says as he takes your hand in his. You look from your book to meet his gaze.

"How about, no more work today? Just you and me", a gentle hand cups your cheek and you give your boyfriend a small nod. "Okay" you whisper as you lean into his touch.

Taehyun smiles as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. "Let me know if I ever hurt you again", he then says, "I don't want to do that".

HUENINGKAI

The sun has yet to rise when you're awoken by a faint noise. Groaning as you sit up on the shared bed of you and your boyfriend, you glance toward the clock on the bedside table. 3.29am.

The rhythmical snoring of your unconscious boyfriend beside you has you realising why you were currently awake.

It wasn't like he could help it. Snoring was a perfectly normal thing. But there was something about the way his breath would go raggedy with each intake before he exhaled sharply, that made you tick.

Trying to suppress the noise, you lay back down. You toss and turn, press your pillow over your head. Nothing helps.

It wasn't that it was annoying, no it physically made you sick. The way your heartbeat would quicken, chills running down your arms and spine at the repetitive sound.

Soon you couldn't take it anymore, letting out a frustrated groan you shoot up from the bed. Not even caring if you woke your boyfriend, you grab your pillow and a blanket before heading out to the living room, slamming the door shut on your way out.

As you get comfortable on the couch, having brought along some ear plugs, just in case, you realise that the snores had stopped. The door to your shared bedroom slowly creeps open and Huening appears in the doorway.

His sleep filled expression immediately sends a pang of guilt to your heart. "m' what's wrong?", he yawns as he drags himself over to the couch, his brows slightly furrowed in confusion.

You shake your head as you fiddle with the earplugs. "Sorry I...I just couldn't..", your voice is barely above a whisper as you turn to look at him.

"My snoring?" he asks and you nod. This wasn't exactly the first time it had happened. "Sorry", he mumbles as his frown deepens and you immediately shake your head again as you place a hand on his shoulder. "No, it's okay, really", you reassure but your boyfriend doesn't seem convinced.

"I can sleep on the couch 's no problem", he says as he eyes the pillow and blanket you had brought with you. "Huening, it's fine don't worry just go back to sleep", you whisper as you try and move him off the couch.

"Can't let you sleep out here, love", your boyfriend wraps an arm around you as his head falls to your shoulder. He yawns, "come back to bed, I'll just stay awake".

A smile finds its way to your lips, "I doubt that". Your boyfriend frowns against your shoulder, "I will".

Running a hand leisurely through his ruffled hair, you let out a tired sigh. Just as you're about to suggest that the two of you watch a movie to pass time the light snores return.

Though this time they only make you smile as you gently push Huening down on the sofa. Pulling the blanket over his sleeping figure before giving his forehead a light kiss, you then tiptoe back into your bedroom.

You loved your boyfriend, despite his snoring.

→ want to get notified whenever a new dream is published? join my TAGLIST ★ all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

taglist ✎... @theresawtf @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world @yunjinsbbg @gardnhee (if your tag is not working please check your settings to make sure that your blog is not hidden!)

#txt fanfic #txt #txt post #choi beomgyu #kang taehyun #choi soobin #choi yeonjun #huening kai #txt x reader #txt x you #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[secondbeatsongs]

rereading The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and the dragon chapter is really like. wow. you fucked up a weird asshole of a kid is what you've done. look at him. he's got dysphoria.

#personal #sbs rambles #the chronicles of narnia #the voyage of the dawn treader #voyage of the dawn treader #eustace scrubb #he just! it really is like #you've given the kid dysphoria #to make him suffer and learn how to be a good person #and it works somehow #but he hates himself so much #the part where it says he's afraid to be alone with himself when he's a dragon #but he feels ashamed to be around the others #and he hates his reflection and the way his body feels #:( #look I know he sucked before then but like #poor kid #anyway apparently in rereading the narnia books all I've realized is that I sympathize a lot with the characters who were hurt the most #Edmund believing he's a traitor for his whole life #Eustace thinking the dragon thing was a good punishment for his behavior #Susan being left alone #apparently I can't be normal about all of this #but maybe that's for the best

[sysig]

“It could be that the loss of her children drove the Queen deeper into her darker desires...but, I don’t believe she was fighting against them that hard before that particular tragedy. No monster does.” (Patreon)

Bonus:

Hmm, wonder what he could cover those holes with :3c

#Doodles #Handplates #UT #Fellplates #UkaGaster's answers about Toriel really interest me :3c #As evidenced by the quote caption lol - but his other ones are very interesting too! Since it sounds like she's still around! #Poor classic Handplates!Gaster believed Tori dead for such a long time while she was at the Ruins #Meanwhile Fellplates!Gaster is just like ''? I saw the Queen last week she threw me into the pricker bushes? -.ò'' lol #But anyhow lol ♪ The implications that they're still in each other's vicinity really makes me curious about their relationship! #And how Toriel might react to knowing that someone - someone other than her - is having So Much Success on one of her sore spots #Not just of having children but of the constant reminders of Gaster's success where she has to live every day with a heavy heart for her own #Being cruel to him over it - well that's just par for the course isn't it ♪ #He mentions that she's much more of an emotional sadist - insulting him and then making it Very clear that she does Not approve of the holes #''They're ugly and you should feel ashamed for drawing so much attention to something so unsightly'' #I do think that her knowing that he's so intent on being kind and merciful and then twisting the knife on how much he's hurting her- #Making him feel guilty for daring to even attempt the betterment of all - for giving pieces of himself away and try to be a good person #''If anyone will break my spirit it will be her'' :) #Although that's all assuming that Toriel even knows about the brothers! :0 When I thought about it later it'd make more sense if she doesn't #It was still too good to not do something with the idea hehe - but imagine her betrayal if/when she found out tho she'd kill him on the spot #Gosh I haven't drawn Tori in foreeeeever I can't even remember the last time #Doing a/nother study on her would probably be fun haha she's rather plain how I draw her currently #I wonder if her Fellplates version would also wear reading glasses hehe #And the bonus :3c Where are the plates featured in Fellplates? Surely it's not just called that as a reference right ♪ Hehehe

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷

Atlas: So your boss had you work through your break? Bee… 

Taryn: It’s fiiine, I ate my granola bar in between sorting books.

Atlas: You know that isn’t a healthy place to be at, right?

Taryn: Yeah, but it pays decently.

Atlas: Are you like the sole provider of your house…?

Taryn: Oh no! I’m not sure if Kai mentioned it, but our parents are in Selvadorada taking care of my grandma. She’s really sick and well, we made this arrangement. They take care of a majority of rent and Kai and I take care of utilities and the rest. 

Atlas: Ah, I see. I’m sorry to hear about your grandma.

Taryn: I appreciate it. She’s a kind woman, she used to make me champurrado on Christmas and it was the best.

Atlas: That’s really sweet. I’ve always wondered what that tastes like. Growing up, Toni was adamant on us not meeting our grandparents, so we never got to experience anything. Is it just fancy hot chocolate?

Taryn: I mean it has chocolate, but the consistency and flavor is a bit different.

Atlas: Huh… Want to make some later on tonight?

Taryn: Sure! I was actually wondering, you seemed a bit eager to skip out on that party.

Atlas: Do you still feel bad? Don’t! Besides Dan couldn’t even type out a proper response which tells me they’re having a great time… Without me.

Taryn: So you did want to go.

Atlas: No! No. 

Atlas: I didn’t want to see Frances. That’s the honest answer. 

Taryn: OH, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize things were bad.

Atlas: Nah, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to sour the evening. 

Taryn: Atlas, you don’t have to pretend around me. What’s on your mind?

Atlas: Frances and I… We have our differences. Sometimes it feels like the things that matter to me aren’t important to her and that’s fine, I guess.

Taryn: And this is in regards to?

 Atlas: Toni. She feels like I have something to prove. 

Taryn: But you do. 

Atlas: Taryn-

Taryn: And you know you shouldn’t. 

Atlas: But-

Taryn: So the question is, why? 

Atlas: I think it’s the satisfaction of beating an impossible challenge. God, I sound like I’m into being humiliated or something.

Taryn: He isn’t worth it but you already know that. My job also isn’t worth it, I’m aware but people often do things that we know aren’t good for us. As for Frances, she isn’t your enemy, but I think maybe the two of you need to find common ground in how you both communicate. 

Atlas: [ begins to attempt to speak before falling silent again ]

Taryn: What?

Atlas: Nothing, I’m just glad to be here with you. Thank you. [ bewp ] Your glasses keep slipping down your face.

Taryn: I know, I need to get them fixed- Wait, don’t change the subject. You have something to say. 

Atlas: I dunno what you’re talking about. 

Taryn: Atlas the bike-

Atlas: Wha- Fuck! 

Taryn: I- We should head back.

Atlas: Yeah, of course.

#there's like so much on my mind after writing this i might talk about it in a separate post IDK YET #i personally feel like #this is the first actual moment that they both see each other because before there were moments in the past but i felt like #atlas was truly being the person in which he always presents himself which is a completely fabricated/polished version #so to be able to show up in a way that he rarely does (even around friends) is such a big deal to the point where he almost considered #telling taryn the one secret he's so ashamed to share GAH #GAHHH #IMMA SHUT UP NOW LMAOOOOO #tessellate #sims 4 story

[viiinz]

everyday I think about him (Ippolit Terentyev)

#idk why of all characters he's the one that has left such an impression on me but oh boy #it's been over a year since I've read his 'explanation' and everything that followed and it hasn't left my mind since #ippolit terentyev #the idiot #god all he wanted was some sympathy and recognition #and they just make fun of him #literally all this boy wants is to be taken seriously and no one does #they either laugh at him or beg him to shut up #because his vulnerability and the fact that he's dying makes them so uncomfortable #and he's so ashamed as well over his own vulnerbility #that even when people aren't laughing at him he'll imagine they are #and people blame him for being self absorbed?? like of course he is!! #he's EIGHTEEN and DYING #this is a teenager who's just come to the realisation that he has no agency over his life whatsoever #and that all that awaits him are the cruel laws of nature #he has a right to be upset about that #he's literally the man condemned to death that myshkin talked about #and yes he's ridiculous and awkward and not always right and incoherent and all that #and he can really be insufferable and contemptuous and unfeeling towards others #and even the state he's in doesn't really serve as an excuse for that #yet i feel bad for him #and he's such a teenager too he's so insecure and just wants to impress the people around him #and yes he's doing it for attention #of course he wants attention #can you blame him?? #all he wants is to be heard #to feel like his life mattered #but instead everyone's just begging him to shut up #like they're just waiting for him to kick the bucket so the uncomfortable ordeal can be over with #sorry i just have a lot of thoughts about Ippolit and I'm being very incoherent because i didn't plan on typing all this lol

[jokingmaiden]

donnie’s brothers always tell him (well, not always—hardly, actually. they pick on him a lot) he’s an important member of the team.

but is he? is he really?

why would they need him if they’ve got cooler weapons, inexplicable magic, and stronger physiques? the mysticism only confirms what he already knows, only wedges a stick into the forming cracks.

so donnie makes himself irreplaceable. genius, a tactician, versatile—what you need, he can make. donnie becomes his tech; infallible, indestructible, irreplaceable. he and his work become inseparable. because that’s all he is to the team, right? his work?

so when april tells him in the witch town—really tells him, in her “doctor delicate touch” kind of way—they love him for him and not his tech, it strikes a chord. it’s not just because they care for him outside of his products, his safeguards, his aides in being just barely good enough to keep up with his brothers (by his own standards). it’s also because she’s calling him separate from his tech in the first place.

she’s telling him they see him for donnie. when the team pictures him, they see him without his tech. they see his soft shell, unafraid to imagine it; because to them, it’s nothing to be ashamed of or disgusted by. it’s just a part of donnie, their wonderful, eccentric, genius middle brother.

maybe, he thinks, if they can see him for his natural self, maybe he isn’t as much of a burden as he thought. if they can love him this much, even when he feels like he’s holding them back, then there must be some worth to him past his inventions, his crutches.

so, maybe for the first time in his life, maybe donnie decides to change his mind. maybe he’s more than his shell armor and his drones and his tank and his science.

maybe he belongs on this team after all, soft shell and all.

#rottmnt #rottmnt season 2 #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #rise donnie #rise donatello #rise!donnie #rise!donatello #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #no bc like #his soft shell being a metaphor for chronic disability is something that can be so personal #and him feeling like his disability aides are a part of him because he can’t go around without them #but they love him. they love him #and he needs to know it #he is donnie #all of him #and it’s nothing to be ashamed of #they wouldn’t have him any other way

[ritzcrackee]

ruehob tragedy ruehob tragedy ruehob tragedy

#GAH #HE NEVER UNLEARNS HIS SENSE OF DUTY!!!! #HE SIMPLY FINDS A DIFFERENT THING TO SERVE!!!! #THEY NEVER UNDERSTAND HIS LOWBORN STATUS!!!! #THOUGH THEY BOTH DO NOT FIT IN THEIR COURTS THAT DOES NOT MEAN THEY WILL FIT WITH EACH OTHER #does rue love him or do they love the idea of freedom that he provides... #he never stops feeling that ashamed panicked self hatred about his feelings #though they are themself around him is he ever himself around them??? #they have made a new home in eachother but it is a house of sticks... #one gust of conflict and the whole thing falls apart #what happens when rue loses their temper? when hob needs rigidity and stability that rue cannot provide? #when rue needs to stretch their wings but is smothered by the unceasing attention that hob cannot turn off? #yes their eyes are on eachother for now but some day those eyes will wander somewhere else #and i doubt they will wander in the same direction #BSODOSBDK bro wrote a whole essay in the tags 💀 #go to sleep old man #d20 #acofaf #erp