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moodriingz · 2 days

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Waiting Room pt. 2 | Q. Hughes

Summary | part one it’s Quinn’s turn to pine over the reader while she tries to move on, but can she do that when she’s still in love with Quinn?

Pairing | Quinn Hughes x reader, Elias Peterson x platonic!reader, reader x oc

Warnings | Angst?, mutual (but blind) pinning, cursing maybe

Author's Note | Thank you so much for all of your support for part one! I feel so bad that it took me forever to write part two, but this semester really kicked my ass. I hope this lives up to the hype. I honestly just wanted to get it done to move on if that makes sense? I’m hoping to continue writing so feel free to send requests! I’ve also recently gotten into F1 so you can send requests for that too!! xx

Masterlist

“You were so right, me and Evan got along so well. He’s great. We’re going on another date too.”

Quinn felt sick to his stomach. Not only had your friendship dwindled out of nowhere, but now you’re with someone else. Worst of all there was no explanation to why you pulled away. Quinn racked his brain for any reason why you would stop hanging out with him.

Now he had to watch you give your attention to someone else. He was so jealous of this random guy. Quinn wondered what made Evan better than him? All he knew was that the bright smile and light blush you seemed to always have was for some other guy now.

A couple of weeks passed and Quinn barely spends time with the team outside of practice and chooses to spend his time going through old photos and videos of the two of you or watching anything you’ve ever suggested to him. He’s halfway through one of your favorite movies when there’s a knock on his door. His heart flutters hoping it's you, but is immediately let down when he realizes that it's Elias and Brock at his door.

“What do you want,” He asks begrudgingly, leaving the door open as he returns to his couch.

“We wanted to make sure that you’re alive,” Elias said.

“Well now you know bye,” Quinn quips at them.

“Dude something is up with you and we’re not leaving until we find out,” Brock said.

“Is this about Y/N?” Elias asked.

“Fine yeah it’s about Y/N. I just really miss her,” Quinn admits after taking a deep breath.

“We used to talk almost everyday and that all stopped on the last road trip and now she’s seeing that new guy. I was finally going to ask her out and she just shut down.”

“Wait you were? You told me you didn’t see her that way and she overheard,” Elias says confused.

“She heard me? Why didn’t you say anything?” Quinn asks as his heart shatters all over again. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

“She was so upset and I didn’t think I could change your mind. She had been pinning after you for months and you never did anything, so I just believed you,” Elias said with a shrug.

“I didn’t think she felt the same way so I was just putting my feelings aside because I cared more about our friendship,” Quinn says, putting his head in his hands. “I think I royally fucked up.”

“Maybe not, Y/N and Evan don’t seem super serious yet. You might be able to wiggle your way back in with her,” Elias says sitting down with Quinn.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe bring her coffee? Start there and see what happens,” Brock suggests and Quinn just nods making a game plan to get his girl back.

The next morning he gets up early for practice to go pick up your coffee from the cafe you always go to. He knew where to go because the cafe printed their logo on their cups and he had plenty of time to take note of it. As he walked in he immediately recognized your silhouette waiting in line.

“Looks like you beat me to it today,” Quinn says walking up to you in line.

“Beat me to what?” You ask confused why after not talking to each other for a month he decided to come to your cafe.

“I was going to bring you coffee today,” He says awkwardly with a small smile on his face.

“Oh well you can still pay if you want,” You suggest as a joke.

“Yeah I guess that’s true,” Quinn says, hoping a conversation would start on its own. After a minute of silence he gives in and asks, “So what’s new with you I feel like we haven’t really talked that much recently.”

“Nothing much, you know filming you guys all day,” You say wondering if you should mention Evan. It’s still so new and you don’t know if it's going to work out, but he makes you so happy.

“I actually just started seeing this guy. His name is Evan, I think you would like him actually, he's really nice,” You say, deciding to rip off the bandaid.

Quinn knew he wouldn’t like Evan because he was getting with the girl of his dreams.

“Yeah maybe you should bring him out with us after a game or something. I'd love to meet him,” Quinn says kicking himself because that’s the last thing he wants, but anything to get back in your good graces.

You give him a smile at his comment thinking of what to say next. Luckily for you the barista calls for you two to order. And just like you suggested, Quinn paid. He offers you a ride to the arena before you even start walking back to the metro station to get to work.

You both sit in silence trying to think of anything to talk about. You finally start the conversation by mentioning that an author you had recommended to him a while ago put out a new book and how excited you were to pick it up.

Just like that the two of you fell back into conversation like you hadn’t missed a beat. You arrive at the arena way quicker than you thought you would and almost don’t want to get out of the car and leave Quinn again. You walk inside and as you are about to separate, but Quinn stops you.

“Would you like to go stop at a bookstore after work today to pick up that book? I could take you home after so you don’t have to take the metro home,” He asks hoping you would say yes.

Yeah that would be really nice. I’ve really missed hanging out with you,” You say with a smile and leaving to go get your work started.

“What’s got you smiling like that? Evan?” Megan, your coworker, asks jokingly.

“Actually no I ran into Quinn this morning when I was getting my coffee and we just talked for a while. Now we’re hanging out after work,” you say, taking a sip of coffee. Hoping to hide your smile behind your cup.

“Wait, really I thought you two were going to avoid each other forever.”

“Well I guess not. He said he was going there to pick up my coffee which was really sweet of him.”

“Oh he’s so into you,” Megan says sitting back in her chair.

“No he’s not, why would you say that?”

“Think about it, he stops talking to you right after you start seeing Evan and out of nowhere he’s doing all of these nice things for you?”

You stop and think about it, but there’s no way he told Elias that he could never see you that way. You brush it off and get on with your day. You didn’t have to shoot any content today so you didn’t see any of the guys during their practice, but Quinn was waiting for you after work to take you to go find your book.

You try not to think about what Megan said to you today, pushing it to the back of your mind. Once the two of you get to the bookstore you feel like a kid in a candy store showing Quinn all of the books you had on your reading list but haven’t gotten yet. Without you paying attention he grabbed a basket and started throwing them in there to pay for them himself.

He finally leads you up to the counter and insists on paying for all of the books he grabbed for you. You try to convince him that he didn’t need to but you were cut off by the clerk.

“Girl just let your cute boyfriend pay for your books. That’s what I would do.” You try to deny the accusation from this random teenager, but before you could they were announcing the total and Quinn was inserting his card. He grabbed the bag and walked you back out to the car.

“Sorry if what they said was weird, but just think of it as a payback for all of those coffees you got me,” Quinn said, trying to make you feel better.

“No it’s fine I think it’s kinda funny actually.” You say finally realizing you were there for several hours and were too tired to make dinner.

“I think I’m just going to order take-out for dinner if you want to keep hanging out at my place,” You say with a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Yeah that’d be great,” Quinn says as you start ordering. He stops at the restaurant while you run in to pick it up. He decides to text Elias and Brock an update and that he’ll tell them more later.

The drive to your apartment was filled with playful banter about what you should watch and Quinn just watches you as the streetlights illuminate your face. The two of you finally arrive and settle on a new movie you just saw. It really didn’t take much convincing for him to give in; he just wanted to push your buttons a little bit.

Later, they are surrounded by take out tins and you’re starting to drift off. At some point during the movie your head ended up on Quinn’s shoulder and you started to doze off. Quinn wasn’t complaining, but felt like it was time for him to go as the credits started to roll.

“Hey Y/n/n wake up,” He says quietly as you groan and cuddle into him further. “Y/n/n you have to get up-the movie’s over.”

When there’s no sign of you moving he decides to just pick you up and bring you to your bed. Thinking you��re asleep he decides to give you a “friendly” kiss on your forehead and says goodnight. You feel the butterflies that you thought were now reserved for Evan coming back all over again. Quinn grabs the trash from the takeout and sees himself out, and can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. On his way home he decides to call Elias.

“Elias I’m in so deep I don’t know what to do,” Quinn says concerned because he doesn’t want to break you and Evan up and ruin something else for you.

“Wait what happened?” Elias asked confused because all Quinn had told him was that they were heading back to her place.

“I kissed her-” Quinn said before Elias cut him off.

“You what? You move fast, man.”

“Well I kind of kissed her. She fell asleep on my shoulder and wouldn’t move so I carried her back to her room and then I kissed her forehead. Now I’m going home,” Quinn says still with a deep smile on his face. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I guess act like nothing happened. She was asleep right? Just leave it be for now and still hang out with her. I can talk to her and see what’s going on with Evan and then you can go from there.”

“Yeah good point thanks Elias, I’ll see you later.”

The next day you walk into work reminiscing last night with Quinn hoping you could relive it again soon. Silly crush aside, you missed your best friend and wanted things to go back to normal.

Elias practically corners you just to ask questions about Quinn.

“Quinn told me you two hung out last night, so you aren’t ignoring him anymore?”

“I was never ignoring him I just was busy,” You say trying to move around him to get to his office.

“Yeah alright. Anyways, how is it going with Ethan?” Elias asks, teasing you.

“Evan is great. I think I might invite him to a game or something soon,” You say, rolling your eyes.

“Oh wait, really?” Elias asks as you start to walk away. “For the record I think that would be a great idea. Maybe next week against Winnipeg?”

“Yeah I’ll have to ask him. Now if you will excuse me I have to go to my desk.” You say finally walking away.

You set your things down and open your computer and Megan starts questioning you about your evening with Quinn.

“It really wasn’t anything crazy. We just went to the bookstore where he bought all of them for me and then we went back to my place and got dinner,” You tell her leaving out the fact that he brought you to your bed and kissed you goodnight.

“The fact that he bought all of your books is enough to tell me that he’s into you. I know you had a long list you were slowly buying for yourself.” Megan may have set you up with Evan but she wasn’t blind to how much Quinn was into you and vice versa.

“I’m thinking of inviting Evan to a game. What do you think?” You ask to change the subject.

“I think it would be a good idea if you weren’t afraid of what your work husband would do,” Megan says, teasing you.

“I- what are you talking about,” You ask, hiding your blush.

“Y/N you can pretend to be oblivious, but Quinn really likes you and you should think about his reaction to having your new boyfriend at a game.”

“Who even knows if Evan would want to go,” You say before locking in on your work for the day.

You had already made plans to go out with Evan later that night so you figured it would be the best time to ask him then. You go home and get ready for your date thinking about what Megan said to you earlier in the day.

Soon enough you leave to go meet Evan at some new restaurant you would never pick out because it was too fancy for your taste. He greets you with a kiss to your cheek asking you how your day was.

“It was good I just had to deal with Megan and Elias berating me all day,” You say, aiming to leave the questions about Quinn out.

“Why would they do that?”

“Oh I was just thinking about inviting you to a game soon and they were just making fun of me,” You say sheepishly.

“That would be so cool! Would you be able to hang out with me or would it be like a wag situation where I just watch you do your magic,” Evan says with a chuckle as you start to look over the menu.

“I could probably get the night off and sit with you. Do you think you’d be free for the game next Saturday against the Jets?”

“Yeah that would be great! I’m looking forward to it!” He says closing his menu to signal he’s ready to order.

You continue to hang out with both Quinn and Evan, but choose not to tell Quinn about your invite for Evan to come to the upcoming game.

Saturday’s game finally rolls around and Quinn notices your absence during the warmups. You usually can be found on the bench shooting content but tonight it’s Megan in your place.

“Hey Petey do you know where Y/N is tonight?” Quinn asks hoping Elias might have some insight.

“Yeah she’s in the crowd tonight with Evan,” Elias says pointing towards Y/N and Evan in their seats.

Quinn’s heart drops. You had mentioned that you were thinking about inviting Evan but didn’t think it would be so soon. He tries to forget that you brought your boyfriend to the game, but he can’t forget the fact that you’re wearing his jersey. He can’t help but feel a fire ignite when Evan leans in to say something to you. The sense of jealousy does not go away, but there is a sense of pride knowing his name is the one on your back.

You spot Quinn looking at the two of you and give a shy wave like you had been caught. Evan leaves to go grab some water and you are stuck worrying about what Quinn is thinking about you bringing Evan.

Honestly since you started hanging out with Quinn again you just felt like your heart wasn’t in it with Evan anymore. You were planning on ending it but he kept talking about how excited he was for the game, so You decided to wait until after to end it with him.

There were no goals by either team after the first period, but something about Quinn seemed off. He was checking the other team left and right and was obviously agitated. The crowd is electric even though the Canucks are down 3-2 half way through the third, but it doesn’t seem to help his mood.

Quinn continues to instigate against the Jets and eventually gets himself into a fight against some player who was aggravating him all night. It doesn’t last long, but enough to get himself a penalty. He looks even more upset than before watching over the play.

Y/N was worried for Quinn. He never was this short tempered and she couldn’t figure what made him that upset. Evan can feel the nerves radiating off of her and rubs her shoulder to try and calm her, but he can’t help but feel like he is the last thing she needs right now.

“Hey Y/N I hate to do this here but I think we should probably end this,” Evan says and you finally take your eyes off Quinn. There is nothing you can do but sigh.

“Evan I’m so sorry I really wish I could’ve been better for you.”

“No it’s ok we had a great time and I’m happy being your friend I just think you have feelings for someone else,” Evan says with little to no hurt in his voice.

“Yeah I would love to still be your friend,” You say with a small smile as he gets up to leave.

Quinn sees Evan get up, but he just assumes that Evan is getting you something from the concessions. He realizes he needs to stop focusing on your date tonight and lock in for the rest of the game.

Unfortunately the Canucks lose 4-2 and Quinn looks like a kicked puppy, but luckily he isn’t assigned to interviews so he can just clean up and get ready to head home. He hopes he can just forget this night, especially seeing you with Evan.

Little does he know that you’re already waiting for him in the hallway all but pacing the area hoping he’s not too upset to talk to you. Quinn keeps his head down not wanting to see all of the sweet reunions of the couples and families until he hears you call his name.

He almost doesn’t want to stop worrying Evan would be with you, but you ran up to him to get his attention. Quinn turns around surprised to see you alone with a worried look on your face.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asks, his voice laced with annoyance. His comment leaves a sting in your chest.

“Um we actually ended it, but I just came to see how you were doing. I was really worried about you. I've never seen you so upset,” You say with worry lacing your voice.

“Well thanks for checking on me but - wait you ended it with Evan?” Quinn asks, lighting back up.

“Yeah we were better off as friends. I honestly wanted to end it a while ago because I kind of have feelings for someone else, but he was really looking forward to the game,” You say rubbing your arm hoping he might start catching on.

“Oh?” Quinn says with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but still guarded in case it is someone else.

“Yeah he’s some goofball who was stupid and got himself a penalty tonight,” You say, stepping closer to Quinn.

“Well hopefully he can get that under control for the rest of the season, I’m sure you don’t want to be stuck with someone spending time in a box the whole game,” Quinn says with a smirk and leaning in.

You decided to close the gap and the kiss was all you had ever hoped for. There was a mix of fireworks and something that just felt like home as he grabbed your sides to pull you in closer. Neither of you wanted this feeling to end, but unfortunately you had to come back up for air.

Quinn has the slightest pink tinge and smile on his face as he pulls back far enough to scan your face for any regrets.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long,” He says.

“Finally!” Elias says as he rounds the corner to see the two of you still wrapped up in each other's arms.

“I never thought he would make a move,” Elias adds as Quinn tries to hide in your neck.

“Well maybe we should get out of here and talk a little bit,” You suggest and Quinn excitedly nods, grabbing your hand to lead you out.

The two of you get into his car and you leave the arena stealing kisses from each other at stop lights and looking forward to your future together.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey imagine #vancouver canucks fic #vancouver canucks #hughes brothers #quinn hughes #elias pettersson

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songsbygumi · 2 days

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Don’t sit down ‘cause I moved your chair

| Megumi x reader

Summary- "Expect the unexpected; Kugisaki and Panda are on a mission to get Megumi and you together. The two times, Nobara and Panda set you two up, and the one time they didn't need to do it."

Warnings - reader use a skirt, use of Y/N one time, poor english, one mention of the pronoun her I think its just once I can change it tho.

A/N- This is part of the universe of 'Suck It and See' inspired by Arctic Monkeys' album and Alex Turner's 'Submarine' EP.

Panda didn’t mean to snoop on Maki. I mean, come on, he was just chilling in the classroom waiting for the class to start when Maki barged in, shouting something like, “At this point, we should lock her with Fushiguro in a closet and hope she makes a move.” It took Panda less than five seconds to figure out that the 'her' Maki was talking about was you. He watched Maki leave the room, still clueless about his presence, chatting away with who he thought was Yuta on the phone.

Panda didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but now that he knows, he has to tell Kugisaki, right?

“I think Y/n likes Fushiguro,” Kugisaki eyes widening as she connected the dots in her head. Everything suddenly made sense: how you get all flustered around him, how you always save him the last juice he loves at breakfast and give it to Inumaki to put it in Fushiguro's usual spot, how your face slightly drops when he mentions the date he had with the girl from the coffee shop, your eyes going soft when he talks, and Maki always trying to pair you two up for training. “I think they'd be a great match,” Panda adds, and they both grinned.

You have been waiting for an hour now outside the cinema. Fantastic Beasts is about to start, and Panda isn’t responding to his phone. You were supposed to meet here after spending your day at the shopping center.

“Hey Panda, I am at the entrance. The movie starts in fifteen minutes; you should hurry.” This is the fifth voice message you have left him. With a sigh, you turn your head to the street to see if you can catch him making his way to the theater, and that’s when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” you froze. It couldn’t be. You turned to face him. “Hi,” you blurted out, realizing Megumi Fushiguro stood before you, looking as gorgeous as always, his school uniform replaced by jeans and a hoodie. “Panda told me to let you know he couldn’t make it, but we can still go in if you want,” he offered.

You nodded following him inside, feeling like a little kid. “Ye...ah, cool, fuck Panda” you muttered behind him.

Did Panda invite him without telling you? Does Panda know about you liking him? You couldn’t say for sure.

“I didn’t know you were into Harry Potter,” he remarked, waiting for you. “Yeah... I’m kinda obsessed,” you admitted, blushing a bit, earning a chuckle from Megumi. “I'm kinda obsessed too,” he revealed, grabbing the tickets. You smiled, appreciating his easygoing vibe.

“I’m paying you, just let me know how much I owe you,” you say as the employee hands him the tickets.

“Don’t worry, Gojo sensei gave me enough to buy this whole place,” he says, brushing it off. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Yeah, uhm sure,” you said, swallowing hard, gathering the courage to keep talking.

“You like Harry Potter too, movies or books?” you wonder, not daring to look at his eyes.

His smile made your heart skip a beat. “Are you kidding? Books, of course,” he replied, and you couldn’t help but smile proudly. “Which book is your favorite?”

After a moment of thinking it, he responded, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Incorrect” you said playfully, grabbing the popcorn and moving away. “What do you mean incorrect?” he asked, looking amused. “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is right there” you argued, making him laugh.

You held the popcorn a bit too tightly, struggling to focus on the movie. You knew you were doing a bad job because by the end of it, you couldn’t remember a single thing besides Megumi's profile in the light.

As you walked back to school, chatting and feeling more comfortable, you found yourself agreeing with every single opinion of Megumi, encourage him to keep talking about it just because you didn’t have a single clue about what happened; you’ll have to see it again.

Later in your bed, you can’t help but think that maybe talking to Megumi Fushiguro wouldn’t be as difficult as you thought. Maybe you should keep doing it because talking with him was better than just staring at him from afar.

"Maybe you two should go together," Kugisaki suggested, smiling at her idea. Maki raised an eyebrow as she looked at you “It’s fine,” you said aloud. “I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t mind, of course, if you want, Fushiguro?”

Panda managed to hide a satisfied smile from you, but Maki's suspicious look caught him. “Sure thing, I’m down for it. It'd be nice not to deal with a crybaby while hunting for books." he remarked mockingly. “I’m not a cry baby!” Kugisaki protested, and you chuckled at the argument unfolding in front of you.

The library turned out to be smaller than expected, but your eyes lit up at the sight of shelves filled to the brim with books. The soft lighting and the background music of an Arctic Monkeys song made the atmosphere cozy; you could move here in a heartbeat.

“You weren’t lying when you said it was pretty,” you commented, turning to see Megumi standing casually, hands in his pockets, shrugging with a smile. He had a smile that could melt hearts. God, someone needs to make him stop smiling like that at you; he’ll kill you one of these days.

“You haven’t seen the best part” he said, taking your hand and leading you upstairs, making your heart race.

The second floor was packed with even more books, stacked everywhere, and inviting chairs that looked perfect for long reading sessions. It was like stepping into a book lover's dream. “This is amazing,” you whispered, caught up in the moment. Megumi wore a proud smile, happy to share this hidden gem with someone who appreciated it as much as he did. He kept holding your hand for a moment longer, feeling a warmth spread in his chest, before letting go, leaving the pleasant sensation behind.

“Oh my god, look at this Pride and Prejudice edition,” you said, admiring the gold engravings on the cover. “Oh, is that Heartstoppers?” you exclaimed, passing the book you previously held to Megumi.

"If you asked Kugisaki or Panda, they’d say they had never seen Fushiguro smile so much before. He was admiring you from behind, helping you hold the books you picked and reaching the higher manga shelves without complaining. "Looks like it’s going well.” Panda said a bit too loudly, breaking the calm atmosphere. Fushiguro's head turned, and they held the books they were 'reading' higher to cover their faces. “Shut up,” Kugisaki scolded him.

You didn’t notice, too busy looking at all the books, but seriously, did they think Fushiguro Megumi was that stupid to not notice Panda? Whatever they were planning, he will make them spill it, but for now, he had to hold your books.

“Look, that’s one of my favorites,” he pointed with his head at The Song of Achilles, getting into your little bubble again. You took it without questioning him or the book, adding it to the pile.

III

You’ve been craving Matcha for a week now, and you’ve been begging Maki to accompany you to the coffee shop for days. and still every time she answers with "Not all of us are first-grade sorcerers, and yet you still need to practice for the exchange event, which is literally tomorrow."

She’s been relentless; dragging you out for early morning runs at five in the morning so you can practice your hand-to-hand combat skills before seven, insisting, “Your curse technique outperforms at long distance, but what if they get up close? You need to be ready.”

Despite your intense training, all you wanted was a relaxed afternoon sipping on a cold Matcha. Yuta would have easily convinced Maki, you thought, missing your best friend dearly.

“What’s with the long face?” Kugisaki interjected, sitting next to you on the benches, watching Maki kick Panda's butt. “Nobody wants to get Matcha with me,” you pouted. Kugisaki’s brain starts working, but before she can offer to go with you, a male voice interrupts, “I'll go with you,” Fushiguro beats her to it.

"Really? You don't have to," you replied.

“Nonsense, we're friends, right? I enjoy spending time with you; you're better company than all these clowns,” he says, and you barely caught the rest after "friends."

Okay, that hurt a little. Your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts as you studied Megumi's expression. Of course, he doesn’t see you as more than a friend; he's so cool, and you're... well, just you. Why is he staring? Why is no one talking? Oh yeah, right, “Sorry, yes, we are. So, see you at five at the entrance?” you blurted out, snatching your backpack filled with clothes and some of Maki's weapons before rushing off, "Bye."

...

“What if I don’t go?” you contemplated twenty minutes before your scheduled friends date with Fushiguro.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. How is he supposed to know you want more than friendship?” Maki questioned, resting on your bed.

"Whose side are you on?" you retorted.

"Yours, but let's be real, you're being a tad irrational. Slip on the blue skirt and just go."

Megumi Fushiguro wasn't quite sure why he arrived early, but he felt an inexplicable urge to see you sooner; waiting longer was out of the question. And it was worth it, seeing you in that blue mini skirt and oversized sweater, a shy smile gracing your face as you spotted him. You looked even cuter than usual, he considered.

“Ready?" he questioned.

"Yeah, let's go," you affirmed, beginning to walk alongside him towards the coffee shop.

The café bustled with activity; it seemed like everyone had the same Matcha cravings as you did. Navigating through the crowd to reach the cashier proved challenging, but you preferred the subtle movements over pushing people or raising your voice to get through.

You were focus on not inconveniencing anyone when two hands settled comfortably on your waist, guiding you forward and providing a shield against the bustling bodies.

You held your breath; even through the layers of your sweater, you could feel the warmth emanating from Megumi’s hands. Finally reaching the cashier, he removed one hand, leaving the other on your lower back. "Hey there, what can I get you?" the cashier's words snap you back to reality.

“Uhm...” damn it, did you forget how to talk?

"One Matcha latte and one black coffee to go, please" Megumi says watching you struggling.

"Sure thing, regular milk?" you shook your head in disagreement. "Almond milk, please," you requested. The cashier nodded, and before Megumi could reach his wallet, you’ve already paid.

“That’s not fair,” he complains; you had to get your eyes checked because you thought you saw him pout.

“It’s fine, don’t worry; you always pay” you reassured him, moving towards the other end of the counter, Megumi's hand still lingering on your back.

"Hey, Megumi," a girl called out from the opposite side of the counter. She was strikingly pretty, flashing a wide smile at Megumi, her attention fully captivated by him until she noticed you a moment later. "Oh, sorry, hi," she acknowledged you, then shifted her gaze back to Megumi, noting his proximity to you, and her smile faltered slightly.

"Hey, Katsuki" he greeted back.

"You haven’t been around lately as usual" Katsuki remarked.

“Yeah, been busy with school stuff," he explained, his free hand casually brushing his neck.

"You haven’t replied to my texts either" you felt like an intruder in a conversation you shouldn’t be in.

“Sorry, it has been crazy lately,” he apologizes. Another employee calls for your names, and you swiftly grabbed your drinks, offering him his coffee.

"I'll wait outside if you need a moment," you informed him.

"No, it’s fine," he says to you, moving his hand to find yours. "Sorry, Katsuki, I swear I’ll text you back tonight. Take care," he says, guiding you through the crowd.

Outside the café, silence lingered for a moment. "A bit overwhelming with the crowd for you, huh? Feeling overstimulated?" he teases, smiling, to which you nodded. "Let’s go, I know a spot you'll love." He took your hand again, and a surge of electricity seemed to buzz between your palms. If he felt it, he didn’t mention it.

It had been week’s full of mixed emotions; you had countless questions swirling in your mind, but for now, you chose to give in the comforting and welcoming presence of Megumi Fushiguro.

#Suck it and see series #moonswrites #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #reader x jjk #jjk drabbles #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #megumi fushiguro imagine #megumi fushiguro #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi fluff #fushiguro

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norrizzandpia · 2 days

Note

hey, totally ok if it’s not ur vibe, but i’d love to see an oscar fic where he’s helping his girlfriend or a childhood best friend when she’s feeling a bit down.

i keep thinking about that man helping clean a depression room and telling his girl not to be embarrassed and he’s there to help and they get it sorted and he just holds her. makes sure she’s eaten and drank something.

even if it’s just a drabble, i’d really appreciate it :) need that kinda care in my life rn, even if it’s fictional.

I made this girlfriend because it just felt softer idk

To Be Loved Is To Be Seen (OP81)

Summary: Oscar knows his girlfriend well and it’s obvious to him when she starts breaking down. He’s happy to help or, more specifically, remind her how worth it she is.

Warnings: this one is HEAVY on the family trouble, depression, anxiety, VERY ANGSTY but def cutest HAPPY ENDING

Note: i didn’t know if you wanted reader to be in a rut or have a reason for it so i just made a reason

Y/n’s first few months of university were hard. Not only was it due to the new course load, but also because of her parents lack of interest when it came to her life. It had been a gradual shift, starting from her last two years in high school and only getting stronger as time went on. They had always been there, overbearing at times, but, now, they posted pictures of their trips around the world, failing to answer her calls and texts. She felt selfish for wanting her parents’ attention as much as she did, but it was hard to fight. There were situations she had never dealt with before, she wanted her mom’s wise words and father’s funny remarks to get through it all. But, she sat alone in the darkness of her room without the guidance counselor she usually could count on. It felt as if she wasn’t enough to keep them there anymore. It was heart wrenching and it stewed within her at such volumes, it became too much.

That’s when Oscar noticed. Her boyfriend had always been attentive, noticing small things about her that no one else did, but the second her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her text messages became less frequent, it was almost as if he was staring her down in anticipation of some sort of sign. He didn’t begin to realize it was related to her parents until he caught a glimpse of her phone when they were together, the screen open to her conversations with her mother and all of the recent texts going completely unanswered. He knew she had always had a rocky relationship with them, but she spoke about them with such respect, he knew it would’ve bothered her to feel so unimportant.

Knocking on her door, his hands clutched the bag of her favorite food he had got on his walk to her apartment. He had planned this evening out for weeks, not telling her about it in worry that she would slip into a facade put together with a fake smile that made his skin crawl.

She opened it, her body tense and tired in a ratty shirt and shorts, “Oscar? What are you doing here?”

It was as if he saw her front go up, her posture straightening and that haunting smile which told him all too well how much pain she was in. He smiled softly, “I thought we could spend the night together.”

She closed the door enough to only peek her head through, “Osc, I’m so sorry, but I can’t tonight. I’m so busy.”

He stayed put, “That’s okay. I can wait on your couch.”

“No, Osc,” She said firmly, her face turning in the light and exposing the dark bags under her eyes.

He stepped closer to her, putting his hand on the door and looking down at her with a look that made her feel loved, “Y/n, let me in. I know you’re going through it. Let me be with you.”

Her resolve cracked, her smile dropping for a second and water suddenly pooling in her eyes, “You don’t want to come in here.”

He leaned against the door and cupped her cheek, “It won’t make me love you any less.”

With a sigh, Y/n pushed the door open, beckoning the boy into her home. He knew what to expect, he knew what it was like to reach the place she was in. So, when he saw the piles of clothes, half-eaten food on the counter with old dishes in the sink, and her little accessories put in the wrong places, something she would never usually do, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, he was happy she had let him in, literally and figuratively.

She picked at her nails beside him, swaying on her feet as she analyzed his every move. Part of her was trying to ready herself for him to walk out the door, give up on her because of whatever stood before them, but he gently set the food on the floor and ushered her into his embrace. His cheek laid against the top of her head, nestled in her hair, as he tightened his grip around her body. She smelled his cologne and felt his sweatshirt which made him feel all the more warm. There was something about his presence, she would later learn it was how safe she felt, that made the turmoils of her mind quiet as she began to cry. Y/n had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry for people who clearly didn’t care, but as Oscar rubbed her back and whispered how much he loved her, she realized it was never going to work.

Her breaking down wet the material of his sweatshirt, but Oscar just held her tighter, whispering how it was going to be okay and this would all pass.

“You’re so worth it all, Y/n,” He whispered, pecking the top of her ear as he smoothed down her hair.

She clutched his back before Oscar was moving her hands under his hoodie to feel the bare of his skin. He knew she loved that. And she did. Y/n’s tears began to dissipate as he told her why he was there.

“I’m with you in this. You aren’t alone. I’m here for you and I always will be. This,” He gestured to the space around them, holding her face in his hands and forcing her eyes to meet his, “doesn’t scare me at all, love. What does scare me, though, is the attempts at eating on the counter. Have you been eating other than that?”

She shook her head, “I tried. It’s too hard. I’m not hungry ever anymore.”

He titled his head with a small frown, “Well, maybe your favorite food will help, yeah? We’ll sit together and eat. We can go as slow as you want, or as fast. All up to you, baby.”

He kissed her forehead lightly before guiding her to the living room, one of the less dirty places, and setting her down on the cushions. He set it all behind him, not wanting to overwhelm her with everything he got, and took out what he knew she would want first. There was a dull sparkle in her eyes when he handed it to her, his heart lifted. It hadn’t been there when he first arrived.

She opened it slowly, eyeing the food she once ravished in seconds, and taking a utensil to pick at it. He looked at her, waiting patiently for her to take a bite. When she did, however small, he did too. When she did again, he did too.

She stopped, “Why aren’t you eating faster?”

He smiled, “Because I’ll take a bite when you do. I don’t mind, Y/n. I told you I’m in this with you.”

Her eyes gloss over as they dart between him and the food before taking another bite, giggling a bit when Oscar takes one of his own dish. She eats, he does too and their eyes never leave each other, offering unspoken support.

When the plastic boxes are gone and empty, Oscar has glasses of water randomly appearing in his grip, offering them to his girlfriend who has found herself tangled in that soft blanket he got her last Christmas. Her cheeks are a soft pink from the warmth of it coupled with the candle he lit in the midst of their dinner and she smiles when the cool liquid flows down her throat. Oscar stands over her, hands in his pockets and wondering how anyone could possibly ignore her texts. He wants to take a picture of her, remind her parents of the beauty they have in their reach. But, he also knows that any text he sends to them wouldn’t be one he should send to his potential (very likely) in-laws. So, he stays quiet and looks at her with the love she deserves.

“Do you need anything else?” He asks, pushing the hair out of her face.

She shakes her head, “No, I’m good. What movie do you want to watch?”

He kisses her cheek, “It’s up to you. I won’t be watching.”

Her eyebrows knot together and she cocks her head, “Why not? Is this some random pickup line where you’re going to tell me how you’ll only be watching me?”

He laughs, his head back, as he walks toward her room, “No, but that’s a good one. I’ll keep that for later. You put on whatever you want, baby. I’ll be cleaning.”

She crawls to the corner of the couch, watching him begin to pick up her room, “Clean? What? Why?”

He stops, turning around to look at her through the door, “Because I want to help you feel better and I know your apartment is stressing you out. You shouldn’t have to worry, love. Just relax. I’ll be done in a few hours.”

Her mouth is agape as he moves throughout her room, putting things away as if he knows where everything goes. He does, apparently. And when the shock of it wears off, a smile cements itself on her face as she turns on a random movie. She enjoys the soft humming of Oscar in the other room, answering his occasional question about the plot of the movie she’s watching. When he moves to the kitchen, out in the open and available to see what’s on the screen, Y/n falls asleep to the picture of her boyfriend doing her dishes and taking out her trash. Falling asleep with a warm heart mended by someone that has always loved her unconditionally.

—

She’s awoken by the feeling of soft mattress beneath her and Oscar’s arms heavy around her torso. He’s deep in sleep when she opens her eyes, has her completely enveloped in his grasp on her side. The room is dark, the window open and allowing for a cold breeze to flow through the room. She loves it. It’s cold outside, but Oscar keeps her warm. Her hands move their way up to his head, playing with his hair and staring at the man who has treated her so gently.

Tears fall down her face all so suddenly, sniffling lightly but still waking Oscar in the process.

He’s immediately worried, “What’s wrong?”

Her head drops to his chest, “I just love you so much and can’t tell you how much it meant to me that you stayed here even after seeing the state everything was in, including me.”

His soft hands leave her body and pull her face up to him. His eyes are dilated as he looks at her, “I would’ve done it yesterday and I’ll do it for the rest of our lives. I don’t want you to struggle alone. You don’t deserve that. You’ve done too much of that before you met me.”

If only her younger self could see her now. A younger girl worried she’d never find a man who loved her by seeing her now wholly adored by someone who didn’t just see her, but understood her too. She doesn’t even need to utter the problem, he already knows and she’s caught on to that since the moment he showed up at her door. His carefully chosen words about her worth and how easy it is to love her were all strategically placed in order to fix the cracks deep in her soul that have come undone at the hands of her parents.

“It’s just upsetting that they only loved me.” She whispers and for a second, Oscar doesn’t understand what she’s saying. But, the tense of her words dawns on him and the look on her face unleashes anger in his body. Loved. It’s upsetting that her parents loved her. They no longer do in her eyes. She once had parental support, love, but it’s obvious how transactional, conditional it was now. She got a taste of what it was like to be loved by them, but it was taken away when she needed it the most. She had mentioned to him before that growing up, she felt as if they used her presence to shy away from the problems of their marriage. When she was out of the house, she thought they would separate, but the opposite has happened. She served her purpose, now they throw money at trips to fill the void of what they have refused to face. Disregarded and thrown away, that’s the implications of what she’s confided.

He nods, tears in his eyes, “It’s so unfair of them to treat you this way. They’re your parents. They should be there for you, but they have never known how to love and you were just an unnecessary victim in it all.”

She wipes the moisture from her face, “I should just move on from the way they’ve treated me. I should give them grace because they’re my parents. I should just make peace with it all because this will never be fixed in the way I want it. But, I can’t.”

Oscar kisses the top of her head, “It’s okay that you can’t. That’s completely understandable. Giving grace just because they’re your family members isn’t right, Y/n. Just because there’s a blood relation doesn’t mean you can excuse their behavior. They’re your parents and they have neglected you for ages. You can’t keep giving everything to them, only to get nothing in return. Parents or not, you distance yourself from people who bring you down as much as they do.”

More tears smear against his chest, “But, they’re my parents, Osc.”

It’s as if he doesn’t know what to say because he knows how much she praises their drive and determination, giving her a life of privilege. Though, he stands firm on the idea that no one should be given a second chance if they “love” this way.

“I know, Y/n, and it’s so horrible that you’ve been put in this situation, but I think it would do you some good to let go of a part of them. You’ll go home and see them for birthdays, Christmases, but, in the time between, you don’t have to chase after them. You can find love in other things, happiness in other things. I’ll even do some of it with you. We can take up painting classes like you always wanted, walks in that park down the street that you love, studying in coffee shops, and watching the sunset. Life without them can be freeing.”

He’s right, she thinks. Life without them will be freeing. But, the story of letting go is never easy and finding yourself flipping to past chapters to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore is usual.

However, as she lays tangled in the limbs of Oscar, she finds future chapters to be more exciting, more fulfilling. Her whole life is ahead of her, one including Oscar, and that sudden revelation fills her with an overwhelming relief. His listing of all the things she loves, wants to try desperately reminds her just how in love with her he is. Every action of hers is noted by him and she’s spent years begging for that from her parents. She never got it, but maybe that was because something else softer lied in the cards for her. At times, her parents needed her, but they would always need something else more. Glamorous, shiny, new things that would satisfy them for a time. She would never be enough in the minds of them, but in the mind of Oscar, she was more than enough. It was clear she was everything to him.

A life with him would be different from the one handed to her on a broken, rusty platter. She wanted that with him and the way he looked at her told her he did too. Letting go of the dismissal of people she has killed herself for to make proud was maybe for the best, pushed her in the direction of focusing on Oscar and everything she’s ever wanted. Was this her mending old, deep wounds?

Loved and cherished, she found sleep once more, rejuvenated with hope and a sense of moving on.

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fyorina · 9 hours

Text

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

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qveerthe0ry · 13 hours

Text

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect.

He’s your dream man.

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place.

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees.

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally.

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit.

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own.

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it.

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too.

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight.

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things.

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him.

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt.

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing.

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow.

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore.

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training.

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager.

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated.

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it.

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed.

“What do you want?”

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in.

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.”

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine.

“You’re lying.”

You sigh and close your eyes.

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.”

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty.

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers.

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.”

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment.

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?”

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction.

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?”

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little.

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs.

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation.

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not.

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his.

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead.

“Everyone?”

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you.

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up.

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at.

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you?

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.”

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze.

“Really?”

You scoff.

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth.

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine.

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment.

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back.

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone.

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted.

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again.

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs.

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.”

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth.

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you.

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction.

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long.

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs.

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt.

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking.

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved.

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice.

“I think about you, too. All the time.”

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest.

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?”

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter.

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod.

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience.

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt.

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?”

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss.

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head.

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you.

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before.

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers.

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch.

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck.

“It’s just you.”

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief.

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans.

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess.

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips.

“That’s all for me?”

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again.

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip.

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?”

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you.

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes.

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs.

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face.

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control.

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him.

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest.

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels.

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.”

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest.

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure.

Oh, he’s fucking good at this.

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else.

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers.

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face.

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side.

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles.

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself.

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together.

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing.

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids.

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours.

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder.

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?”

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs.

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction.

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants.

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.”

You huff.

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it.

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours.

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe.

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out.

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation.

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again.

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you.

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold.

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs.

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever.

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.”

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust.

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there.

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake.

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.”

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping.

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue.

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him.

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him.

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach.

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers.

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that.

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is.

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him.

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat.

“So… How’d it compare?”

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question.

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them.

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?”

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are.

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs.

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs.

“Better,” you whisper.

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back.

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver.

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips.

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants.

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension.

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little.

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard.

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up.

“Will you let me suck it?”

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods.

“Please.”

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction.

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants.

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough.

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go.

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you.

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel.

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock.

His little cock.

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess.

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing.

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this.

You’ll make him look, one way or another.

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention.

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head.

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth.

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him.

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to.

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens.

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more.

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool.

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere.

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock.

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself.

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds.

He says your name.

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls.

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked.

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face.

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face.

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.”

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question.

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face.

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe.

“Yeah? You still want it?”

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek.

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.”

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away.

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?”

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later.

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body.

He’s so hot.

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation.

“Please,” you whisper.

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed.

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit.

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling.

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time.

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense.

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you.

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him.

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles.

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm.

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out.

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh.

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display.

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up.

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist.

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you.

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them.

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?”

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit.

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight.

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy.

There’s screaming.

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts.

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene.

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks.

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps.

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again.

“Huh?”

God, how are you ever going to move again?

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words?

“What are you talking about?”

He clears his throat.

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly.

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright.

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out.

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver.

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees.

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you.

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body.

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body.

“Hi,” he whispers.

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high.

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part.

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle.

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach.

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do.

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest.

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth.

“When can we go again?”

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #the mentalist

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 12 hours

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3: COMPANY

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Bucky wants his best friends to get to know his girlfriend but a little voice makes him worry that there may be more going on between you and Steve.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: miscommunications and Bucky Barnes being a colossal idiot (theme of this whole story)

Steve and Bucky walked down the corridor towards the large living room with the massive television screen. Their arms laden with drinks and snacks for themselves, you and Priya. Bucky wanted his best friends to get to know his girlfriend better and you'd begrudgingly agreed to a movie night, comforted by the knowledge that Steve would be present as a buffer for awkward questions.

Steve was smiling softly, happy to be able to relax with the people he cared most about without being interrupted to save the world. His self imposed responsibilities weighed heavily on his mind. Distractions where he could be Steve and not Captain America were hard to find. One of the things he loved about you and Bucky was that you both were his voice of reason, between the two of you, you would argue different sides of a point, until he was happy with the decision he had made. This was why seeing the two of you as a team made him so happy.

You had made yourself comfortable on yours and Bucky's favorite couch. It was just big enough for you and the beefy super soldier and in your mind, you imagined yourself and Bucky being comfortable under a throw blanket while you watched the movie. Your day dream was shattered as Priya dropped into the seat beside you.

"Oh gosh, this is so comfortable! Such a cuddle couch." She elbowed your side gently. "Hey, you think Bucky and I could sit here for the movie?"

It took every inch of your self control to stop a scowl from marring your features. "Sorry to be all Sheldon about this, but this is kinda my spot."

"Oh, yeah, I get it." She didn't, looking at you like she was indulging one of her young patients who was throwing a tantrum. “Do you mind if I sit until Jamie and Steve get back?”

"Sure." You tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. You had to play nice, for Bucky's sake.

"Hey Cricket, can I ask you something?" Priya’s voice was slightly hesitant.

"Course. What is it?" You replied. But you had a strong feeling you weren’t going to like what she was going to ask you and steeled yourself for it.

"Do you and Jamie have any history of being more than… just friends?"

"No." You suppressed a sigh. You had expected an annoying comment, as opposed to something that would break your heart all over again. "No, just friends. Why’d you ask?" You felt suspicious of her line of questioning.

"Oh, I was just curious. I know you're not his type and all, so I wasn't very worried about it, but I figured there's always a possibility." She shrugged.

"Bucky and I have never been anything more than friends." You confirmed through gritted teeth, and it was killing you.

"Okay," Priya smiled happily. "That makes me feel better. I really like him, and I just wanted to make sure there weren't any lingering feelings between you two."

"I'm happy for you," you lied through a smile.

"Thanks, Cricket. I appreciate that. And I'm glad we had this conversation, it's always good to clear the air."

"Absolutely."

"Thanks for being so understanding. You're a great friend, I’m glad that James and I have you."

Steve and Bucky as they paused momentarily, not wanting to interrupt your conversation, but at the same time, curious about what you were saying. They both felt a little awkward for eavesdropping but they didn’t feel comfortable making their presence known. Steve glanced over at Bucky, wondering what his reaction would be, but Bucky’s face was bathed in darkness and impossible to read.

When Priya said she was glad to have you as a friend, Steve nudged him gently. "Come on," he jerked his head, urging Bucky to follow. He walked into the lounge and deposited the snacks on the table in front of you and Priya.

"Thanks, Steve!" you reached forwards to grab a bowl of popcorn, but Bucky was blocking you. You swatted his legs playfully. "Buck! What’re you doing?"

"Cricket, can you move over a bit so I can sit with Priya?" Bucky looked at you with wide eyes and pouty lips. How could you say no?

Reluctantly, you got off the couch, Bucky giving you a questioning frown as you did so. You shuffled over and settled in next to Steve, feeling a stab of disappointment that Bucky had chosen to sit with Priya instead of you.

"Did you ladies pick a movie?" Steve asked.

You shook your head, but Priya volunteered a suggestion in a heartbeat. "You've Got Mail!"

Steve pulled up the film from Tony’s endless supply of media and hit play. As the movie started, you tried to focus on the screen, but your eyes kept gazing over to Priya and Bucky and how his arm was draped cozily over her shoulder. Your mind kept wandering back to the conversation you just had with Priya. You couldn’t help but wish that there had been more between you and your best friend. What made her think that you weren’t his type? You bristled at the thought. Bucky had never expressed his preferences to a woman’s appearance. Had he mentioned something to her?

Steve noticed your distraction and leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, trying to push aside your feelings of jealousy and insecurity. "I’m fine," you whispered back. "Just a little tired."

Steve gave you a knowing look, but didn’t press the issue. Instead he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, offering you comfort and support. As the movie played on, you found yourself leaning into Steve’s side, feeling safe and protected in his presence. You couldn’t help but wonder what could have been if things had been different between you and Bucky.

As you and Steve turned back to the movie, Priya leaned towards Bucky and whispered to him conspiratorially. "I think Cricket and Steve make such a cute couple, don't you think? They looked so cozy on their Coney Island date!"

Bucky looked down at her with surprise. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t feared that you and Steve might be more than friends, but it shocked him that other people considered it. As long as he was the only one to think it, he could have lived in denial, but having someone else voice it with such confidence made his skin crawl.

"Um, I don't know. They seem to get along well as friends."

"Oh come on, Jamie. I can see the way they look at each other. We should totally set them up! I mean look how he has his arm around her!"

Bucky hummed with hesitation. "I don't think that's a good idea, Priya."

"Why not? They would be perfect together!"

"I just...I don't think it's the right time for them to start dating." Bucky answered, not avoiding eye contact, his eyes glued to Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

Priya was starting to sense that something was off. "Jamie, is there something you're not telling me?"

"Look, Steve doesn’t really talk to people about this, but he had a girl, back in the 40s, Peggy. He isn’t over her. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to enter a relationship when Steve still has feelings for Peggy." Bucky winced internally, hating himself for using Steve’s past to cover for himself.

"Wow, I had no idea," Priya said softly, her eyes widening in surprise. "That must be really tough for him."

Bucky nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for using Steve’s past as an excuse. "Yeah, it’s been hard for him. He’s never really gotten over her."

Priya looked thoughtful for a moment before turning back to Bucky. "Well, I’m glad you told me. I wouldn’t want to cause any unnecessary drama. They're lucky to have you looking out for them."

Bucky gave her a terse smile, grateful that she understood. "No problem. I just want what’s best for both of them."

As the movie came to an end, you and Steve exchanged a look, both of you feeling a sense of contentment and comfort in each other’s presence. Despite the awkwardness and tension that had filled the room earlier, you were grateful for the friendship and support that you had in each other. Unfortunately for the two of you, your closeness did nothing to assuage the envy that burned deep inside Bucky.

As everyone got up to leave, Priya turned to you and Steve with a smile. "Thanks for the movie night, guys. I had a great time."

You and Steve both nodded, returning her smile. "Anytime," you said, feeling a sense of relief that the night had gone smoothly.

As you and Steve walked out of the living room together, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for having him by your side. Maybe things weren’t meant to be with Bucky, but you knew that you had a true friend in Steve, someone who would always be there for you no matter what.

On the other hand, Bucky went to bed that night with Priya’s words burned on the back of his brain. Why did she think that there might have been something between him and you? She had worsened his fears about you and Steve. Would his oldest friend really betray his trust that way? Surely you would have mentioned that to him, wouldn’t you? The tiny voice in his head that sounded just like you, asked him why he would assume such a thing, since he had hidden his relationship for so long.

Your voice of conscience in his mind did nothing to mitigate his turbulent thoughts. In fact they swirled around his brain until he found himself confronting you about them. This was becoming too common an occurrence. He blurted out the words while he found you training in the gym.

"You went to Coney Island with Steve." He tried to sound nonchalant as he spotted you with your weights.

You grunted your response, trying to stand up with the heavy weight balanced across your shoulders. Eyes screwed shut with the effort of pushing your knees apart to push yourself upright. You panted slightly, trying to recover your composure, but Bucky wasn’t ready to give up on his point.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were going?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," you attempted a shrug before going back into a squat. "It was Steve’s idea and honestly, I didn’t think it was a big deal since you were busy with Priya."

"It is a big deal! We promised we'd go together."

Your face dropped slightly as you stood up, remembering the promise you’d made almost a year ago. Things had been so chaotic and you’d forgotten about it. You put the barbell back on the rack before replying. "I know, and I was really looking forward to it." There was a sadness in your tone that you couldn’t hide. "But when you started dating Priya, I thought things had changed. I didn’t think you’d care."

"That doesn’t mean we can’t still hang out. You’re my best friend, too." Bucky leaned against the rack, as you busied yourself with unloading the bar.

"I know, and I’m sorry." You hid your face as you answered. "I just felt left out when you didn’t tell me about Priya."

"I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you. But seeing you at Coney Island with Steve really hurt."

"Wait," you spun around with surprise. "You saw me at Coney Island?"

"Yeah…" Bucky’s anger abated slightly as he realized what he was saying to you.

You huffed. "You were there?"

Bucky had the decency to look ashamed.

"And you’re getting on my case? I mean Steve took me there as a surprise to cheer me up after I got sick. I didn’t decide to go there without you. And it’s not like Steve knew about our promise. What were you doing there, Bucky?"

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was there with Priya. We were on a date."

You felt a pang of jealousy and hurt, but you pushed it down but the aggression in your tone was unmistakable. "I see. Well, I’m sorry if I upset you by being there with Steve. But I'd like to point out that you didn't seem to have any issues going with Priya."

Bucky looked at you, his expression softening. "I’m sorry, Cricket. I should’ve told you about Priya - about Coney Island, about dating her. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just…"

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "It’s okay, Bucky. Just…next time, can you please just be honest with me?"

"Yeah," Bucky nodded. "and hey, you'd tell me if you were, right? As in dating… someone."

"Yeah, I'll keep you apprised." You rolled your eyes and shook your head with a small laugh.

"Even if it was Steve?"

“Why do you keep asking me that? Are you trying to set me up with Steve? Because I don't have those kinds of feelings for him.”

“You don’t? Because Priya said-”

"Bucky, why don't you ask me about me instead of your girlfriend?" The irritation you'd felt about his indignation earlier rose inside you again, enough that you decided to walk away from it.

He caught up to you outside the gym, heart pounding in his chest. "Hey, Cricket," he called out, his voice filled with sincerity. "I’m sorry for how I acted back there. I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have let my jealousy get the best of me. Can we talk?"

You turned to face him, your expression guarded but curious. "What do you want to talk about, Bucky?"

Bucky took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I want to apologize for not being upfront with you. I value our friendship, and I don’t want to lose that because of my own insecurities. I’m sorry for hurting you… and I want to make things right."

You studied him for a moment, your eyes searching his handsome face for sincerity. The way he looked back at you softened your resolve and after a moment, you nodded. “I appreciate your apology, Bucky. Let’s move past this and focus on our friendship.”

Bucky nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders as he heard your words. "Of course. And hey, maybe we can still go to Coney Island together sometime. Just the two of us."

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I’d like that."

Bucky fell in step beside you, as you walked away from the gym, the tension between you slowly dissipating. He knew he had a lot of work to do to rebuild the trust between you, but he was willing to put in the effort. He was grateful for your forgiveness and determined to show you that he was a true friend, even if he couldn't have anything more.

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Tag list: @samodivaa @scoonsalicious @literaryavenger @noonespecial90 @browneyedgrli @vicmc624 @cjand10 @capswife @julvrs @ordelixx @sashaisready @sebastians-love @thealloveru2 @belleofthebooks @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @rabbitrabbit12321 @love-isnt-greed @hhiggs @winters1917 @blackhawkfanatic @calwitch @learisa @daybleedsintonightfa11 @eviltinkerbell14 @torntaltos @terry2227 @behindmygreyeyes @lillianacristina

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 3 days

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Curious on how the Pleiades interact with Flower of Nazarick Mc.

I've already done Entoma and Solution but here are the others! 🖤🖤🖤

Flower of Nazarick Reader with Pleiades | Yandere Overlord

Sebas Tian

“Master (Y/n)!”

“Oh hi Sebas…I seem to be in a predicament.”

“Master…how did you get yourself trapped in the wall?”

I figured out I could phase through things but then I somehow just stopped…But I’ll get out eventually! I'll just be here for a while.”

“I see. Would you like anything while you wait?”

“Hmm, can I get a–”

He finds you oh-so-precious

He just so happens to witness some of your weirdest and vulnerable moments

Internally he’s the happiest dragon butler there can be

He absolutely lives for the times you first discover different parts of Nazarick

When you aren’t training or being babysat by Albedo you’ll be doing your own thing

Sometimes monitored by him and the Pleiades

And the way he’s bared witness to your general silliness is a blessing to him

As much as he’ll preach to Yuri about their job to ‘raise’ you right he too will sway with a bat of your eyes

Yuri Alpha

“Come Master (Y/n). Lord Ainz summons you.”

“So early? Can’t he just wait a few more hours….”

“He’s already been waiting Master (Y/n). Please wake up”

“..”

“...Master. Master? I apologize in advance.”

"Blagh!!!"

Because the floor guardians tend to spoil you to bits no one’s all too keen on actually making you do anything

But with Ainz’s permission, she takes it upon herself to be some kind of disciplinarian

…a disciplinarian whose authority sways with her admiration

She’s well aware that you are a Supreme being in training

So she regales you with tales of the supreme beings who ran Nazarick in hopes of inspiring your greatness

Any kind of decision or even a break in your casual tone with the Pleiades she’s swooning with a blush

She can’t believe her Nazarick’s flower is growing well and will one day be fit to rule alongside Ainz

She will personally take over anyone she deems too forward with you

Whether in disguise or not you happen to be way too flippant about your importance to Nazarick

So until you take the proper discretion to threaten those who disrespect you she’ll do it in the meantime

With extreme prejudice

Lupisregina Beta

“Ah! Master I’ve never tasted something so wonderful!”

“Gee, thanks it’s a favorite of mine back where I’m from!”

“Hmmm~Learning about my Supreme Flower is the best!”

“Ah haha, LP make sure to chew your food before you speak.”

“Ack-! A nickname I’m dying!”

One of the most fun Pleiades to hang out with

Unless given specific instructions she’s all about fun

And she adores how you just want to have fun with her too

That often doesn’t mean being in Nazarick which means you’ll be going a little outside their perimeter

That’s where you’ll probably get to see just how little Lupusregina cares for anyone who is not you

You’ll have to stop her from turning invisible to silently slash away anyone who could take your time from her

She’s not good at filling in the blanks so you’ll have to be very specific

Otherwise, you might just find any place you visit to be a graveyard

Narberal Gamma

“Psst Nabarel…you’re scaring everyone away. I’m supposed to blend in.”

“My apologies Master. It’s just these dirty humans dare look at you so casually I feel inclined to–”

“Nabarel.”

“Right sorry.”

This whole pretending to hide among the humans thing has gotten on her nerves

To see Ainz be treated so flippantly by worthless beings no less

It doesn’t help when the prized Flower of Nazarick occasionally does the same thing

And while she might have the restraint to behave around Ainz

She slips a lot more around you

Glaring more openly at anyone who even looks at you

She won’t even let anyone put a friendly hand on your back

She’s breaking bones if they get too close

But if you bat your eyes and smile sweetly she’ll snap it back

She won’t apologize though

Not for hurting them or endangering their life

Disguise or not she refuses to accept lower-life forms even getting within your vicinity

But she can’t deny the pride and excitement when you allow her to wait on you

Taking a break from her stupid disguise to return to serving you makes it a little bit better

Though she much prefers you stay within Nazarick

CZ2128 Delta

“Master (Y/n).”

“Yes, Delta?”

“May I hold you?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Thank you, Master!”

She thinks you’re so so so so so so cute

She thinks she might short-circuit from cuteness

In her mind, you rival Eclair Eklair Eklare (The penguin Janitor)

If you give her permission to hold you she may never want to let go

But if it bothers you

She’ll settle by resting her head on your lap

Or holding onto any part of your person

She’s not as violent as the other Pleiades when it comes to protecting you but that doesn’t mean she won’t hurt anyone for you

If any creature divides her attention from you she’ll smite them quickly

And then try to get praise from you

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere overlord x reader #yandere overlord anime #yandere overlord #yandere overlord x flower of nazarick reader #flower of nazarick reader #yandere pleiades #yandere nabarel gamma #yandere sebas tian #yandere yuri alpha

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sstormyskyess · 3 days

Text

Still Woozy

author's note: i was listening to my still woozy playlist and got the inspo to write some headcanons based on the songs i thought fit the boys! also wanted to write my first piece with alejandro so here it is 👍 [side note: all the songs refer to a woman/fem listener but for the sake of this, the reader is gn!]

cw: nothing, just fluff!

word count: 800+

TF-141 + Alejandro x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [Cooks]

♡ Ghost is a little clueless when it comes to romance and the things that come with it, having been in a toxic home for his younger years. Most of his ideas about romantic relationships come from the very few movies/shows featuring happy couples he’s seen, so his ideas on how to handle a real relationship are scarce and sometimes a bit misconstrued.

♡ But once he finds the one he loves, he’s ready and willing to try his best at figuring things out as he goes. Regardless, he’ll still be fairly lost in the early stages of a relationship.

♡ But don’t get it mistaken—if he’s in a relationship, he’s absolutely head over heels in love, and he’ll do his very best to keep everything working smoothly, even if that means messing up every now and then. He would rather die than hurt you, so be prepared for him to be asking a ton of questions; you may need to reassure him frequently to remind him that just him trying is enough.

John “Soap” MacTavish [Get By]

♡ Soap is a bit of a goofball in a committed romantic relationship, but it’s all for the sake of his partner because he lives to see them happy more than anything else.

♡ He loves to see you happy and practically any time he notices you not feeling your best, he’ll do what he can to bring your spirits up, whether that be taking you out on a nice, fancy date or just staying in and getting you to spare some time for yourself. He has a special place in his mind to remember all of the things that make you smile, like your favorite foods/restaurants and the media you like to engage with.

♡ As referenced in the song, though, he’s made a fool of himself for the sake of cheering you up a few times. It makes you feel bad, but it is quite funny watching him do the silliest things to make you laugh.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [Get Down]

♡ Gaz is a very dedicated partner and he would do damn near anything for them. He’s made it clear to you on multiple occasions that he can handle pampering you with anything you please, even if you tell him you don’t want to overwork him.

♡ He’s by no means a materialistic person, but he loves to spend his money on you. When he’s on leave, he loves taking you on vacations, big or small. He’ll buy you any little thing you may have your eyes on or have mentioned wanting in the past, because what else will he do with the money he gets from his job? After all, before you came into his life, he was a fairly frugal man, only spending money on what’s really necessary. Now, though, you’re his only real necessity, meaning you get spoiled one way or another.

♡ He also loves it when you get clingy and adores when you’re all over him like your life depends on it. It never gets overbearing for him and he wouldn’t trade the world for your love and attention.

John Price [Wolfcat]

♡ Despite being a rigidly authoritative person outside his home, when Price is alone with his partner in the safety of his own home, he is absolutely whipped. He’s a homebody at heart and he loves filling a domestic role in his intimate relationships.

♡ He’s most certainly a quality time enjoyer and he spends a good amount of time planning little activities for the two of you to engage in while he’s home on leave. He’ll try to mask it as him simply trying to keep himself occupied in place of the strict schedule he’s accustomed to on base, but it’s obvious to anyone that knows him well enough that he’s obsessed with being by your side.

♡ Not to mention, he loves a partner that can put him in his place when needed, since he knows he can be a little headstrong and stubborn. Disagreements turn into arguments, but he knows when to shut up with you because you’re very good at reminding him that he’s not invulnerable to being wrong.

Alejandro Vargas [Habit]

♡ Alejandro is a romantic man even if his work often comes first. But, if he had it his way, he would be spending all his waking moments with his partner. His carefully manufactured distance between his work and family has him feeling insecure about the stability of his relationships, but he always comes back to you, no matter what happens.

♡ He doesn’t fall in love quickly, always wanting to make sure that he’s making a sound decision on who he’s going to lavish with his affections. But he’ll be glued to you once he’s finally comfortable in his choice to settle down with you. He doesn’t do frivolity; everything he does is done with purpose and his love life is no different.

♡ He’ll also put in extra effort for you to have a good support system while he’s away so you never feel lonely, likely with his family. He has plenty of family to go around and he’ll use that to his advantage to keep you comfortable even without him in your presence.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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munsonsreputation · 1 day

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hii! omg so i rlly love your writing its incredible. i have two requests but you can choose whichever one! the first one is an imagine w steve and the reader based off of call it what you want by taylor. orr a hurt/comfort imagine where the reader is basically comforting steve maybe aft he’s had a fight w his parents or something? again i rlly love your writing literally look forward for new writeups all the time!

at least we did one thing right

a/n: this one has been sitting in my inbox since forever and i managed to stir up this cute little thing. ciwyw is one of my favorite tracks of reputation and i can't wait to get the re-recording of this (hopefully soon!!!)

The party was in full swing, and by party you meant all of your close friends who are gathered in Steve’s living room and kitchen entertaining themselves while you and Steve hid away in his backyard like a routine.

His gaze flickered through the sliding doors, mock concern etched on his features as he mutters under his breath, “I swear to god, they better not pick the pineapple off the other slices.”

You turned your head to see what he was going on about, and sure enough the teenage boys were ravaging the kitchen like they hadn’t eaten in days. At this rate, they were like bottomless pits, and you weren’t quite sure how they were able to put away a portion of food without blinking.

Still, you snorted, swatting a hand over his thigh and garnering his attention back to you.

“They’re growing boys and their appetites are different from when they were twelve. We can order another if they’re still hungry.” You shrugged.

He shook his head, shifting to pull your legs over and across his lap.

“I ordered pineapple for you, and you should at least get to have one slice of it.” Steve insisted, though your orbs were too clouded with heart eyes to see the irritation he wore for the innocently selfish boys.

You pursed your lips into a tight smile, hooking your arm over his bicep, tugging yourself closer to him, “You’re so cute for someone who hogs all the blankets at night.”

He looked down at you, shaking his head with a mushy smile coming over him, “Hey you’re the one who likes the house freezing!”

Steve rumbles a string of laughter into the air, using his free arm that’s not being clung onto, to drape over your frame, practically wrenching your whole body onto his as you begin joining in the amusement. You give up on trying to get the upper-hand, letting yourself sit comfortably in his lap, your joined hands resting on either side of your bodies and you lean down to lay your head on his chest.

You snuggled deeper into the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne. It’s a simple pleasure of yours to be wrapped up in his arms, high above the whole scene, in your own little world like nothing else mattered.

“You’re my portable space heater, got all the warmth I need,” you declared, pressing kind kisses over his chest feeling his lips brush over your hairline.

Steve thought he must have done something right in this lifetime in order to give himself to you in a way he hadn’t given anyone else before. He doesn’t care that it’s simply you two sneaking away just to act like corny teenagers again. All of that fades into nothing when you look at him the way you do.

But before you could savor the moment, a familiar voice interrupted from above, followed by the squeak of rusty wheels gliding across the frame.

“Are you guys having fun out here without us!” Robin shouted, ringing out closer as she approached you both, but of course not without the presence of Eddie by her side.

You sat up, laughing, while Steve groaned and craned his neck to greet them. “You guys have to stop sneaking off to do whatever this is,” Eddie teased, gesturing between you both with a lighthearted smirk.

Steve grunted, “You’re just mad you don’t have a girlfriend to love on,” he shot back, pulling you down by the wrists to meet his lips in a messy kiss that left you giggling.

Eddie feigned revulsion and quickly retreated back inside, while Robin settled beside your bodies, her eyes twinkling with affection. “I still think you guys are adorable, even though this sneaking off thing is getting old.”

Robin had always been rooting for the two of you — there was just something about you both that made perfect sense, and when you finally bit the bullet, it was safe to say she was celebratory about the whole thing.

“We just don’t want to bore you guys with our public displays of affection,” you teased, sharing a knowing smile with Robin who threw her head back and laughed at all the times your friends would scold you both to cut out the lovey dovey acts.

Steve interjected, “Last time we cuddled on the couch you kicked us out of movie night…in my house!”

Robin rolled her eyes, pointing an accusing finger at him. “That’s because we could all smell the sexual tension between you guys. Seriously, just get it out of your systems before we get here.”

You slapped your hands over your flushed face, groaning behind them, “Noted. We’ll remember that for next time.” You promised, shaking your head.

Steve couldn’t contain his laughter, his eyes crinkling as he turned to his best friend with a pleading look. “Now, can you please leave and let me make out with my girlfriend in peace?”

She rose up out of the lounger with a grin, “If there’s one thing you guys did right, it’s each other… and I don’t mean sex!” With that she disappeared back inside, leaving you both to yourselves.

Steve gently pulled your hands away from your face, his soft smiling easing away any idling embarrassment that you knew was all in good fun. He brought your hands closer to his lips, spreading kisses across your knuckles that made your stomach flip with warmth.

“Well, at least did one thing right,” He murmured, raising his brows up at you as you blushed and nodded.

“We sure did.” You whispered, before cupping his cheeks and bringing yourself down to him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, closing the distance between your lips, fitting themselves together like a daydream. The jokers and the drama queens could take all the swings and call it whatever they wanted to — as long as you and Steve knew it was love.

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bbydoll18xx · 5 hours

Text

Brats Get Punished

You choose to be a brat. Punishment ensues.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Themes: slight angst, smut (18+)

I got wine drunk and came up with this. This is pure filth. I'm so sorry

Today had fucking sucked.

No. Scratch that. The whole week had fucking sucked.

You held back tears as you walked through uconn’s campus, heading back to your dorm. All you wanted was to be taken care of. This week had been wracked with a million assignments, frustrating exams, and family drama you couldn’t escape, even all the way in Connecticut. The cherry on the top of the miserable sundae was your lack of Paige. With basketball season ramping up and finals nearing, you hadn’t seen your girlfriend in five whole days.

It felt like five days without air.

The thought makes your heart ache once again, and you throw on your sunglasses to hide the redness of your swollen eyes.

The bitter northeastern cold of early December made you shiver as you shoved your hands deeper into your pockets.

It was finally friday.

Tonight you could escape into the vastness of Paige’s blue eyes. You had no thoughts when you were with her, just habitual feelings of comfort and intimacy you couldn’t get from anyone else.

You were looking forward to cocky smirks, long, talented fingers, and a mouth that had a power to shut you up in more ways than one.

Fuck.

The thought makes your bottom lip quiver. Usually, you had a little bit more of a general grip on things; you could handle your emotions perfectly fine, thank you very much. But the overwhelming shitiness makes you want to pout and whine until you get your way. You felt sorry for anyone dealing with your bratty ass tonight. Namely Paige, but you knew she could handle it.

Trudging up the stairs to your dorm and stomping into your room, you dramatically fling yourself onto your bed. You lay there momentarily before you hear a gentle knock on your door.

Groaning, you head to open it and find Paige standing there with an apprehensive look on her face. You barely have time to register why she would be anything but ecstatic to see you before launching yourself at her taller frame.

She stumbles back at the sudden force of your body but recovers quickly, wrapping her arms around your middle and bringing you into a tight hug.

You let out all the air and frustration that had been pent up over the last week as soon as you connect.

“Paigey,” you whine, “I missed you so fucking much.” Your hands roam her body, trying to cling to her in an effort to never let her go.

“I missed you, too, baby…” she trails quietly.

That was weird. Why wasn't she excited to see you? Paige was always characteristically exuberant around you, and she was excitement personified. This Paige was not your Paige, and your stomach rolled with worry.

“Geno is having us do an extra practice tonight,” she explains carefully.

Your heart drops into your ass. No wonder she seemed off.

As you realize that you would be spending yet another night alone, your eyes well up with thick, hot, and angry tears. You spin on your heels, retreating back into your room in defeat.

“C’mon, talk to me. It’s not like I want to be away from you. As soon as I’m done with practice, I’ll come right over. I’ll even pick up your favorite ice cream,” she tries to reason.

“W-want you now,” you stutter out. Your words start to slur together with frustration. “Don’t even care anymore; just go away.”

Your venomous words don't dissuade the pang in your heart. Of course you didn’t want her to go. And of course you still cared. But you were feeling like a brat and you were a glutton for punishing yourself.

“Ya know, you might want to watch your attitude,” Paige grits out. Her jaw tenses in a way that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Then you remember you were supposed to be pissed. You roll your tear-filled eyes and cross your arms with a huff. This exasperates your blonde girlfriend even further.

“Once you stop acting like a fucking brat, give me a call, and then I’d be happy to give you some attention. Stop punishing me for shit I can’t control.” Paige says with an impressive amount of restraint. She turns around to leave with one last disappointed glance in your direction.

In her harsh exit, you fall apart.

Sitting in your dark room, cocooned in your sadness, guilt, and general horniness, you watch the hours slip by.

8:00

9:00

10:00

Your eyes are tired with both sleep and grief by the time the clock turns to 11:00, but you can’t ignore the way you were pulsating with desire just thinking about Paige.

Your brain wrestles with either keeping up your facade of nonchalance and running to Paige, apologies spilling from your mouth with desperation. You were so damn stubborn, never wanting to back down, but you could barely think anymore.

Your fingers dance around the hem of Paige’s soft t-shirt you had stolen. You fight with yourself internally before pulling it over your head with a groan. Your sweatpants quickly follow.

Dating Paige meant there was rarely a need for self-pleasure. Why would you when she was always at your beck and call?

Huffing at the sheer stupidity of the situation, you close your eyes and bring one hand to your left tit, rolling your nipple experimentally. It feels nice, but you needed more.

You always needed more.

Your right hand trails down your stomach sensually, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and lands on the swollen nub that holds all the pleasure. Circling your clit, you try to coax out an orgasm. Your pussy was sopping after spending the evening thinking about Paige, but nothing was clicking for you. You let out a small whine of annoyance.

Your hand felt too small, too cold, too wrong.

Nevertheless, you were fucking desperate. The unkindness of the past week had been even more cruel to your sex life. You hadn’t cum in what felt like forever. You needed this.

Hesitantly, you enter a finger into your dripping hole. Again, it feels nice, but the angle is all too wrong. If Paige was here, you’d already be panting like a whore, begging for another finger and her tongue.

You pull out of yourself, sucking the wetness off your finger before throwing yourself back down onto the pillows.

‘Fuck,’ you thought. It was time to surrender. You needed Paige.

Before you can overthink some more and chicken out, you feel your body pull itself out of your dorm all the way to Paige’s apartment. It's as if you have no control over your idiotic, lovestruck brain.

Paige was patient, and she was so in love with you, but you knew you’d be doing some serious groveling tonight. ‘And hopefully having some seriously good sex,’ you think slyly.

Feeling bashful, you knock on her door. You knew she was out of practice now, and you were ready to give up your tortured whining in order to finally get what you needed.

Paige opens the door, looking down at you with a knowing smirk. “Lemme guess, babe. You need me,” she purrs in a mocking tone that makes you want to jump her bones.

You want to protest, but you know it would be no use. She knew she held all of the power over you, and she was not going to let you walk away unscathed tonight.

“Baby, I‘m sorry,” you sigh, trying to appear as solemn as you could. “This week just got the best of me. It’s not your fault you had practice.” You really were sorry, but you were more concerned about fixing the dampness in your panties than you were about coming off as regretful about your past attitude.

Paige reaches out a hand to draw you in closer, pulling you into her familiar warmth. You could feel yourself melt into her, worries evaporating quickly. Her eyes softened at your apology, but you could still see a sadistic glint in them.

You were so getting it tonight. You didn’t care as long as it ended with your back arching off Paige’s bed, her name leaving your lips continuously, like a prayer.

The hand that was resting on your hip trails up to rest loosely around your throat. Her thumb caresses your carotid pulse, which was pounding dangerously in her wake. She smirks at your blatant anticipation before leaning down to suck right at her favorite little spot just under your ear.

You moan lasciviously, almost causing you to miss the words she whispers next.

“Get your ass on my bed. You know what position I want you in.”

Your face heats up, and your stomach lurches. You knew you were getting the dominant version of your girlfriend tonight, but to this extent? This side of her rarely came out. You swallow thickly as you grasp the consequences of just how far you had taken things earlier.

As much as Paige’s dominant side made you feel timid, your desire to get thrown around and fucked out took over.

“Now, you little slut,” she all but growls, as you hesitate, your thoughts and apprehension momentarily stilling you. The degradation of her words ignites a flame in the pit of your belly once more, and you fall headfirst into subspace.

You stumble into her bedroom, throwing your sweatshirt over your head haphazardly and shimmying out of your pants. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your nearly naked figure in her full-length mirror, taking a second to admire the swell of your ass and the heaving of your chest.

Leaving you in nothing but a plain black thong, you kneel on Paige’s bed, your ass resting on your heels in a display of submission that had you wanting to be good, so good, for your blonde girlfriend.

Paige leaves you waiting for a few minutes, making you squirm anxiously. You didn’t know what to expect with her tonight. The last time you acted this childishly, you weren’t allowed to cum. ‘Bratty whores don’t get to cum,’ you recalled her whispering in your ear mercilessly.

‘If that was the case tonight, I might just die,’ you think as you desperately shift your thighs in an attempt to feel an ounce of pleasure.

Soon enough, Paige strolls in looking smug at your visible distress.

“My poor baby,” she pouts derisively, eliciting a whine from your mouth at the mention of you being her baby. “Why don’t you tell me why you decided to come apologize tonight. I know it wasn’t just because you were feeling guilty.” She looks up and down at you expectantly, waiting for a bullshit excuse she knew she was getting.

You realize that lying would get you absolutely nowhere with her tonight, and you decide to be honest. “Need you,” you mumble, you face feeling hot once more. “Tried touching myself. Didn’t feel as good as you…” you trail off.

Paige’s face lights up at this admission, and she grins sinfully. “Get on your back and show me how you tried to touch yourself,” she softly demands. She had tried to get you to masturbate in front of her before, but you had always been too embarrassed to do so. It felt so ridiculously private, and the thought of her seeing your failed attempts to get off without her made you want to hide under the blankets.

“C’mon, baby girl,” she coaxes. “If you want me to touch you, you gotta touch yourself first.”

You stare at her, jutting out your bottom lip in protest before sighing in defeat. You adjust yourself against her pillows at the top of the bed and spread your legs teasingly.

‘Might as well make a show of it if I have to do this,’ you think, trying to find a way to feel more comfortable with the sheer act of perversion.

Paige settles in on the edge of the bed. She had the perfect view of your soaked pussy, still hidden beneath your black thong, and of your peaked nipples, begging to be licked and bitten. You run your hands up and down your body a few times, just as you had earlier in your bedroom, trying to put on a performance to appease your girlfriend. You needed her to be in the best possible mood.

After spending a few moments tending to your tits, squeezing them with an appropriate amount of vigor, you take off your panties and throw them to Paige. She catches them, and upon seeing how soaked they were, says, “this is turning you on, isn’t it? You like having to touch yourself in front of me. Such a naughty, little slut."

You bite your lip, but nod reluctantly. This was fucking embarrassing, but it turned you on, and you hated having to admit that to her.

“Knew it,” she responded arrogantly. “Keep going.”

You dip a finger into your folds and swirl the wetness around your weeping hole before bringing it back up to your needy and swollen clit. A few circles around it and you’re already letting out puffs of air. Just the sight of Paige in front of you has you panting.

You sneak a glance at Paige, seeing her enthralled by your performance. The idea of being able to please her makes you want to keep going, but you hoped you wouldn’t have to be responsible for your own orgasms tonight. Your pussy belonged to her.

“Please, P,” you moan. “I need you. My fingers aren’t enough.”

She pretends to think about it before shaking her head with a stupid grin on her face. She was getting way too much enjoyment out of this. You let out a huff in annoyance before entering two of your slim fingers into your pussy and thrusting harshly upwards towards your g-spot.

You knew you’d never really had any luck getting off this way. The angle was too weird, and your fingers were too small to really get you anywhere. The only g-spot you could reach was Paige’s, and you whimper at the lack of pleasure you were getting.

Feeling incredibly frustrated, you make eye contact with the blonde, and plead with her to do something, anything, to get you closer to the finish line.

“Want some help?” Paige asks smugly. You desperately nod. “Beg,” she says shortly.

Fuck. You had told yourself you wouldn’t beg tonight. But you were feeling hopeless, so if she wanted you to beg, you would.

“Please, please, please, Paigey, I'll do anything for you, just touch me,” you moan brokenly. “Just need you, only you, don’t want anyone else, please, baby, please,” you let out, words overlapping each other with a vicious need to prove to her that you needed her with your whole being.

It must’ve done the trick because before you can even register what is happening, she's on top of you, fervently kissing you and groping your tits. You preen at the attention, finally getting what you’ve wanted and needed all week, and kiss her back. You welcome the taste of her tongue in your mouth, getting drunk on the way she alternates between kissing your lips and your neck.

As she trails her kisses down your neck to your chest, you watch her lips close over a nipple, sucking it in gently before biting down, causing a gasp to leave your now swollen lips. Paige grins wickedly at your reaction, but she continues her descent towards your drenched pussy.

You buck your hips to try and meet her mouth, but she presses them back down with strong hands and avoids the area altogether. She presses hot, open mouth kisses onto your inner thighs, making you squirm even more.

Her touch, or lack thereof, made you want to cry. You needed more stimulation or you might just die.

Paige studies your wetness for a moment before meeting your eyes. She has a mischievous glint in her eye that makes your belly turn in anticipation.

“I’ll eat you out, baby,” she simpers, “but you still need to be punished.”

You wrinkle your brow in confusion. This wasn’t punishment?

“What’d you mean?” you ask reluctantly.

Paige sits up and pats her lap. “Get your ass over on my lap. Since you decided to act like a brat earlier, I’m going to punish you like one.”

Your heart pounds once more at the realization you were about to be spanked by your girlfriend. So much for thinking you were getting let off easy tonight.

You drape yourself across Paige’s lap, suddenly feeling extra grateful for the apartment’s emptiness tonight. It was rare that you and Paige got time to yourselves, and the idea of anyone hearing you being subjected to this was enough to make you want to hide forever.

The first smack comes quicker than you were expecting and reverberates through the small room. If it wasn’t for Paige anchoring you to her, you would’ve flown off in shock. The sharpness of the swat forces blood into your cheeks.

You internally curse yourself for how much you enjoy it. Three slaps follow in quick succession, and before you know it, you’re even more of a moaning mess in Paige’s lap. You have to force yourself to stop from grinding your hips in an effort to chase some pleasure to accompany the delicious pain of your punishment.

Paige rubs a few circles on your ass, admiring the gorgeous pinkness that blooms under her hand.

“Fuck, you little slut,” she murmurs. “Of course you’re enjoying this shit.”

You shake your head in protest, but to no avail. You knew she could see right through your bullshit, and she rolled her eyes fondly. “I think I’ve put my girl through enough. Are you ready to be a good girl for me?” she questions.

“I’ll be so good. Promise,” you moan into her neck, causing her to let out a giggle.

Paige lays you onto your back once more and finally brings her mouth down to your sex. She dives in, circling your clit with her hot, wet tongue, and immediately adds two long fingers into your dripping hole with no warning. You arch off the bed wantonly, relishing in the pleasure you had been chasing for days.

She spreads your legs apart even further, attempting to get even deeper into you. For both of you, it would never be enough. The sheer amount of desire you felt for the woman between your thighs swelled in the moment, and you feel yourself inch closer to the edge. You teeter at the brink, reveling in the throes of pleasure and passion.

You’re babbling now-straight bullshit leaving your lips, mixing apologies and pleading for Paige to let you cum.

Paige is now full on assaulting your pussy. Three lengthy digits pushing at your g-spot at a punishing pace and sucking your clit like it was a fucking lollipop.

Moans, groans, and slick noises fill the room. It was pure depravity, and you were both loving every second of it. In a final plea to let you cum, Paige concedes smugly. She knew she had turned your bratty ass into a whimpering mess, and she was going to relish in you coming undone in front of her.

As soon as you get the green light, you all but scream, feeling as if everything is snapping into place all at once. Your chest heaves and your thighs try to close around Paige’s head, feeling suddenly overstimulated. Pushing them back out, Paige forces you to ride out the orgasm fully.

“Fuck,” you groan. That was the hardest you’d cum in a while, due to the absolute buildup of it all.

Licking her lips seductively, Paige meets you in a searing kiss that makes you melt back into her soft bedding once more. Paige was always so gentle with you after being particularly dominant.

“Gonna go get a rag. Don’t move. Gonna take good care of my sweet girl. So good for me tonight,” she praises.

Too fucked out to protest, you lay back, allowing her to pamper you. Your eyes felt as heavy as rocks, and you struggled to stay awake.

“I really am sorry,” you mumble sleepily into her neck. “Didn't want to make you mad. Just needed you.”

“I know, baby,” Paige replies tenderly. “Not sure if the spanking was an actual punishment, though.”

You giggle at her admission. It really wasn’t.

In fact, you were already scheming ways to get another spanking.

‘Once a brat, always a brat.’

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #smut #wlw

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