#it hurt to write and I hope it will hurt to read

[kenntolog]

an: heh it was very cute to write i hope you like it!! read more here!!

cool boyfriend sukuna buys his loser girlfriend a rich berry red lipstick <33

you don't even understand where that came from, looking at the small package with a confused face before you look up at sukuna for answers.

"i thought it'd suit you so I bought it." he says with a small smirk, gazing down at you with a fondness in his eyes. "put it on, c'mon."

as you carefully apply the lipstick, you can't help but think about how thoughtful sukuna must've been when choosing because it suits you very well. the smile hiding in the quivering corners of your lips just proves that it makes you feel flattered and very happy to be considered by your boyfriend.

he's very impatient though, rushing you and hanging over your head as he watches you glide the lipstick over the plushness of your lips like a kid would watch a cartoon with zero understanding of what is happening on the screen. you finish and put away your phone you used as a mirror, turning to face him with a shy, nervous look.

sukuna stares at you blankly for a few seconds before his hands gently tug off his your hoodie, leaving you only in a small top with thin straps. after that, he threads his fingers through your hair and tousles it around before stopping at a side-part. finally, one of his palms cups your cheek and his thumb wipes off some excess lipstick from your bottom lip, smudging it unintentionally.

his eyes are very appreciative after that, you observe as you wait for him to say something with a baited breath. his fingers get lost in his own hair aas he pulls at it slightly, his expression softening momentarily as his smirk stretches further.

"look at you, loser," sukuna tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before grabbing you jaw and shaking your head from side to side as you whine, "aren't you just the prettiest girl, hm?"

you cover your face with your hands, falling backwards on the bed as you try to suppress the wide smile spreading on your lips. no matter how many times he tells you that you are the most beautiful girl in the whole world you will always have your cheeks hurting afterwards from the happiest smile with shyness rooted in it and your heartbeat spiking up to abnormal speed.

he crawls to hang on top of you, hands on both sides of your head as he smirks down at you.

"now kiss me."

"huh?"

"here," he points to his collarbone.

you look at him unsurely, "it'll leave a stain tho, 'kuna~"

"'s the point. go on."

you lean in and plant a smooch on the spot, right above the neckline of his tee. something inside of you ignites at the sight of it; you know that no one will see him in this state and it makes you feel whole, how you can have him all to yourself. the fire inside of you must reflect in your eyes because sukuna can sense the way you feel too easily as he points at his neck now.

"here too."

you happily oblige, going as far as covering most of his neck with stains. it even gets to the point where sukuna clumsily reapplies your lipstick for you, shushing down your giggles and cursing you for getting in the way of his work with your sweet smile. you kiss his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his temples, his forehead, between his brows, his chin — anywhere, but his lips, which prompts him to cup your jaw and seal your lips together.

you can never get used to his kisses; always so passionate because sukuna puts his everything into making your mind go blank, and it's never easy to match the pace he sets although you're always eager to try. so sweet, so full of love and lust, it's one of the best feelings for you: his devilish mouth excited to explore each and every cavern of yours.

"you missed here, baby," he mumbles into your mouth and you pull away, both of you panting heatedly.

"sorry, 'kuna."

"you can make it up to me, don't worry."

#— miya writes! #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader #jjk x you #jjk sukuna

[i2sunric]

I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE part 2 (s.jy)

pairing: rich boy!jake x reader (f)

summary: after jake’s betrayal, you tried try pick up the pieces of your broken heart by replacing him with heeseung, even if they never truly fitted back together— not until your realised jake’s heart was in worse shape.

warnings: sexual tension, angst, hurt/comfort, making out, kissing, smut (blowjob, missionary, doggy, riding, creampie, hair pulling, chocking), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!) fighting, alcohol consumption, usage of weed, curse words, pet names (baby, ma cherie), hyung line (minus jake) are actually a conspiracy for jakeyn. Imk if more. PROOFREAD → READ PART 1

published: 13th May 2024

wc: 6.8k

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted @jwnghyuns @seunghancore (one shot) @anittamaxwynn @jvjsssnaa @slut4hee @kgneptun @nyxtwixx @laurradoesloveu @star4rin @capri-cuntz @eneyiri @samouryed @heyniki @ineedsomezzz @nanamomgmong @aishigrey @naurrjakeu @ak-aaa-li @sjakewrld @nikiswifiee @koralira-kira @daisycottage @yunhoswrldddd @smisworld @cloud-lyy @avaleyshin @soobinbunnie5 @ikeulims @tuituibzhe @starggukies @icywinter1999 [BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED]

a/n: aight this actually turned out longer than i intended and did i really write smut while listening to windows down by big time rush? yes. having a keylock doesn’t mean you’re poor btw (i also have a keylock). please REBLOG & LIKE to share! also lmk your thoughts by commenting 🎀 tysm for loving this fic!

You stared yet again at the reflection in front of you. Tear stains had ruined your makeup, your mascara that claimed to be waterproof was now coating your cheeks until your chin.

You gripped the sink in anger, your knuckles turning white at the force.

A lot of curse words flashed in your mind, but none were strong enough to represent your current state.

How could you be so oblivious? You thought Jake and you had something, something that went beyond just two people who met at a frat party.

You felt it, inside your heart, the way it tickled every time you heard his sweet chuckle leave his lips, seeming like the only light in the darkness of life.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather all the shattered pieces of your heart, laying open there. If that was how it hurt, you sure as hell weren’t going to give anyone else the key to access to it.

“What’s a pretty girl crying in the bathroom for?” A voice snapped you out of your trance. You raised your face and met a pair of known, dark eyes.

“Heeseung.” You breathed out, not even bothering to turn around. That moment almost felt like a deja vù, probably because that same bathroom was where your lips first met Jake’s.

Trying to block out all the memories of that Australian man, you turned around and leaned back on the countertop.

“Glad you still remember my name.” He said, licking his bottom lip, “Found out your prince charming wasn’t as innocent as you thought?”

You frowned at his words “How’d you know?” And Heeseung just chuckled bitterly in response “I invited you to my party in hope of having you for myself.”

His eyes roamed all over your body “Just to find out you were at it with my best friend.” You rolled your eyes. “We just made out, nothing more.”

If you thought Jake was bold, Heeseung was shameless. He was looking at you like you were a gazelle in the lion’s den, eyes scanning your body, probably imagining you without clothes.

“Well, he’s busy now.” You turned around and looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to clean the mascara stains on your face.

“With Karina?” Heeseung nodded at himself, “She was there before you.”

You turned around again, a deeply offended expression painting your features “Excuse me?”

Heeseung smirked, cleaning your cheeks with his own thumbs “You really thought Sim Jake would fall in love with a mediocre girl?” He cooed “Aw, poor you. Jake had always been greedy, he would never settle for someone who isn’t from his own neighbourhood.”

“And why are you telling me this?” You asked warily, not fully believing the words leaving his mouth. You wanted to stay with your impression of the kind and playful Jake. Not the player, not the heartbreaker.

“Because he isn’t worth your tears, pretty.” Heeseung’s voice was husky and hoarse, you couldn’t almost understand his words “But I am, when I’ll fuck you so hard.”

You pushed his chest away, “Disgusting.” But Heeseung only laughed in response, “I was kidding.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped aside of him “I’m going home.” You were almost out of the door when his big hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush on his chest.

“Or, I have a better idea.” You raised a brow. “You don’t look like someone who has nice ideas.”

“Just trust me.” He wiggled his brows “I know you’re known for seducing and then leaving.”

You scowled “If that’s my reputation on your side of the town.” His fingers trailed your arm until they reached your shoulder, caressing the bare skin “In my opinion, that’s hot.”

“I don’t remember asking.” You sighed, having heard his flattering already when he was courting you, a couple of weeks before.

“I’m saying, we go downstairs.” Heeseung bit his bottom lip, playing with the strap of your dress. “And we get a taste of each other, just let your mind drift off.” He said, lowering down to whisper in your ear.

You honestly weren’t in the mood to make out with someone, let alone be in a room full of teenagers drunk off their tits— But what could you do better to fix your broken heart?

“I hope you improved your kissing skills.”

𓆩♡𓆪

If stares could kill, then the ones Jake was giving you as you basically straddled Heeseung in the middle of his living room got you dead a few minutes before.

Your lips were attached, rarely pulling away, just enough to catch your breath while his hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you in place on his laps.

Jake was still with that pretty woman whose name you learnt was Karina. And in fact, she was deadly gorgeous, you almost didn’t blame Jake for leaving you for her. But you were Y/N, nobody should’ve dared to play with your heart that same cruel way Jake did.

“You don’t mind making out with me in front of him?” You asked on Heeseung’s lips, licking his bottom one “Nah,” He cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer “You weren’t a thing anyways, were you?”

Your heart stopped at his words, because in fact, you and Jake weren’t anything. You had never been, it was foolish of you to even hope for it.

“No, we weren’t.” You replied in a whisper, “Perfect.” Heeseung resumed kissing you, more roughly this time.

Jake needed something stronger than the mild cup of beer in his hand to forget your presence in the room. Smashing his head on the wall seemed like a good option since not only did you attend the party but were also making out with his best friend.

He called it on himself, he knew nothing good would come with playing with you, but he couldn’t erase all that he had done.

Trying to cancel the image of Heeseung with his hands all over you, he turned to the side to give his attention to the raven haired girl beside him “So, when’s your brother coming home from Paris again?”

Karina smiled at the mention “Sunghoon is coming back in two days!” She informed him, “He also wanted to invite you guys over.”

Jake beamed back at his other best friend’s older sister and nodded “That sounds good, I haven’t seen him in one month or so.”

Karina rolled her eyes “Yeah, I came back as soon as work finished but he claimed he wanted to ‘sightsee’ the city before returning here.”

He smiled “Living his best life, I see.” He patted her shoulder, the touch on her exposed skin only made him remember how your body felt when it was wrapped around his, kissing you all over.

He hoped he could have done more, to be with you longer so that he would have experienced having you laid down beneath him, in your whole essence and beauty. He wished he had a chance to do that— But the universe wasn’t on his side.

You hadn’t realised how much fun those rich kids could have. You thought they talked about horses and lake cottages in their free time but they actually were so much more than that!

Or maybe it was whatever Heeseung made you smoke that was altering your thoughts.

You were currently sitting on his laps, your back pressed against his chest as you took a drag out of the joint between your fingers.

You giggled at something one of Heeseung’s friends said, you weren't even sure why you were laughing but it sounded fun.

Heeseung caressed your back, trailing circles on your shoulder as he took a drag from his own joint “Having fun, Y/N?” He asked and you nodded “Much.”

“Mhmh, I bet you are.” He smirked, “First time smoking weed?”

You nodded again “Jake said I looked like I did it daily,” You chuckled “But I never tried.”

“Did he?” He whispered, getting close to your neck, leaving kitten licks “You talk a lot about him.”

“No.” You frowned “I don’t.” Heeseung chuckled and started sucking on your sensitive skin, making you let out a moan.

His big hand went to cover your mouth as he worked on your neck, sucking and biting enough to leave a hickey “You talked about him the whole night, haven't you even realised?”

You widened your eyes at his statement. No, you hadn’t realised, but when his name rolled out of your tongue it just sounded so right.

You just shook your head, unable to reply verbally since his hand was on your lips.

You closed your eyes, trying to block out any thought at the feeling of Heeseung’s lips on your neck and the weed clouding your mind.

“Are you mad?” A strict voice suddenly snapped you out of your state of trance as you felt yourself being ripped away from Heeseung’s grasp.

You opened your eyes just to find a very rather and deeply angry Jake standing in front of you, if he was in a cartoon you’d see his veins pulsing on his forehead.

“He’s Jake!” You exclaimed happily to Heeseung, the effect of the amount of alcohol you drank and the intoxication from weed made you act hyper “I know.” Heeseung replied calmly.

Jake pulled you behind his back “What were you thinking? Making her smoke this shit?”

You frowned “It’s good—“ But Heeseung cut you “Relax man, we were just having fun.”

“This is not having fun.” He took the joint from your hand and threw it to Heeseung “Don’t get her into your addictions.”

Heeseung raised a brow, his expression remaining stoic “She was willing.” Jake snapped back “She’s drunk!”

He took a deep breath and pointed a threatening finger toward Heeseung “Do not pull this ever again.” He stated before taking your hand in his and dragging you out of the party.

Meanwhile, Heeseung smirked as he saw the two of you walk away; Maybe that was when his best friend would finally wake up and realise all the things he was losing.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Hey!” You exclaimed, trying to pull away from his iron grip “Yunjin is still inside.” Jake let out a small groan “I’ll drive her home later.”

You pulled hard on his hand, making him stop right in front of his crimson car “Let me go.”

Jake’s eyes were full of rage, you were almost scared at their intensity “Are you angry?”

“Yes.” He stated, voice serious “At me?” You asked, your voice was so soft and quiet it made his heart jump out of his ribcage “No, not at you.”

Your eyes were red and bloodshot, your breath heavy “How many did you smoke?” He asked, trying to contain his tone.

You gulped down, lowering your gaze “Two.” Jake nodded and opened the door of his car, letting you in.

“I’m going to kill Heeseung somedays.” He mumbled, walking to the other side and entering the driver seat.

He started the engine and drove in silence, the late hours of the night not as lively as they usually were.

When you reached a stoplight, Jake opened a small bottle of water he had in his car and handed it to you “Drink, I want it all finished before we reach your house.”

You raised a brow, your mind was already puzzled and his actions only added to your confusion “Why?”

“Just listen to me.” He dismissed your question and started driving again while you drank small sips from the bottle.

You soon reached your house, this time Jake parked his car unauthorisedly in front of it, exiting the car to open the door for you.

You looked up at him, your vulnerable state making him want to protect you even more. Damn Heeseung.

“I couldn’t finish it all…” You murmured, showing him only the half-empty bottle of water.

His eyes softened. “That’s ok, at least you drank some.” You smiled up at him and stumbled a little as you tried to reach your house door.

Jake helped you, holding you up with his arms under your armpits “Shoot, Y/N. Why did you drink so much?” He let out a huff, as he was basically supporting all your weight.

You leaned on the wall and handed Jake your purse, not really in the state to open the door.

“What’s the code?” He asked and looked at your door, just to realise there was no code to access inside it, your door still needed a key to be opened.

His stomach dropped, another mental check of how different your lives were “Inside the purse.” You murmured.

Jake nodded and opened your purse, taking out the keys and opening the door, holding it open.

“You’re mad at me?” You asked again, your eyes half-lidded and you could barely hold yourself up— yet you were ever so pretty.

The moonlight shone on you, lighting up your skin, your hair falling down your face, messy but gorgeous. So dishevelled but so pretty.

“No, Y/N. I’m not mad at you.” He repeated, his tone sincere “Then… Then why you ignored me?” You asked, the pout on your lips only making him want to bite on them.

He gave you the purse back and pushed you a little so that you walked in “Go straight to bed, don’t wake your parents up. You don’t want them to see you like this.”

You nodded obediently and Jake caressed your cheek with his thumb before turning around. He stopped right in front of your door and smiled “I’m doing this for you, ma chérie.” And then closed the door.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Hey man,” Jake greeted Sunghoon as he entered his house, giving him a high five, “Good to see you again.”

“Yeah, glad to see you too.” Sunghoon nodded and closed the door behind his back.

“Am I the last one?” Jake asked, walking to the couch and sitting on it, bouncing a couple of times.

“No,” A wild Jay appeared from the kitchen where he was cooking something for dinner, already busy since late afternoon. “Heeseung texted he’d be late.”

“As always.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes and sat down beside him “I swear, he never changes.”

“Jay told me you will take over your father’s company,” Sunghoon smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes “Congratulations.”

“Yeah.” Jake laughed “Thanks.” Awkward silent filled the room, the only sound being Jay’s pots as he cooked. Sunghoon eyed him up and down, leaning back on the couch and resting his head on his hand “Hadn’t you rebelled to your parents?”

“Rumours fly.” He smiled forcefully “It was just a silly thing. I actually realised I should make them proud after eveything they did for me.”

“And what exactly did they do for you, Jake?” Sunghoon’s voice was low, his gaze piercing.

Jake just cleared his throat and changed the topic “So, how was Paris?” He asked “I know you booked a hotel near the Eiffel Tower. Bet it was awesome.”

Sunghoon tsked “Indeed. I’ll show you the picture if you want.” Jake answered positively when the doorbell rang.

“You get the door, it must be Heeseung.” Sunghoon got up from the sofa and patted his pockets “I’ll search for my phone.”

Jake got up as well and walked to the door, the doorbell rang again and he sighed “Yeah, coming.” He opened it and widened his eyes when he saw another familiar figure beside Heeseung.

He took in the sight of you, wearing comfortable clothes, looking ever so dreamy.

His gaze fixed on the hickey Heeseung made you a couple of days before, now all dark and purplish. He gulped “What is she doing here?”

“I invited her.” Heeseung shrugged, stepping aside Jake and walking inside the house.

You were left with him, staring at each other’s faces, acting as if both of your hearts weren’t pounding “How’s the after effect?”

There was no context but you knew what he meant “Good, I’m a big woman. No joint can kill me.” You replied, walking beside him when no more words were exchanged. Truth to be told the next day you woke up with a throbbing headache, regretting all of your life choices— though the biggest one was the hickey on your neck.

“I thought you didn’t want to hang out on this side of the town.” Jake spoke, his tone sounding mocking. You scowled “Maybe I changed my mind.” You walked faster toward the kitchen where everyone was gathered.

You got to know Jake’s friend group. Aside from Heeseung and him, you had only seen Jay at the last party. You later found out Sunghoon was on a business trip in Paris which was why you hadn’t seen him before, but even if you did he wasn’t the happiest about your presence, so you thought you wouldn’t have been friends.

Jay, on the other end, was sophisticated and kind, the two of them looking ever so the stereotype of rich kids.

Heeseung and Jake were rather normal, they could’ve passed as the kids from your neighbourhood if you didn't know their true identities.

“I brought some snacks.” Sunghoon announced, placing a sachet on the table. He took out all kinds of sweet things, but your eyes lit up at the sight of macaroons.

You had only seen their pictures and let your mind wander at what their taste would be like, but now they were in front of you, so you reached your hand and took one.

“You like ‘em?” Heeseung asked, taking the chocolate flavoured one and eating it “I’ve never tried them.” The whole table fell silent, all the boys stopping in their tracks.

“Never?” Jay questioned and you shook your head “That’s a bummer though, I only bought four for the four of us.” Sunghoon was about to take the vanilla flavoured macaroon out of your hand when Jake slapped it away.

“I don’t like them anyways, she can have mine.” Jay frowned at his friend’s words “You love macar—“ He was shushed by a biscuit placed in his mouth by Jake “I don’t like them.” He repeated.

You bit on the small treat and your eyes formed hearts “It’s so good!” You said, munching on it. And you didn’t know it, but Jake’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of you so happy.

You continued to spend time with them, playfully beefing with Sunghoon as if you weren’t an intruder in his house until they decided to go in the free time room to play billiard.

“But I don’t know how to play billiards.” You pouted, watching all the men gather around the pool table.

“That’s ok, you can just watch.” Sunghoon dismissed you quickly, placing himself in front of you to posionate the balls inside the triangle.

You just scoffed and sat on the kitchen counter, crossing your arms on your chest.

You watched the game develop in front of your eyes, never truly understanding its rules. They were too useless and complicated and you stopped paying attention in the middle.

After what seemed like forever, where you had the time to walk around Sunghoon’s big house three times and even have a chat with his maids — cause apparently, rich kids could even afford maidens — you entered the kitchen again just to see it was empty.

You looked around, checking if anyone was there before following Sunghoon’s previous actions, placing the balls in the triangle to align them.

You didn’t know what they found interesting in billiards, and trying to understand it wasn’t going to get you killed.

You took the cue stick and positioned yourself, copying the boys’ postures.

Something must’ve gone wrong, though, because as you pushed the cue you embarrassingly missed it.

“You are too far with your back.” The same voice that haunted your dreams spoke from behind you, making you flinch.

“Chill, it’s just me.” Jake stated, munching on some chips “Heeseung wondered if you wanted something to eat.”

You smirked, leaning on the table “Heeseung or you?” Jake rolled his eyes but didn’t deny your questioning.

He gulped down his food and stared at you “You want to play pool?”

“I already said I don’t know how to do that.” You repeated, glancing back at the untouched balls “I don’t even understand the rules.”

“Here.” Jake’s accent tickled your ears as he made you turn around with his hands on your hips “Bend just a little.” You didn’t know if his voice was really that low or if he was doing it just to tease you— Whatever was his plan, you were down for it.

“Mh? Like this?” You said with your most innocent voice, bending slightly more on the table, just enough to make your ass touch his front hips.

He let out a faint groan “Yeah.” He tried not to show the effect you had on him and trailed his fingers along your arms until he reached the cue stick in your hands. Goosebumps formed on your skin at the contact.

“Then?” You asked, eager for him to touch you. “Then you place the cue like this.” He shifted your fingers so you could grip it the right way and turned his face, you could feel his breath on your skin and the tip of his nose poking your cheek.

There was also something else poking your ass cheeks, which was why you started moving, briefly. Just to tease him.

“Take the aim.” The combination of his voice and the proximity of your bodies made your mind hazy, making it hard for you to concentrate.

You just let him guide you “And… Shoot.” You pushed the cue between your fingers and finally, all the balls moved around the green table.

One went into the hole and you jumped happily “I did it!” You exclaimed, laughing “You saw?” You asked, turning around.

Jake was staring at you with ever so deep eyes, full of emotions you didn’t quite get but felt inside of you as well “I always see you.”

𓆩♡𓆪

You weren’t sure why Heeseung invited you to yet another party, or the reason as to why you seemed to be the only girl at a boys hang out, but you weren’t going to complain.

The hotel you guys were staying in was huge, apparently it belonged to Heeseung’s parents and you could have it all for yourself the whole night.

Wearing the best dress you owned you presented yourself at the location beside the raven haired man.

You greeted his friends group and noticed there were many other people, unlike you thought, all partying and dancing together.

It was very different from the ones he usually threw at his house, this one was huge and packed, there was almost no space to go through the crowd.

“And you said I couldn’t bring Yunjin along.” You side eyed Heeseung, earning a shrug. “One girl from the other side is already enough.”

You slapped lightly on his shoulder “Rude.” Heeseung laughed and pushed your back a little. “Go have fun, I have guests to greet.”

Feeling like a mouse surrounded by cats, you made your way through the crowd, trying to ignore the thirsty stares you were receiving. Since that fateful night where you willingly let your heart out for Jake you had become more careful with your possible make outs.

As you turned your face to look at the big pool where people were swimming, you accidentally bumped someone's chest, which made you stumble backwards.

“Sorry,” You murmured, about to walk away when a hand came around your wrist. It wasn’t Jake’s, the one you were used to, it was much rougher and tighter.

You glanced up just to notice a tall guy, probably high judging from his bloodshot eyes and twitching nose. Holy Moly.

That guy lowered to match your height, his hot and smelly breath made your nose scrunch in disgust “Hey, gorgeous.”

Your whole body froze and your heart stopped beating for a few seconds “Uh… Hi.” You laughed awkwardly, trying to remove your hand from his grip.

“You bumped me by mistake?” He asked, getting dangerously close “Or did you want my attention. You didn’t have to pull that act, my attention is all yours now.” His words were so slurred you could barely understand them.

“Actually, it was a mistake.” You said and again tried to pull away from him, but the more you tried the more he got closer.

“Don’t lie.” He whispered and wrapped one arm around your waist. You were trapped, your breath hitching.

“I truly am not.” You pushed his chest away, resulting in him only tightening his grip “Come on… Let’s have fun.”

“She said it was a mistake.” A familiar voice with a thick accent, thicker than usual, commented, placing one hand on the guy’s shoulder.

The guy groaned and raised himself in all his height, turning around in slow motion — or maybe it was just your panicked vision playing tricks — toward Jake.

He stood in front of him, unfazed by how big and tall that guy was as he stared at him with a dark gaze.

“And who are you to interrupt us?” The guy asked, his voice too low for your own likings “Her guy.” Jake said as if it was the most obvious answer, raising a brow.

“So, I suggest you walk the fuck away before I throw one punch on your nose and break it.” You had never seen Jake angry, you had a few fantasies about it, but you would’ve never imagined him being so scary (and hot).

His whole aura was inky, arms crossed on his chest, showing his excessively veiny arms.

That guy was surely drunk but not enough to risk his own life. He raised his hands in a submissive manner and nodded “Alright, sorry man.” Jake tilted his head “It’s not me you have to apologise to.”

He took a moment to comprehend his words “Oh.” He then turned to you and scratched the back of his neck “I’m sorry.” He didn’t wait for your reply and just walked away.

Your eyes then met Jake’s, filled with wrath “I—“ You said but were met by his hand around your wrist, this time your body not repulsing it as that guy’s and he dragged you inside the hotel.

“Jake, let go.” You tried to fight him but he was stronger, dragging you through the corridors until he reached what would’ve been a storage room, full of pillows and sheets supplies “Let go, it hurts.”

Jake loosened his grip “You really have trouble written on your forehead.” He snapped, his breath heavy as he paced around the room “I can’t look away from you that you’re getting yourself into something bad.”

You frowned at his harsh words “That’s not true.” Jake scowled “Is it not? You either get high or almost—“ He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.

“Why do you even care anyways?” You said back, brows knitted “You’re the one who used me.”

Jake stopped in his tracks “Used you?” He got closer to you.

“Yes,” You stepped forward as well. “You just used me, made me think you actually cared about me just to rebel against your parents.”

You gulped, your heart breaking again at the memory “Next thing I know, you’re ignoring me and smiling at a pretty girl.”

“Did you fuck her, Jake?” He was taken aback from your words, placing his hands on your shoulders. You shrugged him off, he still remained in your proximity without touching you.

“I think I lost something here, who was I smiling at?” You clicked your tongue, your hands on your waist as you got frustrated.

“That girl, last Saturday.” You explained “Dark hair, killer body, tall… Come on Jake, just admit it you wanted someone to fuck but I didn’t and so you went with someone else.”

“That’s really not what I did. I would never.” He blinked faintly “That girl, she’s Karina, Sunghoon’s sister.” He then added “I don’t like her, not that way.”

You wanted to scowl at him, but his tone was so serious you found yourself asking “..What?”

“You’re not the problem, Y/N.” Jake said, sighing “It’s me, it’s all my fault.”

You shook your head, confused. “What— Jake, I don’t understand.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to help me.” He backed up until his back hit the wall, running a frustrated hand in his hair “I exposed you to my parents— I—“

You moved to him, taking his face in your hand “Stop mumbling.” You ordered “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Despite the way he treated you in the past week, your touch was still gentle and you worried about him. A spark of hope lit his heart up.

Jake nodded and took a deep breath “My parents… they said that if I didn’t break up with you they’d make yours lose their job. You’d lose your house… I couldn’t do that, Y/N.”

He seemed as if he was slowly loosing his mind. You took in the sight of him, dark circles under his eyes, he looked paler wearing that white shirt. Just what on earth had he been doing?

“They’re powerful, with the amount of money they have they can easily buy your whole neighbourhood and evict you.” He gulped down “So I am preparing to take over the company, to make them happy.”

Your eyes widened at his words, “They threatened you?” You asked, removing your hands from his cheeks to stand properly.

Jake shrugged, “We weren’t together so technically I couldn’t break up with you, but I could stay away if it meant you’d be safe.” He sighed softly, “I told you I’m a bad bet since the first time we met.”

“No,” You shook your head “You aren’t bad, your parents are.”

He scoffed, “And I’m just like them.”

You fisted the collar of his shirt and brought his lips down to yours. He was shocked by your sudden action but he relaxed soon and closed his eyes, kissing you back.

“Say that again and your face will meet my fist.” You breathed out as you pulled away “You don’t get how brave you are? You were about to sacrifice your happiness to save my family… someone you met at a party.”

“You’re not just someone I met at a party.” Jake whispered “In just a couple of days you made my whole life better, you made me realise there’s so much more than what I was used to.”

He placed one hand in your hair, caressing your scalp “I never meant to hurt you, baby.”

Your heart jumped as you heard his whisper, the pet name making your head spin “Later, I want you to explain everything to me everything.” You demanded.

Jake nodded “Everything you want, queen.” Your breath quickened “But for now…” You trailed off and connected your lips again.

You kissed him, roughly and he did it back with the same intensity, having missed the taste of you, the scent of your perfume invading his nostrils, clouding his mind.

“Let me take you home,” He murmured between kisses “In your bedroom.”

You shook your head, stumbling backward and bringing him with you “Can’t wait.”

“You sure about this?” He asked as you got out of the storage room, bodies still tangled “I could be bad, worse than you think.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down on you “Then, I wanna find out.”

Jake let out a small groan and resumed kissing you, blindly reaching a doorknob and praying nobody was inside.

He dragged you in and locked the door behind your backs.

Jake pushed you against the wall as he undid the buttons of his shirt while you unbuckled his belt, your lips never leaving each other.

He discarded his shirt and helped you unzip his jeans, throwing all of them somewhere on the floor.

He then removed the straps of your dress, slowly kissing all the way down your neck to your almost exposed chest. He pulled away, enough to look at the now barely-visible hickey Heeseung did.

Jake let out a deep groan “You don’t know how much this drove me insane.” He commented, trailing his thumb over it

“Yeah?” You asked “Were you jealous?”

“I wanted to rip his head off.” He said, kissing you again “Wanted to cover your whole body with hickeys and my marks, just to let him know who you belong to.”

You nodded, “Do it,” You breathed out “Make me yours, Jake.”

He unconsciously bucked his hips to meet yours, his clothed bulge poking your pussy “Fuck baby, you can’t tell me that.” He whispered, attaching his lips on your neck again.

Jake lowered the dress until it rested on your hips, palming your breasts, growling at the feeling.

You gasped when his lips engulfed your nipple, twirling his tongue round it. Your hand went to grasp his hair while the other slowly lowered his boxers until his painful erection was free.

Jake helped you out of your dress and underwear until you were standing in front of each other naked. “I’ll worship your body another time.” He murmured, trailing his fingers down your chest “For now, I just want to fuck you rough.”

You smirked and shook your head, making Jake widen his eyes “You don’t want this? I can stop.”

“No, I want it.” You stated, slowly sinking on your knees “I just need to show you my skills first.”

That was the hottest thing anyone could’ve done to Jake, his cock twitched in front of you. It was huge, veiny and hard, his mushroom tip looking ever so delicious.

“You see, baby? This is what you do to me.” He pumped his shaft, brushing it on your lips.

“Stick out that tongue for me.” You did as told and stuck your tongue out as Jake laid his cock on it, bucking his hips back and forth. The spongy and warm texture already making it leak with precum.

You played with his balls while you took him whole in your mouth, gagging when it hit the back of your throat. The filthy sounds filled the room as he took a hold of your head, fisting your hair in a makeshift ponytail while he thrusted inside your throat.

“So good.” He panted, his head thrown back and brows knitted.

You twirled your tongue around his cock, pumping it with your hands where your lips couldn’t reach “Sucking my cock so well.”

Before you could even register, Jake pulled out and raised you from your armpits, placing you on the bed.

“I need to feel your pussy.” He stated, rubbing your clit with his thumb “Want to use a condom, baby?” He asked, “Just tell me.”

You shook your head, bringing him down onto you in a heated kiss “Fuck me raw.” He moaned in the kiss and fisted his shaft again, gathering your juices, you got so wet even by just giving him a blow.

He slowly inserted himself in you, the stretch causing you to pant. You weren’t a virgin but he was bigger than the ones you had before, so it took a moment for you to get used to it.

Jake’s thrusts were nice and slow at first, his forehead resting on yours “I can’t resist.” He breathed out, giving a deeper thrust “Please, can I move?”

You nodded your head, trying to breathe steadily. Jake raised from you and spread your legs open while he moved inside you. You grasped your tits, palming them while maintaining eye contact with Jake.

“You don’t know how much I wanted this,” He groaned, pulling out just to spit on your hole to fill it again “Pussy so tight can barely move.”

Your hand went down to rub circles on your clit, trying to make it wetter as his thrusts gained speed.

Jake slapped your hand and commanded “Hands around your ankles.” And so you complied.

He leaned down and kissed you sloppily, his hips moving back and forth at a delicious rhythm. You moaned out loud.

Holding your head up to rest his forehead on it, your eyes still locked with the others as your body connected fanatically, Jake twitched inside of you and halted his movements.

“Fuckk, almost came.” He chuckled, pulling out of you.

“Want to last longer than this.” He took your body and turned you around, you raised yourself on your arms and leaned your ass up.

“You like being fucked in doggy, mh?” He spammed your ass “Looking so eager to be fucked dumb, you won’t think about anything but my cock in you.”

Jake pushed himself inside of you again, making you moan out his name “Yes, that’s me.” He groaned “Say it again.”

“Jake.” You gasped, he fisted your hair, making you arch your back while he rutted your body “Oh, Y/N.” He moaned as well.

Putting one hand around your neck, he squeezed it as he threw his own head back, lost in the pleasure your warm walls were giving you.

“Fuck baby, I’m not gonna last long.” He panted, stopping his movements to edge himself “Just fuck me.” You pleaded, frustrated by your own denied orgasm every time he stopped.

“Sorry,” He chuckled, spanking your ass and leaning down to kiss the back of your shoulder “You want to cum?”

You nodded, raising yourself to kiss him passionately as he slowly thrusted inside you “Can you ride me, baby? Pretty please?”

Jake looked so hot, messy bangs sticking to his forehead and heavy breath, you couldn’t do anything but agree to everything he said.

You waited for him to lay down, his back pressed against the headboard of the bed as you straddled him.

You rubbed your wet folds on his hard-on, Jake reached for your tits and squeezed them “Have I ever told you you’re so fucking hot?” He asked.

You chuckled “No, but I already know that.” You winked and raised yourself on your knees, slowly sinking down on his cock.

The stretch was still a little painful, but nothing compared to the pleasure his dick was giving you.

You moved on him, up and down at a slow but deep rhythm, feeling him all as he hit your cervix with each thrust.

Jake moved your hair out of your face, his lips attaching to your boob as if he was a toddler in desperate need of milk.

You moaned, your hands grasping his shoulders as you moved back and forth at a quick speed.

“Oh yes.” He put his hands behind his head and watched as you rode him, your mouth agape, gasping for air while shaky moans escaped your lips “Feels good.”

Your legs started to shake and you could barely keep yourself up as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten “I’ve got you.” Jake noticed and made you lay on his chest, his hands spreading your ass cheeks as he started rutting inside you, his pace so quick you didn’t know it was possible.

Your pussy clenched around his cock, creaming him as you fell apart, your moans loud and whole body shaking.

Jake didn’t stop, he chased his own orgasm which was so close.

“You're just made to please me.” He panted, giving a few more thrusts “You're made to squeeze every drop of cum from my cock.” His eyes rolled back with a low groan as he shot his load, his cock twitching until it emptied in you.

You both stayed there for a while, just trying to steady your breaths and calm your racing hearts.

Jake slowly traced your back with his fingers, a featherlight touch sending shivers all dove your spine.

He pulled out, his cum dripping down from your pussy to your thighs and bedsheets.

Jake helped you sit up and removed a few strands of hair that got stuck to your face “You look gorgeous.” He whispered, earning a smile from you “And you did amazing.”

He cleaned you up and threw the dirty sheets on the floor “I’m sorry for whoever will have to clean them tomorrow.” You commented, grimacing.

“Don’t worry about it,” He soothed, settling himself beside you and holding you on his chest, gently caressing your bare shoulder.

You looked up at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You should start making choices for your own happiness, Jake.” You murmured

Jake let out a small sigh “Indeed, I should.” He pressed a kiss on your brow “I want to choose you, not my parents, not anyone else. Only you.” You smiled, “I only want you, too.”

“I’ll find a way to fight my parents, I promise I’ll be stronger this time.” Your eyes softened at his words, you caressed his cheek and he leaned on your palm, melting “Oh Jake, you’re the strongest person I know.” You confessed.

“Really?” He asked, looking like a lost boy, “Really.” You confirmed.

Suddenly, your stomach growled loudly. Jake glanced at his phone he had found in his forgotten jeans and put on the bedside table “It’s late night, ma chérie. You’re hungry?”

You nodded, “I want steak.” Jake snorted at your joke “And I want a burger.” He said back.

“Hanging out with a girl from the other side of the town changed you.” You smirked, nudging his shoulders

“Yeah. For the better.”

THE END.

#enhypen fics #enhypen smut #enhypen #enhypen au #sim jake #jake scenarios #jake smut #sim jake smut #jaeyun smut #sim jake scenarios #jake sim smut #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #jake enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #jake hard hours #jake hard thoughts #jaeyun hard hours #sim jake hard hours #sim jaeyun fics

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.

(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone

It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation. 

The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been. 

The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.

“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.

Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.

He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.

When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.

Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs. 

You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.

You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.

His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.

He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.

He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.

He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it. 

But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely. 

Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.

“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”

He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.

“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.” 

Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them. 

“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”

I love you.

He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.

You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.

“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”

He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.

“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”

Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.

He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?” 

He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.

He does.

“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”

Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.

“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.

Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.

“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”

Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.

He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.

You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty. 

“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”

Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.

“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”

You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.

He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours. 

Then you ask: 

“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”

Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches. 

Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.

He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.

“Yes.”

“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.

Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.

You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.

You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”

He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.

“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yes.”

Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”

He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state. 

He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.

You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.

“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?” 

Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.

As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.

“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”

“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”

Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”

“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.

“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”

His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.

“You did,” you confirm.

Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.

“Truth,” he murmurs.

You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”

“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette. 

He voices his first lie, “No.”

You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.

He refrains, if only barely.

You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.

“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”

“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”

Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”

If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.

The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”

He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”

The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.

He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.

He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.

Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.

But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”

Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?

Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.

Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?

He knows his next question.

“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”

He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.

You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.

“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”

He halts.

His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.

Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.

So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”

He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?” 

You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”

“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”

“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.

“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”

“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”

Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.

“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?” 

Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.

He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.

“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”

He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.

“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”

He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.

“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”

His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?” 

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”

Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”

Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.

“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.

Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya. 

Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.

After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills. 

For better or for worse, you’re not most people.

In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”

Dazai snorts.

“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”

“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”

“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”

Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

 “No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”

“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”

Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”

“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”

You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die. 

“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”

“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”

“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.

“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”

Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.

He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.

He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.

After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.

“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?” 

He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”

You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.

So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.

But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?

“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.

There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.

He forces it out anyway.

“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.

A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…

Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”

“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”

Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”

“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.

There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”

Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”

Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.

So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.

No.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.

You don’t.

The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.

God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.

His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.

There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it. 

All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.

He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.

Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall. 

His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”

Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.

Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven. 

You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”

He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.

Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him. 

“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?” 

You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.

“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”

“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar. 

“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?” 

“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.

He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.

He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.

He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking… 

Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.

It was a very lonely four years without you.

“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.

“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.

This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.

“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.

You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”

His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand. 

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”

“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”

“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.

Dazai gags.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.” 

“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”

You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.

“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”

“How-”

“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”

Okay. 

Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”

It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”

Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.

“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.

He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.

The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”

Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.

It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.

No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.

His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.

But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.

But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.

He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”

He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you. 

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”

“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”

“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.

“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.

Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous. 

You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-

And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening. 

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you. 

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s. 

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. 

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

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

[timmyyyturner]

Gone: Jason Todd x Fem! Reader

"Baby, wake up." The kiss pressed on your forehead soothing you awake, you're half asleep, he pulls you into his arms. "I'm going away for a little while okay, baby?" You snuggled into his arms. "Gonna miss you." He kissed your cheek. You mummer something on the lines of "gonna miss you more." Jason chuckled softly. "I love you." You smile leaning up to kiss his soft and a bit chapped lips. "I love you more." He mummers against your lips. He lays you down. "Go back to sleep, Kay?" You nod. "Don't be gone too long." He nods, slipping on his helmet. "I won't. 2 weeks, I promise." You hum, watching him jump out the window.

Jason Todd disappears alot, but it doesn't mean he doesn't miss you and it doesn't mean you miss him any less. You've been together 2 years, 3 in six months. You could barely contain yourself when the second week without him arrives but to your disappointment he doesn't arrive but he send flowers with a note that reads missions gonna take longer than i thought, maybe 2 weeks? i love you.

You miss his voice, his touch, his taste, his pretty lips, him. You miss him. Two weeks later, you wait for him again, propped up on the windowsill, with a cup of coffee, under a blanket. Alas you fall asleep, when you woke up you were in bed, the scrumptious smell of breakfast. You were excited to see him, rushing in the kitchen only to find it empty. "Jay?" You called out. "Baby?" You stumbled into the dining area. "Jas-" You stopped at the table, seeing the flowers, a note sticking out from the flowers beautifully set behind a plate of pancakes. You picked up the note reading it disappointedly. enjoy breakfast :) i'll be back in a month, promise. i love you.

Two months later and you haven't heard anything from him. Not a word. You missed him. You just wanted to know if he was alive, thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him. The house is too quiet, too empty. You wanted to know where he was.

You were propped on the couch reading a Jane Austen book when you got a knock on you're door. You didn't even attempt to get your hopes up. "Package and flower delivery for Miss. L/n." You sighed for it, took it closing the door. You searched the carnations for a note, nothing. You put them in a vase. You knew it was from him though. Red carnations were his favorite flower. You opened the package, nothing but a black hoodie and a red plushy. The hoodie smelt exactly like him. You drowned yourself in his hoodie, falling asleep holding the plushy.

Another two months and you were considering leaving the house for bit cause everything reminds you of him, sleeping in his side, buying his perfume so you could smell like him all the time. It wasn't exact but you could bare with it for a little while. This two months however there wasn't even an indication that he was alive.

The day six months arrived. Your anniversary. Midnight. You had enough. You wanted to be loved, you needed to love and you had so much love to give. Your stuff sat neatly in suitcases on top of the bed. You heard a soft thump on the floor, in the middle of writing a note to Jason. "Where you going, baby?" Tears stung at your eyes. You got up and walked to him. "Sorry for being away so long." Before he could say anything more, you hand came in contact with his face. It stung. Hurt. He deserved it though.

"Why the fuck would you do that to me?" You whispered, looking up at him, eyes red and puffy from crying. He didn't say anything after, neither did you though. You sighed, taking the suit cases off the bed, pulling them next to you. "So, is this it? Is this the end?" He asked, fists balled up, angry with himself. He knew he couldn't live without you. You bent down to open the suitcase. You didn't say anything for a whole minute, just ignored his presence and opened the closet door. "Y/n. Are we over?"

"Don't be fucking stupid, Jason." You started packing your stuff back in the closet. "If we were over, I would've left already." Jason smiled softly. "Nuh-uh. Don't smile at me, you stink."

"Ouch? I thought we were cool." He frowned playfully. "No, we are. You just smell extremely repulsing and you're full of mud." He nodded. "I agree, gimme a hug and a kiss."

"What? No." You turned to him seeing him gone. "Jason, I swear to Go- JASON PUT ME DOWN! You're making me dirty!"

He put you down slowly. "Great, now I have to shower too." You frowned. "You're so fucking lucky I love you." He paused, holy shit it felt so good to hear you say it again. "So, we gonna shower now? Or you want me to run us a bath?" He wanted to hear you say it again. "Bath... I love you." He muttered the last part. You kissed his cheek. "I love you too, honey. Now take off those dirty ass clothes off before I burn them off." He smiled. "I love you more."

"What are you playing, Mr. Todd?" He looked at you pleadingly. "Say it again, please."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I love you more."

"I love you most." He cleared his throat. "Will you marry me?" You stopped in your tracks. "What?"

He swallowed. "I want to marry you, Y/n. Will you marry me?" You didn't say anything for a while, just stared at him, tears falling from your eyes. "I know you're extremely mad but i love you and want to mar-"

"Yes." You both didn't say anything for a while. "You said yes." He said. "I did." You spoke. You practically jumped in his arms. "I love you so much, Jason. Please don't ever do that again."

"Not even thinking 'bout leaving, princess. Never."

#jason todd #he makes me so soft #jason todd comfort #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #red hood #timmyyyturner

[imwetforyourmom]

used

summary: chris discovers his girlfriend’s secret tiktok account, and what he finds on it makes him regret everything.

warnings: angst, yelling, swearing, shit talking, toxicity, breaking up

a/n: thought of this after listening to happier than ever by billie eilish. I do not apologize for what this fic contains.

a/n 2: not entirely sure if the song matches up great w the fic but like, its what I listened to while writing it

not proofread

~

“get out.”

of course chris would’ve respected her privacy, but when her phone was blowing up with notifications every 30 seconds he really couldn’t help but let his curiosity get the best of him.

he grabbed her phone from beside him on the bed and unlocked it, going to see what app it was that was blowing up, seeing tiktok at the bottom of her phone screen with 99+ notifications. his eyebrows raised, he tapped the app and pressed her account, missing the notification button.

his face dropped when he saw her videos, her description and her profile photo, all consisting of negative things. her description saying nothing but ‘I hate chris” like an immature middle schooler rage baiting, but he knew she wouldn’t do it for fun.

he tapped the first video posted, reading the first section of the slideshow before swiping to the second one, his heart dropping to his ass with each word he read.

“i fucking hate chris so much, kid wont give me any space, he’s so nosy and obnoxious and loud …” chris stopped himself, knowing what he read next was going to be way worse, he knew when y/n hated something, she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and list everything she hated about it, in cruel ways.

he scrolled down to the next video, his vision already blurring with the tears pooling in his eyes. before letting himself even try and read it, he clicked out of the video and went to notifications, wanting to see what else she’d said about him.

seeing her messages spammed, he checked it, in hopes of people disagreeing but what he saw only tore his heart apart more.

the most recent text she’d sent someone was “I hate chris so much ..” he was sure there was definitely way more messages sent about her passionate hatred for him further in the messages, but he didn’t want to see them, he wouldn’t do that to himself.

he clicked her phone off and set it on the bed where he found it and turned to his side, curling into a ball, facing away from the door and letting his tears fall down his face, his chest ached and his stomach felt like an endless pit of nothing, he shut his eyes and held his breath tightly, attempting to cry quietly.

~

when y/n walked back into the room from her small trip to the gas station with nick, when she saw what laid on the bed, shaking shoulders, muffled sobs and chris in a ball, a million thoughts raced in her head at once and her heart rate increased incredibly fast.

“chris?” she whispered hesitantly, walking over to him and gently tapping him on the shoulder hesitantly.

chris sat up, his cheeks red and tear-stained, his eyes bloodshot and his chest moving up and down rapidly. he shoved y/ns hand off him and stared at her, a disbelief look in his eyes.

“dont fucking touch me.” he spat, his voice attempting to be stern, but failing miserably and going shaky, but still getting the point across.

“whats- whats wrong?” y/n sat down next to him, a shooken look in her eyes.

“what the fuck do you mean ‘what’s wrong’? I saw everything! I know everything.” he grabbed her phone and unlocked it, pressing tiktok and shoving it in her lap.

“what the fuck is wrong with you!” he stood up, his voice raising and his sad demeanor quickly changing to angry and in disbelief.

“I- I-“ y/n attempted to speak but she couldn’t bring herself to, she didn’t want to lie and say she liked him, but she didn’t really watch to hurt his feelings—well, I mean, he did see everything on her tiktok, so, fuck it.

she stood up as well, “I dont fucking like you chris! that’s whats wrong! you’re always up in my personal space, always so fucking childish and immature, you don’t act your age and it’s irritating, chris!” y/n yelled, throwing her arms to her sides, trying to make a reason of why she said all of that.

his gaze hardened, he blinked rapidly to push away the forming tears, “then you should’ve said something before going off to the internet, y/n, those fucking online people can’t do anything about it. only you and me!” he rolled his eyes at her stupid actions.

“why’d you even stay with me if you hate me so much, y/n? you know I love you, why’d you do that to me?” his voice lowered, his eyes filling with tears again, thinking about how much she probably faked their relationship, how many ‘I love you’’s she’s faked.

y/n swallowed, she was gonna be truthful, she’s already hurt chris’ feelings with lying, so why lie even more now that he knows.

“I liked the attention on online, I liked how many followers I got, I liked being noticed, chris, is that too much to ask for?” as bad as she wanted to feel bad, she couldn’t. she was glad chris found everything, now she wouldn’t have to fake everything, everyday.

“you used me for my fame?” he asked, his voice breaking and his eyes no longer being able to withhold the tears falling down his cheeks.

“of course I used you, chris! you thought I actually liked you?” she asked more with sympathy, finally feeling the kick of doing and saying all of those things about chris. she finally felt the pang of guilt to her chest.

“yes, I actually thought you loved me, y/n. I thought you were actually just as in love with me as I am, I thought you meant all of those ‘I love you’’s and ‘I miss you’’s, I thought we were in a genuine relationship, y/n. i wanted to be able to put a ring on your finger, i wanted to be able to call you my wife.” chris’ tears fell down his face even faster now, his hands clenched in fists at his sides as he spoke with honesty.

y/n looked at him, his disheveled appearance and the sincerity in his eyes made her heart ache.

“I would’ve never done that to you.” sobs ripped from his throat with each word he spoke.

“i’m sorry, chris.” y/n said, unsure of what else to say, as guilty as she felt, she didn’t regret anything she’d done or said about him, she truly hated him with a passion.

chris swallowed one of his sobs, “you dont get to say that to me,” he looked at her phone, then her and the door.

“get out.” he finished off, waiting for her to leave, his eyes holding such a deep sense of something, y/n couldn’t look him in the eyes.

she nodded silently, grabbing her stuff and leaving his room, he could hear the front door shut as well.

taking in a breath he held his composure, leaving his room and walking upstairs. heading for matt’s room, he knocked on the door and without warning he walked in, closing the door behind himself and standing at the doorway before looking up to meet matt’s eyes, his eyebrow arched at his brothers sudden appearance.

his face immediately softened once he heard a sob from chris’ throat and caught sight of his brothers face, tear stained cheek and bloodshot eyes still filled with tears. he opened his arms for him, inviting chris to lay in his arms and cry as much as he needed to.

chris walked over to matts bed, taking a seat right next to him, but putting his torso onto matts and stuffing his face into the crook of his neck.

matt rubbed his back, whispering and humming soothing words, his heart aching for chris. he’d never want to see his brother in this state, but he was glad he came to him rather than dealing with it alone, thats all he’d ever ask for.

1143 words.

@luverboychris @chrissturniolosfavoritesexdoll @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07 @genshin-addict @mels22lunchbox @ssilentzom @haunted-headset @sturnib-tch @b2cute @livvy4realll @graysturns @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi @sturn-bugz

@maryx2xx @mattsmad @dollyspsychoxo

#sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #chris sturniolo angst #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #angst #christopher owen sturniolo #Spotify

[penelopepine]

I just read your "If the world was ending..." story and I LOVED it! I saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if you could write something similar to it. 141 x reader and them reacting to their kid breaking a bone.

THANK YOU!!! ❤️ I'm so glad to hear that you liked it; I hope you like this as well too!

141 reacting to their kid breaking a bone:

Price:

He was in his home office doing some paperwork when the call from you came in. Your panicked voice had him instantly on edge; it wasn't until he got you to explain the situation did his mind stop thinking that the two of you were being taken from him.

It turns out that their son had hurt his wrist while trying to skateboard. Price knew that that skateboard would eventually cause trouble for him as soon as he saw his son walk through the door with it.

Price was of course still very worried about his son, and was already in the car by the time the call ended. It only took him a few minutes to arrive at the skatepark where you and their son were waiting for him.

You were fretting over your son the entire ride. His wrist was definitely broken, and the doctor quickly confirmed that after arriving at the emergency room.

An hour later the three of you were driving back home. Their son sat in the back with a dark green cast on his left arm, and an ice cream in his right hand.

Gaz:

Gaz was on the sidelines of the field with you when it happened. His and your daughter was playing in a juniors football game; acting as defensive center mid. She was running trying to get the ball back, and ending up tangling her feet with another girl's.

This caused both girls to fall to the ground; the only difference between them is that his daughter immediately starts to wail. It took everything you had to make him sit down, and wait for the coach to say if you both were needed out there.

He watched nervously from his seat; all he saw was his baby girl sitting on field with tears running down her face.

As soon as the coach started to wave them over Gaz was already up and rushing over to his daughter; you were of course one step behind him. Upon inspecting the scene before him it was clear that her ankle was badly hurt. Very carefully Gaz lifted her into his arms to car, and made your way to the hospital.

Unfortunately it turned out that her ankle was broken. She was of course very disappointed that she wouldn't be able to continue playing football until next season.

Soap:

It was late in evening, and he was making dinner with you. A sudden loud scream from your son alerted you both that something was very wrong.

You both look towards each other for a moment before running out of the house. Your son is still yelling and crying while lying on the ground under his favorite tree.

Soap is the first to reach him, and is quick to kneel down beside him. It's very obvious just looking at his leg that it is broken. Your son clings on Soap; crying into his shoulder. When asked what happened he says fell out of the tree.

Soap hauls him into this arms and into the car. Making sure to do his best to not jostle his leg very much. You choose to sit in back, and comfort your son as Soap speeds his way to the hospital.

He hates seeing his son cry; Soap wishes that he never had to feel pain. He also can't help but feel guilty right now. He is the one who encouraged his son to play outside, run around, and even climb that damn tree.

You seem to know how he's feeling cause as soon as you three are waiting in a hospital room you squeeze his hand. While whispering to him that this wasn't anyone's fault; it was just an accident.

Ghost:

Ghost and you were sitting on a park bench while your daughter ran around the playground playing with some of the other kids. As soon as your daughter screams Ghost is immediately on his feet. You both look just in time to see her hit the ground, and another boy pointing and laughing from the top of the playset.

Your daughter cries in your arm telling you that her arm hurts, and that she can't move it. You tell her to not try and move it anymore or else it could cause the injury to worsen.

Looking around to were Ghost is you see that he is standing to the side of the playset next to a woman. The boy is now standing behind the woman's legs as well. It's clear from her face that Ghost is tearing her to shreds; probably even threating her. You don't care to know though, and before you can even try to walk over there Ghost is turning to were you and your daughter are.

Silently he picks her up out of your arms, and you two go to the car. Ghost sits in the back with her while you drive everyone to the hospital.

Ghost refuses to put her down; not wanting anything else to hurt her. Only letting go when the doctors need to get x-rays and examine the arm. It is unfortunately broken, but your daughter is actually very excited to now have a pretty bright pink cast on her arm.

#x reader #task force 141 #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #john price x y/n #tf 141 x reader #141 x reader

[masonreds]

girly I need you to write a whole fic on desi reader because your insta au is soo good I wanna like read something cute and desi with mason in it obvs.💕

(I think it means that anyways)

mason mount x desi reader

theme: fluff

word count: 1,9k words

so I tried with this and I can’t tell if it cringe or not but it’s the first time I wrote a desi reader fic so i’m expecting it to flop so if it does it doesn’t matter cause I probably won’t be writing another one of these but I felt inspired by this song and when I was writing this it had no relevance to the song but oh well take it as you wish. This is the quickest time I’ve written a request and I’m kind of proud of how I finished this in a week but other than that I don’t really like this. Feedback is always appreciated 🩷

It was wedding week, and that meant no rest until the wedding was actually over but luckily for you today was the reception, the last day of the wedding week. It would’ve made it a lot easier for you if it was a far relatives wedding but it was none other than your sisters wedding.

So that meant all the stress and pressure handed down to the siblings aka you as you’re the second oldest, you were also the maid of honour so you had a lot running on your plate. To add on to your stress your boyfriend was attending and this was the first event of the week he was attending due to busy schedules which you understood, he had met your family before, including your cousins and the rest of that lot, he just hadn’t met the judgy aunties which you had no time to stress for because before you knew it your cousin, Alina was calling you over, ‘Y/N? Can you call your mum over, it’s her turn to get her makeup done.’ You responded with a nod, not being able to get a word out otherwise you’d think you breakdown from all the stress.

You were all getting ready professionally by a makeup artist before the event started, your mum was the last person to get her makeup done and that’s when your nerves started kicking in knowing that it was closer to time for Mason to meet all the aunties you didn't like but you just hoped and prayed that nothing would go wrong tonight and that it wouldn’t ruin your sisters reception otherwise you’d feel awful about it.

Mason was coming to the house before you all left for the venue mainly because you knew he was nervous too and you wouldn’t have time to comfort him at the venue but your plan went out the window anyways because as soon as he arrived at the house it was all packed with your cousins and you really underestimated how busy you would actually be also your cousin brothers weren’t helping the situation by teasing how red you had gone when you saw him.

You were truly living your bollywood moment when you say you felt as though everything slowed down around you and all you focused on was him, ignoring the background noise and the people, it was just you and him. That moment was rudely interrupted when Alina rudely screamed into your ear as you had gone into your own daydream land, but that’s how it was whenever you were with him. It felt like you were living your dream.

It felt too good to be true.

Soon enough you were at the venue, guests were starting to come in and before you know it the venue was packed waiting for your sister and now husband to make their entrance. You couldn’t help but look for Mason but as soon as you found him your heart was warm at the sight you saw, he was laughing away with your cousin brothers and you felt like your cheeks were going to hurt from how hard you were smiling.

This was a special moment for you, not only because you wanted Mason to get on with your family but also you were really close with your family and it would’ve hurt if they didn’t get along in any way, you were just thinking how perfect this night was going and how it will burst your little bubble when the judgy aunties make their silly little comments, you knew they couldn’t keep their mouth shut so you knew it was coming just didn’t know when but you figured you weren't going to let it ruin your night.

The evening had gone pleasantly well, snide comments here and there from some aunties that couldn’t be helped apparently but all in all you expected worse if you were honest. Most of the people were eating as the bride and groom had now made their entrance, you on the other hand found yourself looking for Mason again and you grinned when you succeeded in finding him. Soon you find yourself standing in front of him. He suddenly leaned towards you, his lips touching your ear, ‘come with me for a minute,’ he said in a cheeky tone and you had to stop yourself from crashing your lips on his there and then thinking that you didn’t need an audience.

Before you know it you were walking side by side to wherever he was taking you, whilst you were walking you were thinking about how you were nearly done and soon this whole week would be over which you were glad about as you hadn’t spent much time with Mason and you had missed him.

You saw one of the groom's friends walking towards you both, and it's like a sense of confidence washed over Mason wanting to claim that you are his as he held your dupatta (scarf) and pulled you closer to him. You were taken aback by this side of him that you rarely saw. You looked up at him in surprise, ‘what are you doing?’

‘I saw the way he was looking at you when you were talking to your cousins and I didn't like it.’ a small pout on his lips. The pout and the small tug on your dupatta (scarf) told you everything you needed to know, how he was feeling.

He’s insane but you love him.

‘You were watching me? That’s not creepy at all,’ you playfully joke.

‘No, taking care of you from a distance,’ you felt like your heart was going to explode from the amount of love you have for him.

You were only walking for a short while until you found yourself at the balcony of the venue, the view from up here was beautiful, the sun was starting to set and it felt peaceful here with him and also a bonus that you knew no one would interrupt the little moment you got together because they were busy eating.

You were standing in front of each other and you could see the longing feeling in his eyes, you wished he could see the same feeling in your eyes too because his eyes were truly magical, you could find yourself getting lost in them almost forever. You took a step closer to him and he pulled you in by your waist, his hands touching your bare skin, a quick shiver ran down your body while you were looking at him. He looked unbelievable today and you couldn’t wait to show him how good he looked later.

‘It feels like I haven't held you in forever, I‘ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too, Mase,’ you told him with a smile.

‘You look gorgeous, It’s impossible to take my eyes off you.’ Mason told you and you instantly blushed having missed his compliments and missed being in his hold in general. ‘Especially in this beautiful lengha,’ he added before you had a chance to reply to his first comment but your heart wanted to explode with how much love you have for him.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, just appreciating being in each other's hold. Until you heard the change in the song and you both looked at each other with loving eyes, knowing that the first time you showed him this song it’s like he understood the meaning and had a deep attraction to it, ever since then you had labelled it as one of your songs. Whilst you were both staring at each other, your bodies started reacting to the music and you started dancing to it slowly.

Your head was resting on his chest whilst his chin rested on top of your head, swaying slowly. It was like the perfect moment and you had just wanted to stay here forever if you could.

Everything felt so perfect, it felt like you were telling each other a lot of things without actually speaking, and that was enough for you to communicate. We didn’t need to say anything, sometimes our actions and silence is enough to understand what we want to say and the song in the background basically spoke your heart out.

—

You were back in his hold, finally alone and you didn’t have any intention of letting go anytime soon. The wedding week was finally over and after the reception had ended and bidded your sister goodbye you went straight back to Mason’s and you instantly got out of your heavy lengha and finally put your pj’s on before meeting Mason in the living room, he had his arms out ready for him to draw you into his chest.

A few minutes had passed and you broke the comfortable silence, ‘I have a little surprise for you.’ you spoke and Mason tilted his head in curiosity, his gaze fixed on you and leaned back so he could face you properly. ‘And what would that be?’

You put your hands out towards him before speaking again, your gaze fixed on your beautiful mendhi, ‘Do you remember that tradition I told you about? The one-’

‘You wrote my name in there?’ A toothy smile started to form on Mason’s face and he gently pulled your right hand towards his face and started searching for his name.

‘Just your first name,’ you smiled. Your eyes were on his face that was filled with excitement. He remained focused on your hand as he used his finger to follow a spiral from the centre of your palm outward.

‘This will be so easy.’

‘If you think it’s so easy, maybe we should add some rules to make this a bit more interesting,’ you suggested. You tried to sound like you had just come up with idea but you had thought about it beforehand. He cocked an eyebrow up at you as he looked up, always in a mood for a challenge. ‘If you don’t find your name in the next three minutes, i win - in which case, I get to write my name on you, in the name spot.’

‘Okay, deal,’ he said softly, smiling to himself as he set a timer before looking back down at your mendhi. Your heart swelled with affection as he moved his touch along your forearm to check there. He met your eyes momentarily, shaking his head as if to say, ‘not this one.’

Picking up your left hand, he repeated the process, starting from the centre of your palm and working outward. He paused briefly midway through tracing your fingers but continued, biting his bottom lip to conceal a grin.

‘You have a terrible poker face, babe,’ he pretended not to hear you, so you wiggled your fingers to get his attention. ‘I know you found it.’

‘You’re so sentimental that i knew exactly where it was going to be,’ Mason admitted, curling your left index and middle fingers forward to reveal, among the scallops of the design, MASON written along the length of your ring finger. ‘But I know you want to write your name on my hand.’

‘Oh, who’s the sentimental one now?’ You rolled your eyes, giving a playful push to his shoulder.

Mason reached behind himself to reveal a mendhi cone, a proud smirk on his face, ‘might be me,’ he handed you the cone and put his left hand in yours.

‘It’s definitely you,’ you leaned forward, pressing a small kiss onto the corner of his grin.

You missed these little moments you had with him but you’re so glad the two of you are reunited again. It’s always this little moments that would make your relationship stronger and you always appreciate the things that he does to make you happy.

If it wasn’t him it wouldn’t be anyone else.

yourusername added to Instagram stories

#mason mount x reader #mason mount x desi reader #mason mount #mason mount story #mason mount fan fic #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount smut #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagine #mason mount x oc #mason mount x you #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fics #mason mount fic #mason mount fanfics

[chiriwritesstuff]

Hometown Glory; Chapter 2 Sneak Peek (Pt. 2)

Series Masterlist │ Read Chapter 1 Here!

Do we want a little flashback? I finally have a chance to sit and write after the chaos that was the last few weeks, I hope you all enjoy this little sneaky peek! Chapter 2 is dropping soon!

Your eyes remain fixed on the glossy surface of Nana's casket, the black reflection staring back at you like a mirror of your own conflicted thoughts and feelings. It's as if you're trying to find solace in the emptiness, to drown out the chaos of emotions swirling inside you with the deafening silence of grief. His voice breaks through the stillness, soft and hesitant, a stark contrast to the storm raging within you. You can hear the awkwardness in his tone, the uncertainty in his words, as if he's treading on fragile ground, unsure of where to step next. "I heard you graduated last fall," he begins, his voice so soft it's almost a whisper. You nod in response to his question, your gaze still fixed on the casket, the weight of his presence beside you almost suffocating in its intensity. You can feel the tension between you, thick and palpable, like a barrier separating you from the rest of the world. "And you started law school," he continues, his voice betraying a hint of eagerness, a flicker of hope. "I heard about it from Pop—" "I'm surprised you're even here," you say before you can fully process how harsh and how bitter you must sound, like someone who bets on losing dogs, like someone who— "Yeah, well, I got on the red-eye from Tampa after I got the call," he replies, and you swear you can feel his heavy gaze trained on the side of your face, his eyes pleading, begging. "Look, Glo, Bel—" But before you can fully process his words, before you can respond to the flood of conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm you, he reaches out to you, his hand closing around your wrist with a firm but gentle grip. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, sparking memories of a time when his touch meant safety, comfort, home. But now, it feels like a betrayal, a reminder of everything that's gone wrong between you, everything that's been left unsaid and unresolved. “I wanted to see you,” he whispers, a slight heave in his chest. “Fuck, Glory, it’s been five fucking years—” And at that moment, you're torn between the desire to push him away, to protect yourself from the pain he represents, and the longing in your heart that yearns for connection, for closure, for something more than this endless cycle of hurt and regret. “Are we really going to do this now?! Right here, in front of—” “Yes, Glo. Right here, right now, right in front of this entire fucking town,” he replies harshly as you strain against his grasp, your strength no match to his. “You wouldn’t see me otherwise, god knows how much I’ve tried… please, Bella—” “Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you fucking dare call me that, Francisco—” “Oh, so it’s like that, then?" he exclaims, his face a mask of stunned hurt, the weight of his words heavy with disbelief. "You disappear without a word, not even a goodbye, and we’re back to square one? Francisco?! Seriously, Bella?! Thirteen years of friendship—" “Well, that’s your name, right?” You spit, your eyes darting around your surroundings as you try to hide your distress. “I remember a time when you would call me Frankie, but that was before you decided that you were too good for this town and everyone who gave a damn about you!” “Well, that’s something a friend would call you, right?” you retort, your voice laced with venom, your eyes finally meeting his gaze. "What would your girlfriend think, Francisco? Did you bring her along for the ride, to my grandmother's fucking funeral?" A throat clears from behind you, and a light tap on your shoulder makes you turn, only to see a figure you never wanted to face again. "Fiancée, actually," Chelsea corrects, her smirk betraying her satisfaction as she steps closer, pulling you into a hug. "I am so sorry for your loss," she whispers against your ear, her fingernails digging into your skin. "Oh, Glory," she coos, "I missed you."

Series Taglist:

@ashleyfilm / @danaispunk / @imdrinkingpedro / @yxtkiwiyxt / @lilyevanstan1325

@kungfucapslock / @critfailroll / @maried01 / @misstokyo7love / @missladym1981

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine / @brittmb115 / @readingiskeepingmegoing / @darkheartgatita / @jupiter-soups

@anoverwhelmingdin

#fic: hometown glory #hometown glory #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #wip #frankie morales #pedro pascal character

[dickarchivist]

Lullaby of the Wolffe

Wolffe × GN!Reader

Word Count: 1087

Playlist: Lullaby of the Wolffe

Rating: PG Fluff, but as always Minors DNI 🔞

Contents and Warnings: Insomnia, growing panic due to Insomnia, service animal (charhound), intrusive thoughts, swear words, soft Wolffe, potentially OOC Wolffe, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft sleepy singing

Summary: plagued by anxiety, you can't sleep. Despite your best efforts, Wolffe wakes up beside you. Instead of being angry, he offers you a Lullaby to try and help calm you down.

Author's Notes: The other night I had really bad panic Insomnia and I wanted a comfort fic tailored to my bullshit. I decided it would be a good idea to make a playlist of songs I felt like Wolffe would sing to me in a soft baritone while rubbing my back and trying to soothe me out of my panic. Now that I've made it through the night, I'm writing the fic to go with the playlist. Please enjoy both! I hope you get some rest.

Taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @wolffegirlsunite @wizardofrozz @eclec-tech @dystopicjumpsuit @clonethirstingisreal @wings-and-beskar @multi-fan-dom-madness @starrylothcat @n0vqni @sev-on-kamino @mythical-illustrator @523rdrebel @littlemissmanga @atomickidsoul @moonwreckd

You can't sleep.

You went for a run. You hit the gym. You walked your charhound. You read a whole book, from start to finish. Cooked meals for the whole week, cleaned the house top to bottom, The laundry was even folded.

You can't sleep.

It wasn't for lack of trying. You'd lay in your bed, but as soon as you'd turned off the distractions, you were alone, and everything else came rushing in to attack you.

"You left the stove on. No. Not the stove, the oven. What's that smell? Are you burning the house down!?" You jump out of bed, run to the kitchen, and there's nothing wrong. The place is just how you left it. That burning smell was the crisp charcoal smell of your service charhound, Soot. You mentally kick yourself, how could you be so stupid? You know that smell, you've known it since she was a pup...

Back in bed. Okay, you think, okay this time will be it. This time you'll sleep.

"You forgot to feed Soot. Useless stupid owner how could you do that to your own baby?" But Soot is asleep at your bedside, her belly warm with her meal. You lay back down. You try to sleep.

You. Can't. Sleep.

Tears well in your eyes and you scream. You're so tired. You can't believe how exhausted you are and yet not a single moment of rest finds you. Soot gets up and puts herself in your arms to keep you from getting distructive. Her higher temperature keeps you warm, but all you feel is cold. You don't sleep a moment all night.

You feel sick, you're sluggish all the next day, because of course. You couldn't sleep. It's been 52 hours. The first day you could hide it, the second it started to show, but today... today you're with the wolfpack. If Plo Koon doesn't bring it to anyone's attention first, you know that Wolffe won't let it slide when he sees you. You've never wanted to stay away from the steely eyed commander more than today.

"You look like hell." Wolffe actually takes his helmet off to get a look at you, and it makes your stomach hurt when you see the concern on his face.

You sigh, roll your eyes, "Thanks. Go away." and turn away from Wolffe, trying to focus on your own work.

"No." His voice is hard, and you want to lash out, but when he grabs your wrist and turns you around, all your anger dissolves at his orders, "Tell me what's going on. Now."

Tears welling in the corners of your eyes, you try to blink them away, try to act tough, but you break under his gaze. "I can't sleep!"

You sob, hard. Wolffe jumps when you rush forward to close the gap, pressing your face against his chestplate, arms clinging around him, and openly sobbing. He hesitates, but eventually puts his arms around you, rubbing your back. It's so comforting, but it only serves to make you cry harder. It makes you realize just how touch starved you've been...

"Alright Cyar'ika, why can't you sleep?" You didn't know his voice could be so soft...

"I d-dont- dont know!" When you pull back, he holds your cheek, rubbing away tears. You close your eyes, and try to breath a little more evenly, "I h-have Insomnia, a-and it's been a few days since-"

"Days?!" Wolffe barks, now holding your face in both hands, "Kriff- you're coming with me."

He grabs your wrist, hauling you through the hallways of the ship. He opens a door to reveal a vacant sleeping quarters, and your stomach drops. "N-no, Wolffe, you don't get it... nothing is going to help, and especially not without Soot here, I won't be able to fall asleep. It's hard enough with Soot, but alone, I can't-"

"Shut up." You do, looking away bashfully, until the door closes behind the two of you, at which point Wolffe starts to take off his armor, "Get in the bed."

You blush wildly, covering your eyes, "Wolffe I'm sleep deprived, not- not sex deprived, I'm really sorry if I misled you but- s-stop laughing!"

"Cyar'ika, we are not having sex. Just getting my armor off so I'm comfortable too. Get in the damn bed, you'll see." Wolffe takes your hands from your eyes and leads you over to a bunk.

He helps you down, takes off your boots, and guides you to lay down. Your face is still hot when he gets into the bed with you, and he earns a squeak from you when he handles you into a cradled position. Your head rests on a pillow between yourself and his arm, comfortable for both of you. His other arms curls around you and you feel his hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"I could use a rest, and you definitely need one. Get some sleep... that's an order." He chuckles at the last part, and for a moment, you think this might actually work.

Unfortunately, as soothing as it is, Wolffe's presence did nothing to stop the panic Insomnia. As soon as it's quiet, your mind starts racing. Thoughts of guilt, of shame, thoughts that this is all pity, that he didn't want you because you're undesirable, that-

"Cyare, quit squirming. What's going through that head of yours?"

"E-everything..." damn it. You didn't even notice your movements, but they'd been enough to wake Wolffe, "Once it's quiet, I can't sleep... can't stop the thoughts..."

There's a long, painfully quiet moment where you think you've said something wrong, until you hear Wolffe take a very deep breath. He kisses your forehead, whisping on your skin, "If you tell anyone about this I swear..."

It starts as a hum, a familiar tune rumbling in his chest. Eventually it builds, and he's whispering the song to you. You pull away a little, looking at Wolffe in awe, "Are you... singing me to sleep?"

"If it works." He kisses your forehead, encourages you to get comfortable again, and then picks up his song again once you're secured to his chest.

You don't even notice when you fall asleep. And you don't know how long you slept, but it was peaceful. Restful. You don't even remember the dreams you had, if you had then at all.

"Hey there Cyar'ika, sleep well?" Waking up in his arms, that's what really felt like a dream.

"Thanks to you, I did."

#from the archivist #commander wolffe x you #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe #wolffe x you #wolffe x reader #wolffe tcw #tcw fanfic #sw the clone wars #sw fic #sw tcw #clone x you #clone x reader #fluff

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 16)

**tw/cw implied suicidal thoughts**

Thank you so much for keeping up with this story   I loved writing that last chapter but truthfully, I haven’t had the stomach to read the comments yet because I’m scared!

In other news, one of my favorite characters to write is angry, outraged, incensed, deranged Scully. I think those were Gillian’s best moments on the show, and I can just picture her seething and frothing with fury here. I hope you enjoy my iteration of Angry Scully.

She didn’t mean to do it.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep.

She knew better than to let her guard down, not while Mulder was spouting off crazy things like your life will be better without me. But he had settled them so comfortably in the bed, forehead to forehead, and his arms had felt so good around her shoulders, and his breathing was so slow and steady in her ear, and her body was so exhausted from fighting for so long . . .

The moment she opens her eyes, Scully knows what he’s done.

She sits up so fast her vision blurs. She whips around to the other side of the bed, finding his place empty, gone cold many hours ago.

Panic, then fear, then anguish hit her like tidal waves, and then she’s sprinting through the upstairs rooms. He’s not anywhere to be found, so she flies downstairs, tripping over the last step. Alan appears out of nowhere and reaches out to steady her but she shakes him off.

She zeroes in on Frohike, who looks awfully suspicious leaning against the front door.

Indignation swells in her chest and she storms over to him, reaching out to yank him away. Her fingertips are just brushing the edge of his jacket when Byers throws an arm in between them, blocking her. Without thinking, her hand flies out and she smacks him across the cheek. Byers stumbles backward in shock and she gapes at him, surprised by her own actions.

A long moment passes where the entire room falls still with anticipation. Scully’s gaze locks onto Byers’ bewildered look, and as a red mark slowly starts to bloom across his cheek, she blinks.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes.

He shakes his head slowly and raises a palm to his face, as if to check whether she really did slap him. His eyes turn somber. “No, we’re the ones who should be apologizing, Agent Scully.”

She glances around at Frohike and Langly, who are studying her with awkward, guilt-ridden looks. Sensing Alan and Skinner nearby, she twists around, seeing them standing shoulder-to-shoulder like a pair of soldiers. A low, boiling sensation curls hot in her belly.

Each and every one of these men betrayed her.

Each and every one of these men helped Mulder leave her.

“You have to tell me where he went,” she warns them all darkly, her voice trembling with rage. If Alan is put off by her intensity, he doesn’t show it.

Byers shakes his head remorsefully. “We don’t know.”

She turns on Frohike, stabbing a finger at his chest. “You have to know. If he were going to tell anyone where he was going, it would be you.” Her chest heaves and she sees a flutter of acknowledgement in Frohike’s eyes. She seizes on it. “You do know where he went, don’t you?” Her eyes turn feral, accusatory. She steps forward, pushing Byers aside. “Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to shake it out of you?”

The little man looks momentarily alarmed, but then his face assumes a mask of composure. “I—I don’t know where he is,” he says weakly, “and I would do almost anything to take this pain from you,” he adds with sincerity. His brow creases in agony. “But I—I don’t know . . . .”

“You’re lying.”  

He shifts uncomfortably and she wonders if she really has it in her to hurt him, if she’s really willing to do that to get to Mulder.

“I won’t—I can’t—I don’t know where he is,” he repeats defeatedly, but he is unwilling to meet her gaze.

“Then you are dead to me,” she spits. Frohike’s eyebrows shoot up and she steps in closer, lowering her voice. “You think you know what’s best for Mulder? Or for me? Do you think Mulder gets to decide what’s best for my life? When am I going to get to make my own goddamn choices?” She whips around to face the rest of the room. “When are any of you going to realize that my life isn’t yours to manipulate?”

“Dana,” comes Alan’s soothing voice, and she draws in a lungful of air, willing herself to breathe. But there’s no air in this room. No air, no life, no hope. She turns over her shoulder to glance back at Frohike, whose face has turned pale with shame.

“I don’t know, Dana,” he finally whispers, and a flicker of doubt slides down her spine.

If Frohike isn’t lying—if he really doesn’t know where Mulder is—then there is no hope of ever seeing Mulder again.

Despair slips into her bones, begins to paralyze her muscles. Her vision spins and she takes a staggering step forward, pushing past Frohike to open the front door. Wintry air blasts her face as she stumbles down the porch steps and into the shelter of a grove of pine trees. She glances up at the darkening sky through tired eyes and prays for night to consume her. And then she turns her back on the house and throws up.

**

The plan is simple.

Skinner delivers the details to her a few hours after she storms out of the house, but only after trying and failing to get her to eat. He doesn’t bother apologizing or even acknowledging her anger. Instead, he is all FBI boss, briefing her on the facts and only the facts.

In the morning, he will drive her and Alan to the nearest regional airport, where they will board a plane for San Diego and, as Skinner shares through gritted teeth, “return to your normal lives.” To appease friends, family, work, the media, and the shadowy cohort of villains that has done this to her, Scully will sit for one short press briefing about her recent experience. She will tell the world that Fox Mulder kidnapped her and that once he was apprehended, he took his own life. If asked about her own gunshot wound, she will say Mulder inflicted it upon her.

She closes her eyes at this detail. It is beyond excruciating to think about publicly blaming Mulder for her suffering.

Skinner, she learns, is expected to return to the FBI as if nothing happened. He doesn’t offer up the details of his own experience and she doesn’t press.

She doesn’t really care, not about him, and certainly not about the Gunmen. When they try to bid her goodbye the next morning, she refuses to acknowledge them beyond a curt nod. She knows she should thank them for saving her life, for helping them get to safety, for providing a safe house in Montana, for coming to her rescue in the hospital . . . but she can barely look at them, much less speak. She’s afraid if she does open her mouth, it’ll be just to blast them all with another angry tirade.  

But she’s operating on pure tunnel-vision. All she can see is Mulder, alone in this great vast world, alone in his suffering, never to see her ever again.

**

It’s Scully’s fifth time going down to the beach this week. She’s exhausted and her body needs rest, but she every time she closes her eyes, she sees Mulder. It’s been a week since she left the house out in West Virginia, a week since she and Alan flew back to San Diego.

Her life has been intolerable since returning: an unbearable press conference followed by a visit from her mother, an awkward phone call with her boss about taking leave. Oh, and then whatever happened last night.

Alan has visited her apartment every day since they returned to the west coast. He’s been good to her in a way that she hadn’t anticipated, especially since her behavior has been objectively unpleasant. First, the poor man was an unknown onlooker during her heartfelt reunion with Mulder; then he witnessed her enraged outburst at the house; and now that they’re back home, he’s got a front-row seat to her complete physical and emotional withdrawal.

But it hasn’t stopped him from bringing food over every night, or from running to the store for pain meds when her shoulder injury brings her to tears, or from filling her prescription antibiotics, or from driving her to the press briefing, or from changing the channel anytime the news mentions Mulder.

He hasn’t pressed her for anything, not for reciprocity, not for physicality, not for intimacy, not even for conversation. She assumes he’s anxious to return to the way things were between them, but her body feels more closed off than ever. Every night after he leaves, she cranks up the shower and slips inside to cry. Alan hasn’t so much as touched her hand since they left the home in West Virginia.

But tonight as he was preparing to leave, he took a step into her and gave her a quick, friendly parting hug. Their bodies didn’t even touch; just a brief touch of his arms around her shoulders. But it startled her so badly that she jerked away, and then watched with a sense of uncertainty as he apologized, then left.

Simply put, she isn’t ready for another man to touch her body. She’s relieved he hasn’t tried to kiss her. Even though she knows it’s absurd to want this for the rest of her life, she wants Mulder’s lips to be the last hers ever touch.

After Alan leaves, she debates slipping into the shower and giving into the desire to purge her emotions with a long cry. But tonight, the hug seems to have left her bereft, and a shower sounds emotionally exhausting. Instead, she tries to sleep, but like every night, rest doesn’t come easy. She’s considering taking a dose of the sleeping pills she used to rely on so heavily, but something about the prospect of drugging herself has been off-putting since she returned. So instead, after an hour of tossing and turning, she slips into sandals, loose pants, and a sweater, and heads down to the beach, just like she has every night for the past few days.

Her emotions confuse her as much as they overwhelm her. She knows, logically, that her brain is trying to process trauma. She recognizes the symptoms, knows that this vacillation between numbness and hyperarousal is normal. She recognizes that the ping-ponging between disconsolate grief and gut-wrenching anger is also normal. She also recognizes that her anger feels better than her grief, and so she nurses the anger whenever it comes up.

As she stomps down the sand towards the ocean, she feels overcome with fury. Fury towards Mulder, who once again decided he knew best. Fury towards Skinner and Frohike for the same reason. Fury towards Alan for touching her tonight. And most agonizingly, fury towards herself for falling asleep the day Mulder left.

Here on the beach, her muscles tense as that fury washes over her, as it burns through her system. It leaves her gasping aloud and clenching her fists so tightly that her skin breaks under her sharp nails.

The fury sings through her so fast and so feverishly that she keels over, clutching at her aching stomach. She knows she can’t go on like this. The rage inside her is exhausting.

She’s staring down at the waves lapping at her feet when it hits her—for the hundredth time this week—that she may never see Mulder again. That, even if she spent the rest of her life searching for him, she may never find him. As this thought overwhelms her, her anger slowly starts to morph into agony. She pushes at that feeling—no, go away—because while the anger is exhausting,the heartache is literally unbearable. She knows she cannot let herself give into her anguish. But before she can tame the thoughts and feelings whirling in her mind, her body catches up to her grief, and sweat breaks out along the back of her neck. She collapses to her knees. Waves crash around her legs and waist and saltwater stings at the small cuts on her palms. Her eyes burn.  

How is she supposed to go on? What does life even look like without Mulder?

A strangled laugh escapes her. Hell, just a few weeks ago, there was a perfectly clear, perfectly pleasant answer to that question. Life without Mulder looked like Alan, and beach life, and a stable job, and California. Life without Mulder looked like sleeping pills at night, a mental blockade in her mind, and a heart that was partially stonewalled.

And then Mulder re-entered her conscious mind, and now here she is, as bereft as a grieving widow, lonely, heartbroken, angry, disconsolate. A large part of her wishes that he had never tried to save her life in the first place.

What is my life without him in it?

Scully stares out at the sea and her thoughts drift to another lifetime, to all the times she watched her mother valiantly hold back tears as her father sailed away. Her father dictated her mother’s life and emotions for so long. He called the shots with his comings and goings. And Maggie Scully was always expected to accept his choices.

A wave laps at her wrists and Scully’s mind starts to shift, to turn. Why is she, too, letting these men control so much of her life? What if she told them—all of them, Skinner, Mulder, the Gunmen, the super-villains who wanted Mulder dead—that her life is her own? That her choices are hers to make? That she’s in control of her own narrative?

Fuck you, living out the “normal life” that Mulder so desperately thinks she needs.  

Fuck you, California and Alan and a prosperous career as a doctor.

Fuck you, a life built on choices other people made for her.

She stares out at the deep, dark, ocean, and begins to imagine the weight of the waves gliding over her body, begins to fantasize about the calm, peaceful pull of the sea as she slips down, down, down.

She could do it, right here, right now. She could wade out into the ocean and make her own fate. This time, the choice could be hers. Slowly, she rises to her feet and takes a step deeper into the sea. The waves pull at her knees, like they’ve heard her thoughts and relish the idea of this sailor’s daughter joining them in the saltwater depths.

How else can she take back control? she thinks erratically. Is this really the only way?

She stands in the breakers for a long time, so long that the moon rises above her head and tiny fish start to nip at her ankles. Everything and nothing pass through her mind. The hopelessness of her future, the grief that will follow her wherever she goes.

Will her life be bearable?

Grief is a noose around her neck, dragging her deeper into the water. And then, out of nowhere, she feels it. The tiniest, most insignificant trickle of hope.

Because Mulder isn’t dead, nor are they estranged. He’s out there in the world, alive and in love with her, and that means she can find him. As long as she’s alive, she can spend the rest of her life looking for him. And for a few critical moments, this faint sliver of hope is enough.

With one last look at the sea, she drags her feet out of the heavy, wet sand and slowly, resolutely walks back to the beach.

#mulder x scully #dana scully #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #xfiles fanfic #x files #msr fanfic #msr #txf

[moodymisty]

Getting it in at the last minute hopefully, but one thing that's on the brain is Chapter Serfs, the mortals who do a collection of jobs on fortress monasteries and are devoted to certain chapters. They're treated a whole range of ways depending on the chapter from "worse than slaves" to "members of the family". I've read somewhere that the Raven Guard treat their Serfs surprisingly well given they're all Spooky Scary, but I wanna know what you think!

Also on the brain is a serf worrying about her Raven Guard battle brother constantly, and being extremely gentle and doting on him because like... Look at him, being a space marine seems like an extremely painful existence.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: This is a cute idea, and I want to write more Raven Guard. I hope you enjoy this little snippet!

Relationships: Unnamed Raven Guard/Gn!Reader (could be read platonic or very slightly romantic if you really squinted)

Warnings: Mentions of wounds like burns, Your astartes being apathetic about the whole thing

You almost have everything you think you'll need, looking over the spread of materials along the small table. If you've forgotten anything you hope he'll be as forgiving as the last times; As he always is.

The Raven's Valour has moored at Deliverance and you know his arrival is imminent; You'll finally be able to see him again. It's been months and while you serve the other Raven Guard with nothing but respect, there's something about your Raven Guard that is special. That has his arrival stirring your stomach.

It's become harder to even sleep without him nearby. You sleep in his private quarters with him- many of the serfs tending to higher rank Raven Guard do. The reasoning seems to be so you're always available to serve them, but too many of them seem to just like their serf's company to make it an excuse that doesn’t get doubted for a moment.

You hear the door open and quickly turn, spotting his wide shoulders and dark hair. Moments later however, you see that on areas not covered by his robes is what looks to be burns of some kind; Mostly chemical. It has that distinctive look, compared to a burn from a flame. He has other jagged cuts as well, but the burns are the most dramatic and eye catching.

"What happened?"

You say surprised, watching him sit down on the small bed and push his robes off his back. You can see his back is almost burned, and even though he has no reaction there isn't any way the cloth of his robes against his skin hadn't hurt.

You can also see the sores and dents where his armor weighed on him; in the weeks of nonstop use.

"We encountered heretics worshiping Nurgle. There were far more than expected, and they’ve learned new tricks."

He says little more than that, which doesn't surprise you. He isn't very talkative, particularly about these sorts of things. You presume his mission didn't go well if what little he gave was any indicator.

"I, I'm going to go get some things to help you, I'll be right back."

You quickly rush to grab any of the things you think will help, though much of it is more so for the humans around Deliverance than the astartes. The general consensus is they simply deal with the pain until it stops- that using healing solutions is a waste unless needed to preserve their life. you don't want him stay like this. He deserves more for protecting humanity; For protecting you.

"Here. This should help all of this heal."

You expected him to resist you, but you're surprised when he doesn't. You crawl onto the small bed and get behind him, holding your materials in your lap. He lets you come closer and apply medicine to all of his wounds, careful around the interface ports lining his back and shoulders. They run all along his back, digging directly into his spinal cord. They’re surrounded by old scars, and you fear it’ll hurt if you aren’t gentle.

You brush some burn cream over the massive one spanning his shoulder blade and he shifts, causing you to pull away for a moment.

"I'm sorry if this hurts, my lord."

He grunts at you, and you don't quite know if he's just responding, or scolding you for the use of title. Either way you eventually continue, but far more cautious.

You continue tending to his wounds, cleaning them and applying medicine to speed up his already incredibly fast healing. You know he doesn’t need it; But you know it will at least help. He's silent almost the entire time, until he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

"I can hear you thinking." You look up from his wounded shoulderblade.

You're thinking that he deserves better than this; To not be in pain, and treated like a weapon to be thrust at the enemy, and then be left in pain he's been trained to ignore. Or at least refuse to show.

"Sorry," Is all you can mutter, however. He looks at you for a moment longer, and you notice his dark eyes flicker around your face before he turns back around.

Once his wounds are as well as you can make them you rake your fingers through his black hair, until it's untangled enough to pull it back. Once you're finished, he looks towards towards the top of his bed. His hand tugs the thin fabric draping over it.

"You slept in it," He says bluntly and out of the blue, catching you red handed. You're still kneeling on the bed behind him, wringing your hands.

"I couldn't sleep one night. I was worried since the Raven's Valour was gone longer than you'd said it would be." He turns, and you notice a very small smile on his face.

"Do not worry about me so much." You look away, and you don't know why your eyes suddenly feel so watery.

"If I don't, then who else will?"

His small smile stays, but you notice something change in his look that you can't quite place.

And before you have a chance to even try he reaches a hand up, and rustles the top of your head. Afterwards, he cups your jaw with the same hand and keeps you facing him.

Don't worry little raven, I'll be fine."

#raven guard x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[hogans-heroes]

if u ever feel like it i'd love to read ur hcs about how gales childhood affects his and john's relationship?? love ur blog and hope you feel better soon!! <3

Oooh this is always something interesting to explore.

I feel like Gale’s childhood would affect a lot in his relationships, with John specifically. I was talking with @avonne-writes about John and Gale’s attachment styles and it quickly gets into sad stuff but also sweet in the way they can help each other heal.

Gale isn’t used to having someone really *see* him and care about him, where it’s not about Gale having to perform well or be “good” or “useful” or not getting in the way but actually loves him for him. Bucky goes out of his way to take care of Gale in thoughtful ways, bringing him things, checking in with him, asking him to express something and actually listening, etc. and touches Gale freely in the affection Gale is craving but doesn’t know how to ask for. HC that John is very perceptive when it comes to Gale and knows how to read him.

What I feel like Gale would struggle with is security in the relationship, even though he trusts Bucky (which was a long journey in itself) he still lives with constant fear that he will leave, not of his own volition, but taken away from Gale by something or someone outside of their control. So he has this constant grief of pre-mourning almost, clinging and pouring all his aching love into John because it’s only a matter of time until he’s gone. The more he loves John the more that hurts.

John has a completely different attachment style (go send Avonne an ask about that) but he tries to understand and reassure Gale. Gale would maybe struggle to really be present in the relationship and always be in fight or flight mode, the anxiousness would add stress to him and sometimes the sadness eclipses the happiness for him. God he loves John so much it hurts and he knows John loves him but one day it’s going to be gone and sometimes Gale can’t breathe for that.

Honestly there’s so many things we can go into with Gale’s childhood affecting his relationships but this is the first thing that came to mind. Please add whatever you guys think!

#mota #masters of the air #buck x bucky #thanks for the ask! #clegan

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

Okayy, so I've read the rules. This blog is pretty much free, soooooo here's my req:

It's a Hawks × reader [optional: female]

This is an angst-y one wherein Hawks comes back home with reader missing. Like he comes back and notices that reader isn't home. It turns out that reader was doing grocery shopping. But on the way back, reader got targeted by some alcoholic drunkards in an alleyway. Reader gets 🍇-d (only mentioned).

Now that Hawks' found reader, he realised that it was too late and that the reader was already traumatized. So, as a result, the reader got a bit distant from Hawks because the reader might not see him in the same way again because of the recent events.

(It's okay if you're uncomfortable with this. It's hard finding a blog this free. Dw, I'm patient enough to wait for this. *If you'll ever do this*. Goodluck and take your time!)

(Hey! Thank you for being so kind, it means a lot! Also no worries about my comfort, AND I was proofreading this very quickly so please excuse any errors. Also the ending was hard to write ;-; I was struggling. I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful day!)

“For the Best”

Keigo Takami x GN! Reader

(Warning: SA mention, swearing, ANGST AND ANGST)

It was an ordinary day, well, quite a boring day for The Wing Hero: Hawks. A few quick fights here and there and a couple of small interviews, nothing special, Keigo couldn’t wait to get back home to you.

Fortunately time went by fast and evening came quicker than expected, not like Keigo minded at all. He decided to end his Hero patrol and fly his way to his shared home, whistling the tune of a song that’s been stuck in his head for a while now.

He arrives home, unlocking the door and opening it, “I’m homeee! Where’s my wonderful partner?” Keigo calls out for you, only to be met with silence, he didn’t even hear a single sound. “Maybe they’re in the bedroom napping.” He thought, heading into the said room to find an empty bed.

Keigo searched the house top to bottom, each room he went through and showed no sign of you he got increasingly worried. Though he tried to stay optimistic. He figured maybe you went to the store since yesterday you’ve talked about going and plus your wallet is gone. He sighed and laid on the couch, hoping that you’ll come home soon and relax with him.

....

A slow and dragged out hour passed and an unnerving feeling settled in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, only growing more as time went on. He decided to go out and look for you, following the same usual route you take to go to the store. Searching attentively, he wonders what could’ve happened, he’s an optimistic person but this feeling he feels is just way too unsettling.

All of the sudden his senses perked up as he passed by a dark alleyway, trusting his gut feeling, he unhesitatingly went in. That’s when he heard small desperate cries and ran over to the noise, spotting you on the ground, blood streaming down the side of your forehead.

“Y/N!” Keigo’s shouts, running over to you, “What happened to you?” He says in shock but you stayed silent, only cried. Keigo uses a few of his feathers to go to the nearest person and drag them there, ordering them to call the police to start an investigation while he takes you to the hospital.

Flying you to the nearest hospital, he worries about your wellbeing, not only physically but mentally too. He swiftly arrives there, practically bursting through the door and explains the situation to the receptionist. He’s not sure what exactly happened but all he knows is that you need to be checked out immediately just in case you have any serious wounds.

“Hey I’m not sure what happened, I just found them in an alleyway.” The receptionist nodded her head in acknowledgment and soon the nurses rushed you into an available room and got to work. Keigo frowns when he gets one last look at your face, it pains him to see you so hurt. How could he let something like this happen?

....

Keigo sits in the waiting room, getting increasingly more impatient as time goes on. It’s only been a half hour and it already feels like eternity. Suddenly he got ripped out of his thoughts when he heard his Pro Hero name, standing up to the detective.

“Any news?” Keigo questioned.

“Yes, security camera footage from a nearby building caught the incident. The victim was walking and the suspects dragged them into an alleyway. Luckily the cams caught their faces and we’ve identified the suspects. The three of them were taken into custody for assault, all three were highly intoxicated too.” The detective informed him.

“I see, is that all?”

“After the victim has recovered from their injuries, we’ll ask them some questions to get more information on what happened in that alleyway.” The man explained, writing something down in his notebook.

“Alrighty.” Keigo says, hoping that you’ll have a quick recovery and everything will go back to normal soon.

“Hawks, the victims' treatment went well. So well in fact, that they should be released in about a day, you’re free to see them right now.” The doctor said behind him, and the detective patted Keigo’s back as a way of nonverbally telling him to go ahead, they’ll wait a minute to ask you questions so he can have his time with you.

Keigo nodded his head in acknowledgment to the detective as he speed-walked to your room. He opens the door and a feeling of relief washes over him when he sees your eyes open and conscious.

“Heya babe, how ya feeling?” Keigo asks, not really knowing what to say. You didn’t respond though. Not even making any eye contact with him.

There was a pin-dropping silence for a moment before he broke it, “Ah yeah, I understand, you’re probably not doing so well right now.” He says awkwardly, trying to do his best to comfort you through words. Though he was always terrible with his words, so he decided to comfort you by initiating physical affection; he attempted to hold your hand only to fail when you flinched away, eyes flashing with a fear he’s never seen before in your eyes.

A small ‘oh’ came from his lips, pulling his hand away to not accidentally startle you anymore. He figured that something more happened in that alleyway that the cameras didn’t capture, something traumatic.

“Sorry babe, didn’t mean to scare ya there..” Keigo apologized, putting his hands in his pockets, a look of pity rested on his face. He doesn’t like seeing you so upset and troubled, he hates it. “Do you want me to leave so you have time to process it?”

You nodded your head, still steadily avoiding eye contact, “Alrighty then I’ll see ya later my love. Oh! By the way, a detective will be coming in soon to ask you some questions about what happened.” Keigo sees your nod of approval and starts to walk away, closing the door behind him. As he walks by the detective, he gives him a thumbs up, letting the man know that it’s okay to go in there.

He decided to go home that day, after all, visiting hours are almost over sadly. Stress got to Keigo and tiredness quickly consumed him so he went to bed early, and in the morning he’ll finally take you home. He prays to whoever’s listening that you’ll get better soon.

....

As soon as Keigo woke up the next morning he went to the store to buy a bouquet of flowers, a vase, and some of your favorite snacks. He wanted to see you happy again, even if it’s only a small smile. He got the stuff and went to the hospital. When he got there he had a short conversation with the doctor, asking about your well-being. The doctor said that he recommended you some psychologists near the area once you are out of here considering what happened.

Once the conversation was over he made his way to your room, opening the door to find you sleeping. He smiles softly, glad that you’re at least getting some rest. He sets the items on the end table and pulls a chair closer to the bed, resting his head on the edge of the bed while he waits for you to get up.

After a few minutes Keigo starts to doze off, that was until he felt the bed jolt. He lifts his head up and sees you sitting up looking utterly terrified like you were scared of him. “Hey are you-” he’s interrupted by a pillow getting thrown at him.

“Get- get away from me!” You shout, tears streaming down your face, unknowing that it's your boyfriend that you’re speaking to. You’re far too blinded by the trauma, perhaps even PTSD. His feathers quickly got the glass vase out of your reach before you threw it at him.

“Y/N, it’s me, Keigo!” He tries to tell you, but the look on your face didn’t get any better. You weren’t convinced. All you saw was the main guy that led the assault on you.

“No you’re not! You- you are nothing like him!” You stammered, getting out of your bed, shaking like a leaf.

The sounds of the chaos rang out through the door, alerting the other doctors and nurses outside, causing a few of them to rush in to see what’s going on. They see you freeze in place out of fear, hyperventilating and shaking. “Sir it’s best if you step out of the room for a minute.” The doctor advises while the nurses try to calm you down.

“Okay okay, I’ll be going.” Keigo says, not wanting to make the situation even worse. Shutting the door, he rubs his head. “Damn.” He muttered to himself, while he made his way to the god awful waiting room again.

....

“Keigo.”

“Huh? Who’s there?” Keigo looked around, seeing absolutely nothing, not even a single speck of light.

“Stay away from them if you know what’s best for you.” The unknown echoing voice spoke in an almost threatening tone.

“What are you talking about? Who the hell even are you?” Keigo questioned, fist clenching a bit as he got increasingly more pissed. He wasn’t quite sure why he was getting so angry this quickly. It’s probably because that unknown voice was talking about you and he’s a bit overprotective of you because of the recent incident.

“That is none of your concern. All you need to do is stay away from Y/N if you love them enough. It’s for the best.”

“Wha-”

.…

“Hawks!”

Keigo shot up from the chair, wide eyed for a moment before he realized that it was only a dream. A strange dream at that. He notices the doctor standing there, the same one that’s been checking up and taking care of you.

“Yes doc?” He said, straightening out his clothes, getting himself together.

“We managed to calm them down, and we asked them a few questions and it’s clear that their mental state is very unstable. We suggested a mental hospital to them and they agreed to go. It's best if you keep your distance to prevent any further complications with their mental health. I know it’s hard considering they’re your partner but don’t worry they’ll be in good hands. It’s for the best.”

“Well if it’s for the best then I understand.” Keigo says, his mood dampening even more. He was upset that this was happening, upset that this happened to you. Anger boiled his blood when he thought about the drunkies, he hoped for all of them to get the maximum penalty. Hell, he wouldn’t mind if they gave you the death penalty, even though he knew that was highly unlikely.

He heads back home, this time walking instead of flying so that he can take a long walk to get his mind off things. A few people recognized him on the way and asked for autographs which he put on a fake smile and agreed, making small talk. Though during the whole interaction he just couldn’t shake the image out of his head; the image of how you looked at him in the hospital. Keigo knows that you’re currently mentally unstable and you didn't know what you were seeing. Keigo understands this, but it still hurts greatly, like a knife piercing his stomach.

Waving a friendly goodbye to the star-struck fans, he continued to walk home; and sooner than expected, he arrived. Arriving at this home always used to be a joy, but now it’s only lonely and empty. A constant reminder of you. Keigo always tries to be an optimistic person but he just can’t be optimistic anymore when things are so dark and gloomy and everything seems to be going wrong. Especially when you’re the one that's hurt. It hasn’t even been that long since he had seen you acting like your usual self but it feels like it’s been ages.

How long will it take for you to get better? Will it take a few days, months, years? Will you actually be okay by yourself? What did that dream he had really mean? All types of questions run around his head like a carousel. Maybe he needs to speak to someone about this, after all it isn’t healthy to keep all of these emotions in.

All of the sudden his phone dings, it was a text notification from you. Keigo’s heart dropped to his stomach when he read the message.

——————————

My partner in crime ❤️😘

“Hey, sorry about what happened, I wasn’t all there and still am unstable. I’m sorry to say this but, I can’t see anyone the same way again, that includes you. It might take me a long while to recover from this and it’s not fair to you. So I want to break up so that you can move on. It’s for the best, for both of us. I truly am sorry, I hope you find someone way better and stronger than me. You deserve it. I’m going to therapy and working on myself so don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself Keigo, goodbye.”

——————————

“Is this really for the best? Hahaha, so this is goodbye huh? Well, I guess this is just my luck. Goodbye my lov- no, goodbye Y/N.” Keigo says to himself, as the message sunk in; the denial faded and sadness came quickly, ready for the waterworks. So it really is goodbye. Forever. What an unexpected plot twist to happen.

Masterlist

#tw sa mention #tw sa #mha angst #mha scenarios #mha fanfiction #mha x gn!reader #mha x gender neutral reader #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo x reader #keigo x y/n

[frogs-and-books]

Hello everyone. I'm sure many of you seeing this post know what it's about, but for the ones that don't, yesterday I made a post saying, and I quote "Hey, this is your daily reminder that Riz is not canonically Aromantic! He is implied to be, and it's totally fine to hc that, but I've seen a lot of people stating he's aromantic like it's a fact, when that has never been confirmed! He is canonically Asexual tho, you can't take that away!" Since then, I have gotten called stupid, bigoted, and I have been told to kill myself. As anyone who read my bio knows, I am a seventeen year old high school boy who is just trying to get through AP exams.

I never wanted to start drama, and I've never had any bad intentions. I just wanted to clear up some common misinformation I saw. But it seems no matter how much I say that you can headcanon whatever you want and ask people to stop harassing people who have different interpretations of media than them, people only hear what they want to. I was asked what I expected to happen when I posted that, and honestly, what did I expect? Well, I didn't expect to be harassed by a community that I thought was full of love. We are queer DnD lovers, and I thought that would be the last group of people to hurt those who are different. I believed, perhaps naively, that my post wouldn't do much but encourage people to do their own research on what's canon.

Please do not take away the wrong message from this post. I am not asking for sympathy. I am asking for you, as a community, to do better. I don't hate anyone who has been a part of this mess. People are wonderful multidimensional beings with endless possibilities, and I choose to believe that everyone has good in them.

I am not perfect. I am sure there is a logical fallacy or two that I've had in my posts. I'm sure I've come across as too aggressive at some points. I'm sure that if any of these writings were submitted to the AP English exam I took today, I would've failed. I'm argumentive, extremely wordy, and not much to look at, but one thing I've always tried to be is kind.

I promise I tried to make sure everyone knew I was a safe space. Any opinions or headcanons you have are welcome and accepted as long as you respect other people. I have failed to make the community feel safe in my account, and for that, I ask your forgiveness.

Please do not search out or harass anyone who was related to this. If there's one thing I have learned from today, is that it can really mess with you. I love every one of you, even those who seem to believe I'm Satan himself. This was a learning experience for all of us, and I hope we can grow as people together.

And finally, to the person who told me to kill myself, I will not. I will live and I will be happy. I'll have a long, fulfilling life surrounded by my friends and family, and I will not let my opinions on a fictional goblin define me. Because I know I'm a good person and I hope one day you can say the same.

This will be my final post.

#riz gukgak #dimension 20 #fabriz

[shiftingparadise]

Dabi x Reader: Did you make a deal with the devil?

Hi guys, I hope you like this one. I really enjoyed writing this. Enjoy reading 🤍✨

Word count: 1866

Warnings: none

“Where’s she?”. Dabi seemed unusually paranoid. His eyes were wide open and his chest heaving up and down as he tried to hold himself straight against the door he just swung open. “I don’t know-“. Shigaraki didn’t get to finish his sentence as Dabi raised his voice, “You promised me she wouldn’t get hurt”, Dabi took a step closer,  drops of blood dripping down his eyes. “She got in the way”. “I told you she would. I told you she’d try and protect those damn heroes”. “Why does it matter? She doesn’t care about you. She hates you-“. “I don’t care”, Dabi raised his voice yet again as anger clouded his judgment, “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt her”. 

Dabi watched as his ‘boss’ stirred his drink, an uninterested sigh before Shigaraki finally looked up at him.

“She’s staying in the Jaku General Hospital. One of the nurses told our informant she’ll be fine”. Dabi slowly relaxed his fists, his eyes lowering a bit as he put on his unbothered mask again. “Her quirk, however, is gone”. “What do you mean?”, his heart started to race again. 

Dabi knew how much your quirk meant to you, and to him. You looked so beautiful when your angelic wings appeared; when that godlike glow hovered over you as you spread your wings. You were the epitome of good. You were always protecting others with your wings that could catch bullets and hold back the hottest of fires, … You were an angel sent to him, an angel that showed him maybe even he could become someone better; something more. 

“Her wings”, Shigaraki closed and opened his fists, “I touched them when she jumped in front of Deku. I thought I fucked up, thought she’d die but, apparently, only her wings disintegrated”. “You what?”, Dabi tilted his head, blue flames emerging from his hands. “It wasn’t my fault. I wanted to hit that brat”, Shigaraki sighed, “She just suddenly appeared in front of me, I didn’t see her coming. You know I promised you I wouldn’t hurt her”. 

Dabi tried to process what had happened and - as he studied Shigaraki’s behaviour - concluded that he wasn’t lying. Even that brute was mesmerized by your quirk. He asked Dabi multiple times to try and recruit you, but Dabi would never do something as idiotic. You were an angel with your whole life before you, not some lowlife scum who had nothing better to do than plot your revenge against the world. 

---

He told himself he wouldn’t visit you, that he wouldn’t disrupt your much-needed space, but he couldn’t stay away. Dabi gently opened your door. The moonlight manifested through the curtains on your sheets with different stripes; giving him barely enough clarity to see your broken figure. He hated himself for this. He should’ve been there to protect you, even if you hated him, even if Shigaraki would get mad at him…

“Who’s there?”, your broken voice tore through the silence. Dabi froze as he noticed you didn’t even bother to look who was there. “Just kill me, please”, you whispered, “Whoever you are, you’re doing me a service”. “

His heart shattered at your request. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how you must feel now your quirk was gone. 

“You know I can’t”, he tried to sound as kind as he possibly could. “What are you doing here?”. “I wanted to check up on you”. “Check up on me?”, you chuckled as your gaze was focused on the flowers beside your bed. “I’m doing fine. Thank you”. “Why do you do this?”, Dabi walked toward the flowers, “Why do you push me away?”. “Because I hate you”, you watched as his burned fingers flicked through the flowers, as if he was browsing through some magazines. “You don’t hate me”, he chuckled, “You hate how I make you feel. Isn’t that right, doll?”. 

His eyes studied your face. He knew you weren’t going to answer. You were too stubborn to give in to your feelings. He knew that. After all, you only came to him when you had nowhere else to go. When your little hero friends were too busy saving the day instead of you. Because you needed to be saved too. From yourself. There were times when you couldn’t get out of your bed; when you couldn’t even stand to see anyone else other than him. 

“Leave”, your voice cracked. “Like everyone else?”, his rough digit brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Where are your friends now? When you need them the most? Where were they when you needed someone to protect you?”. 

You, once again, stayed silent. He was right. Where was Aizawa? Where was All Might? Or even Kayama? 

“Don’t touch me”, you turned onto your other side. 

Dabi’s eyes widened. He could see the bandages wrapped around your entire body. There were only traces left of your wings, ones which you didn’t seem to get rid of. He hated to see you like this. It hurt him more than he would care to admit. 

“The nurse said they’ll fall off eventually”, you said as you heard a soft gasp, “I don’t have any control over them anymore”. “I see”, his nails pressed into the palm of his hand. “Now get out”, you never sounded so cold before.

“I don’t want to leave”. 

He started to get a bit angry. After all, he only was good enough for you when you needed him. But what about him? What about the times he needed someone? You were always making demands; telling him how much you hated him, but when push came to shove you were always crying into his arms. Always begging him to never leave you, only to push him away again.

“Leave or I’ll call the police”. “Fine”, he clenched his jaw, “Always what the princess wants. Do you even care what I want?”. “No”, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “Right”, Dabi chuckled, “Of course. I’m only a villain, right? The beauty can’t be seen with the beast… How silly I was to think I meant anything to you-“. “How silly indeed”, you coldly added.

Your words felt like bullets to him. You always knew how to pierce through his rough skin, right into his heart. 

After that night, Dabi hadn’t heard from you. He kept his eye on you though. Every so often tracking you, trying to see what you were up to, but it seemed you barely left your house anymore. Likewise, anyone barely ever visited. It seemed you had isolated yourself. Even to him. 

--- 

You were watching TV as a live broadcast interrupted your show. You could see, what seemed like a couple of members of the League of Villains fighting against some pro heroes.

 “Dabi”, you widened your eyes as you placed your cup of noodles on the floor next to you. He was standing on top of a roof, blue flames surrounding him. From what you could see, blood was dripping down his entire body. He was tired. His body was giving up on him. 

You didn’t know why you got up and dressed yourself in a hurry, or why there was a fire in your heart, but you felt the need to protect him. Even without your quirk. 

“Shit”, you placed your hand in front of the sun. Your eyes weren’t used to that much sunlight anymore. You only went outside when it was entirely necessary. The paparazzi in front of your door made you so anxious during the first couple of months that you stopped going outside altogether. 

You ran through the city, ignoring the sirens around you. 

“H-huh?”, you froze as you felt a police officer holding you back. “I’m sorry”, he looked at you, “Only pro heroes can-“. 

Your heart sank to your stomach. He was right. You weren’t a pro hero anymore. What were you going to do? Besides, you wanted to protect a criminal. What were you thinking? 

“Dabi-“, your eyes shot upwards as you heard his laugh. He was standing before the building now, his hand on his face as blood dripped onto the concrete ground. “Dabi!”, you raised your voice as you noticed Aizawa’s bandages shooting through the sky. 

You didn’t know how, but within a flash, you were standing before Dabi. Tears in your eyes at the thought he might get hurt. 

“Y/N?”, his eyes went round as he noticed your sudden appearance, “Y-your wings-“. “M-my wings?”, you looked to the side, your voice shaking. 

God, you used to be beautiful with your white wings but now… 

Wings as dark as the night had emerged from your back, even bigger than your white ones used to be. The golden glow that made you look like an angel was replaced with flames engulfing your entire wings. Burning feathers dropped to the ground as you gently shook them. 

“My wings-“, you looked at Dabi, a smile on your face. “What are you doing?!”, Aizawa shouted from behind you, “Get out of the way! Dabi’s dangerous-“. “Where were you?”, you looked over your shoulders at your former friend. “W-what?”, Aizawa narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What kind of friends, huh?”, you chuckled as you slowly turned around, lowering your wings. “I’ve been rotting inside my home, all by myself. You didn’t even bother to visit-“. “This isn’t the right moment-“, Aizawa tried to interrupt but you wouldn’t let him. “You’re going to pay”, you softly chuckled, “All your so-called pro heroes… You’re all rotten from the inside. You don’t care about anyone other than yourselves”. 

Dabi stayed quiet. He didn’t recognize you, but he liked the new you. You seemed more powerful than ever; even more beautiful than he could ever imagine.

“We’ll make them pay, won’t we doll?”, his hand on your back. “Hm”, your eyes fixed on Aizawa, “We will”. 

You opened your wings again before you released your new quirk. Within seconds, the street was filled with orange and blue flames, making it perfect to escape.

“My, my, my”, Dabi let out a low chuckle as he entered the headquarters of the League, “Did you make a deal with the devil?”.

You smirked, “I am the devil”. 

Dabi would lie if he said he wasn’t scared of you right now. You were nothing like the girl he used to know. You were once a source of light, but now, only darkness seemed to surround you.

“That’s my doll”, he shook his head as he moved closer; his rough hands cupping your cheeks. “Without you, I would’ve been dead by now”. “I know”, you softly grabbed his wrist, “I couldn’t stand the thought”. “You wanted to protect me, even without a quirk? Am I that special?”, a devilish smirk on his face. 

“You are”, you smiled before you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, “You always were”. 

Dabi closed his eyes as he felt your lips against his, a gentle flutter inside his stomach. All the nights you pushed him away, every time you pretended to ignore his existence… They were all worth it. You were his doll, his little devil that he couldn’t live without. 

#dabi my hero academia #dabi x reader #mha dabi #dabi todoroki #bnha dabi #dabi x female reader #dabi x me #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #touya todoroki #touya x y/n #toya x y/n #toya todoroki x reader #toya x reader #toya todoroki #dabi #todoroki touya #touya todoroki x you

[yxlnst]

Hello! i hope youre having a great day/night

I’ve recently read your fics and i do truly love them, i was here to request something if you dont mind. Feel free to ignore this if its uncomfortable for you!!

I honestly LOVE heavy angst but fluff at the end lmao, could you maybe write something rreeallllyyy angsty with jun, but with a fluff ending? I can’t really come up with good ideas tbh, but maybe a huge argument? Honestly i dont know i just cope with these stuff so anything is fine lol.

Thank you so much if youre seeing this!! Have a great day/night

ofc!! And thank youu aswell, also if the story was not what you had in mind please tell me!! Now lets focus on the ff :DDD

Rebuilding Us

idol!Jun x reader!Y/n

Angst + Fluff

🧸 Word count 🧸 : 664

🎀 Summary : Argument drives you and Jun apart. Reconciliation brings the two of you back together stronger.

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Jun stood in the living room, tension crackling in the air like a live wire. You had been arguing for hours, and now, exhaustion and frustration were beginning to take their toll.

"I just don't understand why you can't see it from my perspective!" Jun's voice was raised, his usual calm demeanor shattered by the intensity of the argument.

You crossed your arms, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. "And I don't get why you're always so quick to dismiss my feelings! It's like you don't even care!"

His eyes softened for a brief moment before the anger flared up again. "That's not fair, and you know it. I care more than you realize, but this—" he gestured between the two of you, "this is tearing us apart."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and hurt. You both stood there, breathing heavily, trying to process everything that had been said. The emotional distance between you seemed insurmountable.

"I just… I need some space," you finally whispered, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. "I can't keep doing this."

Jun's face fell, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability behind his anger. "So, what? You're just going to walk away?" His voice was quiet now, laced with pain.

You turned away, unable to look at him. "I don't know, Jun. Maybe we both need time to figure things out."

As you walked to the door, you heard him sigh deeply. "I don't want to lose you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't keep fighting like this either."

You paused, your hand on the doorknob, and looked back at him. The sight of him, standing there with a mixture of desperation and sadness, made your heart ache. "I need to think," you said softly. "I hope you understand."

Days passed, and the space between you and Jun felt like a chasm. You missed him terribly, but the arguments had left scars that were slow to heal. One evening, as you sat on the couch, lost in thought, your phone buzzed with a message.

Y/n can we talk? I miss you.

You hesitated, your heart racing. After a few moments, you typed back a simple reply.

Okay.

That night, you met at the park where you had shared so many happy memories. Jun was already there, pacing nervously. When he saw you, he stopped, his expression a mix of hope and fear.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hi," you replied, equally nervous.

There was a long silence before Jun spoke again. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About how I dismiss your feelings. You're right. I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I didn't really listen to you."

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding. "I wasn't fair either. I should have tried to understand where you were coming from instead of just getting defensive."

Jun stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. "I don't want to fight anymore. I want us to work through this. Together."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded. "Me too. I hate being apart from you, Jun."

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "I love you. More than anything. Let's not give up on us."

A tear slipped down your cheek as you squeezed his hand. "I love you too. Let's start over."

Jun pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he was afraid to let go. The warmth of his embrace felt like coming home. In that moment, all the pain and anger melted away, replaced by the promise of a fresh start.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy. But as long as you had each other, you were ready to face anything together.

The night sky above was clear, the stars shining brightly as if celebrating your reunion. And as you walked hand in hand, you both knew that the love you shared was stronger than any argument, ready to face whatever came next, together.

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