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Ayyyyy

visions of gideon - (n. riki) 𖤓

— to love, is to trust.

p. criminal!nishimura riki x criminal!reader w. 2.8k

genres & warnings. angst, partners in crime, established relationship, guns, blood, death & killing, very slight character study, riki is complicated but reader gets it, tears and more tears, cussing, did i mention angst, this has been stuck in my pea brain for so long pls bear with me

“I won’t let anything happen.”

Rain pelts against the windows of the dark cabin. It cracks against glass like shards of ice, sharp and stabbing; a staccato of impending doom.

“Stop—acting like everything’s fine,” you snap, agitated. You’re cradling a pistol in your arms, huddled on the wooden floor with your knees up like they might shield you from your current predicament. It’s dark, dark enough that you can barely make out the ashen metal against your skin.

Riki turns around, silvery moonlight glistening across his black hair. It shimmers like a frozen lake; crystalline. He fixes you with an authoritative glare, one you can only outline by the grace of the moon.

“I need you to trust me, Y/N.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a deep breath coursing through your lungs in an attempt to quell the anger that simmers just below your collarbones.

“I do. That’s all I’ve been doing. Trusting you.” You toss your arms out, suddenly gesturing wildly around the dark cabin. “But this is different, Riki. This time, they have us. They fucking have us.”

Something like guilt flashes in his eyes for a passing moment, and then it’s gone. His jaw hardens.

“By the skin of their teeth,” he retorts, crossing the room to squat in front of you. His boots crack against the wood. “Listen. They have us surrounded, but we’re smarter than them. We have a straight shot from the cabin door to the trees. The lake isn’t much farther. We’ll swim it.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes. The anger in your chest has given way to something heavier, sharper. Pure, unadulterated fear.

“It’s too dangerous. They’ll shoot us.”

Riki frowns, a marvelous thing. His arms come down to your shoulders, giving you a little shake.

“You can’t cry now,” he scolds. “I told you, I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

You draw your lips into a line, hot tears slipping past the chapped skin. It’s infuriating. In all your years of skirting around danger with Riki; pulling off heists, sprinting down guarded alleys, gunfights with gangs looking to score the bounty on your heads…nothing has ever shaken you like this. You’ve never been compromised in this way, and it’s terrifying.

“But—what about you?”

A flash of white. Riki’s teeth; he’s smiling. He reaches behind his back, pulling out a dark, heavy pistol.

“Nothing we haven’t handled before.”

You stare at it, eyes wet, before nodding slowly. He’s right. You’re not thinking straight. Youve done this before.

You reach a shaky hand down to your lap, wrapping your fingers around your own pistol. It’s cold and solid against your palm. Riki watches you with something careful in his eyes. It’s almost like he’s relieved that you’ve finally snapped into your usual resolve.

He stands up, beckoning you with his gun. The floor creaks as you both make your way to the door, guided by the light that flushes through the window. He signals you to stop.

“Remember, as soon as we step outside this door, they’ll close in. We need to move fast.”

You nod. Your neck feels stiff; cold. The rain outside has slowed. It sounds like a gentle drizzle now, taps against the window that are hardly noticeable. Your fingers flex in anticipation.

You catch Riki’s eye as he leans into the door. He’s all sharp angles and deep shadows, but there’s a curiosity that seeps through him like sticky pine sap. He’s an enigma, really. Quietly self-assured but with a wide-eyed innocence all the same. It’s exactly why you fell in love with him. Why all those years ago; you followed him. Why you’ll follow him today.

“I love you,” you tell him, because you can. His brows soften.

“You can say that when we make it to the lake.”

You don’t say anything else. He’s said I love you back.

It’s what’s most important to him. To love, is to trust. There is no greater gift.

The door swings open.

The moonlight is odd now. Sickly. There’s an incessant buzz that you imagine the drizzle might sound like; a thousand roaring droplets. Run, they chant. Run for your life.

Soil crunches beneath your feet. Are you running? You’re running. Riki is running.

There’s a splintering to your left. No, to your right. Or was that behind you?

Everything blurs around you. Shadowy forms lurk on your periphery, slinking around like in your particularly awful nightmares. A chill runs through your veins. And suddenly, there’s yelling. Loud, horrid sounds; a chorus of angry commands, and then—gunfire? A bullet whizzes past your ear. You duck, hissing.

“A thousand times, Y/N,” Riki yells over his shoulder. His gun fires loudly as he lifts his arm up and pulls the trigger. You think you see a body crumple to the ground.

There he is. So sure. So trusting.

You lift your own gun, firing it at an agent that’s been popping up in your line of sight often enough to piss you off. He grunts, shoulder flying back as he stumbles, wounded.

There’s a commotion to your left, a cluster of agents that have broken off together and are firing in your direction. Their bullets crack like dynamite in the night air, loud and bright.

A searing pain shoots through your leg as one of the bullets grazes your skin. You stumble, but Riki is there, grabbing your arm and pulling you forward.

“Keep moving!” He shouts, his voice laced with urgency.

You grit your teeth. There’s a feeling blooming in your chest, a sort of technicolor that winds and oozes around your bones. It tells you to push through the pain.

There’s a spattering of trees not too far ahead. They offer some semblance of cover, but the agents are relentless. One lunges from the side, giving you a hair's-breadth of a second to react. You twist, slamming the butt of your gun into his face. He drops with a groan, but the others are quick to follow.

Your grip tightens. Together, you and Riki press forward, firing off bullets in quick succession. Each shot is calculated, deliberate. Another agent falls, then another.

There’s a dark blur, and then suddenly Riki is being tackled to the floor. He hits the ground hard, gun flying out of his hand. An agent has him pinned.

“Riki,” you gasp.

You try to fire at the agent, but the shot goes wide. He grins, pressing his advantage, but Riki manages to get an arm free, grabbing a rock and smashing it to his temple. The agent slumps immediately, unconscious, and Riki shoves him off with a groan.

You grab him by the arm after he grabs his gun, pulling him along while bullets zip past. He curses loudly, turning to you with bright, clear eyes.

“We need to split up,” he says, breathless. “They won’t follow us both.”

“No fucking way,” you argue, but he’s already breaking away, squeezing your hand before he’s yelling loudly at a group of agents. They charge at him, guns aimed.

You take a short, squeezing breath. With Riki distracting them, you have a chance to make it to the grove of trees just before the lake. You press on, a dull ache spreading through your leg with every sharp jolt of boot to soil. Wind whips across your face. The rain is gone now, but the darkness still makes it difficult to see where you’re going.

You lose count of how long you’ve been running when your surroundings change from practically barren, vast land to the dense forest that Riki had mentioned earlier. There’s a whirring sound in your ears, damp air escaping your mouth when you collapse against a large tree trunk. It’s even darker here, pale moonlight barely reaching through the dense foliage overhead. A cold sweat drips down your back; you can feel your heartbeat in your leg.

Looking down, you finally catch sight of what damage the bullet inflicted. There’s a fleshy pink hole visible through the fabric of your pants from where the bullet grazed you, dark red blood pooling over it. You dart your eyes up to the sky, stomach turning. The pain is dull, probably from the adrenaline. It’s going to be a real bitch later.

Now, sitting here, the forest is quiet—alarmingly so. You belatedly realize that maybe you should be pushing on towards the lake, but you can’t bring yourself to strain upwards onto your feet. Your head falls back against the tree trunk, willing yourself to take steady breaths as your head swims with exhaustion.

A rustle in the underbrush snaps you to attention. Your heart flips, fear flooding your senses. You reach silently for your gun, aiming it shakily at the source of the noise. There’s a shifting in the shadows, and then a figure emerges—it’s Riki. Your arm falls, relief washing over you in waves.

“Riki,” you whisper. “You’re okay.”

His eyes widen when he sees you, and he rushes over, boots crunching as he crouches beside you. He lays his gun on the ground, hands ghosting over your extended leg.

“I lost them,” he mutters distractedly. “Damn it, Y/N.”

His eyes are dark and narrowed, glazed over with concern. You let a little shiver wrack over your body before hardening your jaw.

“It’s just a graze,” you say, trying to sound more convinced than you are. “I can still walk.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment before his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“We still need to swim the lake. Can you do it?”

You pause, and then you try to smile at him. It comes off more like a grimace.

“That should clean it out,” you joke.

Riki frowns, eyes dropping to your leg again.

“Funny,” he deadpans.

His next movements are swift. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pocket knife. He grabs the bottom hem of his shirt, slicing a long piece of fabric. The knife falls, and he moves toward your leg. Gingerly, he lifts it up, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. When he’s met with nothing, he wraps the fabric around your leg, above your wound. Tying it, he pulls it tight enough to act as a tourniquet.

“This won’t help for long, but it’s something,” he murmurs, voice low. “We’ll get you to the medical contact I have as soon as we’re out of here, okay?”

You nod, slightly sluggish. Riki moves closer to you, reaching his arm around your back and using his shoulder to hoist you up so that you’re finally standing again. You breathe evenly, focusing on the feeling of your boots on the ground.

“We need to keep moving,” he tells you, his voice apologetic. You sigh.

“I know. Let’s get on with it.”

Immediately, Riki tries to wrap an arm around your shoulders to have you lean on him, but you shake your head.

“Just—let me do this,” you tell him, putting a little distance between the two of you. “I don’t fall down that easy.”

He raises a speculative brow, but seems to think better of trying to argue with you. Instead, he turns around silently, keeping his gun close at his side.

The two of you walk in silence for a while, the only audible sounds being the various chirps and buzzing of whatever insects live in the forest. It’s colder now, too, the type of cold that comes after a bountiful rain. It’s sharp and biting. You pull the jacket you’ve been wearing a little tighter to your chest.

There’s something bothering you. It’s like an itch, maybe. A senseless, baseless thing. It crawls up the length of your spine and sends a rigid, uneasy feeling to lodge itself at the bottom of your throat. You wonder—is it your leg? The blood loss must be causing ghost sensations to travel all around your body. You feel them, but they’re not there. That must be it.

But then there’s the chill. The knowing.

How long have you and Riki been walking?

How long have you and Riki been walking towards the lake?

How long have you and Riki been walking towards the lake, without looking back?

A gun clicks. Your blood runs cold.

When you turn around, nothing feels real. There’s a man; an agent. He’s alone. He steps out from behind a large tree, his gun trained directly on you. The forest seems to hold its breath. The agent’s eyes are shadowy, a cruel smirk playing upon his lips. He cocks his head at you, mocking.

“Riki,” you choke out. You can barely hear your own voice through the sound of blood roaring in your ears.

Riki’s boots scuff from behind you as he comes to what you assume to be a languid stop. You can hear a trickle of fondness in his voice when he speaks.

“Are you finally coming to your senses and letting me—”

A terrible, screeching halt. You blink, but your eyes feel numb. Trust, trust, trust. To love is to trust. You trusted him, he trusted you. You’ve tiptoed to the eleventh hour, and now the axe must fall.

“Don’t do this,” you rasp.

A deafening blast sends a flurry of birds up through the canopy.

There’s a lily.

It’s dripping rainwater. You try to reach out and touch it, but you have three-thousand arms and two-thirds of your fingers. A pale halo of light caresses its milky petals, illuminating a spattering of iridescent droplets.

No.

Are you allowed to touch it? Or must good things stay unaltered?

No, please.

It’s okay, you think, to just be content with watching it from where you are. There’s no sense in disturbing what has been or what could have been.

Three perfect droplets roll right off the beautiful lily, plopping earnestly on your cheek. How did they get there? They’re salty, your skin says.

A dark shadow engulfs your vision.

When your eyes flutter open, Riki is crouched over you.

His hands fly uselessly over your abdomen, fingers stained scarlet. You can feel his frame against your body, shaking. And when you take a wheezing breath, his eyes fly up to yours. There are wet marks on his cheeks, like tears had had their way with him.

“Jesus fuck,” he moves fast, cupping his trembling hands against either side of your face. They leave bloody prints on your skin. “Just—stay with me,” he pleads, his voice cracking.

You swallow in your throat, your eyes moving sluggishly to the area in front of you. The agent who shot you is crumpled in an awkward pile on the ground, a gory hole drilled into the center of his forehead. You have to fight the urge to smile. It hurts too much to move more than your eyes, anyway.

Riki brushes hair off your face, causing your gaze to snap back over. His eyes look so different to what you remember. Where there was once a somber serenity, there is now an ocean of uncertainty; glistening with more unshed tears. You make a sound in the back of your throat.

Riki’s hands tremble harder against your skin. They slip and slide as he tries to caress your cheek. It’s almost pathetic.

“I know it—I know it hurts, Y/N. Just…” he pauses, cursing under his breath. “You can’t leave, okay? You’re not ready. I’m not ready.”

You can see it now—the boy inside him. He’s only eighteen, burdened by a life he chose with you years ago; a choice, which was made under bitter loneliness, and disguised by ardor.

Trust is his vice, because it’s all he’s never known.

Slowly, and with all the strength you can muster, you bring a cold, shaky hand up towards your face, cupping the back of his own and leaning your head towards it as much as you can. He lets a quiet sob wrack through his body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers fiercely. “I’m so sorry. You trusted me.”

I don’t blame you, is what you wish you could say. Instead, your eyelids droop with a heaviness so extreme that they fall shut. Riki jolts immediately, his futile hands scrabbling for purchase against your face, trying desperately to keep you awake.

“Stop trying to die on me,” his voice is barely a whisper. Your eyes flicker open.

But then his face falls more, if that’s even possible. Guilt will eat him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I love you. All you did was love me back.”

You try to shake your head, but nothing moves. Riki’s eyes fall shut for a brief moment.

“You can rest.” The words ring muffled in your ears. “It’s going to be okay.”

You think you can feel a kiss pressed against your cheek, but, oh, the lily is back, and you think you’d like to go off after it. It holds you close to its chest.

And, even in death, there is nobody you trust more.

copyright ©cinnahoons

tags! @vousty @hittoki @neos127 @junityy

And Now I Do

Pairing: Draco x fem!Hufflepuff!reader

TW: none really, pure fluff

Synopsis: You and Draco have been dating for a few weeks now. When you get a PT job in Hogsmeade, he disapproves of how much time it takes away from being together.

Word count: 2k (almost)

Hello everyone 🤍 This is my first fic ever! I've been reading all your lovely stories, fingers crossed I am half as talented as you all. Sorry if it's long? I'm a thorough gal. Enjoy :)

“Ugh, do you have to?” Draco groans into your neck as he sucks on your skin lightly, giving a gentle tug. You giggle, playfully pushing him away with a hand on his chest.

“Yes, Draco, I have to go to work.” you respond, as he gives you the biggest puppy-love eyes. You shift away from him because you know the longer you look at him, the deeper you’ll be under his spell. You two had just started dating a couple weeks ago and, to your friends’ dismay, very much want to spend every waking moment together. But you had also recently gotten a job in Hogsmeade at a coffee shop to make some money for yourself, since your parents’ vault at Gringotts was not the most… plentiful.

“Why did you get a job anyways? I could think of a thousand other, better, things we could be doing…” his voice trails off as he climbs across the bed and grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles, using his other hand to tug you by your shirt closer to him.You hum and shake your head, pulling away and stepping into your shoes next to the door.

“Because if we want to spend the holidays together, I have to be able to afford it.” He gives you a sympathetic look and sighs, dramatically falling backwards onto your bed. A pang of longing hits your chest and has you turning around. “And…” you saunter back to the edge of the bed, climbing up to straddle him. You feel his hands touch your thighs, crawling their way up your skirt. Leaning down, you take his face in your hands, your noses grazing. “All the gifts I want to get you.”

He smirks and sits up, engulfing your lips with his. The kiss becomes deeper with each stolen breath, you feel his hands grab your ass as your arms wrap around his neck. He smiles devilishly and whispers into your mouth, “I still think it’s rubbish.”

—

It’s been a few weeks now, the holidays drawing nearer. Late November at Hogwarts was always your favorite, and now it’s even better with Draco constantly cuddling you and taking any opportunity to wrap you in his Slytherin robes.

You’re in the library working on yet another essay for Charms class when you feel a familiar presence looming over you. You glance up to find Draco with both his hands leaning on the table in front of you, his smile fading quickly when he notices the bags under your eyes.

“Love, you need a break. Please take a break.” He begs as he slides your parchment towards him, forcing you to stop. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Your vision feels delayed, eyes moving around the room, with no sense of time. It could be midnight or five in the morning. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, working endlessly to catch up on school after your shift. You work nearly every day now until 8pm, usually starting assignments and working on them late into the night. It hasn’t become uncommon for you to fall asleep in the library or in an empty classroom.

“I’m fine, really, I just…” your voice fades to a whisper as your eyes start to close. Draco taps a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to his.

“Sweetheart, someone who forgets to take off their work uniform before diving into hours of homework isn’t fine.” You look down and notice you’re still wearing your apron from the coffee shop, covered in tea and food stains. Sighing, you lift your hands to your face, despite being too tired to be embarrassed.

“That’s it. I can’t stand to see you like this anymore. You’re not going to work tomorrow.” You hear him speak but it sounds so far away through the brain fog in your head.

“Can’t call out…” is all you could get out before your vocal cords give up.

You feel Draco walk behind you and start to untie your apron, resting it on his shoulder as he helps you out of your seat. “Arms, love.” He says as you wrap them around his neck, submitting to his instruction. He picks you up with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. The last thing you remember is snuggling your face against his shoulder and breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne before you drifted off.

—

You wake up the next morning, but not in your room. You recognize the dark green wallpaper instantly as you raise your head off the pillow. You grab Draco’s watch off his nightstand and nearly fall out of bed when you see the time.

“Oh my god, shit, shit, shit,” you curse under your breath, looking around the room frantically to find you’re alone. You grab your apron off the back of his armchair and bolt for the door, trying not to think about how late you are for your Saturday opening shift. You make it to the common room and slam into someone while rounding the corner, yelling in the midst of your rush.

“FUCK, Theo!” you shout as his eyes widen and a boyish laugh comes out of his mouth as he steadies you with his arms on your shoulders.

“Didn’t know the angelic Hufflepuff could curse,” he says while looking down at you. Your face turning red, you blow past him to the common room door. He starts calling after you again but you have no time to listen.

“No need to run, cara mia…”

—

Entirely out of breath, you sprint your way off school grounds and all the way to Hogsmeade, trying to ignore the mess of hair sitting on top of your head and the racing heart beating in your chest. Right as you approach the door to the shop, you stop suddenly in your path when it opens in front of you, revealing a Draco that looks a little too pleased with himself.

“What… what are you…” you attempt to speak, choking on the dry air as it tries to fill your aching lungs. “Why didn’t you… wake me up?...” you manage to ask with a hand on your chest and the other on your knee.

Draco takes you in his arms, waiting a minute before giving you an explanation. “First, you need to come back down to Earth. Then I’ll explain. Gods, you look-”

“Careful.” You manage to interrupt him before he finishes the thought, throwing an angered glare up at him.

“Rested. Beautiful, and rested.” he says to you gently, enough to make you melt as he tucks a hair behind your ear while you catch your breath. He cups a hand on your cheek and you notice the smirk that hasn’t left his face since he walked out of the shop.

“Something’s up. What did you do?” you ask urgently, looking quickly between him and the shop.

“Why does everyone always assume I’m up to no good?” he jokes, earning him another angry glare from you.

“Maybe you are!” your eyes go a little wide as the volume of your voice surprises you. He takes a step closer to you, eyes narrowing, taking your face in his hands to make you look at him.

“Maybe I can’t stand to see you crumbling before me every night, maybe I’m tired of saying hello to my girlfriend in passing. Maybe I’m selfish and want you all to myself,” his words slow to a halt before giving you a knowing look. “And now I do.”

He lets go of your face, letting you step back with a face full of confusion. Eyebrows furrowed, you grow silent as you notice the shop owner behind the counter through the windows doing the side work you normally do each morning. Draco interrupts your puzzled thoughts by holding up a piece of paper to your face.

“I gave your two weeks.”

“You… what?” Your brain nearly shuts down. This isn’t real.

“Here.” He hands you an envelope, which you hesitate to take. Opening it slowly, your gut tells you that you already know what this is.

“I took your earnings to Gringotts this morning. The cash in your book bag. You can’t be carrying that kind of money around. We opened an account for you.”

“...we?”

“My father might have helped. Not many people can manipulate the bank, love.” You know he’s making playful banter but you’re still working hard to put the pieces together. You stare down at the check, watching a tear fall down to it, marking the paper. You didn’t have to ask about the extra couple of zeros that magically appeared next to what you actually earned.

“Don’t argue with me. You’ll lose. Let me, let us, take care of you. We can and we want to.” he says gently.

You look up from the check and receipts to the boy standing before you. A stern look on his face tells you enough. He’s right. You’re overworked, underpaid, and on the brink of failing classes. And maybe worst of all, you rarely get to spend time together. This isn’t benefiting anyone anymore. You just feel guilty that it took another person to fix it before you.

“Darling, as much as I’m a fan of the dramatics, I am starting to worry your silence is an indication of my quick and impending death.” he jokes, rubbing his chin with his hands.

“Okay.” you whisper.

He grabs a curl laying on your shoulder and twists it around his fingers. “Yeah?”

You smile up at him, quickly stepping onto your tippy toes to kiss him. His arms wrap around your waist, his fingers digging into your sides. Your kiss claims him, the only way you know how to thank him right now. This is your man, your man who provides. When you pull away, he rests his forehead on yours, relieved at your surrender.

“Yeah.” You let out a small laugh as the blush takes over your cheeks. A feeling of pride grows in you as you realize how much you’ve earned this. He took a huge risk in doing this at all, knowing how upset it could have made you.

“Good, because you really had me thinking I was a dead man there for a minute.”

“Mmm, maybe not dead but… a stupefy might have crossed my mind.” He laughs and pulls you in for a tight, warm hug.

You take his hand and lead him away from the shop, down the street towards The Three Broomsticks. He asks where you’re leading him to and, with a bright smile, turn back to him, walking backwards momentarily to face him. Your hand still clutched with his, he swings it back and forth.

“We are, finally, going on a date. And it’s on me. Yeah?” Biting your lip, you lift your eyebrows, waiting for his response. This time, it’s his face that goes crimson as he flips his hair, adjusting the buttons on his jacket to look more presentable.

“Yeah.” He stops and pulls you to him again, lifting and spinning you around this time, a loud laugh escaping your mouth. “Wait until my parents meet my girl. My wonderful, gorgeous, thoughtful, hilarious, and slightly threatening, girl. I can’t think of a more perfect Christmas present.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad, cause I was gonna buy you many, many more.” You kiss his cheek with enough pressure to make him burst into laughter again. He puts you down and looks at you seriously.

“Love, you’re smart enough to know I will beat you in that contest.” He reaches around your neck to untie your apron, letting it fall to the ground, leaving it behind.

Yeah, he will.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Paper

"My Little Cocoa Bean" Series

Summary: Reader and Willy discover that Ben/Bean is an aspiring artist. Age: 3 & 17

<><><><><>

You were outside hanging clothes on the line to dry when you heard the back door slam and little feet running toward you. Before your brain could register what was happening, you were nearly bowled over by the force of Ben running into your leg.

You looked down to find that Ben had buried his face and balled up his fists in your skirt. "Pa ell a mm," you heard his garbled speech muffled by the fabric. You knelt down and pried his fingers loose so you could look at his red, tear-streaked face.

"I'm sorry, Benny. I couldn't understand you when your mouth was covered. Take a deep breath." You inhaled deeply through your nose and out through your mouth a couple of times, motioning for him to copy you. "Good. Now, try again. What's all this about?"

"P-papa lelled at m-meeee." The boy started sobbing again.

"Oh dear. What happened?"

"I..." he sucked in a breath. "I wanted to dwaw him a picture. I saw paper on Papa's desk..."

"Ah, I see. Did that paper already have words on it?"

"Only on fwont. I dwew on back."

"Oh, Benny. We talked about asking before you touch anything in the study. Papa has very important papers in there for the shop and factory."

"I'm sowwy." He looked up at you with big puppy-dog eyes. You cupped his round cheeks in your hands.

"I know you are. But I'm not the one you need to apologize, too. Why don't you go inside to your room and play while I go check on Papa. After that, you can tell him you're sorry." Ben nodded, then shuffled through the back door to his room with his head hung low.

It was out of character for Willy to snap at anyone. The man typically had the patience of a saint, so you knew Ben must have drawn on something important. You quietly stepped into the study and spied Willy slumped in the armchair, one hand supporting his forehead and one foot kicked out. It looked as if he had collapsed dramatically into it.

"I made him cry," Willy said morosely without looking up. "I didn't- I didn't mean to. I shouted his name. I was just trying to get his attention and stop him before he did more damage. I...I startled him, and he ran off to you."

"Full name or nickname?" you asked as you sat on the sofa next to him.

"Full name," he groaned.

You grimaced. Ouch, you thought. Willy hardly ever referred to the boy as anything but Bean and almost never as Benjamin unless introducing him to others. It's on par with your mother using your middle name when you were in trouble. You shuddered slightly. That probably wounded Ben worse than the volume. "What did he draw on?"

Willy held up the face page of a contract with the hand not supporting his head. He had yet to look up at you.

"Oh dear."

"I'll ask Beth to type up a new one tomorrow before the meeting. It wasn't worth raising my voice at him. I...I just had a long day and...of course, that doesn't excuse anything. Is he okay?"

"He'll be alright," you said soothingly as you placed your hand on Willy's arm. "He's calming down in his room. Like you said, he was startled. You are usually the fun one, not the disciplinarian."

"I should go to him," Willy said as he stood from the chair. You returned to your previous task of hanging out the laundry so they could have some time alone to make amends.

Willy walked to Ben's room and gently knocked before pushing the door open. Ben looked up at him from his desk with big sad eyes.

"Hey there," Willy said softly.

"I dwew you another picture. I'm sowwy, Papa," Ben said pitifully as he handed Willy a piece of paper.

"Oh, Bean. Is this the factory?" Ben nodded excitedly. "Wow, such great detail! Is this what you wanted to draw earlier?" Ben nodded again, with less exuberance this time. Willy's heart broke as he saw his son's face fall.

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry for raising my voice and scaring you. That was a very important paper you were drawing on, and I needed you to stop."

"I know, Mamma told me I need to ask first," he responded dejectedly. "I just had a picture in my head that I wanted to dwaw when I was by your desk."

"Ah, that I understand. Sometimes my ideas don't come to me at convenient times, either. Tell you what. How about I set up a drawer with paper that's safe to draw or write on whenever an idea strikes. You never have to ask for permission as long as it's from that drawer. Deal?"

Ben's face lit up again, and he stuck his tiny right hand to shake. "Deal!"

Willy shook his son's hand with his right and looked down again at the picture in his left. It was incredibly well done for Ben's age.

"Can I take this to the factory with me? I want to frame and hang it. If you draw more, I'll have a whole gallery wall of Benjamin Wonka works."

Ben giggled, "Okay, Papa!"

<><><><><>

Over time, Ben's art skills matured to charcoals, watercolors, canvases, and paints. Willy spotted the talent early and took great pleasure in encouraging it, supplying it. Fourteen years later, he had indeed collected enough of Ben's work to fill multiple walls.

"People need to see this."

Willy decided to surprise Ben by converting one of his shops into a limited time art gallery for his 17th birthday. He somehow managed to promote what ended up being the town's social event of the season while also keeping it a secret from his boy.

It was finally the night of the big reveal. "Papa, why are we going to the shop so late? I thought we were going to meet Mamma and Charlie for dinner?" Ben walked shoulder to shoulder with Willy. They were nearly the same height now.

Willy was vibrating with excitement. "I just need to pick up something I left there," he bent the truth slightly. "Your birthday present."

When they arrived, Willy unlocked the doors to reveal a magenta velvet curtain blocking the entry. He took the gold pull cord in his hand and handed it to Ben.

Ben looked at the tassel in his hand, bewildered. "What is this?"

"Your gift! Pull it and find out." As Ben pulled the cord, the curtain drew back to reveal...

"Surprise!!"

Ben stood there with his mouth ajar as he looked around at you, Charlotte, Noodle, his friends and girlfriend. Everyone rushed him for a celebratory hug. He gave you a kiss on the cheek. Then, the background details caught his eye. The crowd separated as Ben made his way to look at the walls that were now decorated with his paintings rather than shelves of candies and chocolates.

He browsed in awe until he stopped at the penciled sketch of the Wonka factory, gently tracing the golden frame with his fingers. He felt Willy step up beside him and gently squeeze his shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Bean."

Ben looked over his shoulder to reveal misty eyes. "Thanks for always being my biggest fan, Papa," he said reverently.

"I'm glad I could be right here beside you when your talent is shared with the world."

<><><><><>

A/N: I think it's safe to say that Willy would be his kids' biggest cheerleaders.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

all that remains ⸻ d. osamu

abstract : dazai takes a piece of you everytime he leaves. written in third-person pov.warnings : substances [ alcohol ] | non-explicit sex [ marking ]statistics : 0.7k words | standalone

He was gone again.

The hollow sensation that lingered in her chest was nothing new, and yet, as with every time that he left, it cut into her with renewed vigor, drawing the air sharply out of her lungs. She couldn’t understand what was wrong with her, to let him use her the way he did and to continue falling for that sweet smile whenever he needed her body to make him forget.

It ended the same way every single time.

She wasexhausted. Their dance never seemed to end, and each night was spent in his arms once again, feeding herself on the sweet poison of his pretty lies.

Her breath wisps past her lips and as she draws herself out between silken sheets, she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes are glassy, dark blooming in sleep-deprived bruises beneath her waterline, lips chapped from where he’d kissed her until she bled, until she’dbegged. Even now, she can still taste him on her tongue, feel the ghost of his touch tracing his name into her flesh.

Dazailingers, and she hates him for it.

She swallows hard, choking down the broken rage and the shadow of a scream that threatens what is left of her sanity. Her gaze drops lower, lower, snags on the purple-blue stains lining her throat, her collarbones, her hips.

The evidence of his power over her marks every inch of her skin, and she doesn’t know what she wants anymore.

All she knows is that this has tostop. Before she falls further in love with the one man who doesn’t want her.

“Come now belladonna,” his words drip into her ears like syrup and she turns in a daze, grey eyes catching onto his whiskey gaze. He grins, leans in, lets himself hover just above her, eyes fixated on the lips he knew better than anyone. “Let me make you feel good.”

Shehateshim.

“No,” it is a struggle to get the word out without crying and she turns hurriedly away, fingers curling into her palms. She can feel him behind her, empty eyes running all over and over again until she thinks she might just combust from the heat in his gaze. But she perseveres, biting down on her tongue as she remembers how this dance ends.

Her alone on silk sheets, as beautiful and broken as ever.

“Why?” his lips rasp gently over her neck, stop, press closer. Her breath hitches at the firmness of his body against her, long fingers coming up to her hand where they intertwine. “Don’t youloveme?”

Thisbastard. She wants to scream at him, to rake her nails down his face and see something other than empty in those intoxicating eyes. But she doesn’t.

“I wish I didn’t.”

A heartbeat of silence. Behind her, Dazai has gone deathly still, and she thinks that maybe he understands, maybe,finally, he cares. But then he is leaning in close again, pressing the softest kiss to her ear as he hums, “Then let me love you.”

Lies. Tears prick at her eyes. It’s all lies. He never does, and she hates herself for hoping every single time that he would. This was Dazai Osamu they were talking about; the most ruthless executive in the mafia, the demon prodigy.

And she was in love with him.

“Ruin me then,” she says, turning to face him. His eyes are dark, his features cold. Still, she raises her hand to his face, skirts her fingers over his cheekbone and watches as his breath catches, hunger simmering in those bottomless eyes. “Ruinme, so I learn to hate you.”

He grins, sharp and feral and wicked. “With pleasure, darling.”

And as she lets him claim her in every way possible she find herself wondering whether she could really hate him. In the end, when he was gone again and she was alone again, what would she see?

Turns out, all that remains is simply herbroken heart.

all that remains © pearlpost, 2024.

I Said I Wouldn’t Hook-up With Him, Then I Did Again

Dieter Bravo x F!Actor!Reader (WC: 1636)

A/N: Write a story based on the moodboard made by @iamasaddie ‘s random pinterest pics.

Summary: If you hook up with your ex (and co-actor), Dieter Bravo, you have to put $5 in the jar. Well shit...... we might have to tell the driver to stop at an ATM.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ only please, Sex (Unprotected PiV), Mention of: previous sex (PiV and Oral F!rec), previous biting (and breaking of skin causing a scar), previous illegal drug use, previous sex with another woman (not described), getting high, sex toys.

🫙

“I’m not gonna fuck him.”

That’s what you’d said. Ten hours ago when Lily, your stylist, had plopped down the jar on the counter in front of the mirror. You’d said you weren’t gonna fuck him. Definitely not, you’d tacked on. You vaguely remember she might have rolled her eyes at that. She brought out the jar every time either of you were in close proximity with one of your big-bad-exes, to avoid the temptation of entanglement.

You know the ones, the exes you were desperate to hear from but determined to avoid. Bad news time and time again, never meeting your (very) low expectations and somehow always finding new ways to disappoint you. You started the jar to hold each other accountable, making sure $5 went into the jar any time that either of you texted, called, or fell into bed with the ex.

Although, ex was a loose term, as you don’t think yours was ever more than a casual hookup played on repeat. Grabbing hands, scraping stubble, a huff of breath that smells like cigarettes and cinnamon gum. Your co-star, Dieter Bravo. Sometimes drunk, sometimes high, sometimes both. Never sober. Always on-set, still half in costume and makeup. Always teetering on the edge of getting caught, of ruining your reputation, of solidifying his.

It was disgusting. You were disgusted with yourself every time it happened. You’re disgusted with yourself right now, as you sit on his lap in the back of your towncar home. He drags his hand under your shirt and up your ribcage, cold rings against your skin sending goosebumps across your chest, hardening your nipples. You feel his lips on your throat, teeth scraping but not leaving marks, suddenly extremely aware of your own arousal collecting in your underwear. Your own body is betraying you. Rude.

“Goddamnit,” you huff, defeated.

He pushes his other hand up your thigh, lifting your skirt up to your waist. He knows he’s won. He always does. Without a word you untie the drawstring on his pants, of course he’d be wearing pajama pants, Dieter fucking Bravo… probably doesn’t even own jeans. You reach inside and wrap your hand around him, rock hard and velvety smooth. No underwear, obviously… you already knew he doesn’t own any of those.

“Easy access,” he says, as if reading your mind.

But then you look down and realize he’s talking about you. Fuck. You wore a skirt to work today. Now why would you have done that? You’re sure it’s not because one time, on the hood of a stunt car in a mostly-abandoned backlot in Burbank, he told you that your legs drove him fucking crazy right before he pushed them apart and dove face-first into your wet, waiting pussy. No, that couldn’t have been it.

He runs a finger along the inside of your thigh and sticks it in the side of the gusset of your panties. He moves his hand down so the back of his knuckle drags along your slit, giving away how wet you already are for him. You hear him hum, mmmmmm, and then giggle. Fucking giggle? He must be high already. He curls his finger, drawing the fabric in the crook of it and pulling it to the side.

“You gonna keep teasing me, or you gonna put it in?”

“Teasing you? Who is teasing you?” You shift yourself up on your knees, knocking against the headliner in the cramped backseat.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby. With your blonde hair and those pouty lips.”

“The hair was a wig Dee, you know that.” You line him up slowly at your entrance.

“It still looked good. And your lips? Those are new.”

“They’re not new lips, I just got some filler, it’s not a big deal.” You slowly start to sink down on his thick length.

“Well if you want people to imagine those full lips around their cocks, you’ve done a good job.”

Jesus Christ, you mutter simultaneously, for different reasons. You’re rocking your hips up and down, coating him with your wetness to ease the stretch of him pushing into you. You hear whispers about his dick in nearly every ladies’ room you go into in this town. His length is average, satisfying but not newsworthy, but his girth is massive. And even though you’ve taken it plenty of times before, you struggle every single time.

His large hands find your hips, fingers spreading back to cover your bare ass. Obviously you wore the thong so you wouldn’t have panty lines in your clingy cotton dress. It has nothing to do with the fact that once, while shooting in Wales, he went so insane with lust that he bit your ass and broke skin, leaving a tiny tooth-shaped scar that he likes to run his tongue over every time you hook up. Nope, it has nothing to do with that at all.

You finally get all of him inside of you, the sting of the stretch pushed to the back of your mind by the overwhelming fullness of him. God he’s so fucking big and you think you must say it outloud because you hear him groaning yeahhh into your neck. He squeezes you where his hands are gripping, encouraging you to move on him and then helps guide you back and forth on his lap.

You look down at his face, and realize he’s still wearing the sunglasses from set, his hair still gelled in the style of his character, with a little curl looped down onto his forehead. Come here, he says and you obey, bringing your mouth to his, tangling tongues and sharing spit. He passes you his gum and you try to give it back but then he pulls off your mouth to moan fuck yeahhh.

He moves one hand to the front of your top, yanking it down to expose your nipples. Okay if you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t think of a good reason why you didn’t wear a bra today. You know you had one in your hands at one point but then there was a memory that flashed through your mind. A memory of Dieter snorting a line off a table - a mixture of cocaine and viagra, literally ripping your brand new French-made underwear set to pieces, and fucking you on every surface of your trailer during a 3-hour weather delay in British Columbia.

You guess ‘not wanting it to be destroyed’ was a good reason not to wear a bra, right? But you definitely weren’t going to fuck him, so why would it matter? He’s dragging his tongue all around one nipple and when he switches to the other side you feel the remnants of his spicy gum as a light burning sensation heating your pebbled nub. You don’t have much time to think about if it’s good or too much because suddenly he’s biting the other nipple, hard, causing you to cry out.

“Sorry baby, sorry,” he stammers. “I just got excited.”

His hands on your hips help you find your rhythm once again, slamming his cock into your fucked-out pussy over and over. You lean back and brace your hands on his knees and he uses the opportunity to bring a hand forward and run his thumb along his length, soaking wet where it repeatedly disappears into you. He strokes upward until he’s rubbing his thumb along you instead, at the apex of where he splits you, right over your hooded clit.

“Missed this,” he whispers so softly, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself.

“I think you got plenty of this on your last job,” you manage to sound both snarky and uninterested, despite the increasing pressure of him petting at your sensitive, swollen bundle.

“Oh you think?”

“That’s what I heard. You and that Swedish girl, the new one, Ingrid whats-her-name?”

“Nooooo,” he moves his thumb faster. “She’s Norwegian.”

“Whatever,” you struggle to focus, “I don’t even-”

“Don’t be jealous baby," he purrs. "No one takes my cock like you do."

Fuck. Why is that working? Why does it feel so good?

It always feels so fucking good.

“I think I’m gonna-” you start.

“Come,” he finishes.

And when you do, your orgasm rips through you, making your vision go out, shaking your legs, and stuttering your hips. His hands go back to your side, helping to bounce you for a few more thrusts before he yanks you off of him, finishing all over his own flannel pants and the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt. He wraps his cardigan around himself, covering up the mess on his front and pops another stick of red gum into his mouth, looking at you across the bench seat.

“Wanna come in? We can order a pizza, get high, and then fuck again later. I got this new toy th-”

“What are you talking about Dieter, this is my house?” He gives you a look, and you open the dark-tinted window to see that instead of being in your own driveway, you’re parked in front of an unfamiliar home. “The fuck… I thought this car was supposed to be taking me home.”

“Well it was, but then I slipped the driver two hundred bucks so he’d bring us here instead. And also so he wouldn’t take any pictures of your ass.”

“You wouldn’t have had to pay him not to take pictures of my ass if you wouldn’t have snuck into my car as I was leaving work.”

“Yeah but it was fun, right?” He peers at you over his sunglasses. “C’mon,” he holds out his hand.

---

The next morning you get to work and, avoiding Lily’s gaze, you take a handful of $5 bills out of your pocket and silently drop them into the jar.

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🫙

Jonathan Byers might be the stupidest person on the planet. Because why...WHY did he ask Steve Harrington to model for his photography final? Why did he think he would ever be able to focus enough to capture what he needs to? Why did he wait until the last week of the semester and now, there's no time to ask anyone else and he doesn't want to hurt Steve's feelings—

“Hey,” Steve says, interrupting Jonathan's thought spiral. “Is this where you want me?”

Jonathan looks up from his clipboard and camera to see Steve standing on top of the stool. Jonathan had sent him away with a costume he borrowed from the drama department and hadn't heard him come back in.

Steve is dressed in a toga. The crossbody strap is smaller than it would be on anyone else across his broad, hairy chest. The end of the toga rests delicately on his upper thighs, an inch away from being too short. Steve has quaffed his beautiful hair up and a plastic, golden crown of leaves sits amongst the brunette locks.

All of the moisture in Jonathan's mouth evaporates as he takes in Steve in this, what should have been, almost ridiculous outfit. Instead, Steve is absolutely striking in it and Jonathan is going to lose his mind before he even gets the lights set up.

“Uh, yeah, just hold there,” Jonathan croaks so he clears his throat. “I still have some things to set up.”

“Cool,” Steve replies simply. He shifts from foot to foot, tied up in lacy sandals. He looks around the studio that Jonathan has set up and smiles.

“Excited to see you do your thing,” Steve says. Jonathan trips over a cable.

“What?”

Steve glances over his shoulder and his face is so genuine when he says, “I wanna see you in the zone, you know?”

Jonathan blinks and ducks his head. “In the zone,” he repeats lamely.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “I mean, I've seen you take pictures before but never all done up like this. And this concept is really cool, I hope I can do it justice.“

Jonathan's assignment was to take from an existing piece of art, something not photography related, and recreate it. He's always been fascinated by the coliseums and marble statues of Greece, all the Gods and warriors of that time. As he was researching, the only thing that came to his mind was “Steve, Steve, Steve” and before he could even think twice, he shot him a text asking for his help.

“You will, man,” Jonathan barely speaks above a mumble.

Steve hums a song Jonathan doesn't know in the silence that follows. Jonathan finishes setting up all the lights and drawing the curtains of the room. He tries to pull up the screen behind Steve but can't get it to sit on the designated pole.

Steve reaches over him, his stomach resting on Jonathan's shoulder, and hooks the screen into place. Jonathan glances up at Steve's towering figure and swallows dryly. His muscular arm is bulging, his head is cast in the light from behind them like an angel.

Steve winks and says, “You can put me to work, Byers. I don't mind.”

Jonathan's not sure that the thing that tumbles out of his lips is a laugh, per se, more like a weak, nasally huff of air. But he can't focus on that right now because he needs to stop breathing in Steve's cologne.He escapes to the other side of the room.

“You're going to be doing plenty today, I promise,” Jonathan responds while he sets up a little table next to his camera for his notes. “Why don't we start with you sitting?”

Steve sits on the stool with his legs spread, not even realizing that he's near exposing himself through the skirt. Jonathan squeaks and Steve glances down.

“Oh shit,” Steve says, crossing his ankles. “Not used to that happening.”

“It's fine, I didn't see anything,” Jonathan mumbles, writing down nothing on his clipboard of notes.

“I didn't go full commando under here,” Steve clarifies with a small laugh. “I'm just glad I wore white boxers today--”

And yeah, Jonathan didn't need that image either. He starts adjusting his camera on the tripod and says, “Sorry, I should have been more clear about your costume.”

“Nah man, it's alright. I kinda dig it. If we shoot outside, I'm sure the breeze will feel so good.”

Outside? No, Jonathan can't see Steve basking in the sun like this. He wouldn't survive that.

“Gonna have to settle for the AC, I'm afraid,” Jonathan says with a fumbling laugh. “Okay, first shot. I'm thinking you tilt your legs to the side, almost like you're lounging on the stool. Then pop the shoulder closer to the wall up while keeping the other down. Look up at the ceiling.”

Steve follows his instructions but he tilts his whole head up instead of just his eyes.

“Chin down a bit, look with the eyes.”

“Like this?” Steve asks, voice innocent though it runs hot through Jonathan's ears.

Jonathan looks through his viewfinder to see Steve absolutely glowing. His brown eyes holding so much casual emotion that it tugs at Jonathan's heart.

“Mhm. Perfect,” Jonathan captures a few shots like that before directing him to the next shot. And the one after.

Steve nails it over and over again, looking exactly like the ethereal Gods and tragic heroes Jonathan read about. Jonathan keeps telling him he's doing amazing, that he looks amazing. He can see Steve try to fight off his smile for the sake of not ruining the shot. Jonathan wonders if he could shoot that smile someday just for the sake of letting him be happy.

“You're going to give me a big head,” Steve says when they take a break.

“Please,” Jonathan scoffs. “You already have one.”

Steve pouts playfully when he's done sipping his water. “I'm better than I was.”

Jonathan shakes his head with a fond smile. He looks at Steve directly and says, “Yeah, you are.”

Steve's lips part in surprise but then he quickly tilts his head away, sipping more water. Steve tsks. “Compliment after compliment, Byers. I should be your model more often.”

Jonathan's cheeks burn hot. “Yeah, yeah, tell your friends. C'mon, let's get back to it.”

The new few shots require Steve to show off his muscles which had to have been an idea of a deliriously horny Jonathan Byers. He could kill that guy.

“Okay, hold your hands up and behind your head. Then, uh,” Jonathan stammers, “Flex your arms for me.”

Steve raises his eyebrows but he does flex. It's not that Steve Harrington is absolutely shredded; rather, he has the toned muscles of a casual jock. He just cares about his body and his strength. It doesn't make it any less debilitating to witness.

“G-good, that's good,” Jonathan mumbles.

“You good, Byers?” Steve asks. His smirk grows less subtle every fleeting second it takes for Jonathan to respond. “Wishing for someone more buff?”

“No,” Jonathan defends immediately. “No, uh, no, you're good. Great, even.”

“What should I do with my face?” Steve asks.

“Keep it smug like that,” Jonathan says, a little bite to his words that comes from the roaring zoo currently in his stomach.

“Smug,” Steve scoffs, voice still teasing. “Just trying to figure you out.”

Jonathan ignores that, he does not need to be figured out today and especially not by Steve Harrington.

He takes the shot and instructs Steve to hold one arm up to the side while the other pretends to hold something. Steve stands awkwardly, clenching and unclenching the fist that's supposed to be acting right now.

“Can you show me?” Steve asks.

“Sure,” Jonathan says. He rounds the camera and is about to demonstrate making an “O” with his fist but Steve holds out his hand and Jonathan doesn't think before he takes it. He shapes Steve's fingers gently and places his arm outstretched to his side. Steve just watches him.

“Should I actually hold something?” Steve asks.

“No, I'm gonna edit something in later,” Jonathan explains, awkwardly dropping Steve's hand because he realizes he's still holding it.

“Like what?”

“I can't decide if it's going to be a sword or a lightning bolt. Armor, maybe,” Jonathan shrugs then looks up at Steve who is beaming at him.

“You can do that?”

“Y-yeah. Photoshop and all.”

“That's so fucking sick,” Steve exclaims. “You're gonna send these to me, right?”

“Yeah, if you want,” Jonathan says.

“Of course, I want,” Steve assures. ”Not only because you're making me into some Greek god but also because it's your art and it's fucking cool.“

“Thanks,” Jonathan breathes.

Steve reaches the posed hand up and pinches Jonathan's chin. Jonathan can feel every nerve vibrate as Steve's fingers fall away too soon. Steve gives him a curious look but returns his hand to the pose. Jonathan shuffles back behind the camera and continues shooting the pictures.

Steve showcases different smolders that make Jonathan's stomach tighten but he keeps pressing the button, keeps seeing how far Steve will go without his instruction.

“What if I shot my arm back like I'm about to throw it?” Steve asks, demonstrating his point.

Jonathan's eyes trail up his torso to the arm in question and he swallows. “Mhm. That looks really good.”

Steve's lips turn upward and he whispers, “So do you, Byers.”

Jonathan's whole body freezes. His finger trembles over the button but his mind is so blank that he can't tell it to push. Steve keeps glancing at him but Jonathan's not registering it.

Steve coughs awkwardly and mumbles, “Just tell me to fuck off, man.”

That gets Jonathan's brain back online. “What?”

Steve jumps, not realizing that Jonathan was actually listening. He drops his stance and rolls his shoulders back, bones popping as he does. He sighs and says meekly, “If you don't like me flirting with you, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Flirting? Flirting.

“You're flirting with me?” Jonathan asks, exasperated.

“I was trying to,” Steve explains, a sheepish look on his face. “But it's obvious you're not into it so--”

“Wait…no, hold on, I honestly thought you were messing with me,” Jonathan admits, walking around the camera again. Steve steps down from the stool to be at eye level with him and Jonathan swoons a little in their new proximity.

“I do love messing with you,” Steve confirms. “But no, Byers, I’ve been flustered all day having you stare at me and do your hot artist thing. That’s not a joke.”

“Really?” Jonathan whispers, his skin flushed.

“Really,” Steve whispers back.

"I am into it," Jonathan responds quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Put you into a toga because I'm so into it--" Jonathan doesn't finish this sentence because Steve is kissing him and he would much rather be kissing Steve than talking.

With the curtains drawn and the studio booked for the rest of the afternoon, Jonathan finds himself in Steve's lap with Steve's tongue in his mouth. He decides about two seconds in that he's got enough pictures for the day.

𝐜 𝐡 𝐚 𝐢 𝐧 𝐬 .

Nika Schwarz x OC (Sigrid)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: JEALOUS. SMUT. that is all. inspired by candiedcoffeedrops' ring jealousy fic.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: oc x canon, established relationship, jealousy smut, good grief someone stop drac from writing.

It wasn’t often Nika got the chance to go parties, unless Darius procured an invitation for a mission. Ring trotted alongside him, a tad less confident in stride but just as imposing if not more so. Two pairs of lake blue eyes scanned the room for familiar faces.

“Ah! There you are!” The elder of the twins felt his cheeks flush slightly as he saw their host’s familiar figure. Her eyes narrows happily as she approached, a teasing smile on painted lips, “How are my favorite boys?” She chuckled as Ring turned at least five different shades of red as he tried his best to smile. Nika put on a bright smile, “Looking lovely as ever tonight, rotkehlchen.” He gently lifted her hand and laced it with his, watching her expression shift into a playful smile as she gently withdrew her hand, opening her mouth to say something as a retort when the quintet and pianist started to play a gentle waltz, drawing the crowd’s attention. Before Nika could turn back and ask her to dance, the woman had gently grasped his brother’s hands.

“Ring, do you mind showing me your progress with the waltz? I heard you’ve been practicing.”

Nika’s chest constricted as Ring nodded tentatively, that slight flush of embarrassment still present on his cheeks. The younger twin followed her to the middle of the floor as the elder crossed his arms, eyes growing unusually intense as they flickered after the pair, watching for as long as the song played. He resisted the urge to simply weave through the crowd and nudge his Ring out of the way.

He wanted his hands off her hips. His eyes anywhere but hers. Thoughts anywhere but her, and that blush wiped straight off his face. Nika had felt mild resentment for his found family from time to time, but this was different. The itching anger that clawed at the back of his head wasn’t leaving right away. In fact it wasn’t until the song ended and the elder Schwartz twin strode briskly over to the pair, a ringed hand seizing his lover’s hip and making sure to give it a possessive squeeze, “Mind if I steal my lover for a bit, little brother?” He smiled, but his eyes were much more cold than Ring was used to, to the point the younger relented, sighing in relief as Nika looked at Sigrid and smiled despite her scowl.

“You’re being rude…N-Nika!” She growled as he steered her from the center of the ballroom floor, his grip still rough on her hip as it slid further down her side and behind her as he led her out of the hall, almost instantly pinning her to the wall, “You’re very insistent when it comes to me, but I bet you’d let Ring get away with murder…” his eyes were downcast as he stroked her hips, gently nudging a knee between her thighs through the fabric of her skirt, earning a startled gasp from her as she huffed up at him, frowning but pulling him down by his vest for a kiss. Her soft lips lingered on his as he deepened the embrace, fingers squeezing wherever he could, tugging her closer still as his tongue pushed into her mouth with no resistance, eyes drifting open slightly to peer at her as he pulled back.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Ja? And why is that, darling?”

“Because if anyone else did this to me, especially in the middle of a party, they’d get a swift kick to the groin.”

He chuckled, “Happy that my lover is so merciful, then.” Nika breathed against her lips, kissing her once more and letting her take over as he hoisted her up in his arms, feeling the coolness of her skin against his fingertips while he carried her to one of the guest rooms. Nudging the door shut Nika fumbled with the lock before striding over and gently laying Sig on the bed, tugging her lace apart rather roughly, at least by his standards.

He watched her breasts spill out as he yanked down her dress in front, squeezing one readily as the other hand shoved the rest of the layers down her hips with urgency, quickly ridding her of her clothing as he rendered her speechless with his hand and tongue on her chest.

“Now, I’m going to make sure my lover gets pampered tonight, but first I’m going to have to make sure you understand something very, very well…” he leaned into her as she caught her breath, likely tired not just from dancing but also from the heavy kisses he’d given her. His heart melted slightly, but he kept the teasing smirk on his face as he sat up to loosen his belt. The sound of metal clinking against the floor echoed in the quiet room, only covered by the muffled noise of music from the hall. Nika hummed as he stroked his thumb over the swell of her breast, rubbing it over one nipple as she stifled a whine, “That’s it.” He purred as he pressed against her side, gently rubbing his other thumb against her folds and urging a ringed index finger into her, relishing in the strangled cry of pleasure it earned him, “Mn, listen to that.” he purred in her ear, resting next to her as she reached down to run a hand over Nika’s hip to her side, wrapping around his shaft and making his breath hitch as he locked eyes with her.

“You’re evil.” He growled, kissing her lips lightly.

“No more evil than you, très chère.” She hummed, gently stroking him with a soft palm, “Now keep going if you’re taking the lead tonight or I just might steal the opportunity from you.”

As if that affected his decision, Nika nuzzled her shoulder and pulled her closer, working his finger into her wet folds gradually, enjoying the way she moaned much louder than when he took off the accessories that adorned his long fingers. It wasn’t something Sigrid mentioned much when he touched her, but the fact she had kept him from removing them by holding his hands silently had given the hint plenty.

“Hm, you’re awfully wet, aren’t you? I can’t wait to find more wonderfully naughty things with you.” His voice came out rough and gravelly with arousal as her hand continued to twist and pump him while he urged a second finger in, curling them both as he hit that delightful spot that made her curl her toes, soak his rings and squeal his name when he hit it with the tips of his fingers.

“N-Nika…! Merde! Y-You ass…” she groaned as his fingers moved in and out with a loud, wet, almost clicking sound. He hummed and kissed her ear, pulling his fingers out rather suddenly as her chest heaved from the stimulation, glaring weakly at him, “What the hell has gotten into you today?” His eyes darkened at the question, crawling over her and grasping the base of his shaft as he sat up, “I was kind enough to get you ready for me, and you still can’t think of it? Well, I can’t have you thinking of him during it.”

Sigrid’s eyes widened in recognition as she grasped the meaning of what he said, “Are you jealous o—!!” Her voice was muffled by lips on hers as he sheathed himself inside her warmth, breathing hard and kissing her breathless as he started a rough but intense pace, pulling back to look at her once he knew she was done trying to bring it up. Her fingers gripped the pillow behind her head, her soft curves bouncing with each move of his hips as hands squeezed her chest and moved her along the length of him, “Mmf, it’s like silk.” He whispered in her ear, skin hitting skin rather loudly as her low moans grew louder, hands starting to fist in the sheets over her pillow as she tilted her head back, “I love how I fuck you.” His voice came out like a hungry snarl, diving back down to kiss her before giving a few more harsh thrusts inside and gasping when her legs locked around his back at the base of his spine, “I-Inside.” She choked out, sending him over the edge with that word as he filled her with warmth, clutching her body to his as she followed, her body slightly warm with sweat as he held her up against him in bed.

Flopping on his side with her gently as he pulled out, Nika felt the embarrassment and guilt start to creep in. Usually it wasn’t an issue for him but…

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Was?”

“It means ‘do you mind sharing your thoughts with me?’” Sigrid reached up and tucked the long lock of hair on one side of his wavy fringe behind his ear, careful and tender, “You usually aren’t this rough with me. Not that I mind, it’s quite cute.” She hummed, smiling gently at him, “But I want to know, was it because I danced with Ring?”

He sighed in frustration, “It’s childish isn’t it? I’m angry about not getting to have a first with you.” Nika closed his eyes with a bitter laugh, resting on one arm, “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Just then, bright lake blues flicked back open at a light flick on his forehead, looking down to see his lover pouting at him, “Nika Schwartz. Nothing could make me think less of you. If anything could, I wouldn’t be here, foolish man.” She sighed, “As I said, I’d let no one else remotely near me the same way you’ve been. Do you hear me?” She cupped his cheeks with both hands, Nika’s eyes still adorably wide.

“Oh.” His voice grew quiet as his cheeks started to flush a soft pink, resting his head on her shoulder and pulling her closer as he nuzzled happily into her neck.

“Hey! Quit hiding!”

Nika ignored her complaint for now, tugging a warm blanket over their bodies until their stamina recovered a bit to get dressed and make the trek to find Ring and go home.

Until then, he’d enjoy the quiet warmth of knowing that her love was only his.

lace headers by saradika.