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hier--soir · 6 months

Text

take your medicine

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: *tv sales advert voice* so you've been finding it hard to reach orgasm? lucky for you, our best-selling item "hunky boyfriend joel" is on sale at half price. shipping is free, and he is very determined to help you achieve your goals! call the number on your screen to buy now! OR your medication makes it difficult to orgasm so joel (and your vibrator) help make it happen. warnings/tags: set in the early 2000s aka early thirties joel my lover boyyyy, boyfriend joel, depression [nothing dark or sad], anti-depressants, brief discussion of food/eating, cigarette smoking [f], soft!supportive!joel, mentions of masturbation [f], unprotected piv sex, use of a sex toy, ride 'em cowgirl (1939) dir. samuel diege, cream pie, dirty talk, joel talks you through it. word count: 2.9k masterlist a/n: so this one is.... self-indulgent. shout out to all my friends on anti-depressants that are strugglin' to reach orgasm. me too, pals, me too. and there will be no medication shaming on this account, no there will not! so happy sunday, i hope someone else out there enjoys this short little thing with me x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

Medication is a journey, they say. Every day will be different.

Medication is not the end all be all, they say. We can always try different avenues.

Six months on, now.

Six months since Let’s try the Zoloft for a few months.

Six months since We can reassess in April.

It’s June and summer has settled over Austin with a hot wet vengeance. April came and went with a mutual agreement that you weren’t ready to be weaned off yet. A gentle hand on your forearm and a softly spoken Why don’t we check in again in July?

A low dose. A starter dose. A you shouldn’t experience too many side-effects dose.

And she was right – for the most part. There were no headaches, no nausea, no dizzy spells, no changes in appetite. That shallow, low mood that’d been haunting you for months suddenly began to lift. Begrudging exercise in the afternoons, a three-meals-a-day regiment implemented by your boyfriend, and a happy little pill with every morning coffee.

But fuck – you can count the number of orgasms you’ve had since January on one hand.

Countless nights spent alone in your bed, tangled betwixt sweaty sheets, fingers and forearm cramping until you finally give up. Drink a cold glass of water, wet your face, and go to bed frustrated; a routine disappointment.

You’d gotten lucky a few times, of course. Vibrator on the highest setting possible, pussy all puffed up and numb from the rough speed. Frustrated tears in your eyes, lightheaded by the time you finally feel that sweet sweet relief coursing through your veins.

A few times with Joel, too, in those first few months. And ignorance was bliss—quite literally—until he caught onto what you’d been doing.

“What was different tonight?” he’d asked you on one of those nights, laid out beside each other in his bed. Chests heaving, satisfied smiles spread across your faces.

Your hand had paused against his head, fingers twisted up in his sweaty curls, and you hesitated. So quick, the briefest pause before trying to play it off, but he caught it. Always too perceptive, too watchful of an eye; especially since you’d been diagnosed.

“What’s wrong?” Joel frowned.

“I… didn’t… my…” you’d mumbled, face tucked against his pillow.

“Can’t hear you when you do that,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Baby?”

“I didn’t take my meds today,” you repeated, voice still low, still wary. But you could tell he heard you. Knew from the way his body stiffened beside you. From how when you looked over his smile had dropped, eyebrows pinching inward.

For a moment he didn’t even say anything. He hardly breathed. And then—Darlin’, why would you do that?—so painfully soft, the faintest tinge of worry in that deep, rasping voice of his.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, and something hot began to burn behind your eyes. Wet, pinching shame. “Just… I woke up and I wanted you. And I wanted it to feel like it used to for us, and I can never… you know I can’t finish when I’m on them, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing you—”

“Baby,” Joel shook his head, strong hand cupping your jaw. His forehead knocked against yours; a tender but firm kind of insistence. The type that says look me in the fucking eyes and listen up. “You’re not disappointin’ me.”

“Joel,” you sighed, face hot, foreheads tacky where they pressed together.

“No,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ mean it. This stuff takes time, okay? We’ll figure it out the way we always do. Just… don’t do that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you murmured feebly, nose smushed against his.

“Promise me,” Joel had urged you. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine.”

“I promise, Joel.”

You kept strong on that promise. Didn’t get frustrated when he’d stay over more nights than usual, or drag you back to his place in the evenings – all just to watch you pop that little white pill in the mornings.

It brought out something new in him, the day you’d showed him the prescription. Like some instinctual protectiveness was unlocked and he just kicked into hyperdrive.

Cutting work early to drive you to your doctor’s office, cooking up different meals every night for dinner.

Most days you wake up alone in his bed; wipe the sleep out of your eyes as you wander downstairs. Let him nudge you into a chair at the table, beside Sarah, so he can set identical bowls of cereal in front of the two of you—his girls. Hell, if you had a dollar for every time that man has said Breakfast is the most important meal of the day in the past six months, you’d have more money than you could spend.

Joel didn’t even get mad when you started smoking again in May.

Didn’t bat an eye when he found you at two in the morning, sat on the back porch in one of his sweatshirts with the smell of tobacco staining your fingers.

“Been a long time since I seen once of those in your mouth,” he’d smirked, settling onto the stoop beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, remembering how proud he’d been when you quit. He rested his head against your shoulder, eyes watering with a yawn.

“S’late,” he grumbled sleepily. “N’you smell now.”

“I’m sorry,” you’d repeated, stamping the cigarette into the concrete. “Today was just… hard. Couldn’t sleep.”

“S’okay,” Joel told you. “Just don’t like it when you sneak out on me, yeah? You know I ain’t judgin’ you.”

The only thing that frustrates Joel, is that he comes, and you don’t.

And it’s not a frustration with you. No, it’s a hot faced guilt that spreads through him every time you fuck. Evident in those frantic touches, desperate pleas of your name, of tell me what to do, tell me how to help, of fuck I’m sorry.

Because you still want him, despite it all. Still can’t help your wandering hands, your fingers that tease back his bed sheets and then his boxers and coax orgasm after orgasm out of him, night after night.

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

Covers strewn across the end of your bed, pillows askew, you sit astride his lap.

It’s hot; the AC in your apartment has been broken all week, and your thighs are tacky with sweat where they press against his skin. Everything wet – sweat in your hair, slick between your thighs, the soft squelching sound that raises with every press of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, hands tight against your waist. “I can’t—goddammit, I’m not gonna last, baby.”

“It’s okay,” you moan, eyelids heavy as you rock your hips over his.

It’s late, and you both have work early in the morning, but the burn is so good like this. The heavy weight of him reaching so far, pushing the limits of what your body can take. For years it’s been your favourite way to fuck him; poised above his body, admiring the way his stomach tightens and his eyes roll when you sink down on his cock.

“What can I do?” his voice is strained, the veins in his neck bulging as he holds his breath – anything to stave off the impending high.

You only whimper pathetically, grinding your hips into his. Can feel everything in your stomach knotting up into a white-hot ball.

“Hey,” Joel urges, hand landing in a soft slap against your outer thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, shaking your head. “It’s right there, but I…”

“But what?” he murmurs, hips snapping up again.

“I don’t think I can,” you finally admit, eyebrows drawn tight in frustration. Your lower lip is bitten raw at this point, incessantly gnawed at by your own teeth. His grip tightens on your hips and he drags you upward until his length slips out, falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

“C’mon, tell me what you need,” he says quickly, and you’re sure that the desperation you see in his eyes is mirrored in your own. Pupils blown round and fat, endless black—pleading.

You stare down at him for a moment. Watch the way his chest heaves with harsh, stilted breathes. How little dots of sweat have gathered at the hollow of his throat. And fuck, you want it so bad.

“Top drawer,” you exhale roughly, pointing to the side table.

Joel doesn’t question the order. Doesn’t say a word as he spreads a long arm across the bed, yanking the drawer open and shoving his hand inside. You watch him rifle around for a moment, pulse increasing as you wait for him to find what you want. What you need. And you can tell when he does; his shoulders stiffen and he lets out a choked sort of sound, pulling out the black wand and shoving it into your hand.

“Show me,” he says, eyes wild.

Your finger drops down against the button, turning your hand to show him which one to press.

“There’s four settings,” you murmur, slipping it back into his palm.

“Does this normally help?” he asks, grunting softly as you grip his cock, notching the tip back at your entrance.

“Sometimes,” you sigh, sinking down, sucking in the heavy weight of him. “Can still take a—a little while.”

He presses the button tentatively, watching as the rounded head of the wand starts to vibrate. Spread open around him, he can see your swollen little clit so easily, and he lowers the wand to press against it. Your body jolts forward, mouth splitting open with a groan as heat flares through you. Your hips stutter against him instinctively, chasing that intense feeling, and he looses a gravelly moan at the feeling of your wasted cunt squeezing around him.

“Look at that,” Joel grunts, dark eyes trained on your face. That wicked pink tongue slips out to wet his lips and he nods in encouragement. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, you feel good?”

“Yes,” you gasp, jaw going slack as you settle into the feeling. “Fuck, yes, it’s good, it’s good.”

It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before; nothing your past boyfriends had ever been comfortable enough to try. It has the muscles in your thighs tensing up already; the thick press of his cock paired with that unrelenting, almost overbearing, vibration.

“Can feel it,” he hisses out, head tilting back into the mattress.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, expression grim. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “So fuckin’ tight like this. All wound up, y’need it so bad, I know.”

You moan, eyelids fluttering as he presses the button again, notching it to a higher speed. You lift up slowly and then press back down over him, and the two of you groan in unison. His free hand falls against the curve of your ass and he squeezes, encouraging you to rock against him, starting up a steady pace.

One of your hands settles on your chest, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. You need more, always more, something, anything.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” Joel mutters, and you can tell how fucked out he is already as he watches you. Dark eyes glazing over, mouth hanging open deliriously. “My pretty girl, so damn good for me.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you whimper, appreciation for him flooding your senses. He’s been so close for so long tonight already, teetering precariously on that edge but holding off for you. Fucking you into the mattress before pulling out and tucking his face between your thighs, doing his damnedest to get you to that same place. Urging you to get on top, to take what you needed, to use him to get yourself off.

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes pinching closed as something sharp starts to tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel snarls, hips snapping upward.

“What ar—” your words cut off with choked moan as he clicks the button again, and then again, taking it to the highest speed. Your shoulders shake and you tilt forward a little, hand gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Joel,” you cry out, chest heaving and stomach tightening.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, searching for something to ground yourself against. That firm press against your clit doesn’t falter for a second, and you let out a rough moan.

“Good,” he grunts. “Good girl, give it to me.”

The muscle in his bicep spasms and strains beneath the skin, everything pulled taut as he keeps the wand pressed firmly against you. And it’s almost painful, the way you can feel your high coiling inside you, burning, but never quite reaching fever pitch the way you need it to.

A symphony that builds and billows and writhes within you. Sloping swells of violins and cellos and trumpets. Up, up, up to that shattering crescendo you just can’t seem to reach.

“Joel,” you mewl, and there’s tears in your eyes, on your cheeks. Hot, fat tears that stain your face now, dripping from your chin to splatter against his chest.

“C’mon now,” he grunts, hips shifting up off the bed, meeting you thrust for thrust. The stretch of his cock is so wide, so deep, and every shift of his body punches the air from your lungs.

“I don’t know if I can,” you shake your head, stomach on fire. The vibrations are so intense, the speed so fast, you can feel your clit going numb beneath it. But Joel doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the fast pace of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen twitch under you, tan skin glistening with sweat.

“You’re so close,” he goads, jaw tight. “Don’t fight it, baby.”

“Stop moving,” you beg then, your voice a high keen. Joel stills instantly, wary eyes darting across your face. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away though. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand firm against his stomach. “Just let me-just—”

Knees on fire against the bed, you grind your hips down into his. Gasp as his cock presses hot and heavy against something deep inside of you that sets your entire body shaking, vibrating against him; buzzing at the same high-speed rhythm as the wand between your legs. You rut against him again and again and then something pulls tight and hot at the base of your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Oh god, Joel, I think—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he moans. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his chin. “You’re okay, let it happen.”

“Touch me,” you say, breathless and needy and so so desperate. “Fuck, please.”

Joel groans – a deep, guttural thing. A sound that comes from somewhere in the base of his stomach. It rattles your bones and has your fingernails digging into his stomach, and then his hand is on your chest. Rough fingers squeezing and stroking and pinching and you’re gasping, keening his name as he whispers frenzied words of encouragement and it’s building it’s building it’s building and and and—

Everything goes silent when you come. It’s all blurred vision and deafened ears; an intense ache in your jaw from the way your mouth hangs open. You can feel a vein in your neck, raging beneath the skin; a staccato rushing sound that echoes inside your head.

And you think you can hear Joel’s voice, somewhere beyond it all; Fuck, there it is, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.

When your eyes flutter open, you can only see Joel’s face swimming in your vision. His eyes rolling back, lips parted as he snarls your name.

“Fuck,” he spits. “—yeah, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go.”

You feel his cock kick inside of you; fast jerking spasms and then a warm rush as he starts to come. Your hand wraps around his, pushing the wand to the side of the bed, but he doesn’t fucking stop. He grips your waist and fucks up into you, spitting curses and warbled slurs of your name as he pumps you full of his hot spend.

It’s obscene – a mix of your come and his, squeezing out around his girth and smearing against the inside of your thighs. It pools around the base of his cock and you whimper at the sight, swollen cunt still tightening around him. Only when you start to sag down against his chest does he rest, his thighs twitching and tensing with the aftershocks of his high.

Joel raises a hand, calloused thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. Then, carefully, he grips the back of your neck, guiding you down to rest against his chest.

Your shoulders slump and you press a lazy kiss against the jut of his collarbone. And for a moment there’s just this. No sounds but that of heavy breaths and a soft buzzing, forgotten somewhere in the sheets. The swipe of his fingertips down your spine, your lips against his salty skin. A gentle tap against your waist and he’s slipping out of you with a sigh, but not letting you pull away, not letting you move from where you’ve collapsed directly on top of him.

“Missed that,” you slur sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Me too,” he mumbles. “Did so good. Made me proud.”

“S’that right?” you smile against his skin.

“S’right, baby.”

You hum, dragging your head up to press a kiss against his mouth. Both of you so exhausted that it’s just a brief, lazy swipe of your lips, but it’s enough. It’s thank you.

“Shower?” he suggests softly, smiling up at you.

“Or… cigarette?” you respond, eyebrows raised, teasing.

“Watch it,” he smarts, laying a quick smack against your ass before nudging you off of him. He stands and holds out a hand to help you off the bed, tutting underneath his breath. “Although I guess you’ve earned it.”

a/n: in hindsight, idk why the fuck i wrote that it took them six months to try this but what can you do lmao.

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: take your medicine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot

2K notes · View notes

harmonysanreads · 13 days

Note

sunday with a singer! darling, one who had escaped from him almost seven years ago, and disappeared off the face of the galaxy. imagine his reaction when he gets word of a famous belobogian band on the radio soon after it’s connections to the IPC were restored, comprised of a woman named serval landau, and a *very* familiar young woman, with an even more familiar voice.

- (…could i be ✨ anon?)

Curtain Call

yandere!sunday x reader

cw(s) : yandere, written before 2.2

wc : 2.6k

You have the power of democracy by your side ✨ anon and I have no choice but to adhere to public demand :] Even though you mentioned a female!reader, the direction of the narrative didn't necessitate that specification, so the reader is gender-neutral! But they have been called ‘babygirl’ once.

“How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?”

— William Blake

You've avoided all shades of white and blue since the dawn of this day.

Serval regarded your pertinacity with a voiceless breadth of intrigue, before yielding with little to no resistance. A smidgen of guilt had briefly permeated your consciousness upon the vague shadow of a pout on her face, you recalled her enthusiasm passed through plans of matching outfits on your debutante from days now labeled as the near past. She picked herself up quickly though, her free-spirited ideals would not be compromised by some mere color choice.

It was difficult to not admire her. Lamentably, it is much easier to cradle the preachings of an unrestrained life than to actually act upon them — and by doing so, shouldering the frigid reality that came with such a life. As a child of frozen terrains although, frigidity must be Serval's playground, you eventually conclude. That is hardly the case for you, but you'd rather swallow whole chunks of ice than pin the blame on yourself alone for that apparent incapability.

You aren't at fault for your paranoia in embracing freedom, but you are resolved enough to try breaking away from its clutches. But just as tattoos sink deep beneath skin, that anxiety stubbornly clings to your psyche and the memories of the past nurture and allow it to fester. Which is why, you must avoid any shades of white and blue, at least until the dawn of tomorrow graces Belobog. Be it a superstition with no rational ground or scientific explanation, you decide to believe firmly in your gut.

The walls of the makeshift back-room muffle the chorus of the crowd outside, but it is enough to comfort you that your long held wish did come true. The single light bulb hanging beyond the door of the room serves as the sole source of luminescence, although it is barely helpful, the light bounces off from your back and reflects a scarcely tangible silhouette in the mirror of the dressing table. Glitters of dust floating around are illuminated by that light, abandoned furniture peek beneath their veils from your peripheral — they exclaim what this room's previous purpose had been.

Neither the modest setting nor the small trinkets spread across the dressing table come close to what you had a taste of ; glimmering surfaces, brands of beauty products worth a man's life savings and silks of no contender would mock this shack, if they could. But your heart soaks in solace whenever that irritatingly bright light flickers and mellowed cheers of the crowd permeate the room's thin walls, not because you lack taste in life, but because you recognize the futility of vanity.

“You did amazing there, babygirl!”

Your vision stutters at the impact of firm touch, you feel arms rest atop your decolletage, a shadow cloaks your reflection in the mirror. The cool touch of metal upon your left shoulder and a distinct streak of blue masquerading among blond locks of hair draw out a breath of relief from your lungs. But a faint twist engulfs your gut the very next second, you recall asking for a moment of quietude vividly.

“I don't think my performance was as great as you say, Serval. And whatever I achieved, it wouldn't have been possible without you guys.” your fingers twiddle with your sleeves, your eyes find interest in an abandoned nail polish.

You peek up in time to meet the rockstar's stare through the mirror, with some wrestling with the light, her disapproval shines through to your eyes.

“Nonsense, you were the star of today's show. Give yourself some credit, would ya?” your cheek soaks in the pinch before your brain can decode her words, you muffle a whine in protest.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry.” your hand quickly soothes over the tempered skin when her fingers retreat, that's the extent of ‘retaliation’ you offer Serval, having accustomed yourself to her spontaneity in the interim of your stay under her care.

“I saw you look... pretty unnerved after the performance, so I came to check.” you scratch your cheek, eyes darting upwards to find her face shielded by your hair. You cannot pinpoint why, but for a second it seemed like she struggled to find footing with her phrasing of words. You've never heard her falter, at least in speech, but the waves of conversation swallow that momentary observation just as quickly.

Instead of being candid, you take a different turn, “You know, I wasn't lying about being grateful to you all. To perform on a stage without any rules was a long held dream of mine,” you feel gooseflesh bloom across your arms as tip-toeing touch descends to your sides, something within tempts you to curl in on yourself but you force your breath to finish. “If it hadn't been for your help, I would never succeed in fulfilling it.”

Serval hums in understanding, the timbres of it traverses from your skull and extends to your nerves. Her arms rest snuggly around your waist and you swallow dryly. Serval always wrapped her arms around your shoulders whenever she felt the need to and the fact that it made your head nearly spiral with questions didn't require to be stated. Only now do you reckon the slumbering atmosphere, without the jeer and cheer of the audience, you felt Belobog's cold biting into the tips of your fingers. You told everyone to not disturb you — your mind echoes without clarification.

“Is it because of that husband of yours?”

Your shoulders tense and for a litany of reasons, most obscure enough to be dismissed as misnomers produced by your instincts, none but one potent enough to be addressed. “Well yes… I told you about a man, but I don't remember specifying that it was a ‘husband’ responsible for my situation.”

Your words materialize as half confused and half laden with caution, you'd told Serval a few things about your predicament — nothing groundbreakingly detailed, just enough to earn a portion of her empathy. It kills you to follow tactics that enticed you to your doom, but what is life, if not a series of trial and error? It's best to apply the teachings of a manipulator than to continue being manipulated for eternity. But of course, you'll admit, such carefully taken steps still don't lessen the likelihood of meeting a dead-end to zero. How unfortunate.

It's Serval's turn to tense, but it's so quick you're left questioning whether it really happened. “Ah, but there was a ring on your right ring finger when you first came here! And the ‘man’ in your stories didn't seem to be different persons. So, I took a guess…”

An awkward chuckle leaves the rockstar's lips and you blink. She's right, you were still wearing your wedding ring when you came here ; an amateur mistake, you should've left it at some abstruse corner of the Dewlight Pavilion. You glance up at your reflections on the mirror, Serval was now mimicking your previous antics, a painted nail against her cheek albeit, the opposing light veiled her expression from recognition. One of her arms was still around your waist, loosely this time.

“I didn't say anything offending, did I?” the mechanic mutters tentatively. You take a deep breath and exhale, vacillating between the multitude of scenarios conjured by your lingering paranoia. But if it's Serval, you give it more thought, there was no tangible reason as to why she of all people would bring this up with malicious intent — or at least, none that you could come up with. She was likely merely concerned for your well-being, a big sister's instincts perhaps.

“Not at all,” the three words are uttered with more difficulty than needed but the effort is proved worth it when she relaxes and returns to embrace you with gusto.

This time you can feel her touch vividly across the bare skin of your midriff, a reminder of your present dress up automatically causes blood to rush to your face. The matching crop-top with Serval was hardly the most revealing thing someone had worn in this universe, but it was the boldest you'd been with your attire. You think you saw her gaze tilting at the sight but the only way to affirm it would make things further awkward. As you melt upon recalling that you'd sung your lungs out with this on in front of a crowd, the rockstar chimes in again.

“Ah right, I almost forgot why I actually came here. I have a gift for you!” you blink out of your stupor to hear shuffles, a bottle of hairspray is knocked to the ground due to her movements. The object clamors down and rolls a few feet away but Serval pays it no attention, you quirk a brow at her sudden briskness. “Close your eyes.” she lulls sweetly, you obey despite your state of disorientation.

You feel the faint brushes of her fingers first, then a noticeable weight around your neck, fastened a little too tightly. After she beckons you to open your eyes, you scrutinize the object through your reflection on the mirror and recognize it to be… a choker. It's heavier than what you recall chokers to be, its body is painted in baby blue and when you turn your head the light bounces off its surface to reveal golden outlinings. Three small wings curl around the white tassel hanging from the middle, you find the wings to be unnervingly soft when your fingers brush across them.

The choker looked expensive, despite its somewhat gaudy appearance and it didn't seem like something aligning with Serval's tastes. But most importantly, there's blue and white in it — the two colors you'd been stubbornly avoiding. Your mind spirals, you clearly remember telling Serval that you didn't want to see those two colors today — or, did you? Perhaps it was your mind weaving its own narratives in the flurry of adrenaline? A chill rears its grotesque head, a panic you can't quite push down despite your mind adapting to give her the benefit of the doubt, your breaths lapse unevenly.

“For being such a darling member of Mechanical Fever, a token of our friendship. I didn't know how else to thank you, so I got this instead.” Serval's voice yanks you from the edge of a panic attack, you force yourself to breathe deeply. You turn around when you notice the absence of her shadow, finding her retreating into the shadow of the half ajar door.

You remain seated on the juncture between light and shadow, returning to face the mirror after the rockstar settles on a stool. “I should be the one saying that and… you didn't have to give me this, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” your thumb and index fingers twiddle with the pure white tassel.

Her words seem to make you forget about your earlier paranoia, nostalgia cascades down your soul as you recall the fond memories inherent to Belobog. Destiny's game is truly difficult to comprehend, to think you'd find an actual home so far from your supposed one.

You add without waiting for her reply, “When I first came here, I was so scared and paranoid. I couldn't sleep the first night and I wanted nothing more than to flee the next morning. I really mean it when I say I couldn't make it without your and the others' help.”

Your palm cradles the beat of your existence, the thin fabric of the crop top does little to muffle your heart's clamorous prance.

“Thank you, thank you so much for everything.” your pour as much gratitude from the river coursing through the recesses of your soul in those words. Your chest constricts as you sigh, you remember all the faces that are now known as familiar and random instances buried deep in your memories. Perhaps it's the naturally cold weather of this planet that plays a part, but you furrow your brows as inexplicable sorrow engulfs your heart.

“I, too, hope that you've had a wonderful experience on this planet.”

A much younger you used to judge the victims of stories for choosing to freeze than to flee in the face of candid danger, vowing to not follow in their footsteps should you meet such a predicament one day. Your heart would shatter to incorrigible bits if it hadn't been so viciously twisted, you realize how futile promises are at the thin line separating life and death.

Your body flinches from its hunched position to meet watchful golden eyes, shielded by the door's shadow. You blink a multitude of times, as if that'd make his poised presence disappear, as if that'd affirm that you were simply in the grips of anxiety and Serval would return to reprimand you back to reality.

The warmth drains from your body when he's still there, sitting in front of you with a mocking serenity — you've never hated the vice grip he maintains on his composure more than this moment. Why, how, when and what conjoins his name to frame a myriad of questions, each being answered by none other than you the very next second. Your ears twitch when you catch voices at the end of the hallway, the actual Serval and others must be retreating. You might be a deer inches away from the tiger's jaw, but you'll not go down without a fight, at least.

“If you're planning to scream, I'd advise against that.” Sunday calmly states, your breath catches in your throat. “The choker on your neck has a shock mechanism and it can be activated in various ways. Namely, any time you raise your voice above the coded decibels and the voltage will increase the louder you scream.”

Your hand flies upwards towards the cursed choker and you wrestle a breath in disbelief, you were made a fool of and quite exquisitely. You realize you should've listened to your gut instincts when you still had the choice. Sunday raises a gloved palm when you restlessly tug at the thing, “Don’t bother, it can only be taken off with a password.”

A password only he knows, you conclude. It was not news to you that his sanity is loose from the hinges of his soul, but never would you have expected him to go this far. You glare at your husband, though it looks more like a gazelle's helpless stare as it struggles in the jaws of a predator. The voices from the hallway disappear entirely, you'd told them not to look for you so they'll not return, you feel your eyes moisten as you realize you're stuck alone with Sunday.

“Why—” you choke.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions,” his words are half resignation and half cheap empathy. “But it is not your turn to speak, for there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sunday stands up, brows scrunching at the dust floating around the room. “The matter of your possible unfaithfulness is one thing,” his hand grips the handle of the door and you flinch. “But performing in front of so many people without any consideration of how far it'll spread, or choice of attire,” your body erupts in shudders upon feeling his pointed stare, the expanse of your exposure finally registering.

“Truly unbefitting of my spouse.”

But it's not his judging gaze that has your nerves frayed, it's the hints of genuine disappointment that borders on anger leaking through his words that makes you feel parched, makes you want the earth split in half and take you from this situation. Your experience with Sunday has taught you that he has the patience of a saint, but none of those memories reassure you that it's boundless. You realize that you've never actually seen his face contorted in ire, no matter how defiant you'd been. Aeons, you wish it stayed that way forever.

As the shadow of the closing door engulfs your form and leaves the rest to interpretation, the last thing you see are his darkened golden eyes — you're certain that, that was the instance the last spirited part of you died.

rest in peace i guess

#requests: batch two #answered #yandere #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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yoursweetwife · 29 days

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warning: female reader, mostly fluff, mentions reader wearing dresses,

synopsis: Ratio has his own ways of showing his love

p.s some thoughts on how Veritas can take care of the reader because he is clearly very terrible at words

What Ratio does best is talk. Regardless of the topic, he will always find something to say, the words themselves will flow like a river, making an indelible impression on those around him.

However, when it comes to love, he becomes completely quiet. Rarely can you hear “I love you” or “I missed you” from his lips; most often this happens in very intimate and important moments, when he leaves his pride behind and completely surrenders to his feelings.

It's hard to say it didn't bother you. You perfectly understood what kind of person he was, and you didn’t blame him, but it was sad when Ratio just nodded when you said you loved him, or didn’t offer verbal support when you needed it, because you were capable of handling it on your own.

And he didn't lie! Ratio knows that you are a strong and capable person who has achieved everything on his own, so small problems shouldn't bother you, right?

And it seems hypocritical, considering that he constantly took advantage of your love. You always knew how to comfort him, even on his worst days. However, words remain just words, while actions speak volumes about more.

Most of the time, Ratio can't find the words to praise the new dress that fits you so wonderfully, or to say words of comfort when something bad has happened in your life.

But if you didn’t know him so well, you wouldn’t notice how his eyes begin to sparkle every time he notices your new outfit or hairstyle. A slight blush appears on Ratio’s cheeks, and his eyes hesitate to meet your smug face.

Or how his confident facade crumbles when he sees you after a long absence. No matter which of you was on a business trip, Ratio always brings pansies to a meeting and gives them as if nothing had happened, as if he had never read about the meaning of the flower.

And how he uncertainly looks at your crying figure from the doorway. And at the same moment he is next to you, offering comfort in the form of a hug and a kiss on the head.

Ratio's big hand constantly holds any part of your body. In public, his hand will intertwine with yours so as not to “lose you,” or he will place it on your back to gently nudge you in the right direction. It's hard for people to tell if he's enjoying it, but you can definitely tell that Veritas is enjoying it, it's easy to tell by the way the soft smile, meant only for you, spreads across his face, and by the gentle pressure on your hand.

And his most favorite action is to place his hand on your soft thigh, be it at home while you are relaxing on the sofa or bed, or in a public place, so he always sits next to you to make it easier to reach, basically this is a very innocent action , although sometimes he wants to go a little further.

Far from human eyes, it is very difficult for Ratio to stop physical contact. Unfortunately, he became too addicted to it. Previously, the only way for him to relax and clear his brain was bathing, but now all he needs to do is find you, hug you and bury his nose in your fluffy hair.

There's no use trying to loosen his grip, and who would want to refuse this big guy who's looking at you so pleadingly. You were always amused by his manner of sitting next to you and glancing in your direction, quickly turning away when you looked at him. A clear sign that he needs hugs and kisses.

And even bathing began to feel strange without your presence. And this makes Ratio nervous, because the bathroom is the only place where he could clear his mind, and now his head is filled only with how empty the space between his legs feels, where you usually sat.

Veritas always reads a book before bed, and he takes it seriously, but he really enjoys reading while his head rests on your stomach, thighs, chest, using them as a makeshift pillow. However, his favorite position is when he is sitting and you are lying on his chest, resting your head on his chin.

The sight of your sleeping body is the best way to end the day. It’s a pity that you can’t see his soft smile and loving gaze at this moment. Just like your happy face doesn’t reach his eyes when he says three cherished words.

Ratio doesn't know how to express emotions in words, but his actions speak louder than words.

#dr ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #female reader #dr ratio #dr ratio fluff #hsr #honkai star rail

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melobin · 3 months

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જ⁀➴ casting couch 𐙚 wonbin

part of the riize as porn plots series.

summary - as a newbie to the porn industry you go through the same hazing process as everyone else. the casting couch. you were just as nervous as you were excited when you found out famed porn star park wonbin would be conducting your interview.

wc - 4.3k

warnings - experienced porn star!wonbin x amateur female porn star!reader, dom wonbin dom! wonbin, finger sucking, hair pulling, nipple play, oral f and m receiving, face fucking, spitting, manhandling, unprotected sex, rough sex, being recorded.

a/n: sorry for taking so long !!!! i've been sick really sick , don't recommend it. i'm still sick but i've been trying to finish this up for a while!!! i hope you enjoy, not proof read!!

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“all you have to do for the mean time is sit there and look pretty, once the shoot starts we’ll ask you a question or two and then wonbin will come in and talk to you, sound good?” you nodded at the director, trying to not let the bright lights blind you too much as he spoke “try not to worry about the cameras too much, pretend like we’re not even here”

it felt strange to say the least, you’d never been on such a high budget set before, everything you’d done was alone in the space of your own bedroom or filmed on a shitty low quality camera, something to do with amateur porn was that they loved their dark lighting and low resolution cameras. so this was all so new to you, daunting in a way, but nothing was as daunting as working with park wonbin.

wonbin was one of the most famous porn stars within your generation, he was pushing 22 and had only been active in the industry for around a year but that meant nothing, once people got him in their sights they never let go. you understood the obsession, wonbin was one of the most gorgeous men you’d even seen. big pretty eyes, longish hair, toned body and that gold, glistening necklace that always adorned his pretty neck, he beat everyone else by at least a mile. he also knew how to fuck, every video he had been in he had easily reduced the female start to tears with his cock. he was filthy, messy. rough. the dream.

one thing about wonbin was that he was incredibly difficult to hire, he may have been a porn start but he was still cautious about where he put himself and who he stuck himself inside of. people don’t approach wonbin, he approaches them, so it was a shock to you when his manager contacted you saying wonbin wanted to work with you personally. he was searching for an official partner to work with, so he wouldn’t have to rotate between women, it baffled you when you found out he wanted to do a casting cough interview because he thought you’d be perfect for the job. you accepted the offer immediately, you would’ve been insane to not take it. even if you didn’t get the job in the end, you would’ve been walking out of here having been fucked by park wonbin, that’s enough of an achievement for you.

“wonbin’s here, all we’re gonna do is ask you a few questions, try and act a bit ditsy just for the show, you ready?”

“yes” the female makeup artist crouched in front of you, gently dabbing a brush against your lips before standing up.

“you’ll do great” you smiled and thanked her. you weren’t wearing much, just a short dress that hugged the top half of your body, pushing your tits together and flowed out a little bit at the bottom, it barely covered your ass but it didn’t matter, you had nothing on underneath the dress anyway.

the camera man sat in the chair across from the black couch you were perched on, he held the large camera on his shoulders as the director cued for the shoot to begin. it was quiet as you waited for the camera man to talk he spent a few seconds just recording you playing with you hair and smiling to yourself.

“you ever done this before?” you forced a giggle at the camera man’s question.

“i’m not a virgin silly” you twirled your hair around your finger, playing along to any other question he asked before you heard the door handle turn. lord, he was here. you weren’t necessarily nervous about the shoot, but you were nervous about meeting wonbin.

you gulped when he opened the door, shutting it behind him before turning to look at you, a small smile played on his plump lips as he eyed you. he didn’t say anything at first, he let your eyes flick down his body. he wore a lose white shirt with a low neck line, collarbones on show with his necklace sat gently against his skin. he was insanely gorgeous, there was no doubt that he caused a thirst to erupt inside of anyone that looked at him.

“aren’t you just the prettiest little thing” he reached a hand out to hold your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip. he pulled it down causing you to open your mouth before he placed his thumb flat on your tongue, watching as you closed your lips around the digit and sucked on it, tongue slowly lifting to circle around it. the one little action had wonbin hooked already, he had wanted to fuck you from the moment he first laid his eyes on you. he’d stumbled across a video of you fucking yourself with some toy in your bedroom, the way you whined when you first pushed the toy into your sopping cunt had his cock throbbing and the sight of your abused cunt after you’d finished playing with yourself had him spilling all over his hand. wonbin had to give it to you, not many people could make him cum from a video alone but you had him with your very first one. that’s when he knew he needed to have you.

wonbin was a natural, he didn’t seem phased one bit that there were cameras filming him, it felt as if he actively ignored them and done whatever he wanted, what he would’ve done even if they weren’t there. you admired it but it also turned you on, he was so shameless, as of he knew you’d accept anything he wanted to do, even if it was going as far to humiliate you in front of the millions of people who would inevitably be watching this video.

“got the perfect lips for sucking cock, don’t you?” you nodded, humming around his thumb whilst looking up at him, not breaking eye contact as you took his thumb deeper into your mouth. he grabbed your hair with his free hand, pulling your mouth off of his thumb before looking down at you. his hand dropped to the front of your dress, fingers hooking over the neckline before pulling it down, exposing your bare tits to him. he squeezed one in his hand, slowly loosening his grip before pinching your nipple, pulling it away from your body before letting it go.

“why don’t you find out?” wonbin pushed his tongue against his cheek, amused at your question. of course he wanted to find out, he’d be an idiot not to.

“show me, baby”

you stood up from the sofa, falling to your knees and looking up at him as your fingers went to the zipper of his jeans. wonbin parted his lips as he watched you, eyes trained on yours whilst you pulled his cock out of his jeans. he had nothing on underneath the rough fabric, he was ready for whatever you were willing to give him.

you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, pumping him in your hand, thumb brushing over his slick tip each time you reached his head. you brought your other hand up to push up his shirt, nails lightly digging into the skin of his abs as you lifted yourself to press your tongue against them, saliva wetting his skin whilst you traced his abs with your tongue. you felt wonbin shiver slightly under the touch of your tongue. his eyes stayed on your as your tongue got lower until it left his skin, hand still pumping his cock as you stuck your tongue out and pressed it against the side of it. letting his cock rest against your tongue before you closed your lips around the tip.

wonbin groaned as he felt your tongue press into the slit of his cock, the taste of his precum filled your mouth as you took him a little deeper before taking yourself off of him. you held him in your hand as you collected as much saliva as you could in your mouth, moving your head to spit on the end of his cock before wrapping your lips around him once more.

park wonbin was the only man you wanted to impress, so that’s what you done. slowly inching your mouth lower on his cock with each bob of your hea, your eyes still on his, you took him until there was no more of his cock to take, gagging around him slightly but no letting it stop you. wonbin loved the sight beneath him, your nose pressed against his abdomen with each push of your head forward, eyes watering and spit falling from your lips. the sounds you were making were downright filthy, you sounded like you were enjoying sucking his cock and that just made wonbin harder.

he watched cautiously as you pulled your mouth off of his cock, closing your eyes and letting out a few deep breaths as a string of saliva still connected you to him. wonbin’s hand found your hair, brushing it out of your face before gripping it and pulling it back so you had no choice to look at him, he expected you to be surprised by his actions, maybe moan, what he didn’t expect was for you to smile at him and let out what he could only describe as a sadistic laugh.

“do you want to use my mouth, binnie?” he almost groaned at your words, deciding to hold himself back and laugh back at you instead.

“you know exactly what i want, doll” you kept the smile on your face as you watched him wrap other hand around his cock, keeping the other in your hair. he could see the excitement in your eyes even when he guided his cock into your mouth, you leaned closer to him and held the backs of his thighs as he pushed his cock deeper into your mouth. you let him use you, his thrusts gradually increasing in speed as he fucked your mouth, fingers tightening their grip on your hair the longer it went on. eventually you had tears falling from your eyes, but the look you had in them urged him to keep going, you were more than happy to let him use your throat until he was filling it with cum but wonbin had other ideas.

at some point he had to pull his cock out of the warmth of your mouth, if he didn’t he was going to cum and wonbin didn’t want to do that until he had your sweet cunt wrapped around him instead. he pulled you off of him by your hair, watching as you gasped for breath but still smiled up at him. you still looked so pretty with tears falling from your eyes and your lips wet and swollen. wonbin wanted nothing more than to ravage you and make a mess of you, he wanted to see you wrecked because of him, he wanted everyone to see how pretty you’d look all fucked out because of his cock.

wonbin signalled you to stand up by pulling on your hair slightly, you followed his instructions, finding his lips on yours as soon as you were up. the kiss wasn’t gentle, his tongue pushed into your mouth only seconds after he placed his lips against yours. his felt soft, it was a drastic comparison to how filthy his tongue felt in your mouth.

“you’re almost too good at sucking cock” his fingers move your head away from his by pulling at your hair “might need to keep that pretty little mouth all to myself” wonbin pressed his thumbs against your bottom lip before laughing, fingers tightening in your hair as he turned your head to look at the camera, hand dropping from your mouth to squeeze your tits again “everyones gonna be so jealous of me when this video comes out, doll”. you shivered as you felt his lips by your ear, lips parting so you could whine at how he was treating you.

wonbin’s hand fell from your hair to unzip the back of your dress, watching you as the straps fell down your arms and the dress fell to the floor. his fingers trailed down your bare back before reaching your ass, squeezing it in his hand before pulling it back so he could strike it against you. you moaned at the rough contact of his hand hitting your ass, wonbin just laughed.

“you’re so fun to play with”

“bet i’ll be even more fun to fuck” you turned to look at wonbin with a smile on your face, he groaned as his eyes flicked down your body. your fingers pushed the material of his shirt up, tracing his abs as you pushed it over his head.

“i can’t wait to find out” once you pushed his jeans down properly you took a proper look at wonbin, he was utterly delicious from head to toe. every inch of him was devourable.

you weren’t sure what his next actions would be, you let yourself try to be natural in front of the camera whilst his fingers touched your body. it took you by surprise when he curled them around your waist and pushed you down onto the sofa, your back almost sticking to the material immediately due to the layer of sweat that had accumulated on your skin. you watched wonbin carefully as he dropped to knees in front of you, fingers digging into your inner thighs as he held your legs apart.

“hold them” he gestured for you to hold your legs apart and replace his hands with your own, as soon as you did he was bringing his fingers to your pussy, using both hands to spread apart your lips so he could get a clear look at you. he let the camera see, he let it watch the way you whimpered when he lightly brushed his finger over your swollen nub and he let it watch as he collected as much saliva as he could in his mouth before spitting onto your cunt. you gasped at the filthiness of his action, taken by surprise but incredibly turned on as you felt his spit drip from your cunt.

wonbin pressed his tongue flat against your cunt, licking a direct line from your hole to your clit, sopping up every drop of spit and your slick he could with his tongue before spitting it back onto your clit. wonbin was filthy, you could already tell that he liked it wet and messy, he liked you wet and messy.

something else wonbin really liked was the way you tasted, the taste of your cunt filled his mouth and took over all of his sense, he was obsessed from the first lick. you melted against his tongue, filled his tastebuds with your sweetness whilst digging your fingers into your own skin. the camera stayed next to you both as he continued to lick at your cunt, moving closer to where wonbin’s lips wrapped around your clit and he harshly sucked on the nub before releasing it and flicking his tongue over it, all whilst continuing to hold the lips of your pussy open with his fingers.

the feeling of wonbin’s tongue flicking over your clit was indescribable, it sent shivers through your body as the pleasure over took you. your nails dug deeper into your thighs as you tried to keep them open for him, eyes watching the way he buried himself into your cunt and lapped up every drop of slick that you had. you wanted nothing more than to push your fingers into his hair and pull on the strands but you knew he wanted you completely open for him, it made it easier for him to abuse your clit with his tongue and leave you a wreck because of it.

you weren’t sure if his goal was to make you cum, considering he didn’t let you make him cum you half expected him to do the same to you but he didn’t. once wonbin got a taste of you, he needed to feel your cum fill his mouth, need the taste of it to completely overtake all of his senses. you were the sweetest thing he’d ever had the chance to taste and he wasn’t going to let that go so easily.

so he pressed his face a little closer to you, positioning himself so he could quickly flick his tongue over your clit, he tortured the swollen nub before his lips closed around it once more. he had no plans to let you relax as he sucked on it and pressed his tongue against it, he loved the way he could see your thighs tremble from the corner of his eyes and how your eyes stayed on him despite the fact you were falling apart. he knew part of you was putting on a show for the camera, trying to keep somewhat of a professional front despite the fact he was making you lose your mind.

wonbin lifted his head for a moment, your slick covered his lips as he looked at you “you’re gonna cum on my tongue” his words were short and to the point, it took it by surprise when his hands pushed away yours and replaced them on your thighs, stretching you by pressing them further apart and diving back into your cunt. tongue licking up your slit, circling your hole and pressing in so he could coat himself in you again before he pressed his tongue flat against you and licked up to your clit.

wonbin groaned against you when he felt your fingers grab and pull at his hair, the vibration of his groan made your back arch, hips bucking forward to be closer to his face. he let you grind yourself into him as you whined, babbling about being close.

“i’m close god wonbin i’m so close” the camera was a little further back now, it captured the entire sight of wonbin holding you down and licking up every last drop that left you. you were sure before going into this that you weren’t going to be as into it due to the cameras and the people around you two but wonbin took that thought away from you. somehow he made the experience more intense, wonbin was definitely talented with his tongue and he was eagerly to make you cum with it.

your words caused wonbin’s lips to close around your clit, he was determined to push you over the edge with his mouth, he needed it to happen before he could even think about fucking you. he knew he was pushing you closer with the way he sucked on your cunt, he could feel the way you was harshly pulling at the strands of his hair and how you cried out his name. your voice was higher in pitch, moans coming out in frequent and desperate tones. he felt your clit throb under his tongue as your orgasm hit you, he kept his lips wrapped around it just to be sure he gave you the most intense orgasm possible.

you were shaking by the time wonbin pulled away and let go of your legs but he didn’t give you time to calm down before he was standing up and grabbing you, he manhandled you in the position he wanted you in. he had you knelt on the sofa, your forearms resting over the back of it as he pressed on your lower back and made your arch your ass out. you felt the tip of his cock press against your overstimulated clit, your thighs shook at the sudden contact.

wonbin looked down at his cock, lips parting to let a string of spit fall onto it. he pumped his spit over his cock whilst dragging the head down to your clenching hole, wonbin groaned at the feeling of your wetness seeping onto his cock, he couldn’t wait to fuck you. he watched carefully as he pressed the tip of his cock inside of you, the camera being close to where the two of you were connected in order to get the perfect shot.

the stretch you felt as he pushed inside of you made your head spin, the groan he let out only caused you to tighten more around him, wonbin was sure that if you squeezed around him anymore he wouldn’t be able to move “you’re so fucking tight around me”. wonbin’s own voice sounded shaky as he spoke to you, a deep husk surrounding his tone as he pressed the rest of his cock inside of you “starting to think no one’s fucking you right, sweet girl”.

he gave you a few moments to catch your breath but it wasn’t enough, the moment he pulled out of you and pushed back in he was taking your breath away. whilst his movements weren’t exactly rough to start off with, the force behind his thrusts had your thighs shaking, the intensity of your previous orgasm staying with you as he dragged his cock along your walls.

wonbin had his hands on each cheek of your ass, his nails dug into the skin of them as he pulled them apart to be able to watch himself slide into you, each time his cock left you it came out wetter than before. he was obsessed. he was sure to let the camera see it too, letting it focus on the way his cock stretched your open and wedged itself as deep as it could go inside of you.

his hands moved, he leaned forward to wrap his hand around your neck whilst his other hand held your jaw, his thrusts speeding up and gaining more power behind them. with how he was holding your jaw you couldn’t close your mouth, moans of his name fell from you because of it, curses following behind.

“gonna let them see you, pretty girl?” wonbin’s voice hit your ear as he pressed his lips against your neck, the camera found its way in front of you, recording the way his fingers dug into your skin and how you cried out his name “everyone gonna be so jealous of me” his voice was barely a whisper in your ear, as if he didn’t want the camera to pick up on the words he was whispering to you “need everyone to see how well i fuck your perfect little pussy”.

you could only whine as he spoke to you, his words falling into a groan as you tightened your grip around him and began fucking yourself back against his cock. the camera man walked around the two of you, the camera being focused on the scene of wonbin fucking into you harshly from behind whilst you met his thrusts. you were a wreck as his fingers tightened their grip on your throat, your moans turning broken and your fingers digging a little deeper into the back of the sofa.

“feel so good, binnie” you choked out, wonbin felt as if he was at least four thrusts away from spilling his cum inside of you so he pulled out. his hands left your skin as he stepped backwards before they found you again, fingers digging into your hips as he turned you around, your back was propped up by the arm of the sofa as he knelt against the sofa and spread your legs apart.

wonbin groaned as he pushed his cock back into you, he kept your legs spread as he began fucking you again. he watched the way your cunt took his cock eagerly, he found himself engrossed in the way your cunt spoke to him with each harsh thrust he made forward, how it let out wet cries and squeezed around him. it was just as pornographic as your moans were, wonbin thought you were perfect.

“gonna fill you up so well” he was close and he was sure to let you know, he needed to hear you begging him to fill you up with him cum and have it leak out of you.

“please” was all you could whine out, wonbin repositioned your legs, letting one hook over his shoulder whilst the other fell to the floor, he moved his body to cage in yours as he fucked you, hide hands grabbed yours and pinned them down against the arm of the sofa either side of your head. you tried to focus on his face as his hair fell in front of his eyes but you found yourself watching his necklace that hovered over your face, barely grazing the skin of your lips with each sharp thrust. the star that hung off of the chain glistened under the harsh lights of the room, you found yourself mesmerised by it, knowing you’d be lying in bed later that night picturing the way it swung over your face.

“gonna make me cum so hard, doll” wonbin had a whine in the tone of his voice as you squeezed around him, one of his hands left yours so he could press it against your clit, he used his other hand to run his fingers through his hair as he leaned back on his knees, hair falling back into his eyes as he fucked into you. he was sweaty, his body glistened under your gaze, as did his face. you found it hard to believe you were being fucked by a man who looked that good and wanted to make you cum again “cum around my cock, sweet girl”.

you were more than happy to listen to his words, your cunt clenching harder around his cock as he drove you to the brink of your orgasm. your moans got louder, your legs shook and your fingers reached out for something, anything to grip onto as your orgasm washed over you.

then it was wonbin’s turn to cum, his thrusts grew more frantic as his fingers dug into your thighs once more. he was determined to cum, determined to fuck you full of his cum and have everyone watch him claim you as his. and that’s exactly what he done, the after maths of your orgasm had you clenching tightly around him, squeezing his cock for everything he has as he came inside of you, thrusts slowly until he was barely dragging his cock against your walls. wonbin came with a broken moan of a short fuck, he made sure he didn’t pull out of you until every drop was inside of you.

wonbin’s final show for the camera was by slowly pulling his cock out if you, he was sure to watch the way his cum slowly built up at your entrance and seeped out of you, letting the camera catch every moment of it.

“i think you’ll be perfect for the job”.

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#riize smut #wonbin smut #✧ melody posts #✧ hard hours ✧

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russellsppttemplates · 1 month

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I want this every day (Charles Leclerc)

Charles has been frustrated with the team's strategies and the results he's been getting lately so you find a way to cheer him up

Note: english is not my first language. I was going to write it earlier on the week, but then I felt like I a jinxing it so I stopped... but after today, I think it's a good place to start...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions Jules Bianchi

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

Another race weekend where he was out qualified by his team-mate left Charles with the feeling that if it came to it, he was almost one hundred percent sure they would ask them to swap positions.

Points for the team would be important anyway and they came away with a good amount and the car showed to be competitive enough considering the RedBull dominance on the grid, but the frustration was still there.

With the team and with himself.

They told him they'd keep him - there wasn't a quesion put down about his contract -, Il Predestinato wasn't something he carried lightly but often times it was confusing. Without the support and appreciation from inside the team, it was proving difficult to achieve their goals.

His childhood dream was driving for Ferrari and Suzuka always carried a heavier weight for him. As he took off his helmet and was faced with the number 17 on the side, he apoligised. To Jules, who he wanted to make proud every day but even more on this particular track. To his fans, who deserved better than this. To you, who were there for him, arms open for a hug and a shoulder where he could cry and let his feelings out on, to hold him and remind him every single time that all of the nonsense commentators and the media still had the audacity to say about him despite his continous shows of intelligence, skill and talent, and to love him.

The way you loved him was something he had never felt before and had never thought he deserved.

The face you were giving everyone in the garage that dared look at you wasn't unfortunately a rare occurrence, hence the fact that so very few team members approached you, "Charles is just finishing his interviews, he should be here soon", Silvia said before excusing herself from the garage.

You walked to your boyfriend's driver room, knowing he would end up in there soon enough after greeting the mechanics and engineers.

He stepped inside the room less than fifteen minutes later, finding your embrace immediately as his arms wrapped around your waist, "it's not fair that this keeps happening", he mumbled.

"I know it isn't", you kissed his stubbly cheek while rubbing his back soothingly.

"I thought I could've done so much better, for the fans, for you, for Jules", he hiccuped, letting himself be vulnerable after bottling up everything he was feeling.

"You did us proud, Charles - he is always so proud of you", you cupped hisface in your hands as you hoped the words got through to him, "okay?".

The flight back home had Charles sleeping most of the time, the whole rush of the weekend catching up with his body as he slept with his head on your thighs, your fingers playing with his locks while you arranged your schedule for the week ahead.

"I was thinking we could spend some time together today", you said over the phone, hoping he hadn't booked anything since you made sure that Andrea and Joris had cleared his schedule so you could make this happen without a hitch.

"You don't have work?", Charles asked, "no, I arranged a few things and a meeting got cancelled", you explained.

"Good, I don't have anything to do either, I was just going to stay home, but being with you sounds much nicer, my place or your place?", he wondered.

"My place, please", you replied immediately, "I just want to change my clothes and I'm feeling like spending the afternoon in", you tried, hoping he would catch on and not mess up your surprise.

"Okay, amour! Do you need me to pick you up from work?", Charles asked and you heard a small smile on his face. You weren't sure why, but Charles really got a kick out of dropping you off and picking you up from work, so you felt bad for the answer you were giving him, "it's okay, you can meet me there, I'm already walking", you said as you drove out of the shop and headed home. It was an inoffensive lie but you kept telling yourself it was for a greater good.

"Okay, I'll meet you there in twenty minutes or so", he said, "Je t'aime, mon amour".

Riccardo seemed to have parked the car at the front of your building, making you get the bag out of your car trunk and join him and his family, "hey guys! Thank you for coming to this", you smiled, touching Chiara's foot softly and getting a giggle out of the little girl.

"No worries, this is such a nice idea and we're happy to help!", Marta said, letting you walk up to the door so you could get to your apartment.

"For the first time in my life, I'm the first one somewhere, and then they showed up too!", Joris said as the rest of the group you invited stood up from the hallway floor.

"I'm sorry for making you wait, but I had to pick these up and then the call with Charles had to be done at the precise time so he wouldn't get here before I did!", you explained, unlocking the door and letting them in.

"So we're fine to wait, but Charles can't wait for you?", Joris teased, making kissing noises as you shook your head, "privileges of being my boyfriend - it is what it is!", you chuckled.

Delegating the small tasks you left for the last minute, Charles' text saying he had just parked the car was enough to capture you attention, "quick quick, go hide in the living room - careful with the board game boxes! He's coming up!", you ushered your friends to the living room before your boyfriend knocked on your door.

"Hello, my love", you said, kissing his lips and pulling him inside the supposedly quiet apartment.

"Hey, gorgeous girl - I missed you", he squeezed you tight once you closed the door, "I was getting in my he - what's that?", Charles asked as a noise came from the living room.

Chiara squealed loudly enough for him to hear, so in part your surprise was not such a surprise, "you're not alone?", he mused.

Lacing your hand in his, you pulled him to the living room as everyone jumped out of their places to greet him!

"Surprise - ish!", you waved your hands as if you were announcing some great show, "I gathered all your favourite people - Lorenzo is coming with Charlotte in a bit, he just picked her up from work and your mother also had a cliente so she'll arrive a little later. Arthur is in the bathroom?", you wondered as you saw him walk out and pat his brother's back, not missing the truly surprised look on his face as he pulled you closer to him, kissing your temple, "you're the best, amour, thank you", he whispered.

You had food laid out in the coffee table and drinks in the kitchen where everybody could serve themselves so you could have your dining table available for the board and card games you were playing along with some building blocks for Chiara who was immediately stolen from her parents once your boyfriend saw her.

"Do we want to make a castle? Or maybe a rollercoaster?", Charles mused with the little girl sitting on his lap, still keeping an eye on his Monopoly game to make sure no one was missing any of the payments on his properties, "Good job, chérie!", he congratulated her, kissing her chubby cheek.

"Do you want me to get you guys anything? I'm already going to the kitchen", you wondered, "can you fill this up for us, please?", Marta asked as she handed you the orange juice jug, "yes, of course!", you grabbed it.

"This was a great idea, Y/N", Lorenzo said whole he poured himself a drink as you stepped into the kitchen, "he's been in his head a lot recently", he began.

"It's not much, really, it was quite easy to put everything together and you being here was very kind", you brushed it off.

"Y/N, gathering his favourite people to do something he loves apart from racing may seem simple but it's what he needs right now - don't underestimate yourself or the ability you have to bring him back to a good mental space", he rubbed your shoulder before going back to open the door, "it's our mother", he excused himself.

You set the jug on the table and took Chiara from your boyfriend's arms, volunteering to change her nappy in your bedroom.

Charles hugged his mother tight, "Hello, mon petit", she cupped his face and kissed his cheek, "I'm not little anymore", Charles blushed, "you and your brothers will always be my little boys, I don't care how old or how tall you get", she smiled, greeting everyone else in the room.

His favourite people were all in the same place, Charles thought. Some were playing cards, some were just chatting and you just picked his friends' daughter to change her nappy like she was your own.

"Do you have room for one more? I'm usually pretty good at this!", Lorenzo said as he sat at the dining table, "you take my game - it's not too bad, just make sure Marta pays up what she owes me - two hotels in my blue cards", Charles raised his eyebrows, "I know you were counting on your daughter's cuteness to distract me, but I have excellent vision", he smirked.

Charles walked to your bedroom, seeing you close the diaper bag as Chiara kicked the air, layed on top of your comforter and giggling at the story you were telling her, "and then I had to tell the lady 'that won't do, because I have my boyfriend's family and our friends over for dinner and I can't have too little food! Even if I have left overs for weeks!' because that's what's right, right? She also had this very fluffy bread that was still warm from the oven so I asked her if she could add that because I knew you'd like it - bread is the best, isn't it, cutie?", you spoke.

You were it, he had known that for a long time.

You were the one he wanted to grow old with and go through every challenge life wanted to throw at you, because he knew you both could face them if you were there.

"And who is that spying on us, hm? It's Charles! Let's go and give Charles a big hug and many kisses!", you smiled, picking her up and approaching your boyfriend, cuddling into his chest as you kept the little girl on your arms, kissing his chest while Chiara palmed his face and giggled when Charles pretended to eat her fingers, "yummy fingers, nom, nom, nom".

"I need to get started on dinner - I'm doing that roast you really like", you offered, "I already prepped most of it, just need to cut up the veggies and then put in the oven, simple as that".

"C'mon, Chiara - I bet my mother is wondering where you are because she'll want a cuddle", Charles took her from your arms, "I'll be back for you", Charles slapped your butt playfully.

You were seasoning the food on the trays, making sure you weren't forgetting anything when your boyfriend walked up to join you, wrapping his arms around your waist, "thank you for this, I really needed it", he kissed under your ear, turning you around to face him and kissing your lips properly, "it's fine", you scoffed.

"No, I really needed it - it's easy to lose sight of these things and these moments", he began, "I was home and getting way too much into my own head and I wouldn't got to anyone unless they asked about it", he admitted, squeezing your body closer to his.

"I'm glad you liked it, it's truly nothing but I'm glad you're happy", you smiled, "I can't control what goes on your mind all the time but I'm going to make sure that whenever you're near me and say silly things about doubting yourself, I will always help you see the truth and work it out with you - no down talking about yourself when you're with me, understood?", you stated firmly almost like you were lecturing him.

"I know, amour", he giggled, kissing your forehead and then littering some more kisses on your face and making you break out in laughter loudly.

The dinner was great and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves as they ate the meal and spoke about whatever came to mind, summer plans already in discussion.

Charles was helping you put away the plates when he decided he would voice the thoughts running through his head. Usually at this time of the day he was already knee deep into strategies and failed attempts, but this time was different.

"I want this every day", Charles said with a big smile on his face.

"Well, not all of us have your schedule, it would be lovely, but maybe making it a weekly thing? Monthly maybe with your schedule?", you tried, not wanting to kick his idea straight to the trash.

"I don't mean that - I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I was wondering if you'd like to move in with me", Charles clarified, "there's no point to keep two places when realistically, we spend most times at eachother's place - you're down to what? Sleeping two nights here per week?", he noted as you smiled.

"You want to move in together?", you checked and he nodded, "yes, I do - honestly, I've thinking we keep my place since you're renting here and that way you'd be closer to work, too", he suggested.

"Sounds good to me", you smiled, kissing his lips, sealing the deal.

"I don't want to be far away from you when we don't have to be, and this way you can save on rent, too!", he added and before you truly lectured him, he caught you ahead, "I know you won't let me pay for things on my own and we will find some arrangement for that, I was just saying you won't have to keep paying your landlord", he smiled.

"I mean it when I say I want to split expenses, okay?", you argued, "unless you start going with expensive caviar or any of that crazy expensive stuff - my salary can't take that", you joked.

"When have you ever seen that in my fridge?", he threw his head back as he laughed.

"I'm only joking, handsome - I can't wait to move in with you", you hugged him, "I love you, Charles, can't wait to be your new roomie".

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fluff

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fyorina · 2 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 DRIVE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: against all odds, you come across dazai osamu again, and you somehow find yourself roped into being his date for an event celebrating the armed detective agency. you're not falling. you swear. (you're lying). {wordcount: 9.2k; fem!reader, sfw, romance}

AUTHOR'S NOTES part 2 is hereeeeee! i hope you guys enjoy, this scene had one of my favs to write so i hope you like it too!! reblogs definitely appreciated!! i’ll reblog with the taglist as soon as it decides to show on the dash & in the tags!

SEE: BADLANDS SERIES MASTERLIST READ: UNREAL UNEARTH SIDE B

“We really need to stop meeting like this.”

You aren’t sure how you feel as you stare at the man hanging upside down, tangled in a tapestry—amused, concerned, partly puzzled, a combination of all three really. Dazai Osamu looks half out of it as his gaze focuses on you; you wonder how long he’s been hanging like this, and how he managed to get in this position in the first place.

For the second time in two weeks, the man manages to catch you off guard, this time on your way home from a date that had gone horribly, horribly wrong with a classmate; you’d already spent the past two hours wandering the streets upset over all of this and you were ready to get home, but now you find yourself hesitating.

“Ah, my sweet, sweet belladonna, my lovely savior,” Dazai sighs, directing a quick, flirty smile toward you. “Won’t you help a poor, suffering man?”

“How did you manage this, Dazai?” you ask, letting the entertainment slip into your tone to distract yourself from the stress of the failed date as you look around and try to figure out the best way to get him down from where he’s entangled. You’d have to climb up onto the nearby dumpster to get enough reach to cut him down but you don’t even have anything to cut him down with.

“I tried to jump off that building,” he sighs, and you follow his gaze up to the tall building right to the left of the two of you. Your lips part in shock, you suppose you should have figured something like that because how else would he end up tangled upside down in a tapestry, but it’s still jarring to hear. “But I hit this on the way down and got stuck. I’ve been here for way too long, so many people have passed me by without helping—what a cruel, cruel world.”

“You are either the luckiest or unluckiest man alive,” you murmur, catching sight of a jagged piece of metal underneath the dumpster, picking it up and doing your best to climb onto it, but it’s difficult in heels and a dress. “Why are you so intent on dying?”

“Why are you so intent on living?” Dazai hits you with a question back instead of responding, peering up at you as he slowly spins in the air while you do your best to cut through the thick tapestry.

You frown at the question, brows furrowing. “Because I have things I still need to accomplish. Goals to achieve. Don’t you?”

“The only goal I need to achieve is finding a beautiful lady to do a double suicide with,” Dazai says, lips curling up into another charming smile but the effects of it are diminished because of the way he was still hanging upside down, spinning in slow circles. “Would you like to join me, bella?”

“Maybe in fifty years,” you say dryly.

“I’ll-”

Dazai doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you finally cut through the tapestry and he tumbles down head first to the ground. You bite back a smile as he lets out a loud yelp, crumpling on the ground in an unceremonious heap. You lower yourself back down to the ground, eyes settling on him as you watch him push himself into a sitting position, rubbing the back of his head.

He looks up at you through his lashes, the charming smile on his lips a bit more lazy and casual as he looks over you. “My, aren’t you dressed pretty? What’s the occasion?” As you prepare to give a bullshit excuse, he holds up his hand and says: “Wait! Let me guess. A long day of work and no one to go out with after, so you decided to get all dressed up and walk around the city to see if fate would lead you to someone, and since our fingers are tied by that thin red thread, naturally, you were led right to me. Oh, my fated, no wonder I’ve evaded death so easily despite so many attempts, destiny refused to let me die as we’re predestined to be together.”

You stare at him, watching as he presses the back of his hand to his forehead, tilting his head back because what the fuck?

“I was on a date,” you say, ignoring the entire rest of what he said to answer his question, truthfully at that because his whole tirade about destiny and fate had thrown you off.

Dazai wilts, but then straightens up again and says, “Well, it couldn’t have been a good one if he didn’t at least walk you home.”

You grimace. “I think I should be insulted by how pleased you look at my night being ruined,” you mutter, holding your hand out to him to help him up.

Dazai places his hand in yours; long, thin fingers wrapped around your hand as you help him to his feet. He doesn’t let go immediately, nor does he back away, brown eyes lidded as he looks down at you, so close that your clothes were brushing his. The corner of his lips tilt up, his fingertips grazing your inner wrist. “How about we make the most of a ruined night then?”

You raise your eyebrows—you think you should get back to your apartment, get some work done to make up for how much of a mess the night had turned out, but you find yourself hesitating because do you really want to go wallow alone now?

“How do you plan we do that?” you ask instead of giving him an answer, although he evidently takes it as an answer considering his face lights up at your words.

“Come on,” he says, tugging your arm as he turns to make his way down the sidewalk, dragging you along with him. “I’ll show you someplace.”

“O-okay,” you fumble over your words in surprise, but it isn’t like Dazai is giving you much of a choice considering the way he’s pulling you along with him.

Your face feels hot when you notice the people still prowling the streets shooting the two of you odd looks—Dazai doesn’t seem to care, focusing on getting you to whatever destination he has planned, but you can feel their eyes burning into you with every step you take.

“Ignore them,” Dazai says, as if he can read your thoughts. He tosses his head over his shoulder as he looks at you, the corner of his lips curling up into another lazy smile that makes your breath catch. “They don’t know how to have fun.”

“Yeah,” is all you reply with, a bit doubtfully as you turn your gaze up to the dark skies, where the dark clouds you had noticed earlier in the day are now gathered over the city. “It’s going to rain.”

Dazai only raises his eyebrows, face riddled with disbelief as he turns fully to look at you, walking backwards without a care in the world as he forces people to walk around him. “Now, you care about rain?” he asks, referring to your first meeting.

You let out a puff of laughter. “I guess you have a point.”

“Naturally,” he says, teeth gleaming beneath the streetlamps as his grin widens. “I’m one of the Agency’s sharpest detectives, after all.”

“How humble,” you note, but your voice is light, teasing, and you’re almost embarrassed.

Dazai is unbothered by your playful dig, spinning back around to turn down the sidewalk onto a busier street, carelessly pulling you along with him and causing people to swerve around the two of you. You try to fumble out apologies as people shoot the two of you dirty looks but Dazai barely gives you enough time to speak the words as he continues down the street.

“Have you heard?” Dazai asks, returning to walking backward so he can look at you, garnering even more angry looks. “We’re heroes now.”

You have heard, of course, it’s all over the news. You hadn’t been in Yokohama when everything happened, you were visiting a friend outside of the city, but you’d seen it all going down on the TV as it was happening. And naturally, it’s impossible to avoid all of the news articles honoring the Armed Detective Agency and their part in taking down the threat to the city afterward.

“I have,” you drawl, and then add after a moment’s hesitation: “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating instead of…”

Instead of trying to kill yourself.

“This is me celebrating,” Dazai says mournfully, so casually that it takes you aback as he tilts his head back in grief. “It was supposed to be successful this time.”

“Well…” You aren’t sure what to say to that, the words dying on your lips as the first raindrops begin to fall from the sky. “I’m glad it wasn’t successful,” you finally decide upon, averting your gaze as Dazai’s face shifts into one of surprise as he looks down at you.

His lips part as if to say something, but seems to decide against it, instead letting a smile slip onto his face as he says: “Speaking of celebrations, my sweet belladonna, this hero needs a date to the celebratory event that the government is hosting for us in two weeks. Join me?”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, as the rain begins to come down harder—a flash flood, you realize. You watch as people start scattering around you, running for cover, but you and Dazai remain standing in the middle of the sidewalk, him awaiting your answer and you trying to figure out how to politely say you’d rather die than go to a celebratory event with people you don’t know.

You wonder if Dazai suspects your answer because he does not, in fact, give you the chance to speak.

Your eyes widen as he tugs you closer to him. “What’re you doing?” you stutter over your words as his free hand finds your hip and he spins the two of you around recklessly, forcing several people to dodge again as they run past the two of you and into a store to wait for the sudden rain to pass. Only his firm grip on you keeps you from slipping on the puddles forming on the sidewalk beneath the two of you. “Dazai!”

“Dancing,” is all he replies with, eyes shining as he lifts his arm to twirl you beneath it, your heels splashing in a puddle as he drags you along with his dance like a puppet. “It’s supposed to be romantic—dancing in the rain—I’ve seen it in movies, are you romanced, yet?”

You aren’t sure what makes you want to laugh, maybe it’s the absurdity of the situation or the way Dazai keeps having to blink away the raindrops that fall into his eyes, but before you know it, you're biting your lower lip to withhold the giggles rising through your chest.

“Are you laughing at me?” Dazai gasps in mock offense as he spins you outward once. You nearly trip over your heels but before you can, he’s spinning you back toward him, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips you down. “And here I was thinking I was doing a good job romancing you.”

His voice drops an octave as he lowers his voice, dark eyes searching yours, and you think that there’s absolutely nothing romantic about this. Rain is pouring down over the two of you, his hair is wet and matted against his forehead, dripping in your face as he hangs over you, you can feel his breath fanning against your lips and his body heat radiating against yours. Lightning webs across the sky above him, illuminating his face in a way that has your breath catching. You’re in heels and a dress and you can so easily trip and break your ankle, it’s only his hold on you preventing that from happening. It’s dangerous, and stupid—and maybe it’s a little romantic.

“I-”

You aren’t even able to get the admission from your lips because as soon as you begin to speak, someone slams into Dazai from behind. You yelp and his eyes widen as he stumbles forward, twisting the two of you around so he takes the brunt of the fall. He hits the ground hard with an ‘oof,’ half in the muddy grass and half on the sidewalk, and you fall on top of him, lips parted in shock.

“Well,” Dazai finally says after a few moments of stunned silence. “This is distinctly less romantic.”

And you laugh. Unable to hold it back now, you burst into laughter—hands braced on his chest, body flush against his, there’s mud splattered across his face and you’re pretty sure your makeup must be running down your cheeks from the rain. You think that your heels are probably ruined and you’d have to spend hours getting the stains out of your dress, but you laugh because you can’t remember the last time you actually had fun and weren’t stressed about school and the future, and your night had been going so horribly that you’d lost any hope of it taking a turn for the better. You might’ve been crying a bit too, you aren’t sure why, but it’s raining so you hope that he doesn’t notice.

You notice Dazai’s eyebrows lift a bit in surprise before his face seems to soften, a small smile tugging at his lips as he lets his head fall back against the mud.

“So,” he says, “about that date?”

“Nobody believes I have a date for the event,” Dazai complains two weeks later as he enters your apartment and throws himself onto your couch, watching as you dab on some dark red lipstick—an occurrence you’d become quite used to the past two weeks, because evidently Dazai Osamu does not need a key nor invitation into your home, he just picks the lock and comes right in. At least you’re expecting him this time. “Atsushi-kun laughed in my face. He laughed in my face! Can you believe it? After everything I’ve done for him, the nerve.”

You grin, glancing up into your mirror to catch his eyes. “To be honest, I still don’t believe you have a date for the dinner and I am your date.”

Dazai blanches, throwing his arm over his face as he slumps into the couch. “Et tu, bella?” he sighs sorrowfully and you laugh, spinning around in your chair to face him.

“Think of it this way,” you say, twisting your lipstick back into its container and placing it into your purse. Dazai peek up from the couch, eyes focusing on you as you speak. You almost feel a bit flustered under his gaze, it’s more intense than you expected. “You’ll get to see the looks on their face when they realize that you do actually have a date.”

Dazai brightens a bit at your words and then, as if a sudden thought passed through his head, he begins cackling like a madman—although you’re beginning to think the description is far more apt than you believed, Dazai Osamu is simply not sane. “Kunikada-kun is going to be so mad that I have a date and he doesn’t.”

“You’re wrinkling your suit, sit up straight,” you say and turn your attention back to the mirror, discreetly watching as Dazai lets out an exaggerated sigh before doing as you ask. Your eyes linger on him for a moment—he looks different dressed up nicely in a sleek, dark suit than his typical tan trench coat. He still wears those odd bandages all over his body, but you suppose that’s just a him thing, and no fancy event would get him to take them off. You can’t quite place what the exact difference is but you find that your gaze keeps dragging back to him.

He catches you staring and winks, you roll your eyes and look away, grateful that your embarrassment doesn’t show on your face as you glance one last time at yourself in the mirror to ensure that nothing is out of place

Dazai, you have learned over the past two weeks, can’t stand silence, so you aren’t surprised when you hear him start complaining about something else as soon as the conversation dies down.

“Did you know I pushed two of my little protégés to work with each other?” he asks, reaching out to grab the papers on your coffee table when he thinks you aren’t looking. You throw one of your makeup brushes at him. He yelps and draws back his hand.

“That’s nice,” you say absently. “Do they work together well?”

“Oh, they work together great,” Dazai says, and you glance back at him when you notice the sheer bitterness in his tone. “I think they love each other now.”

Your brows furrow, unsure of why Dazai seems so irritated by this. “That’s… great, isn’t it?” you asked slowly.

“No!” Dazai says so vehemently that you think he might leap to his feet in outrage. “That is not great. They are not allowed to be in a relationship before me. I forbid it.”

Your lips part a bit, a noise caught between a laugh and shock escaping them as you look over at Dazai again. “Okay,” you say, dragging out the word in amusement. Dazai shoots an affronted expression toward you in response, but you don’t give him the chance to speak again. You rise to your feet and swing your purse over your shoulder, glancing at the time, realizing you had about fifteen minutes to be at the City Hall, which is a forty minute drive without traffic and it’s a Saturday evening, so there’s always traffic.

“Oh god, we have to-”

You turn to leave only to bump right into Dazai. Blinking in confusion, you look up at him to ask what he’s doing but the words die on your tongue.

He’s too close as he looks down at you, you can smell the faint scent of his cologne and you can feel his body brushing yours, the corner of his lips twitching up. “Have I earned a kiss yet?” he hums, leaning his face down a bit so that his lips are almost barely grazing yours.

“Maybe,” you say, eyes flickering down to his lips for the sparest second before you watch his eyes light up only for you to take a step back, “but even if you did, you’re not messing up my makeup.”

Dazai looks as if he’d been shot in the heart, head dropping back as he groans and pouts at your words. “You’re so mean, bella,” he sighs, voice a long whine. “Won’t you indulge me with just a taste?”

“No,” you say, slipping past him to make your way over to the door where the keys to your car are hanging on a small hook. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late.”

The exaggerated grief that paints Dazai’s expression instantly disappears as he eyes your keys with a look that’s nothing short of devious. Distantly, you frown and close your fist around your keys, putting them out of his sight, but Dazai is undeterred, walking over to you.

“I can drive us,” he says, that same expression on his face as he holds his hand out. You don’t trust the look on his face, nor do you trust the way he’s all but bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s the least I can do, right?”

You’re doubtful, looking down at his extended hand as he waits for you to drop the keys in them. “I can drive,” you say, but Dazai immediately pouts at your words, looking genuinely bummed out, and you feel a little bad because you don’t even like driving, you just don’t trust Dazai to be a good driver. You hesitate. “Do you even know how to drive?”

“Of course,” Dazai says hurriedly, dark eyes lighting back up.

You exhale, reaching out to place your keys in his hand—the smile on his face is wicked, dread builds in your gut. You think you might have made a mistake.

You’re surprised that your car is still in one piece as Dazai parks crookedly across three spots in the parking lot of the city hall. You’re surprised that you are in one piece. You don’t move for a second, fingers still biting into the leather seat you’re buckled in, eyes wide and barely breathing. As Dazai turns the car off, you finally turn your head to the side to look at him before getting out of the car, grateful to be standing on solid ground.

“Never again.”

Dazai’s unbothered, as always—his smile is wide and restless, eyes exhilarated as they dart around the car, fingers clutching the keys as he finally steps outside. He looks as if he’d just won the lottery, that gleeful over having been given the chance to drive. You knew you should have gone with your gut when the man first asked if he could drive, and as miserable and anxiety-inducing it was racing through the streets, in between cars and half on the sidewalk, you think it might’ve been worth it, a bit, considering Dazai’s reaction.

“Maybe once more,” Dazai bargains, holding out his arm to you.

“Never again,” you repeat, but your voice is light as you take his arm and let him lead you up the steps to the city hall. “I cannot believe you didn’t get us pulled over.”

“Must not have been that bad then,” Dazai says, proudly.

“Ha! More like they didn’t want to risk their own lives trying to stop you.”

Dazai pouts terribly and then adds petulantly, “But it was fun.”

“It was something alright,” you agree idly. You aren’t sure if you were having fun in the moment, you were more scared for your life and your car, but you suppose looking back on it was a bit entertaining.

“You’re so mean, bella,” he sighs exaggeratedly. “You refuse my well-earned kiss, you mock me, now you insult my driving skills.”

“The only thing insulted tonight was my car,” you mutter to yourself, glancing back once more at it before Dazai steps forward to push open the wide doors to the city hall.

Instantly, you’re met with the sound of loud chatter and laughter and a young, unfamiliar voice calling, “Dazai-san!” excitedly.

Your gaze drifts up from Dazai to where a teen with silver hair and pretty eyes rushes up to the two of you. He’s so tunnel visioned on Dazai that he doesn’t even notice you until he’s standing right in front of you, and when he does, his eyes go so wide that you think they might pop right out of his skull. He looks between you and Dazai questioningly, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water.

Dazai looks like the cat that got the canary, eyes gleaming at the expression on Atsushi’s face and lips twitching up into a wicked smile.

“Atsushi-kuuuuun,” he drags out the boy's name in a long sing-song. “Meet my sweet belladonna, the one you so rudely claim didn’t exist.”

Atsushi looks flustered as he turns his attention toward you, eyes wide with panic and redness rising to his cheeks. “I didn’t-I mean-I just-” he stutters so badly that you’re forced to take mercy on the poor boy.

“Don’t worry,” you say with an easy grin. “I wouldn’t believe I existed either coming from Dazai.”

Dazai gapes. Atsushi snickers, hand coming up to cover his mouth to hide his smile. Atsushi glances once at Dazai and then looks back at you and whispers, “Is he paying you?”

Dazai looks thoroughly offended.

“Unfortunately, he doesn't need to,” you say with a snort, "but I'm sure he would if he had to."

Dazai gasps.

Atsushi snorts loudly and then looks a bit embarrassed. A woman with pretty eyes and short dark hair comes up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She throws a sharp grin at you. “You must be the infamous woman that Dazai has been talking about nonstop for two weeks,” she says, ignoring how Dazai looks like he wants to wither as you raise your eyebrows at him. “Blink twice if you need help.”

Dazai looks appalled now. “Yosano-sensei,” he complains, “That’s so-”

You pointedly blink twice. Yosano barks out a laugh and nearly chokes over it, Dazai gasps again, louder and far more dismayed. He slumps over your shoulder, burying his face into the top of your head.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he grumbles, voice muffled against your hair.

You pat his waist as another man approaches the group of you, blonde hair tied back neatly in a ponytail and glasses hanging on the edge of his nose. His eyes are sharp and narrowed as he looks at where Dazai is draping himself all over you. “Oi, you shitty waste of bandages, have some decorum, would you? We're at a government event, stop throwing yourself at people.”

Dazai perks up, that unscrupulous smile instantly returning as his gaze focuses on the blonde. “Kunikida-kuuun,” he now sings the other man’s name, arm slipping around your waist to tug you into his side as he says. “Come meet my date. She’s a grad student at Waseda University.”

You have a distinct feeling that he’s rubbing it in Kunikida’s face, and from the way the man’s expression twists in genuine surprise at Dazai’s words, you figure that said feeling is correct. Kunikida turns his attention toward you. “And you’re with him?” he asks so distastefully that you almost laugh. “How did you even meet him?”

You give Dazai a side-eye, considering whether or not you should tell the truth. You notice the pleading expression on his face and squint, but before you can make your decision, he speaks up, voice loud and exaggerated: “A fateful encounter under the moonlit shore of the Zushi Beach, we stumbled into each other as if guided by the hand of god himself. I-”

Suspicious now of the sideways explanation he’s giving about your own meeting with him, and recalling the tale he regaled you of his meeting with the very boy standing a few feet away from you, you cut off Dazai and turn to Atsushi. “Atsushi-kun, how did you and Dazai meet?”

Dazai flounders, hands flying in front of as if to wave Atsushi off from answering, but Atsushi only scowls and says, “I had to jump into the Tsurumi River to free him from where he was floating upside down in a barrel trying to drown himself. Then he had the nerve to yell at me for it.”

Pointedly, you look at Dazai, who at least has the decency to look sheepish as he glances at you. “I did take him out to dinner after though,” he offers.

“With my money,” Kunikida rages loudly and Dazai throws his head back with a loud sigh of complaint.

“None of you have my back. Not a single one of you,” Dazai accuses. “I would be a good wingman for you guys.”

Kunikida looks downright insulted. “You are the opposite of a wingman,” he spits. “In fact, you go out of your way to embarrass me in front of women, you lousy liar-”

“I will not have you make me look bad because you’re jealous any longer,” Dazai proclaims, holding his hand up as if to silence Kunikida.

“Jealous?” Kunikida booms after Dazai, but Dazai is already dragging you away, stealing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one over to you with a misleadingly innocent smile.

“It’s true, he’s jealous,” Dazai says, lacing his fingers into yours as he idly walks around the event hall with you, sipping at his champagne. “He has fifty-eight criteria for his ideal woman, you fit at least forty of them. He’s probably soooo mad you’re here with me.”

You blink and look at Dazai, wondering if you heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what?” you ask with a laugh. “Fifty-eight-”

“Criteria, yeah,” Dazai confirms, “and he wonders why he can’t get a girlfriend—blames it on me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m sure you don’t help.”

Dazai pouts but then his amusement fades a bit as his eyes scan the crowd of people, dark eyes taking upon an uncharacteristically serious visage. His lips tighten and the corner of his eyes wrinkle as he squints, as if something about the whole event is bothering him.

“You okay?” you ask and Dazai looks at you, a bit startled.

“Yeah,” he says, and you watch as he smooths his face out—as if you’d seen something you weren’t supposed to see and now he was trying to play it off and pretend you didn’t. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You’ve noticed over the past two weeks, as you’ve gotten to know Dazai Osamu a bit better, that he’s far more complex than he likes to portray himself to be. He puts on a theatrical show with bright smiles, loud words and over-exaggerated clownlike behavior, and he’s very good at making sure that the mask he puts on rarely wavers. You’ve only caught it faltering a few times, including that first time you met when you’d woken up in the middle of the night and caught his empty expression as he stared out into the storm.

He doesn’t take well to people pointing it out though, you’ve realized. You tried to once a week ago when you caught him looking a bit lost and alone at a picture you had of you and two of your friends at a bar downtown. He’d broken into your apartment, as you’ve grown unfortunately used to over the past two weeks, and he was waiting for you to get back from class, snooping around while he waited. You weren’t supposed to be back until much later but your five o’clock class had been canceled, and he was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard you enter your apartment until you were a few feet away and asking if he was okay.

He promptly fled with a half-assed excuse about an urgent mission and he didn’t come back to your apartment for two days. When he finally did, he acted like nothing happened. You think that it’s not really your right to push and you don’t want to step over any boundary of his, but a part of you is starting to long to figure out what exactly is behind the mask he wears and that scares you. You find yourself smiling a bit too much whenever Dazai is around, your face always feels a bit hotter and your brain always feels a bit fuzzy—the tell-tale signs of falling are starting to appear and you want to know the man behind the carefully constructed mask before you start to fall only to realize that there’s no one there to catch you.

“You looked a bit lost in thought,” you finally say, testing the words on your tongue and scanning his face to see if even that would be too much of a push for him.

It is.

“You see right through me, don’t you?” He laughs it off as a joke, but you can all but taste the bitterness in his tone and you can see the mirth thinly veiled behind his eyes. “I’ll be right back, the boss is calling me over.”

Dazai doesn’t wait for you to respond, he tosses you a wink and another casual smile before he sets off across the room but you aren’t fooled by the faux-charm this time, knowing that he’s fleeing because you got a bit too close to asking something that he doesn’t want to answer. Lifting your champagne glass back to your lips, you idly watch him make his way over to a handsome, silver-haired man who’s in deep discussion with a young man with messy black hair.

You sigh and wave over a server to grab another flute of champagne before you even finish the one in hand, disappointment sweeping through you as you realize that the night is likely going to be a very, very long one.

You’re finishing your fourth glass when you hear someone call your last name and pause a bit in confusion, turning around to face a tall middle-aged man with graying hair. Your eyes widen a bit as you recognize Tonan Tanzo, the Vice Minister of Justice, making his way toward you with a glass of wine in hand.

“Tonan-san,” you greet, nodding your head a bit in respect for the older man, who you spoke to briefly at the Ministry’s panel at your university a week and a half ago. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” the man replies distantly, more a nicety than anything else. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. You’re acquainted with the Armed Detective Agency?”

There’s an edge to his voice, one that you’re not sure if you like. You wonder if he has an issue with the Agency, but you don’t see why he would, they’ve been nothing but helpful in fostering peace in the city.

You only smile idly. “Vaguely,” you respond, not giving away all too much. You wonder if Dazai knows anything about whatever the man’s issue is—you’d have to ask him later.

Tonan hums, as if your answer wasn’t satisfactory, and then he says, “I was meaning to email you about the internship you were hoping for under Minister Hasegawa—all of the chaos of the past week has prevented me from doing so. I’ll be sure to do so by the end of this week so we can work to finalize something for winter break and the summer. Perhaps we can figure something out with your schedule to get you some training at the office before the semester ends.”

Your lips part a bit in shock at the suddenness of the offer but you school your expression quickly, mind racing as you force out, “I would appreciate that very much, Tonan-san. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Tonan Tanzo only hums again, nodding at you once before his eyes flicker up above you, a bit distastefully, just as you feel fingers brush your lower back. Tonan doesn’t even bother to greet Dazai as he turns to leave with a faint parting to you. You look up at Dazai, whose expression is cold as he stares after Tonan until the man disappears down a nearby hall.

“What was that about?” Dazai asks, the cold expression melting as soon as he looks down at you, dark eyes warm and curious as if he hadn’t just abandoned you for almost an hour. You almost feel a bit flustered beneath the gentle stare. Almost.

“I think he just offered me the job I was trying to get at the Ministry?” you say, still a bit dazed. “Although, I don’t think it’s necessarily because he wants me there, but it doesn’t really matter, I just need it for my resume.”

“Hm,” Dazai says to himself before his lips flicker up into a smile. “Well, congratulations are in order, I suppose. Good thing I grabbed us some more champagne.”

He lifts his other hand pointedly, showing off the two flutes he’d grabbed on the way back and you grin a bit, taking one from him, feeling a bit giddy now even though you’re pretty sure Tonan only hit you with the offer because of your affiliation with the Armed Detective Agency.

“You should probably slow down,” you note as you sip your own glass. “You’re on like seven now.”

“I’m fine, and you have no room to talk,” Dazai shoots you a playful smile. “Dance with me.”

“What?” you ask, eyes widening as Dazai takes the glass from you before you even take a second sip, placing it down on a nearby table with his as he grabs your arm and drags you to the center of the room, onto a dancefloor that nobody is using. “Dazai, no.”

“Dazai, yes,” he corrects with a wild grin and your face is aflame as eyes begin to turn in the direction of the two of you, curious as to what’s going on.

You want to die when Dazai forcibly spins you under his arm, much like that night out on the streets of Yokohama when the two of you ended up drenched and muddy except now there were dozens of eyes on you whereas then, people were more focused on trying to get to cover from the torrential downpour.

“I’m going to kill you,” you hiss, embarrassment flooding through you because for as thin as Dazai is, he’s deceptively strong and you cannot break free of the grip he has on your hand and waist.

“Please,” he breathes out longingly. “A death at your hands would-”

“Stop.”

Dazai pouts, and then as if punishment for interrupting him, Dazai launches you into a dramatic dip, leaning down with a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat’s to shame as he nudges his nose against yours before pulling you back up and spinning you beneath his arm again.

“This is embarrassing,” you say, but Dazai is paying no mind to the attention that the two of you are gaining—in fact, he looks utterly pleased with himself. “I-”

“Look! Yosano-sensei and Atsushi-kun are joining us!” Dazai cheers, turning the two of you just enough so that you can catch sight of Yosano physically dragging a protesting Atsushi out onto the near-empty dance floor.

“Yosano-sensei, please, I’ve never danced before,” Atsushi pleads, tugging his wrist away from the older woman but her grip is iron clad as she tugs the boy toward her, taking the lead in a wide ballroom dance.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai sings. “Don’t look so nervous.”

Atsushi shoots Dazai a withering look, clearly blaming him for the unfortunate turn of events, and you relax a bit as you realize that Yosano pulling Atsushi onto the dance floor triggered a wave of several others: a dark-haired girl dragging an orange-haired boy onto the floor, the president of the Agency holding a hand out to a young girl who keeps shooting longing looks in the direction of the people dancing, a few older couples.

“See, everyone was just too nervous to be the first,” Dazai preens, tugging you close as he shifts from a wide and theatrical ballroom dance to a slower and more intimate one.

Your breath catches as he wraps an arm around your waist, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your lower back as his hand flattens. His other hand slips from where it’s intertwined with your to join his right on your waist. You’re so close to him that you can smell the faint scent of champagne on his breath as you loop your arms around his neck with a small smile.

Dazai’s dark eyes are glittering as he looks down at you, warm as melted honey and soft as velvet, you’re almost entranced. His lips are curved up into a gentle smile—you think you want to kiss him, and you swallow nervously as soon as the thought crosses your mind. You also think he might be able to read your mind, because his smile becomes a bit more mischievous as he leans down.

He doesn’t kiss you, but you think he might as well from how close he is to you—you swear that his lips are all but brushing yours. You feel a bit dizzy, and although there are enough people swaying and spinning around the two of you that you don’t really have to worry about any attention being on the two of you, you still feel a bit flustered by the thought of so many possibly seeing this.

“Now, do I get my kiss?” he whispers, and your lips part to respond but no words leave them. You think that’s dangerous because you definitely should not kiss him right now but your brain will not cooperate in formulating the words. Dazai lets out a small puff of laughter, his breath is warm against your lips and you want to kiss him even more—dangerous, you think again. “Fine, fine, I’ll wait just a bit longer.”

He doesn’t back away though and your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat as he hums along quietly to the music playing, swaying back and forth with you tucked neatly in your arms. You think this is far too intimate for two people who aren’t even technically dating (you won’t admit that you’d been questioning it earlier with how often he frequents your apartment and his casual intimacy with you and felt a bit embarrassed when he made his comment about his proteges being in a relationship before him), and you think you should probably back away, but instead you find your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

There’s something indecipherable in his eyes—conflicted and confused, but with a far heavier emotion thinly veiled behind it, something caught between longing and adoration but with a hint of melancholy. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you figure that now’s not the time and he’ll probably just blow you off in the same way he did before.

So instead, you just give him a small smile and watch as his dark eyes widen a fraction at the action—you wonder if he realized that you noticed that something’s up with him and more importantly, you wonder if you weren’t supposed to notice. With bated breath, you wait to see whether or not he’s going to close off.

Around the two of you, the President lifts his arm to let the young girl spin beneath it, Atsushi is still letting out panicked protests as he and Yosano sweep across the dancefloor, an older couple laughs loudly as the man dips her and the teenage girl with dark hair is giggling as she takes the lead in the dance with the orange-haired boy.

Dazai doesn’t react for what feels like an eternity.

But then he smiles—it’s light and soft around the edges, matching your own, and though that indecipherable look is still in his eyes, maybe even more wistful now, you can’t help but notice that his shoulders feel much less tense beneath your arms.

You consider it a win.

Dazai thinks that he might be in trouble.

His gaze lingers on you as you make your way across the room in the direction of where Atsushi and Kyouka are talking. Atsushi had waved you over after everyone finally made their way off of the dance floor, Dazai’s a bit insulted because Atsushi and Kyouka both made it abundantly clear that they only wanted you to join them, which Dazai thinks is quite rude but what does he know?

And Dazai’s heart is racing, his cheeks feel warm, his lips are tingling, and he wants to blame it on the alcohol but he knows deep down that the alcohol is not the issue, you are.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The thought rings through his head as he watches you walk away, eyes tracing your figure while an emotion that borders on longing wreaks havoc on his heart. His throat feels clogged with it, his lungs feel as if they’re filled with ash. You make it to Atsushi and Kyouka and Atsushi is immediately talking, animated and excited.

He thinks you look beautiful—you’re wearing a red dress and it clings as if it was made perfectly for you even though he’s pretty sure it’s a dress you’d found on Uniqlo’s clearance racks, he remembers you raving about your luck with it last week, and as you look over your shoulder in his direction, your eyes glitter as brightly as the rhinestones sitting on your collarbone, teeth gleaming as you smile at whatever Atsushi is saying to you. Dazai doesn’t dare to ponder what his protege could possibly be telling you to make you look at him like that, he doubts it’s anything good, but he finds that he doesn’t even really care because he thinks that he’d sacrifice all of his pride and dignity if it means you’d continue to smile like that in his direction.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It was meant to be a little fun once he realized that you were just a civilian with no connection to the underground—a distraction, a way to gloat a bit to Kunikida because of course Dazai can pull a girl that fits almost every single one of the man’s ideals while Kunikida himself can hardly dream of it. He convinced himself that he was playing a long game by spending every waking second outside of work at your apartment, wooing you so that he could get a kick out of Kunikida’s inevitable explosion. He convinced himself that the fluttering in his chest whenever you laughed at him was just some strange heart palpitations that have arisen as a chronic consequence of one of his attempts, paying no mind to the fact that it only happens when he’s with you. He convinced himself that his face is warm whenever he’s around you because of the weather even when the temperature chills and the wind is bitter.

But it’s hard to convince himself now—his lips tingle from where they’d just barely been brushing yours, there are goosebumps on his skin where your fingers had once been, and the image of your smile is branded behind his eyelids, the gentleness of it and the understanding. And he thinks it’s ridiculous honestly, because he doesn’t think that there’s anyone left in the world that could possibly understand him, but since that first day he met you, you’ve seemed to be able to see through him in a way that few people have ever been able to, going out of your way to try to make him feel more comfortable in a way that no one ever has.

When did he start to…

He can’t even finish the thought because acknowledging it means that it’s real and if it’s real, then Dazai is in trouble because Dazai is not a man who is capable of love anymore—or maybe he still is capable of love, or something close to it at least, what he feels for the members of the Agency proves that at least, but he’s not a man who’s capable of being loved.

Not for who he is.

Even if you do fall for the facade he puts up—the smiling jester who laughs and jokes and never lets anyone close enough to realize that the only thing within him is a black hole that consumes anything and everything he touches—you’ll realize one day that the man you fell for is a fraud and you’d leave. Dazai has been left behind once, in a way that was so excruciating that it’d almost entirely killed off Dazai’s withered heart, and he’s decided that he’ll never be the one left behind again. He’ll run before people can leave him, and he’ll keep everyone else at arm’s length. He’s probably wrong anyway; he doesn’t care for you, not like that, the line between obsession and love has always been dangerously blurry for him. He-

“Atsushi’s taken to her pretty fast, don’t you think?”

Dazai starts at the sudden sound of Yosano coming to stand next to him, a half-empty glass of wine in hand. There’s a lazy smile on her face as she watches where you, Atsushi and Kyouka are all chatting—well, you and Atsushi, mostly, but Kyouka seems enraptured in whatever conversation the two of you are having.

“Yeah,” Dazai agrees, and his voice is a bit more rough than he meant for it to be. He pointedly takes another long swig of his drink. “That’s a first.”

“Isn’t it?” Yosano laughs loudly, drawing some attention to the pair. “A good sign, he’s got pretty good instincts.”

Yosano nudges his shoulder playfully but Dazai can hardly gather the energy to mask the sudden and unwelcome sorrow weighing on him. He manages, if only scarcely, but it’s unconvincing if the way Yosano’s brows furrowed has anything to say about it.

He speaks before she can question it in an attempt to distract her from her concerns. “She’s quite the catch, I know. My sweet bella, if only she would join me in a double suicide, I don’t think I could even dream up a better way to go.”

Yosano only waves off his comment, and Dazai knows that she’s right—maybe it’s his tiger senses or maybe it’s just his intuition, but Atsushi usually has a good eye for good people. His lack of reservation around you, when he was even reserved around the Agency at first, is certainly a nice sign, even if it is partly because he’s had a few glasses of champagne. But Dazai also just can’t find it in him to be pleased over it because yeah, it confirms that you’re a good person but Dazai, no matter how hard he tries to be, is not one and he’s not sure if anything will ever change that.

The thickness in his throat returns, his eyes flutter shut momentarily as he tries to regain some semblance of control over himself.

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze instinctively is drawn back toward you and-

Oh, Dazai thinks, his breath catching and lips instinctively turning up as he watches you start to giggle and lean into Kyouka, who must have finally joined the conversation, while looking over at him. There’s a hazy look in your eyes, courtesy of the constant stream of champagne Dazai has been supplying you with all night, but you can’t seem to draw your eyes off of Dazai and Dazai can’t seem to draw his from you.

Yosano nudges his shoulder again to try to get his attention but Dazai can’t look away from you so he hums as if to tell her that she has his attention—if only partly.

“Enjoy it, Dazai,” Yosano says quietly and Dazai finally glances over to her, catching the oddly coherent look in what should’ve been drunken, glazed over eyes. “Don’t sabotage this for yourself. Enjoy it.”

Dazai thinks maybe he was wrong about you being one of few to be able to see right through him. Maybe he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is—or maybe it’s just his shared connection to Yosano through Mori that has her able to read him so easily. He avoids Yosano’s gaze as he looks back out into the crowds. Naturally, he finds himself seeking you out again, and you’re already looking at him. There’s a soft expression on your face as you admire him, not having realized he’d caught you staring yet, and you look as if you’re barely listening to what Atsushi is saying, and Dazai’s heart seizes because no one has ever looked at him that way before.

Well, he decides, maybe Yosano is right. He might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Once you realize that the front he shows you is just a mask to hide the rotting carcass that lies beneath, you’ll turn tail and run, and then everything can go back to normal again. He just can’t let himself get more attached than he already is—that way it won’t hurt when you leave.

Dazai catches his lips turning up as he watches you start giggling at something Atsushi and Kyouka say, Dazai’s heart does that damning flutter again, and immediately, he averts his gaze.

Still, he thinks, he’s far too sober for this.

Later in the night, when people have begun to say their goodbyes and you start to make your way to the restrooms to freshen up before heading out, Dazai corners you against the wall of the hall leading out of the event venue. You don’t even hear him following you or notice his presence until you feel his fingers snatch your wrist as he yanks you back toward him.

Your eyes widen but you’re able to bite back the yelp that nearly escapes your lips when you recognize his dark eyes looking down at you, mischievous and glittering beneath the soft lights.

“Do I get my kiss now?” Dazai breathes out. The wall behind you is cool against your back, and you can hear the chatter from the event down the hall as the event begins to come to an end. You part your lips to respond to him, with what? You aren’t entirely sure, but it doesn’t seem to matter because no words leave your lips regardless. “The party’s over, no need to worry about messing up that pretty makeup now, bella.”

“Only one,” you finally say, voice a bit more throaty than you would have liked but it’s hard to concentrate with Dazai’s fingers grazing your hips and his body brushing yours. You wonder if the man has ever learned about the concept of personal space—you severely doubt it. “Make it good, and maybe you can have a second.”

The smile on Dazai’s lips is nothing short of sinful as he brings one hand up to cup the side of your neck, thumb running along your jawline and fingers entangling with your hair. He doesn’t waste a second as he dips his head down to press his lips against yours, they’re warm and soft, and taste distinctly like the champagne that had been served earlier in the night. You let out a quiet noise of surprise against his lips, eyes fluttering shut.

The kiss is tamer than you expected it to be—he makes no move to deepen it, lips moving slowly and gently against yours as if he’s hesitant to take it any further, but Dazai Osamu has never been hesitant about anything in all of the times you've encountered him. Your hands rest on his forearms as he keeps you pressed up against the wall, unconcerned with the fact that all of his coworkers and many government officials are naught but half a hallway away.

You think to yourself, a bit embarrassed, that you might be able to spend an eternity kissing Dazai Osamu and never grow tired of it, and you wonder why it's taken you so long just to give in to his request from nearly a month ago.

You aren’t sure if ten seconds, ten minutes or ten hours have passed by the time he finally separates his lips from yours. He doesn’t move far away at all—his nose still nudging yours, his soft lips still brushing your own, he leaves no space at all between the two of you as he asks: “Good enough for a second?”

Your lips curve up into a smile, eyes meeting his dark ones as you look up at him through your lashes. Though, you have half a mind to agree, your previous thoughts still ringing through your head, you can't help the teasing words that spilled from your lips: “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll sleep on it and let you know my answer the next time we see each other.”

The laugh that Dazai lets out is breathless.

“Deal.”

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

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violet-eng · 6 months

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Neuvillette and his arranged marriage with fem!reader - NSFW

Summary: so... Furina is such a gossipy and she's kinda boring so she wants Neuvillette to marry to some random girl that can be a challenge for him... would he like this traveler?

TW: smut. Has a plot. Kinda angst? p i v. Breeding kink, praising. Unprotected sex with this daddy judge. I think that's all... MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE JUST KEEP SCROLLING.

🎨: @zlidbhypy/@zljdbhypy

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The judge had lived long enough to be carried away by appearances, his image in society was expected of a man with his profession, with his knowledge and his stature. However, in the eyes of Lady Furina, as much a lover of spectacle and scandal as possible, the great judge needed a slightly more modern image to present to the citizens of Fontaine-and perhaps to bring a little gossip as well.

The idea had consumed her so much that at the moment she met you she could think of nothing else but arranging an engagement with Monsieur Neuvillette. You were the living image of what she was looking for: a young woman of society, a foreigner with a wide knowledge of the vast continent and above all, ambitious.

There was a flash that Lady Furina highlighted in you, a furious soul difficult to tame, a challenge for the great judge. How fun it would be to see that: the distinguished gentleman try to control the disdain of his future wife, lover of saucers with spicy mixes, so friendly to those with vision Pyro... almost as contrary to him.

You met Neuvillette a day before the wedding, when Lady Furina had given him the wonderful news that he would marry you. He could not refuse, not the Archon, and she was aware of that-that made the matter more fun.

Neuvillette looked serene during the announcement, did not give the Archon the joy of a grimace of disgust... of course not, he was not like that...

On the wedding day rain fell so much as to drown the neighboring nations, tormenting those present of the ceremony. Monsieur Neuvillette was outside the compound, admiring the horizon, yearning for the freedom he possessed years before. To this had its existence been reduced? To be a puppet for the entertainment of the Archon? To tie himself for life to a woman he didn’t even know? If only he could return to his old form... spread his wings and get out of that place...

"The rain is wonderful," you exclaimed beside him, tearing from his chest an impression he managed to hide. "I hope the tears of the Hydro dragon are of happiness for the wedding and not of misery".

"They’re just legends, stories for children," he said, though an inch of him, deep down, was delighted by the idea that unlike the rest of Fontaine’s inhabitants, you didn’t dislike the rain... the one he was provoking...

"All legends have some truth in them," you whispered, giving him a sincere smile.

The ceremony had been short because of the rain, yet your happiness was overflowing. Your dress was drenched, your hair was alike... Everything was ruined, Lady Furina kept saying it, and yet you seemed to be living the best day of your life. Neuvillette could not look away from you at any moment, you had bewitched him, a single phrase had sufficed to achieve that...

The room was spacious, exquisitely decorated, illuminated to depth, the details and finishes seemed measured with hard effort... very much like the great judge. You had been unwise to ask if you had separate rooms, that had upset him for a moment... You certainly didn’t seem to have the same scruples as him.

You opened the window of the room, resting your elbows on the frame and sucking the dew that the rain brought with it. Neuvillette stood still in his place, looking at your figure, analyzing every detail of your silhouette, trying to perceive your essence, your energy... There was definitely something special about you.

"Can I come out?" you asked, were you asking permission?

"You must not ask for my consent to be free in the place" actually, he did not think it proper from you to ask permission for something… he perceived you from the first instant as a free being in tune with nature.

"It’s my way of asking you to go out with me to enjoy the rain," you said, approaching him and extending your hand.

The thick drops of water hit the roofs, the fountain of the courtyard was about to overflow with water, the surface covered of the leaves that the wind had brought with it. You got rid of your coat and your shoes, went into the fountain and sat in the middle, above the water level, your legs dipping, you picked up the dress on your knees. The fabric was thin, almost transparent now that you were soaked and uncovered. Neuvillette scanned the surroundings, hoping no one would look at you, you were his wife... was he jealous? No, it was a simple sense of duty now that he was a married man...

"Come closer" you said from your position, pointing your finger at the place in front of you. Neuvillette, almost hypnotized by your loud attitude, dragged his feet towards your spot, sitting across from you, likewise, his legs underwater. The familiarity of the rain on the current that had formed under his feet was pleasant, almost satisfactory, so much so that it incited him to move his hands on the surface of the water, forming figures that allowed his hydro vision. You smiled at the small spectacle he displayed for you, admiring the sublime movement of his hands, the way his fingers flexed on the leaves and the drops of water ran down his hands.

You leaned toward him, taking him by surprise, joining your lips with his. He did not turn away, but, on the contrary, he dropped his hand against your neck, drawing you closer to him, tasting the nectar of your lips and your tongue.

"I want something to be clear" you dictated separating yourself from him, "we’ll have children... not because the charlatan Archon wants it for her entertainment, no... we will have children because we both want it, it was clear?".

For all the Archons... those words coming out of your mouth, pure poison, so hostile to the Archon, calling her in a way that he could never, with your face framed by your soaked locks and your lips swollen by the kiss... There was nothing he could want but a woman like you.

The matter of your affinity for the falling flood, added to your folly of calling the archon such a derogatory name... you were an interesting, exceptional creature whose behavior went beyond his control and knowledge. You were a challenge... his challenge... and his enthusiasm grew in his chest as well as in his pants.

You had both returned to the room in sultry form, between kisses and gasps, getting rid of your clothes on the way. He cornered you on the wall of the entrance, his hand in fist resting above your head, his forehead against yours, the other hand holding your chin, joining his eyes. Neuvillette’s chest rose strongly, seeking air, bewildered by the growing ecstasy, the desire among you that was born.

Taking you by the waist, he turned you against the wall, your face crashing against the cold marble and your palms resting at your sides. You felt his breathing on your neck, his chest against your back, his hands sliding over your curves, right to your hips, over your panties. You let out a soft moan as you felt the fabric slip under your legs and fall to your ankles.

"Monsieur..." you whispered trembling as the cold pouring through the room brushed your thighs and bare ass.

"You don’t look as bold as you did a few minutes ago," he whispered... low, almost growling, you swore he was smiling, you sensed it in his voice.

"It’s... just... ah~" you cut the phrase in half when you felt him slip into you, separating your folds, forcing you to suck it. Your hands in fist, your hips rising, trying to avoid its passage inside you, your shoulders gathering at the sensation that flooded your center, your sex.

"Monsieur~" you moaned, your forehead wet against the marble, your hands scratching the wall looking for something to soothe the burning between your legs, the feeling of its length between your damp walls.

You didn’t think the judge would be so vocal. When he slipped into you, he grunted, so pleasantly your legs seemed to melt. You felt the breath of his groan in your ear, your name coming from his lips.

"So soft" he whispered, resting his hands on yours, his forehead on your shoulder, "so tight..." continued advancing, rising to the bottom, "so mine"...

Neuvillette fucked you against that wall as if he was in heat-and perhaps he was-as if you were going to escape at any time from his grip, though you couldn’t.

The moans and gasps were embarrassing, thanks to the rain they did not cross the walls, the sound of wet skin crashing during each penetration was burning, lustful. The words that came out of the judge’s mouth every time you girded your limb were a sea of incongruities, just as the phrases that your mouth dropped when he caressed your clitoris, that little lump had become his favorite toy.

The onslaught was strong, your breasts pounding against the wall every time he burst into you, rubbing against your delicate interior, which seemed made for him.

"You take me so well," he groaned, as he continued his beat against you, your breasts rising and falling down the wall. You were trapped between the wall and the monster of pleasure the judge had become.

"I will fill you with my seed, I swear..." he gasped again, his voice raspy, with flashes of hunger and lust.

"Neuvillette~" you let out a high-pitched moan, had touched your point, that felt so fucking good, the way he arched to hit that gummy dot on your cervix. He kept going, and kept going, you didn’t want him to stop. Fuck, he was so good at it, who’d say a gentleman of his countenance could be taking you like an animal in heat.

He kept hitting that delicious spot inside you, stroking your sensitive organ, one, two... three times, you suddenly felt a knot forming in your belly.

"Oh my~... don’t stop Neuvillette~..." you begged, eyes closed, lips separated by groans. The sound of his gasps flooding your eardrum... you both were close…

His onslaught lost rhythm, the intensity was almost unbearable, he came out one last time to get into you, fucking you so hard that you felt your orgasm burst and you let out a scream. He would not take long to reach his climax similarly, unloading all his seed inside you

The bed was warm, you needed it after what happened... Neuvillette lay beside you, caressing your cheek, watching the way you fell asleep.

He looked out the window, the rain had stopped. He was completely happy... so long ago that he did not feel the fullness he had at the time...

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, curling your head in his chest, feeling the warmth of your gentle breathing. He closed his eyes, falling asleep beside you, yearning to tell you one day about his identity... someday…

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