#- These masks are NOT intended to treat

[yes-im-a-simple-man]

A Woman’s Face (1941) vs. The Face Behind the Mask (1941)

[tbaluver]

Can I request how would each of the L&DS men roleplay for spicy times with the reader pretty please? 🙏🏼 Like, would they go for a Hero/Damsel in distress scenario, a Bandit/Captured princess thing or any other fun trope you can come up with?

Roleplay With Them- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre/ tags/ warnings: MDNI, 18+, suggestive content, all will be tagged below, with each small fic a/n: hihi anonnie ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ sorry this took a while and i'm so srry in advance for what ur about to read idk if i did this justice, some is giving roleplay while some is not. most of these are teasers for my upcoming fics but i do NOT promise you all that these will be good so lmk if you want to be tagged or if you want them to be published on any one of these or all (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ i hope you enjoy reading! any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Rescuer! Xavier x Damsel in distress! Reader

He saves you after a dangerous mission and you must repay him back.

tags: xavier receiving

“No. I must repay you, my hero.” Your hand snakes down to unbutton and unzip his pants before you’re helping him remove his shirt.

“And how do you intend on doing that?” He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling in his eyes while a sly smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.

You kiss down lower and lower, making sure to leave marks of your trail. You take your sweet time on his lower abdomen, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs while your hands work on slowly pulling his boxers off.

His cock springs up, begging to be finally freed with a bit of precum leaking from it. You lean in, kissing his tip softly, earning a twitch from his cock. His breath hitches, closing his eyes when your tongue traces along the underside of his cock.

────୨ৎ────

Prince! Xavier x Princess! Reader

After your question about his life in the kingdom, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He’s thought of the idea of you being his queen by his side, in the kingdom he was supposed to rule. So he decides to show you what it was like to treat and fuck you like the royalty like you deserve.

tags: aphrodisiac used

You can’t quite wrap your head around how he managed to acquire this drink or drug after his long journey to finally find you. But that thought fades away as he gently tilts your head, letting a drop of the liquid linger on your tongue before dropping the same dose of the liquid on his.

“They’ve told me that when you find someone you love, you try this with them. I’m glad to finally experience this with you, my princess.” He sets the dropper down on the nightstand, leaning in to kiss your knuckles gently. He grins softly, slowly getting drunk from the liquid.

It didn’t take long for both of your senses to sharpen and the aphrodisiac washed over your system. Your bodies were aching and yearning for each other’s touch, tearing and feeling each other up.

With quick haste, he clumsily unwraps his robe and helps you remove your slip dress. His mouth finds you again as you whine against his lips. Wet sounds of your lips crushing on his as your tongues melted in this heated exchange.

None of you break contact as he tugs his boxers down his legs, the sight of his cock throbbing in full view. His girth looks desperate and in pain and you’re taking it in your before guiding it into your crying cunt.

────୨ৎ────

Lumiere! Xavier x Reader

This will only be a one time thing between you two.

tags: Rough, jealous sex, Lumiere mask on Xavier beefing with himself

He remembers the way you look at Lumiere. The way your eyes lit up and your mouth curled up over just the thought of him. He hated it. But now with you naked beneath him as he thrusts into you deeper and deeper with his Lumiere mask on, he has to know who you wanted more. Lumiere or Xavier?

Your cunt clenches down tightly and your hands grips his shirt as you squeeze your eyes shut. The bed frame creaks. The sound of his skin slapping with yours bounced off the walls with each merciless thrust makes you see stars dance across your vision. Xavier panted heavily on top of you while the slap of wet skin to skin and the shameful squelch of your cunt accepted him, only him, Xavier.

“x-xavier...!”

He wasn't making it very easy for you. His hands find solitude on the wooden frame for support, his knuckles turning white as he grips it as his hips rock with more depth. His cock hits against your cervix, kissing and caressing the spongy walls.

“Y-You were so happy to see Lumiere, yet you call out my name.” He stammered, struggling to regain his composure, whatever was left of it. His mask hid most of his expression, yet you can see it all through his eyes and his parted lips.

“Who do you like more,” He clenches his jaw, shooting you a sharp look at your disheveled state. “Me or Lumiere?”

────୨ৎ────

Food Play

The only time one of you don't blow up the kitchen but he blows his seed in you.

tags: use of whip cream, xavier sucking ur tits

“Xavier, do you want some?” Tilting your head back while your finger pressing down on the nozzle to spray cream into your mouth. 

You sit down beside him, adjusting his head on your lap. He opens his mouth as you press your finger on the nozzle to spray cream into your mouth, some of it excessively dripping down his chin.

“You did that on purpose,” He pouts, using his thumb to swipe away the excess whip cream and licking it off. You giggle, offering a playful apology. “My turn,” He says, sitting up, a mischievous glint plays in his eyes. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting him spray the whip cream into your mouth. And of course he got pay back as he excessively sprays it down, the whip cream dripping to your chin and lower to your chest.

You giggle, licking it off your lips. “You’ve got some here.” He says softly, swiping the whip cream with his thumb and placing it on your lips. He watches you take his thumb in, your tongue purposely swirling and sucking in the remains of it, not breaking eye contact with him.

His breath hitches when he watches you swallow. “You’ve also got some here too.” He leans in lower to your chest, licking off the remains of the whip cream but he has other plans. He purposely glides his tongue lower and lower while pushing you down gently on the couch.

Zayne:

Doctor! Zayne x patient! Reader

Zayne always remains professional when working with his patients, however when it comes to you he tries, key word try, to keep it professional when his lover visits for a checkup or just a visit in general. Yet each visit is always tempting as the last and escalates to something more unethical in his office.

This type of roleplay can happen in your home. Using this type of roleplay to get your occasional personal checkup with your lover in your shared bedroom.

tags: p in v

“Hi Doc-tor,” You say, knocking lightly on the door while leaning against the door frame. Zayne glances up from his patient report, his attention instantly drawn to that familiar voice. A small smile curls at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you. You step inside, making sure to close and lock the door behind you.

“What brings you here?” He asks, setting his pen down and rising from his seat to greet you properly.

“I miss you and,” you reply, pouting playfully as you step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, the scent of your lover flooding your nostrils.

“And?” His brow arches, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Doctor Zayne, I’m not feeling well,” You sounded so innocent, so much worry laced in your words that he knew something was up the moment he heard you by his door. He plays along after missing you during these past few hours. The night before still lingering from his mind.

“And what seems to be the issue?” he asks, attempting to maintain a serious tone but you both know that his composure will soon crumble from just a simple touch from you.

“I need some vitamin U,” You say with a sheepish grin yet your mischievous fingers say otherwise as you toy with the lapel of his white coat. He chuckles, leaning in closer, “If that’s the case, I’ll make sure to give you a daily dose.”

-

The top of your blouse unbuttoned to expose your breasts, peeking under your bra that had been pushed up. Your skirt  pulled up to your hips to have your lower half completely exposed as you bounced on the lap of your lover. 

Incoherent whimpers escape from your lips as you feel your climax rapidly approaching you. You both knew it wasn’t appropriate to leave the hospital to get fucked in the chief surgeon’s office, yet here you both were.

“Z-Zayne-!” You cried as his cock hit a special spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling back. His large palms grip your ass, guiding you up and down on his length. He hushes you, his breath warm against your neck, “We wouldn’t want the others overhearing you getting this special treatment, now would we?”

“Are you close, my love?” He whispers, adding pressure to your nipples to stimulate your orgasm to come faster and harder. You whimper, arching your back as he continues to pound into your cunt, eager to meet his own release with yours.

────୨ৎ────

Patient! Zayne x Doctor! Reader

It was a long and exhausting shift for him. what’s a better way to come home to his lovely partner to come take care of him and his needs?

He's practically melting in your touch the moment he gets home, letting you do whatever you want too him, just please don't tease him.

tags: zayne receiving

“Luckily for you, I have the perfect medicine for that,” You grin mischievously, removing yourself from his lap while his hands instinctively reach for you, sliding away as if he already missed your touch.

He quirked a brow, eyeing your movement. “And what do you plan to do, doc-tor?” Drawing out the last word with a teasing whisper.

“Just sit back,” You slip between his legs, his legs opening to welcome you. You reached for his belt, unbuckling them before unbuttoning his pants. He lets out a breathy chuckle, lifting his hips to allow you to pull them down. “and let me take care of you.”

You looked so pretty kneeling in front of him, your hand pumping the base of his cock while you tried your best to fit the rest of his length inside of your mouth. His tip hits the back of your throat, earning an embarrassing whine escaping his lips.

Your hand starts stroking his cock faster, and he could feel you switch from darting your tongue across his leaking slit to closing your lips around his tip and sucking to your heart’s content. Your pacing was quickening and his knuckles were turning white as he fists onto the cushions of the couch for his dear life.

────୨ৎ────

Cooking/ Baking Role Play

Your lover, the sweet tooth, would stay extra late to help you clean up the kitchen but he can't help but get a quick taste before doing so.

tags: slight food play ? zayne a feen for ur boobs

He joins your lips and wraps his arms around your waist to help pull you up on the kitchen table. His tongue dances in sync with yours while his hands travel up and up under your shirt before fully taking it off. He lets out a lowly breath at the sight of your hardened nipples, pinching them and receiving a filthy moan from you. Pushing you down gently on the table, he hovers over you, thinking about all the things he could do.

With a quick swipe of his finger, he scoops up the leftover whipped cream and places the cold substance on your neck. His tongue traces and tastes the curve of your neck, making you arch your back, begging to feel more of him.

He continues placing more of the cream down further your neck to your collarbone and down to the valley of your breasts. His tongue follows the trail he makes and places a couple needy kisses further down.

Reaching towards your breaths, he grabs them gently while his thumbs rub against your hardened nipples and are replaced by his lips.

────୨ৎ────

Tutor! Zayne x Med Student! Reader

credit for this concept!: @deusfoundry ᯓᡣ𐭩

Nothing seemed to help you grasp this topic, so he knew he needed to come up with a different approach to make it stick.

tags: reader receiving, p in v, fingering

He grips waist, marking you, using you as stability to thrust into you just a bit more deeper. You’re both covered in sweat and saliva and you feel hot. Your head is spinning while your heart pounds in your chest. You don’t know how many rounds it has been and you don’t know how many questions he’ll keep up.

He reaches under you, brushing your sensitive clit with his fingers, rubbing and working you up as he plows right into you. “And what is this?”

“C-Clit-” His warm breath fans against the skin of your neck, holding your bare sticky back to his chest. “That’s it,” He coos, reaching his free hand to your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index.

“And this?”

“M-mammary papilla...” You stammer as he groans into your ear, “Good girl,”

Rafayel:

Art Teacher! Rafayel x Student! Reader

watching your boyfriend teach little kids how to paint was an adorable site to watch. After they’ve all gone home, it was just the two of you alone in the art room where it becomes a private lesson between the two of you. You're his student and he’s your teacher, teaching you things like ceramics to sketches to painting your face white.

tags: fingering, p in v

“And this is called a wet on wet brush stroke.” A soft tone yet a mischievous glint plays in his eyes. Of course he chooses this stroke for this next topic.

He hums, resting his chin on your shoulder while watching you struggle to paint. His free hand slips down your skirt to massage your clit, preparing you for his entrance. A quiet whimper escapes your lips, trying your best to focus but you knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t make this so easy for you.

He licks his fingers and inserts them into you again, gently stretching you out while you instinctively lean back into him.

“Something on your mind, cutie?” His hot breath fans against your neck as he leans in closer, tilting his head on your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your reaction, clearly amused on how you’re trying so hard to keep yourself composed.

“R-Raf....” He feels your hands tremble against his as he gently guides yours across the canvas. A playful smirk spreads across his lips at the sound of your stutter.

His free hand that was previously on your clit slips up to your sweater, gently kneading your breasts before giving your nipple a light squeeze. He’s slowly pushing into you, burning slightly but disappears into complete pleasure.

He clicks his tongue, watching you fumble the brushstroke. “It seems my pupil is distracted again. Should I remind you what happens when you don’t pay attention?”

────୨ৎ────

Artist! Rafayel x Muse! Reader

You always try to help Raf with his paintings. Whether it was helping him take art supplies to the beach or coming alone with him to travel to new places to get inspiration or being his nude model

Rafayel steps closer to you, his height towering over you. He reaches out with his free hand to trace your jawline, ever so delicately and longing. He murmurs sweet praises, memorizing the angles of your face and how he could possibly recreate it on a canvas.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, his thumb swiping your lips to the corner of your mouth. “Art needs to be messy to truly spark creativity. Are you willing to dive into that with me?” You nod, while his other hand pumps his cock, glossing it over with his precum.

“Go ahead,”

He lets his eyelids flutter shut as he focuses on the movements you made. The way your tongue rubs the underside of his cock, and how your lips wrapped perfectly around his girth.

────୨ৎ────

Servant! Rafayel x Royalty! Reader

tags: reader receiving

“I serve you, master” He draws out the last words with a low tone, each syllable dripping with the intention of arousal. He gently grasped your hand, bringing it to rest against his cheek.

“I only serve you.” He nuzzles against your hand, keeping his gaze locked on you.

“Show me,” You whisper, your hands tightening on him while your eyes are filled with desire and curiosity. “Prove it to me that I’m the only one.” He smirks, giving your knuckles one last kiss before sliding off your lap, never removing his gaze on yours.

A smirk plays at the corners of his lips as he kisses your knuckles one last time before sliding off your lap. “If that’s your wish.” His nebula eyes locked onto yours as he settled between your legs.

He places a soft kiss on your clothed core, the dampness clearly evident. His lips travel down your thighs, peppering small kisses and small licks while fluttering his long lashes at you before moving back up to where you wanted him the most.

“Please Raf...” You whine, your fingers tangling with his soft locks. “Please what, master? What is it that you need?” He toys with the waistband of your panty, amused when you lift your hips up, practically asking to fully remove them off of you. 

“I only listen when you use your words, master.” He peers up at you from underneath, a cunning grin stretching across his lips, waiting for your command.

“I need you Raf”

His fingers slid beneath your panties. “Here?” He pulls them down, slowly peeling the thin material from your pussy down to your legs. “Or is this better?” He lifts his gaze from your crying core, mouth just inches away from you. Your eyes clenched shut as you nod.

Dragging along a maddening lick across your pussy, hitting each and every nerve you possess, earning cries of desired pleasure flooded your system.

────୨ৎ────

Bandit! Rafayel x Princess! Reader

It has been hours days since you both have spent time together and he misses you dearly. With a mischievous plan, he dresses up and sneaks into your home to take you away.

tags: slight knife play but no gore or blood is drawn, only used for anticipation

The candles flicker to life, casting a warm glow through your entire room. You catch sight of your lover, sitting by the bay window where he playfully flips a familiar dagger in his hand.

“I’ve been waiting for you, your highness,” His voice teases and with a swift motion, he removes his mask, revealing a smirk. He tucks the dagger away, approaching you slowly.

“Raf?...I-What are you doing here?” You stammer in surprise as he gently cups your face, his gaze lowering to meet yours. “I’ve come to take what belongs to me.”

“And how do you intend on doing that?” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he pulls out his dagger, causing you to swallow nervously.

He gently glides the tip of the dagger along your shirt, tearing the fabric open and making sure that it doesn’t come in contact with your skin.

Sylus:

Boss! Sylus x Subordinate! Reader

Your lover has been busy with work in your own shared home and yet you miss him and his touch so much.

You knock gently on his office door in your shared home, hearing a muffled ‘come in’ from your lover on the other side of the room. As you enter, he looks up with a warm smile before returning his attention to the paperwork scattered before him on his desk. “Sweetie, do you need something?”

You step into the room, wearing one of his long sleeves that was way oversized on you. You were there to remind him about something but seeing him like this makes you lose your train of that thought entirely. Replacing your original intentions with a new wave of something else in mind.

“You’ve been busy lately, boss,” you purred. “I’ve barely seen you....” You trailed off, biting your bottom lip as you settled yourself on his lap.

He lets out a huff of a chuckle, looking up at you and placing a hand on your back. “Ah, is my subordinate looking for trouble again?”

-

His office was filled with faint echoes of your lips smacking and shuffling of bodies on his office chair. His kisses were slow and passionate, something you’ve missed while he was busy. He pulls away to admire your disheveled state he made of you. Your hair messed up, your clothes wrinkled and a couple purple marks that he left on your neck to your chest.

────୨ৎ────

Interrogator! Sylus x Suspect! Reader

You have been taking things from Sylus to gain his attention but it seems like your plan worked a little too well for you.

tags: reader receiving, fingering

“I see my kitten has learned how to swipe things from me lately. He says, leaning casually against the doorframe of your shared bedroom, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I would never take anything from you Sy.” You reply, avoiding his gaze. He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle and pushes himself away from the door, approaching you. Before you can even think to escape, he uses his evol to pin you in place on the bed, his frame hovering over you.

“I’m giving you one last chance to confess, sweetie.”

You squirm against his evol, even though it’s no use. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You protest, earning a scoff from him. Crimson swirls around your body, making you sit up against the headboard and in one swift motion, he cuffs both of your hands to the frame.

“Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I do an inspection?” 

-

“Sy-Sylus...!” You beg, your voice now hoarse.

“Nothing seems to be in here...” He pumps his fingers harder, earning an eye-roll of pleasure from you that he finds pleasure in. Your thighs are spread out on the bed, while he’s knuckle deep. Curling his slender fingers up into a gummy spot that only he knows that makes you shudder. 

He’s so much bigger than you, in any way. His fingers reach so much deeper than yours and so much more harder.

────୨ৎ────

Masseuse! Sylus x Massage Client! Reader

one way or another you'll lose stress

tags: reader receiving, fingering

Gently he removes the towel and pulls it down just above your ass. You can feel the tips of his fingers dance across the canvas of your bare back as if he’s mapping you out. “You’re still tense, sweetie.”

Your eyes roll back the moment you feel him working on the knotted muscles of your neck. He makes his way down your back, curving his hand as you become putty on the bed, earning a deflated moan from you.

“Am I that good?” He chuckles, his fingers tracing down a line to your waist and hips. “That’s what I like to hear anyway.” If you’re lucky, he might not even notice the wet patch of arousal on your panties.

His hands glide over to the curve of your ass, the towel completely pulled down. Spoke too soon. Slowly, his palm feels the roundness of your cheeks, constantly swapping between each cheek.

With a wicked grin, he eyes the wet patch but he keeps you anticipating. His eyes never leave your crying cunt, licking his lips hungrily as he travels up your legs. Sylus murmurs sweet nothings as he caresses each swipe, threatening to creep closer and closer to your cunt.

With one swift motion, he removes your panty down your legs. “You’re so wet,” He groans, two fingers slipping up and down your slit and shifting his attention between your sensitive bud. His touch remains soft yet stimulating. Your back arches while your ass lifts higher to feel more of his hand.

────୨ৎ────

Master! Sylus x Maid! Reader

You knew you shouldn’t have made such a bold bet against Sylus after pathetically losing so many times at Kitty Cards. Now here you are meeting your own consequences, wearing a maid costume and cat ears?

tags: reader receiving, fingering, p in v eventually but i tease that hehe

“My, don’t you look adorable,” He stands behind you, his height towering over your reflection in the mirror. You catch his gaze through the glass, a teasing smirk playing on his lips that makes it clear he’s enjoying this

He loves how the short skirt compliments your figure. It was small enough that if you bent over, he would get a full view of your lace panties. His eyes lowered to the frills and the lace that sat on your chest, smirking on how the kitty ears are placed on the top of your head.

-----

“Look at yourself.” His hand cups your cheek, gently pushing it to where the mirror was standing. Your face becomes flushed at seeing your disheveled state. “Naughty girl. Don’t look away.” A playful smirk curls on his slips as you writhe against his hold, slightly tossing your head aside to give him an easier opportunity to leave more wet kisses on your neck.

“You’re doing so well for me, did you know that sweetie?” Sylus proceeds to slowly rub your clit, waiting for a pleasant reaction. He continues, stroking and rubbing at your clit in such delicious patterns, preparing you for his lengthy entrance.

[goosewriting]

I just read all your Joaquin stuff!! You write him perfect so great job! I love it so much ! If possible could you do either your both ditching eachother up after a fight (supper fluffy) or something along the lines of reader not being able to breath (either health issue or injury ) and then having to deal with that. No pressure if you don’t have time !!

(Not) Doctor's Orders

summary: Joaquín and reader tend to each other’s wounds after a mission.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: (18+) mention of blood, description of injuries and treating them, kisses, innuendos

word count: 1.7k

A/N: i’m gonna assume instead of “ditching” you meant “stitching” each other up? why, you’ve read my mind dear anon, for that trope is one of my absolute most favouritetest<33 the “super fluffy” aspect kinda got away from me tho and it ended up way more suggestive than intended :’v hope you’ll like it nonetheless!

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

After a mission abroad, you’re sent to a safe house nearby instead of flying back to HQ immediately. All in all, the mission went great, except that you got shot. The bullet didn’t fully hit you, luckily; it just nicked your leg. But it still took off a chunk of flesh, and it hurts.

Your arm is around Joaquín’s shoulders as he holds up part of your weight, helping you walk. When you make it through the door, you let your bags fall in the hallway; you’ll take care of it later. The house is pretty small, and you enter into the main room, serving as both the living and dining area, with a kitchenette on the other side. He crosses the space and brings you to the bathroom, setting you down on the edge of the bathtub.

Joaquín takes out the first aid kit from underneath the sink and you both shrug off your jackets and the bulletproof vests you were wearing underneath, tossing everything to the side. You inspect your leg and hiss when you brush over the wound, going straight across your mid-thigh. He kneels down before you, his hands hovering over it, but he stops, looking up at you.

“Can I take it off?” he asks, the slightest tremble in his voice. Heat spreads on your face, and you mentally curse at yourself for the reaction. You’ve been crushing on Joaquín for a while, and you’re pretty sure he feels the same. This is really not how you pictured how undressing for the first time would go. When you don’t immediately respond, he’s quick to add, “Sorry, no need. I’ll just cut them open.”

But you stop him from getting the scissors from the kit by placing your hand on his, and his movements halt instantly, his eyes shooting up to meet yours.

“No, don’t,” you say, quickly retracting your hand. Another wave of heat prickling on your cheeks. “I– I don’t have a change of pants.”

Lifting yourself off the tub with a hiss, you pull down the garment to your knees, and he helps you get them off completely. There’s a slight dust of dark pink on his cheeks and ears, but he tries to mask it with concern and focus at the sight of your wound. Without wasting a second, he starts cleaning it. When he applies the disinfecting spray, you take a sharp breath through your teeth, your whole body tensing at the sting.

“Sorry,” Joaquín mutters, taking out the sterile needle and thread from its packaging. “Ready?”

You nod, and when he pierces through your skin, the pain makes you slump forward slightly, holding onto his shoulder opposite to the stitching hand for support. He works with his brows slightly furrowed, trying his best to get this done as quickly and painless as possible. To distract yourself from the pain, you study his face, the bridge of his nose, the moles sprinkled on his cheeks and chin, the deep chocolate swirls in his eyes. It dawns on you that Joaquín is kneeling in front of you between your legs, and the thoughts that follow make you quickly look away from him, focusing on the generic brand shampoo bottle in the corner instead.

“Done,” he finally announces, cutting the last bit of thread after tying a knot. After putting one final plaster over it, he straightens up a bit, almost rising to your eye level. You let go of his shoulder, intending to hold onto the edge of the tub. However, he gently takes your arm in his hands, inspecting it further for injuries. Then he does the same to your other arm. Finally, he looks around you to check your back. Once he’s satisfied that there are no other big wounds that need his attention, he grabs a clean rag and fully stands up to turn toward the sink. After drenching it and wringing out the extra water, he turns back to you, gingerly holding your face in his hands as he looks down at you, and you can’t help but melt at his touch. He’s handling you with such care, it makes your whole body buzz with warmth, your heart incessantly thumping against your ribcage. 

You close your eyes so he can wipe over them, getting rid of all the dust and dried blood from the little cut on your forehead. Over that one he places a small band-aid, then his hand rests under your chin again to make you look up.

“There, that’s better,” he says with a small smile, and his voice is so soft, so intimate, you fear you might pass out right there. When he drops his hand, you immediately miss his touch.

“What about you?” you ask.

Joaquín looks down at himself, placing his hands on different parts of his body as if to check if they hurt.

“I got out unscathed, I think,” he says, and you rise a brow at him. You lean forward slightly and snake your arm around him to softly poke him in the back, and he flinches with an ‘ouch!’

“Unscathed, my ass. You got shot,” you remark, remembering all too well how a stray bullet had found him. Luckily, you were both wearing your bulletproof gear. 

Your eyes widen slightly as Joaquín grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and taking it off. You try no to stare too obviously. Really, you try. But then he turns around to look at himself in the mirror, and you spot the dark bruise already forming on his back where the bullet had impacted. Before you can help yourself, your hand reaches out, your fingertips softly tracing over the purplish skin. His eyes meet yours through the mirror.

“Well, my professional medical diagnosis is that you don’t need stitches for that,” you say, and he huffs a laugh. You’re not sure what it is, if it’s the twinkle in Joaquín’s eyes or the amount of exposed skin or the fact that either of you could have died today, but a burst of confidence bubbles up within you, and you intend to take advantage of it. “But you know what they say the best medicine is,” you add as you lean forward, then place a soft kiss to the bruise. You hear him gasp in surprise.

As you lean back again, you don’t dare look at him. Surely by now your whole face is on fire. Your whole body certainly is. In fact, you almost can’t feel your wounds or the ache in your bones, your whole focus on the man in front of you.

For a moment, Joaquín doesn’t move, and the warmth you felt earlier quickly dissipates, replaced by a cold panic that spreads from your gut into your limbs. You’ve overstepped. You’ve ruined everything. He never liked you back, it was all in your head. Your mind reels as you try to find the words to apologise for your actions. But before you can think of anything, he slowly comes back down to his knees in front of you, the deepest and most adorable blush you’ve seen on him yet adorning his cheeks and ears, all the way down to his collarbones. 

“Best medicine, you say,” he repeats your words, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes shyly find their way to yours. “I think I could use some more of that.”

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words. The implication sends a flutter through your gut that spreads into your whole body.

“Where?” you ask, breathless.

Joaquín points to a cut on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours, and you lean in again, your lips ghosting over the spot. Then he points to a scratch on his arm, and you place another featherlight kiss. This goes on for a while, where he wordlessly points to different parts of his body, his chest, his arms, and you kiss it better.

Then one of his hands finds your good leg, staying on the outside of your thigh, and you think you’ll combust on the spot. His skin coming in contact with yours sends a series of sparks through your nerves and up your spine, eliciting a small gasp from you. 

“Here,” he whispers, his free hand pointing to his throat, right next to his Adam’s apple. Your own hands come up, a bit shaky, and hold his face as you leave a trail of small kisses from where he pointed, all the way up to his cheekbone. He lets out a shuddering breath, looking at you through half lidded eyes when you pull back. 

“Anywhere else?” you ask, but you can’t even finish your question as his lips finally come crashing onto yours, and once the initial surprise is gone, you tilt your head and sigh into the kiss. His lips move with urgency against yours, the hand on your leg sliding to your waist and pulling you to him, the other cradling the back of your head. You reciprocate as best as you can, given you feel like you’ve entirely lost control of your body. When he breaks for air, both of you panting heavily, it's his turn to leave a trail of kisses on your throat.

“The good thing about this medicine,” you say between breaths as he leaves wet kisses on your pulse point. “Is that it works both ways.”

Joaquín snorts, stopping what he’s doing to pull back and look up at you.

“Yeah?” he says, slightly out of breath, then his gaze darkens a bit. “I can think of another… treatment, too. To make you feel better.” Your heart skips several beats at his words.

“Well, it might be a while until we can see a proper doctor,” you say as you softly rake your fingers through his hair, and he hums at the sensation. “Might as well take every precaution.”

Joaquín gets back up to his feet, carefully picking you up under your legs and around your back from the tub, and you hold onto his shoulders. As he brings you to the bedroom, you don’t even look back at the mess you left in the bathroom, completely lost in his eyes. You’ll take care of that tomorrow.

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[queenshelby]

His Property (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader

Warning: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Forced Submission, Humiliation, Age Gap

Summary:

You are an innocent young woman sold by your father to Thomas Shelby in exchange for clearing his debt. Thomas views you as his possession, believing he can treat you however he wishes.

Please comment and engage to let me know what you think!

The limousine purrs to a stop in front of Arrow House, and your heart pounds against your ribcage like a trapped creature yearning to escape. You gaze up at the imposing mansion, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity. You find yourself gazing at the towering structure that looms as a sentinel over the sweeping lawns and manicured gardens, its cold stone walls as forbidding as the ice-blue eyes of its owner.

Your father sits beside you, his grip on your arm firm and unrelenting.

His face is a mask of grim determination, eyes fixed on the mansion as if it were a monster he's about to feed.

"This is it," he says, his voice as harsh as gravel. "Your new home."

Home. The word sends a shiver down your spine. You have no choice but to follow him out of the car, your heels sinking into the dewy grass. As you approach the grand entrance, the heavy oak door creaks open, revealing a man in a crisp black suit. His sharp features and piercing blue eyes leave no doubt who he is. Thomas Shelby.

The mere mention of his name sends a shiver down your spine. He stands in the doorway, his eyes raking over you like a physical touch. You feel your cheeks flush under his scrutiny.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue like a dark promise. He steps aside, allowing you to enter the grand foyer. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars and something darker, more primal.

Your father clears his throat, his eyes darting nervously between you and Thomas. "Y/N, this is Mr. Shelby. He's...

taken care of our debt." His words hang heavy in the air, a finality that makes your stomach churn. Thomas nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he assesses you, from top to bottom, as if you were prey.

"Yes, your father and I have come to an arrangement," he says, his voice as smooth as velvet but with an underlying edge that sends a shiver down your spine. 

Your father shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you and Thomas before he nods, a grimace on his face. "I trust you'll take good care of her," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas merely smiles, a slow, predatory curl of his lips that sends a jolt of fear coursing through you. "Oh, I intend to," he says, his eyes locked onto yours.

He turns to your father, his voice cold and dismissive. "You may go. I'll send for you when our business is concluded."

Your father nods, his eyes flickering between you and Thomas before he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with the man who now owns you.

Thomas closes the door, his footsteps echoing in the grand foyer as he approaches you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the power he exudes like a palpable force. He stops in front of you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but flinch at the contact. He chuckles low, a sound that rumbles like thunder in his chest.

"You're frightened," he observes, his voice a low growl. 

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You know what's expected of you, what your father has sold you for. But the reality of it is unlike anything you've ever imagined.

"Will...will you hurt me?"  The words escape your lips before you can stop them, a mixture of fear and defiance in your voice.

Thomas's eyes flash with amusement, and he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Only if you want me to," he whispers, his voice a low, seductive growl.

He steps back, his eyes scanning your body again, lingering on your breasts, your hips, your thighs.

"I don't want you to, sir," you reply, your voice barely a whisper, but it's enough for him.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he reaches out, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb. "We will see," he says softly. 

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, confused and slightly relieved but, before you know it, one of his maids appears, her eyes cast downwards as she speaks. 

"Let's get you settled in dear. I understand you have had a long 

journey," the maid says, her voice soft and soothing like warm honey. She guides you through the grand house, your footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. The opulence of Arrow House is starkly apparent; crystal chandeliers drip from the high ceilings, casting prisms of light that dance on the walls, and paintings of landscapes and still lives adorn the walls, each one more expensive looking than the last.

You are led down a long corridor, the air growing colder as you move further away from the main entrance. The maid stops in front of a heavy wooden door, her hand on the brass handle.

"This will be your room," she says, pushing the door open. You step inside, your eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room is large, with a four-poster bed draped in velvet curtains, a fireplace with a roaring fire, and a chaise lounge positioned in front of the window. It's luxurious, but the air is thick with an undercurrent of darkness, a subtle reminder of Thomas's presence.

"Is there anything you need, dear?" the maid asks, her eyes scanning your face. You shake your head, your mind racing with a million thoughts but your mouth unable to form the words.

The maid smiles softly, her eyes kind. "You'll be alright, dear," she then says as she turns to leave, but you call out to her.

"Wait," you say, and she pauses, turning back to face you.

"What exactly does he... want from me?" The question tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it, a heavy weight settling in your stomach as you await her response.

The maid's expression softens, and she steps back into the room, closing the door behind her.

She walks over to the chaise lounge and sits down, patting the space next to her. "Come, sit," she says gently. You hesitate for a moment before moving to sit next to her.

"Mr. Shelby, he's... complex," she begins, her voice low and careful. "He likes things to be... just so. And he likes to be in control." She pauses, choosing her words with care. "He'll expect you to be obedient, to meet his needs, and to do so without question."

You swallow hard, the reality of your situation settling like a weight in the pit of your stomach. Your older sister had only just explained the concept of intimacy to you after you had been brought up strictly catholic, and the thought of experiencing it so suddenly and with such a man was terrifying.

"But what if I don't want to do the things he asks?" your voice barely a whisper, but your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, afraid of the answer.

The maid's eyes were kind, and she reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I am afraid you do not have a choice, dear. Not now. But in time, you may find that you want to please him. Many have before you."

"But if I do not like what he does to me?" you ask, your voice quivering slightly, the reality of your new life crashing down on you like a wave.

The maid's expression turns softer, and she squeezes your shoulder gently again. 'You will learn to like it, dear, or at least to tolerate it. Mr. Shelby has a way of... making people see things his way.'

Your heart sinks, and you feel a lump form in your throat. You want to ask more, to understand what exactly he expects from you, but the maid's shoulders tense, and she glances at the door.

'I should go,' she says, standing up. 'We'll meet again though, and I'll help you as much as I can, but for now, you should wash up and get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day.'

You nod, a sense of resignation washing over you as she leaves. Alone in the room, you let the weight of your situation sink in. Your breath hitches as you think about what lies ahead, your mind racing with questions and fears.

An hour later, a soft knock at the door startles you. You hesitate for a moment before calling out, 'Come in.'

The door creaks open, revealing a young man, around your age, with shaggy brown hair and kind brown eyes. He's dressed in a simple but well-made suit, his demeanour friendly and unassuming.

He smiles at you, and you can't help but feel a small shiver of relief at the sight of someone close to your own age.

"Hey, I'm Lucas," he says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "I'm one of the housekeeper's son and I help out around here sometimes."

You offer him a small smile, your shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm Y/N," you say, standing up from the chaise lounge. "Nice to meet you."

Finn nods, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you. "I heard you were coming," he says, his voice casual.

"Thought I'd come say hi, make you feel a bit more at home."

You appreciate the gesture, even if the words 'at home' still feel foreign on your tongue. "Thanks," you say, offering him a small smile. "I could use a friendly face around here."

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah, Arrow House can be a bit... intimidating at first. But don't worry, you'll get used to it."

You sit back down on the chaise lounge, and he takes a seat on the armchair across from you.

The room feels less daunting with his presence, and you find yourself relaxing slightly.

"So, what's it like here? I mean, living in Arrow House," you ask, trying to keep your voice casual.

Lucas leans back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. "It's different, that's for sure. It's like living in a castle, you know? But I know it will be different for you. I mean, I know why you are here and I am... I am not in the same situation as you," Lucas says before he pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge how much to say. 

A shiver runs down your spine at the mention of your situation. "I don't want to be here," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucas's expression softens, and he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I know," he says. "But try to make the best of it," he tells you. 

You nod, a lump forming in your throat at his kindness. 

"I'll try," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lucas smiles warmly; his eyes filled with genuine concern. "Good," he said simply, resting his hand on yours in a friendly manner. 

His words are comforting, but the weight of your new life is a constant reminder, pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. You force a smile, grateful for his presence.

"Thank you, Lucas," you say, and he grins, standing up and holding out his hand.

"Come on, let's go for a walk in the gardens.

Fresh air might do you some good," Lucas suggests, his hand still outstretched. You take it, grateful for the offer of escape, no matter how temporary.

As you walk through the grand house, you can't help but feel like a prisoner in a gilded cage. The opulence is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the simplicity of your childhood home. Lucas guides you through the sprawling gardens, the scents of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass filling the air. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

"So, what's your story, Lucas?

How long have you been here?" You ask, trying to focus on anything but the heavy weight of your new reality.

Lucas shrugs, his hands tucked into his pockets as he walks beside you. "Not long. A few months. My mom got a job here, and I help out around the place. It's not so bad, really. The people are nice enough."

You nod, your eyes scanning the gardens. "What about you? Where are you from?" He asks, his voice casual.

You hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal. "Small town. Nowhere special," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I grew up catholic. My father had a big gambling debt, and now I'm here," you say, your voice tight. Lucas glances at you, his expression sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. That really sucks," he says, his voice genuine. "But listen, you're young, you're smart, and you're tough. You'll figure this out."

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Tough? I'm terrified, Lucas. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what he expects from me."

Lucas's expression softens, and he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay. Just know that you are not alone. I'll be here to help, alright? And I'm sure some of the other staff will be too. We're not all bad here, you know."

You nod, appreciating his words even if they don't completely ease your fears. "Thanks, Lucas. I appreciate it."

He smiles, his hand dropping to his side as he looked up, noticing Thomas Shelby 's silhouette in one of the grand windows.

You follow his gaze, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of Thomas's imposing figure. He stares back at you, his expression unreadable, before he turns and walks away.

"I should go," Lucas says, his voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't like me talking to the... new acquisitions."

You frown, a chill running down your spine at his choice of words. "Why?"

Lucas shrugs, his expression grim.

"He just doesn't. Trust me, it's better if I go. I'll see you around, alright?" he says, squeezing your arm once more before turning and walking away, leaving you alone in the garden.

You watch him go, a sense of unease washing over you as Thomas's shadow looms large again in the window.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come. You can't run, and you can't hide. You have to face this head-on. 

You make your way back to Arrow House, your footsteps echoing in the grand foyer as you enter.

The house is quiet, the staff moving silently through the halls, their eyes cast downwards as they pass you. The air is thick with an undercurrent of tension, a subtle reminder of Thomas Shelby's presence.

As you climb the grand staircase, you can't help but feel like a mouse in a maze, each step bringing you closer to the lion's den. You reach your room, the heavy wooden door looming in front of you like a barrier between you and the reality of your situation.

You take a deep breath, your hand trembling slightly as you reach for the handle of the door leading to your bedroom just as one of the maids approached you from behind.

"Here you are," she says softly. "Mr. Shelby wants to see you, in his study," the maid says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath hitches as you nod, your fingers fumbling with the door handle.

"Come, dear. We don't want to keep him waiting," the maid says, her voice a soft nudge, but there's an undercurrent of impatience that brooks no argument.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest as you follow her down the wide, marble-floored hallway. The air grows colder, the scent of expensive cigars and something darker, more primal, clinging to the air.

The maid stops in front of a heavy oak door, her hand reaching out to knock softly. "Sir, she's here," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

The door creaks open, revealing Thomas Shelby standing by the fireplace, his back to you. He's dressed in a dark suit, the material moulding to his frame.

He turns to face you, his piercing blue eyes scanning your body, missing no detail.

He nods at the maid, dismissing her with a minimal wave of his hand. She scurries away, leaving you alone with him.

The room is illuminated by the flickering fire, the shadows dancing on the walls, creating a stark contrast with the opulence of the study. Your heart hammers in your chest like a drum, the air thick with fear.

Thomas stands before you, his eyes locked onto yours, a dark promise written across his sharp features. He takes a step closer, the smell of expensive cologne enveloping you.

"You look nervous, Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch causing you to flinch away.

His eyes darken at your reaction, and he takes a step closer, crowding your space.

"You're going to have to get used to my touch, Love," he says, the words a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you take a step back, only to find yourself pressed up against the wall. You can feel the cold stone against your back, the rough texture a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

Thomas takes advantage of your lack of space, his hand coming up to cup your chin, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"Open for me. Let me taste you." His voice is a command, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your response.

You hesitate, your breathing coming in short gasps, the fear warring within you. Thomas's grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing harder against your lip. "Now," he growls, the warning clear in his voice.

With trembling fingers, you part your lips, allowing him access. His eyes darken as he leans in, his mouth capturing yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. His tongue plunges in, exploring, dominating, leaving no part of your mouth untouched.

You gasp, your body stiffening at the sudden invasion, but Thomas doesn't miss a beat. He pins you to the wall as his mouth ravages yours. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and the fear in your chest begins to raise. 

Thomas tears his mouth away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes are wild, hungry, as they rake over your body. "You taste like innocence, like a fucking virgin," he growls, his voice a low and primal.

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I don't want to do this."

Thomas smirks, his eyes burning with hunger, and presses his body flush against yours. "You don't have a choice. You're mine now and I paid good fucking money for you."

He captures your mouth again, swallowing your whimpers as his hands roam over your body.

You feel like a deer caught in headlights, unable to escape or fight as his hands trail down your waist. He slips his fingers under your skirt, hooking them into the waistband of your panties and you tremble as he pulls them down.

They pool at your feet and a tear slips down your cheek.

Thomas smirks, his lips brushing against yours. "Sshh, it's alright Love," he whispers as his fingers first made contact with your most intimate part. "I am just getting to know what's mine."

His voice is like velvet over iron as he lets his fingers run over your still dry and untouched folds.

You can't bring yourself to respond, your mind a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. Thomas doesn't seem to mind, his fingers exploring you, sliding against your opening, making you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation.

He then pushes a finger inside you, the intrusion causing you to cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh Sweetheart," he growls against your neck, "You're so fucking tight."

He begins to pump his finger in and out of you, the motion rough and urgent, causing you to gasp and whimper.

"Sshh, Love," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "I know it hurts, but I need you to relax and take it. You'll feel better once you get used to it."

You try to do as he says, but the sensation is overwhelming and foreign. You can feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. 

You try to press your legs together, to close yourself off from him, but Thomas's free hand pushes your thighs apart, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

"Open up for me, Love," he snarls, the command in his voice leaving no room for argument as, suddenly, you felt something else when he used his thumb to rub your clit, slowly circling it with the pressure of his rough thumb.

The sensation is both foreign and slightly pleasurable, sending a jolt of confusion through you.

Thomas notices your reaction, a dark smile spreading across his face. 

"No, please," you plead, your voice trembling as you try to push his hand away, but this time for different reasons. The sensation was too overwhelming for you.

You can't help but let out a small moan as Thomas's thumb continues to circle your clit. He watches you closely, his eyes dark with lust and pleasure at your reaction.

"That's it, Love," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "Let me hear you. I want to hear you scream for me."

His finger inside you continues to move, pumping in and out, painfully, but the pressure on your clit made you feel pleasure at the same time, confusing you as you tried to wiggle away from him.

"Please stop,” you whimper, but he just chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Shh, just let go for me," he growls, his thrusts becoming faster, more urgent. You can feel the wetness building between your legs, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your breath comes in short gasps, your body tensing as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"I... I can't," you stammer, your body shaking with the effort of holding back. Thomas leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and moist.

"Come on, Love, you're almost there. Let go. Give in to it," he says as he increases the pressure on your clit, his thumb circling faster, sending electric jolts through your body.

"Please. No. I need to...you need to stop!" you cry out as you can't hold back anymore and your body convulses, and you let out a scream that echoes through the study.

"That's a good girl," Thomas grins, his eyes locked onto yours, watching you come undone under his touch. He continues to pump his finger in and out of you, drawing out your pleasure until you're a panting mess against the wall.

He finally slows down, his finger sliding out of you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

You're panting, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your unexpected orgasm.

Thomas grins, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and lust as he smeared his blood-streaked finger over your cleavage, leaving a trail of your own wetness across your skin.

"There you go Sweetheart," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked but you couldn't help but feel a chill run down your spine at his words.

His fingers were still paint streaked from your wetness and virginity and he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan of satisfaction. You felt a mixture of revulsion and shame at the sight, but also a strange kind of arousal you couldn't quite understand.

"Now, why don't you drop down to your knees for me, eh?" Thomas's voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder, as he steps back and begins to unbuckle his belt.

You hesitate for a moment, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of the orgasm he forced from you. But his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, burn into yours, and you know better than to disobey.

Slowly, you sink to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest like a trapped bird.

Thomas smirks, a slow, wicked curl of his lips as he pushes his pants down, his cock springing free.

He's long and thick, the head already damp with precum. He wraps his fist around the base, giving it a slow stroke.

"Open that pretty little mouth of yours, Sweetheart," he commands, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

You hesitate, your breath coming in short gasps, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You've never done this before, never even thought about it. But Thomas doesn't wait for your consent. He grabs a fistful of your hair, his grip tight and painful as he steps closer. 

"Open, now," he growls, his cockhead prodding at your lips.

You hesitate, your lips pressed tightly together, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest as he waits

for you to comply which, hesitantly, you did, slowly parting your lips, just enough to let the tip inside.

"That's a good girl," he praises, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. "Now take more."

He pushes his hips forward, forcing more of his cock into your mouth, the salty

taste of him filling your senses. You gag, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat. You try to pull back, but his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place as half of his cock disappears in your mouth, stretching your lips.

"Take it all, Sweetheart," he commands, his voice a low growl. "

You whimper, your tears falling freely now as he begins to move his hips, fucking your mouth in slow, steady thrusts. He grunts with each push forward, his cock growing harder, thicker with each passing moment.

You can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth, dripping down your chin, and you try to swallow around the intrusion, but it's no use. Your gag reflex kicks in again, and you pull back, gasping for air.

Thomas chuckles, a dark and dangerous sound that sends shivers down your spine. "You're not very good at this, are you, Love?" he says, his voice thick with lust. He grips your hair tighter, forcing you to look up at him.

His blue eyes are dark with desire, his jaw set in a harsh line. "You're going to take it all, understand?" His voice is a harsh command, leaving no room for argument as he thrusts his hips forward, his cockhead slipping past your lips and forcing its way into your mouth.

You gag again, your eyes watering as he hits the back of your throat.

You try to relax, to open up, but it's hard. His cock is so fucking big, and the taste of him, the smell of him, it's all so overwhelming.

Thomas growls, his grip on your hair tightening even further. "You feel so fucking good Love," he says through gritted teeth, his hips moving faster, fucking your face with more force.

You gag again, your mouth filled with his cock, your eyes watering as you try to breathe through your nose. Your hands grip his thighs, your nails digging into his flesh as you try to pull back, but Thomas holds you firmly in place.

You can feel it throbbing in your mouth, the veins pulsing with his heartbeat. The taste of him is salty and bitter, the scent of his sweat and arousal filling your nostrils. Both nauseating and arousing at the same time. You can't breathe, can't think, as he fucks your face with efficiency.

"Open that throat for me, Love," he groans, his voice ragged with desire. "Take it all, like a good girl."

His words send a jolt of humiliation and arousal through you which, again, was strange and confusing to you. Despite yourself, you feel a twinge of desire, a heat building between your legs. 

Thomas groans, a low, animal sound that vibrates through his chest. "Almost there, Love," he says, and you have no idea what he means by that

. You're dizzy, lightheaded from being on your knees for so long with his cock in your mouth. You feel like your jaw is going to dislocate as he thrusts in and out, his cock filling your mouth completely.

He pushes in deeper, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat, forcing you to take him in even further. You try to keep your teeth from grazing him, but it's hard to control anything when you can barely breathe.

Thomas's hips stutter, his cockhead pulsing in your throat, and you are unsure what is going on until he announces his impending climax. 

"I am going to cum in your sweet little mouth now and I want you to swallow every last drop of it, eh" he rasps out, his voice thick with lust and excitement.

You panic, your body tensing, still unsure what to expect, but there's no escape as he grips your hair, holding you in place as he thrusts into your mouth one last time, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he releases his load.

You gag in surprise as the hot, salty taste of him fills your mouth, coating your tongue and throat. He groans, his body shuddering as he empties himself into you, his hips jerking with each spurt.

"Swallow it, Love" he growls, his grip on your hair tightening painfully. "Every fucking drop."

You try to pull back, the taste of him overwhelming, but his grip is unyielding. You gag again, his cum and saliva splattering around your lips as you struggle to swallow his release. It is simply too much. 

"Good girl," Thomas praises you anyway, his voice still thick with lust. 

He pulls out, his cock gleaming with your saliva and his cum. He runs a hand through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. His cum was running down your chin, dripping onto your chest and even on to his shoe, and you can taste the bitter, salty tang of him on your tongue. 

Using his finger, he scoops up the cum that had dripped out of your mouth and on to your chin and feeds it to you, forcing you to swallow every last drop. You whimper, your stomach churning at the taste, but you obey, knowing better than to displease him.

"That's it," Thomas praises again, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and lust. He tucks himself back into his pants, his cock only semi-hard now.

You look down at your chest, at his release on your skin, and then at his shiny dress shoes, now with cum splattered on them too. You feel a wave of shame wash over you, your cheeks burning with humiliation.

"I... I’m sorry," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't be Love. You did well," he says as you still sat on the plush carpet, your knees aching from the hard floor, your mouth still tasting like him. "But I do need you to clean up the mess you made, eh," he then ads, as if you had been careless, rather than struggling to perform a task you had never done before. 

"Yes, sir," you whisper, your voice trembling as you reached up to wipe off the cum from your chest first with your bare hand and Thomas watches you, his expression unreadable. 

"Lick it off your hand, go on," he commands, and you hesitate for a moment before bringing your hand to your mouth and licking off his cum, your stomach again. 

"That's a good girl,” he says, his voice a low purr. "Now, clean my shoe with your tongue."

You look down at the shiny leather and a wave of humiliation washes over you. But you know better than to disobey, so you lean forward, extending your tongue, and begin to lick the cum off his shoe.

Thomas watches you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Lick every last drop."

You continue, your cheeks burning with shame, your mouth tasting like him, feeling like you are nothing more than a slave to his desires.

The taste of him is bitter and salty, a stark reminder of what you are to him, of the role you must play in his life.

As you finish cleaning his shoe, you sit back on your heels, your body shaking with exhaustion and humiliation. Thomas watches you, his eyes roaming your body, assessing you like a piece of art.

Thomas looks down at you, his expression softening. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "Now, go clean yourself up and get some rest, eh?" he says, his voice suddenly softer, as he helps you to your feet.

You nod, your body still shaking slightly from the ordeal. He strokes your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost comforting.

"You did well tonight, Love. Very well," he praises you once more and, somehow, this made you proud. 

You make your way back to your room, your body aching and your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You strip off your clothes, your body still sticky from his seed, and step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over you.

You scrub yourself clean, trying to wash away the taste and smell of him, but it lingers, a constant reminder of what just happened.

Your body aches, and your knees are bruised from the hard floor.

You step out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a thick, plush robe that hangs on the back of the door but, even despite the humiliation you feel, there is something else that lingers, something that you can't quite put your finger on. A sense of accomplishment perhaps, or maybe it's just the exhaustion that weighs heavily on your body.

You collapse onto the bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief to your tender skin. You pull the covers up, burying yourself in the softness, trying to block out the memories of the night. But sleep eludes you, your mind racing with thoughts of Thomas and the things he made you do.

You toss and turn, the events of the night replaying in your head like a gruesome movie. The way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he smelled. The way he made you feel. A mix of fear, humiliation, and whatever else this was. Desire or arousal perhaps?

You were confused and conflicted by the mix of emotions swirling within you but, after a little while, you finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep, your dreams haunted by the events of the night.

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[rottenfyre]

𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, this shot is not following the series time, it's just a especial shot for you to have a glance at their future. Hope you enjoy!

The evening sun cast long shadows across the Great Hall of the Red Keep, where the court had gathered for a summons issued by King Viserys. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the anticipation of an impending confrontation. On one side of the hall, you stood, your gaze sharp and unwavering, with your sons, Aegon and Aemond, beside you. On the other stood Rhaenyra, her bastard children clinging to her skirts, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Viserys paced the dais, his face a stormy mask of fury. His royal robes trailed behind him like a shadow, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. His anger had been ignited by a recent incident—a confrontation in which Aegon had brutally punished one of Rhaenyra’s bastards for mocking Aemond.

Aegon stood beside you, his face red and defiant, while Aemond, still shaken but resolute, clung to your side. The King’s voice echoed through the hall, a thunderous roar that made everyone flinch.

“Why did you attack that boy?” Viserys bellowed, his eyes blazing with fury as he fixed his gaze on Aegon.

Aegon looked up at his father, his chin held high despite the trembling in his voice. “He made fun of Aemond,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “He said terrible things about him.”

Rhaenyra, standing with her bastards clutching at her skirts, shot a smug glance toward you. Her expression was one of malicious satisfaction, her gaze clearly relishing the turmoil unfolding before her.

The King’s rage was palpable. “So you took it upon yourself to act as judge and executioner? Is this how you are taught to handle insults? By violence?”

Before Aegon could respond, Viserys’s hand shot out, clearly intending to strike him. But you moved with swift, decisive action, placing yourself squarely between the King and your son. Your posture was rigid, your expression fierce.

“Stop,” you commanded, your voice a steely edge that cut through the King’s fury. “You will not lay a hand on him.”

Viserys’s eyes widened in surprise, his anger momentarily faltering. “And why should I not?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“Because Aegon did nothing wrong,” you replied, your tone unwavering. “He defended his brother from a child who deserved punishment. Her bastards should be the ones to be ashamed, not my son.”

The hall fell silent, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Rhaenyra’s smugness faltered, her eyes flicking between her own children and you. The King’s face twisted with both anger and confusion.

“How dare you speak to me in this manner?” Viserys roared. “Are you suggesting that I am blind to the truth? That my own daughter and her children are to be shunned while your sons are treated as paragons of virtue?”

“They are your sons!” You faced Viserys with unyielding resolve. “You may choose to be blind, but I am not. Rhaenyra’s children are the ones who instigate and mock. My sons are merely defending themselves. And if you choose to punish them for that, it is you who are blinded by favoritism and false loyalties.”

Viserys’s eyes flared with indignation. “Watch your tongue, Y/N. Such words are treasonous, and I will not tolerate them.”

“Cut my tongue if you must,” you declared, your voice rising in defiance. “But you cannot blind people like you are blinded by Rhaenyra’s lies and deceit. Rhaenyra is the one who bears bastards, and it is she who should be held accountable, not my children.”

The hall was filled with a stunned silence, broken only by the soft, nervous whispers of courtiers and servants. Viserys’s face grew red with rage, but before he could respond, you continued.

“I will not stand idly by while my children are mistreated. You want to punish Aegon for protecting his brother? Then do so. But know that in my eyes, you are as much a part of the problem as Rhaenyra’s misdeeds.”

Viserys, caught between his anger and the startling boldness of your words, struggled to find a response. He looked at Rhaenyra, whose face had now twisted into an expression of barely concealed outrage.

“Enough!” Viserys finally bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “This matter will be dealt with as I see fit. And if any further insults or violence occur, there will be consequences.”

You met his gaze, your expression resolute. “I will not back down from protecting my children, even if it means facing your wrath.”

Viserys’s face softened slightly, but only in the sense of weary resignation. He turned his attention to Rhaenyra. “Get your children under control. If there is another incident like this, it will be dealt with harshly.”

Rhaenyra’s lips curled in a sneer, but she knew better than to argue further. She gathered her children, her eyes shooting daggers at you as she left the hall.

As the court dispersed, you gathered Aegon and Aemond close, your protective instincts in full force. You kissed both of them on the forehead, your eyes filled with both love and a fierce determination.

“Do not worry,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, I will always be here to protect you. You did nothing wrong, and you never should have to apologize for defending each other.”

Aegon and Aemond nodded, their expressions a mixture of relief and lingering unease. You led them out of the hall, your heart heavy but your resolve unshaken. For you, there was no higher calling than the protection of your children, and you would let nothing—neither court politics nor royal indignation—stand in the way of their safety and happiness.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Your werewolf hubby's knot won't seem to go down no matter what you do, so now it's up to the monster doctor to walk you through different ideas in his office... Perhaps he breaks a few rules and joins in halfway through. Don't worry, he's a doctor and he knows what's best. ;)

Kabr0z Writes Episode 48: Medical Attention

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

I also decided to revisit Professor Blaidd from the Debt trilogy

CWs: Medical malpractice (kinda); double penetration; knotting; creampie; dubcon, but not from the person you're expecting;

A/N: This one may wind up more comedy than pornography... We'll see how it shakes out, I guess!

######################################

Try it, they said. You'll have fun, they said. Well, you tried it, and you just wished when you bought that packet of little blue pills you'd read the label more carefully. Maybe then you'd have spotted where it said "not intended for lupines" before getting your brains fucked out and winding up tied together.

You don't mind it, per se, but you're naked, leaking, and have been stuck holding onto the front of your lover for the last hour. Every time you move he whimpers as you push his sensitive cock around in you, god knows what'll happen if you sneeze.

A knock at the door. Owain's here. He was the best man at your wedding, the devious arsehole who ensured your husband spent the subsequent morning taped to a streetlamp, and by remarkable good fortune happened to be a licensed physician specialising in lupine care.

"Well, Mr. Blaidd" you gestured to the door "Company's here"

Your lover smiled, "I suppose, Mrs. Blaidd, we'd better answer the door." He stood up, wincing as your weight pushed his knot another inch into you "Normally I'd be masked in this situation" he muttered under his breath. You stifled a laugh, but your belly still shook a little, making him grab the wall and growl.

He backed up to the closed door and you turned the handle with an outstretched foot so if it wasn't your friend, all they'd see is your husband's back rather than a full show of his cock lodged in you. Thankfully, it was Owain there, the wiry grey wolfman laughing at your predicament

"Rhys you old dog, got a predicament have we?"

He slapped your husband on the back, jostling you both. You gasped a little as the cock buried in you twitched again and a little fluid leaked out of you.

"Yes, you bastard, we've been stuck like this for an hour" Blaidd growled softly as he shook his friend's hand before leading him in to the sitting room, still disturbed from your earlier lovemaking.

"So, how long have you been..." Owain mimed an erect penis

"About two hours?"

You laughed "About one and a half"

"Ok, so the danger zone for a lupine starts around six, so as long as he's out and deflated by then, you're golden"

You looked at your husband. He looked at you. You both looked at Owain.

"We'd like a little sooner?"

Owain laughed, visibly searching his memory "Easiest way would be to make a little cut and... Drain the organ"

Blaidd went pale

"But that's a last-resort. We could always try... Hmm. Worth a shot" Owain got up and left the room, returning a moment later holding one hand in another before holding it to Blaidd's muzzle.

Blaidd sniffed, then gasped, then sneezed hard. The cock stuck in you was forced upwards, you gasped as a little more fluid leaked from it, joining the half-gallon it felt like you were carrying already.

Owain looked at you both, stroking his chin "You know, normally I'm treating the opposite problem... I bet I know what would work, but it's not altogether... Ethical..?"

You looked at each other again, then back at the other wolf in the room

"You want to fuck me up the ass?"

The two wolves stared at you. Then at each other. "He's been eyeing me since he walked in, have you not noticed?"

Blaidd coughed, reaching behind his head in the way he does when he's not willing to admit something. Owain was desperately trying to avoid eye contact, but the growing bulge in his pants told you everything you needed to know

You sighed at your husband "It's not the first time we've shared, is it?" Then, to Owain "There's lube under your seat"

The doctor didn't need telling twice. Stripping his lower half and grabbing the bottle from under the armchair he was on. He's already hard, slathering the cool lube on his cock and your hole only made him more excited. Already panting into your ear, he lined himself up, precum bubbling onto your ass.

He pushed in, your tight hole stretching for him. It didn't hurt, you're well prepared and slick, but the sensation of two cocks in you at once made you gasp.

He isn't shy any more. Thrusting and grasping at your hips. You can feel his cock rubbing against the thick knot already in you, making Blaidd gasp and groan as the sensitive organ is frotted against.

You moan and your cunt clenches, the two thick cocks driving into you bringing you off. Your fingers brush your clit, hurling you over the edge as your heart races. Blaidd groans as your cunt milks him to another aching orgasm inside you, right as Owain knots your asshole.

You're locked in. Your husband on one side, his best friend on the other, and both of them sealed into your holes, emptying their balls into you.

You're no less stuck than you were before, but the two big wolves are so furry, so soft, you reckon it's probably fine.

###################################

Yeah, this was more farcical than titillating, but hey, overstimming your werewolf husband while his performance-enhanced knot is stuck in you by getting anal from his best friend is one hell of a plot.

Either way, tomorrow's episode is another TF extravaganza, with even more questionable medical ethics

[fanaticsnail]

Beautiful

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,400+

Synopsis: Big Mom has found her son, Charlotte Katakuri, a partner she deemed worthy enough for him to court for matrimony. While he is smitten immediately with you, he is determined to make a good impression on you by not revealing his face. Your curiosity gets the better of you.

Warnings: Katakuri x f!reader, talks of husband and wife, use of bride, massaging face, fluff, so fluffy.

Notes: wrote this half-dazed at 6:30am this morning because @gingernut1314 decided she needed the big man in her life and the brain-worm got me. Here he is, the big guy all for you, sweetheart. Art link

Tag List: @feral-artistry @i-am-vita @indydonuts @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Being courted by the Minister of Flour was not something you had ever pictured to be highlighted on your impressive resume. When you first received an invitation from the Charlotte family to venture to Komugi island, this was not an outcome you predicted for yourself. 

Charlotte Katakuri, the second son and third child of Big Mom, was told to find a bride. His orders were received, the date of his nuptials set, and his suit picked out for such an excitable occasion. The only thing that had not been set in stone was the partner joining him at his side after their soft march down the aisle. 

Your family was titled, strong, and one of the only families Big Mom had deemed worthy enough to usher in a new generation of pirates to join in taking the Charlotte name. Katakuri had no choice but to obey his mother, apprehensively accepting the terms of an arranged marriage against his own desires to simply live to protect his siblings, nieces, and nephews. While this was out of his control, what he could control was how his intended bride depicted him. 

He could continue to shield his face from you. His rationale was as such, “If they never view my face, they would never have reason to fear me.” And so he did as such, hiding his face beneath the fur shroud from the moment he met you, and every courtship session soon thereafter. As he laid his eyes on you for the first time, he was immediately smitten. Taken by your appearance alone, and your willingness to sign your name beside his on the registry to set your intentions to wed in stone, he could never be more proud to have a partner such as you. 

As his trust in you began to build, he slowly allowed you into his heart, and shared his burdens with you as Minister of Flour. He confided in you, relishing in your company as he openly courted you under the watchful chaperone of his younger sister, Charlotte Brûlée. 

One such occasion, he laid out a blanket for you and drew out a large wicker basket from behind his back. He presented you with an assortment of baked sweets and pastries with a soft blush dusting his cheeks beneath the fur shroud. While you accepted the treats with gratitude, you instead placed it beside you and knelt on the blanket, tapping your lap and asking him to lay on his back. 

“Tell me about your day, intended. I want to know every detail,” you smiled mischievously up at him. He cautiously stole a look at Brûlée, who emphatically ushered him to do as he was told with flailing hands. 

Lowering himself onto the mat beside you, he awkwardly shifted himself to attempt to do as you asked. Rolling your eyes, you reach your hands up to his shoulder and gently guide his larger form to lay his head in your lap. His entire head was the size of both of your thighs together, but you had no qualms or complaints about it. 

“Come on, I don't bite,” you reassured him with a soft laugh, “Let me hear about your journeys abroad. Tell me anything that you want, you have my complete attention.” He was a giant, but so incredibly gentle and sweet to those he deemed as family. 

Coaxing his head onto your lap, he immediately drew his hand up to his mask and secured it over his lips to keep his mouth and teeth hidden from your sight. You chose to ignore this, drawing your fingers up and settled him atop your thighs as he slowly, quietly spoke about his life to you. 

While Charlotte Katakuri was immediately taken by you in the registry office with your family and his, you were horrified by the sight that was met with you. You had heard stories about some of the Charlotte's being of unusual size and stature, but you had no idea exactly how tall your intended was. His form was almost three times your size, his intimidating appearance did nothing to stifle your nerves. 

Believing to have masked your concerns at the nuptuals well enough to be believable, your nerves all but melted away the moment his soft, soothing voice checked in with you afterwards. Charlotte Katakuri was a sweetheart, a 504cm tall sweetheart with such softness within his hardened exterior. 

Reclining his head on your lap, you rubbed at his plum-colored hair as he spoke about adventures away from Komugi. His hand gestures out in a flurry in front of his chest, pointing to the sky as he speaks so eloquently to you. Although he does not yet trust you enough for you to reveal his face, your curiosity begins to gnaw at the seams. 

You start to lower his inhibitions by massaging his scalp, scruff of his neck and forehead. His hair pricks your skin as your skillful touch chips away at his woes and worries. His voice quietens further as he closes his eyes as your hands firmly press against his forehead. You needed to see your soon to be husband’s face, you desperately craved to know what was going on beneath the furs. 

As he leans into your touch, he seemingly forgets about the shroud over his mouth hiding his sharpened teeth from you. He is in bliss beneath your hands, and he slips away into a world carved by your palms and fingertips. Your hands dip deeper, lower into his cheeks, your digits feeling his muscles relax their tension beneath your fingers. 

Smiling to yourself softly as he gasps at such sweetness befalling from you to him, he parts his lips gently. He arches his head further into your lap, the shroud finally lowering and revealing his sharp teeth and unnaturally widened mouth. His jaw falls slack as his brow becomes relaxed. 

You crave to coo at his vulnerability, truly enjoying empathetically how much he allowed himself to relax into your soft touch. This hardened general, this pirate minister, this older brother to so many siblings in the Charlotte family, was as malleable as rice flour mochi beneath your skilled digits. You took in his appearance, almost relieved at feeling the twin slits up his lips as you looked down at him with nothing but pure adoration. 

You were immediately in love with what you saw, your heart beating heavily against your ribcage as a warm flush rose to your cheeks. You loved him, all of him.

Brushing your hands over his cheeks, you silently and slowly commit his face to memory like reading a marble carving with a simple touch. He is gorgeous, and you remember to tell him so when he snaps out of his tranquility and looks at you with accusing eyes the moment he realized you slipped the shroud over his chin. 

“What are you doing?” he growls quietly, “Why did you do that? I don't want you to fear me-...” A soft gasp flees from your lips as you take him completely in. His lips split up his cheeks in an unnatural slit through symmetrical scars, his sharp fangs extend up on his lower jaw and over his lips. 

Although he feels slightly betrayed at the way you managed to easily reveal his face, his betrayal is eclipsed by shock and awe when he meets your eyes. 

“I-I just…” you trail off, your body cowering away in response to his anger, but your eyes still depict the emotion you so desperately desired to show him, “...-I just wanted to know. I wanted to see.” Charlotte Brûlée watched the interaction with interest, her own shock evident on her face. 

She witnessed the entire interaction with your hands on his face, almost calling out to warn her brother his face was going to be revealed, but quietly hoping you would fall in love with him further. She knew you loved him, knew you wanted to see him, and trusted you enough with her older brother that she knew you would love him more the moment his fangs and scars were brought into the light.

He was expecting fear, disgust, anguish and anger to be met in your curious gaze. But all you held in those calm and half-lidded orbs was pure trust, love, and pure adoration. His shock was adamant as he nervously floated his eyes between your gaze. His thumb and index finger circled around your much smaller hand, hovering it over his cheek as you felt your heart soar at the vulnerability.

“And now that you have?” his whisper came out more like a gasp, his voice breathy and craved to hear you say you weren’t afraid. He needed to know you did not fear his appearance, his wordless prayers spoken within his mind’s eye the longer your gaze soaked in his sight. 

You placed your unoccupied hand on his cheek, leaning in closer to his face and your lips curling into a soft, innocent and intimate smile. Caressing his cheek, you cocked your head to the side and finally uttered a single word he truly did not ever think he would hear. 

“Beautiful.”

[ephemeralinstance]

The Veil and the Ad Hominem Fallacy

While there are many things I love about Veilguard, the way the Veil was dealt with was definitely a weak point. We know the devs were worried that people sympathized too much with Solas' goals; hence the choice to have him kill Varric. But I think this demonstrates a misunderstanding of the reasons why people liked and sympathized with Solas.

In previous games, we were shown that the Veil has consistently harmed spirits, mages, and (arguably) elves - three groups who are systematically oppressed and/or have their personhood erased in Thedas. And in Inquisition, Solas was the only person who stood up for spirits, and among one of the most vocal supporters of mage freedom; he was also (albeit inconsistently) critical of the ways elves have been treated throughout Thedosian history. So people who sympathized with those three groups were naturally inclined to have at least some sympathy both for him personally and for his plans regarding the Veil (of course pending further details, since Trespasser was pretty vague about this). It's not the case that people agreed with him blindly because they liked him or because they romanced him; they liked him because they agreed with him, at least about the harms the Veil was inflicting on vulnerable groups. The use of Cyrian as a metaphor is also telling here. Anaris is clearly intended a parody of Solas, and so the mask which makes Cyrian feels Anaris' emotions seems to be intended as a critique of people who sympathize with ancient elven gods due to empathizing too much with them. But again, this is a misunderstanding. People didn't sympathize with Solas' goals just because they think he's tragic, they sympathized for actual reasons based on the canonical evidence for the Veil doing harm.

Having Solas kill Varric was therefore not a good way of addressing this issue, because Solas' personal character and methods are completely irrelevant to the question of whether the Veil should come down or not. The same goes for showing that Solas is largely motivated by regret, or that he often gets his plans wrong - all of this is a classic ad hominem fallacy. Perhaps these things might serve to convince us that it is not a good idea for Solas to take down the Veil by himself, but none of it is relevant to the question of whether the Veil should in fact come down.

The right way to address this issue would have been to actually address the arguments for it! Allow Solas to articulate the fact that the Veil harms spirits, mages and (perhaps) elves. Allow him to tell us what he believes Thedas would look like after the Veil came down. Allow Rook to discuss Solas' claims with knowledgeable people like Emmrich and Morrigan, and assess their validity. Perhaps even allow Rook to talk with the Mourn Watch, the Veil Jumpers and so on about other possible ways to mitigate the harms that the Veil does. Give Rook a chance to convince Solas himself that there are other options!

I'm not saying that the Veil should have come down. There's no canonical answer to the question of whether that would have been a good outcome, since we got no concrete details at all on what Thedas might look like if it did. Nor do I necessarily think that would have been a better story. But I do think the game we actually got would have been strengthened if they'd trusted players a bit more and allowed us to explicitly contemplate the morality of the Veil, and to seek alternative ways of solving the problems it causes.

[littlepeach-world]

How about headcanons frontman x player! reader, reader notices that the staff has started to treat her more gently than other players, which worries her. And then she'll lose and fall into the hands of the frontman

Frontman falling for Player!Reader HC

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Player!Reader

Warnings: Obsessive!Inho, Abduction, Power Imbalance, Psychological Distress, Possessive!Inho, Moral Dilemmas.

Word count: 730

Notes: Thank you sm for the request. I've never written a headcanon before, so I’m sorry if this sucks lol 🧡

In-ho is taken aback the moment he sees you on the screen during Red Light, Green Light. Your beauty captivates him, but it's your graceful, swift movements that leave him mesmerized. His eyes are glued to you, unable to look away even if he tries. He feels an inexplicable pull towards you, as if you walked right out of a dream, leaving him both in awe and confusion.

Your selflessness stands out in the brutal world of the games. You help other players, ensure their well-being, and stand up for them. Each act of kindness only deepens In-ho’s infatuation, pulling him further under your spell.

In-ho wrestles with his feelings, knowing that they are a dangerous weakness. He tries to push them away, but his heart continually pulls him back to you. The internal struggle intensifies with each passing day.

As he monitors the games, In-ho finds himself rooting for you, an overwhelming worry for your safety gnawing at him. He battles with his internal beliefs about the fairness of the game, restraining himself from running in to save you.

One night, In-ho dreams of you. It's a vivid and haunting vision where you radiate an almost ethereal glow, your presence so strong that he wakes up in a cold sweat. The dream leaves a lasting imprint, making it impossible for him to get you out of his mind.

After the dream, In-ho finds himself consumed by thoughts of you 24/7. His mind fixates on your every move, your expressions, and your interactions with other players. This intense focus evolves into an obsession, as he feels a desperate need to know about your every whereabouts.

He begins to monitor you more closely, watching the screens for any sign of you. Every action you take is noted, analyzed, and etched into his memory. The surveillance intended for cold, efficient observation becomes a means for him to feel connected to you.

The deeper his obsession grows, the more he fights with himself. Rationally, he understands the perilous nature of such feelings in the context of the game. But emotionally, he can't help but be drawn to you, driven by a powerful urge to protect you at all costs.

Despite his internal conflict, In-ho subtly influences the guards’ treatment of you. He ensures you receive extra food, additional blankets, and vitamins. He goes as far as arranging for you to be the last player in one of the games, making it easier for him to protect you.

You begin to feel singled out due to the preferential treatment, which only heightens your anxiety. Other players notice the difference, growing suspicious and further distressing you. The isolation within the group becomes palpable.

During the marble game, you choose to forfeit, accepting your fate to save your childhood friend. You close your eyes, ready to accept what’s to come, a mixture of peace and fear settling in.

You hear a gunshot but feel no pain. Opening your eyes, you see a bullet shell on the floor. Shock overtakes you as a hand covers your mouth, pulling you away. 

Being pulled away during the marble game, you slip into unconsciousness. When you wake up, you find yourself lying in a luxurious black and gold room.

The door opens and a figure dressed in black clothing and wearing a black mask steps in. 

Without a word, the figure removes his mask, revealing a very handsome man. He steps closer and introduces himself, “Hwang In-ho.” 

In-ho calmly explains, “I saved you from the game. And I will continue to save you for as long as it takes.” His voice carries a tone of unwavering determination, leaving no room for doubt about his intentions.

As he speaks, you notice the look on his face—a potent mix of possessiveness, darkness, and passion. The possessiveness in his gaze is palpable, as if he’s silently declaring that you belong to him. The intensity in his eyes makes you shiver. You’re caught between a sense of uncertainty—wondering what his true intentions are—and a curiosity that pulls you in, unable to look away.

The depth of his emotions raises an unsettling question in your mind: What does ‘as long as it takes’ truly mean? The combination of his unwavering commitment and the darkness in his gaze suggests a level of obsession you cannot yet fully comprehend.

[barefoothighlander]

Protective Ghost perhaps ?

Love me a protective hulk of a man and clapping my cheeks like a mad man 🫣

scary boyfriend privileges for real

warnings: mdni (18+), unwanted male attention, insinuation of assault, smut, unprotected pinv, est relationship, masturbation (fem), fingering, creampie, rough sex, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, lil bit of choking, possessive!ghost, rank kink if u squint

"Hey, where are you?"

"Just at the house, Is everything alright love?" He can sense the panic in your voice through the phone,

"Everything's fine just, do you think you'd be able to pick me up?"

"Be there in 10"

He ends the call, leaving you to listen to the echoes of strangers in the streets, standing alone outside your office building, you didn't intend on working late but something had come up and you told Simon that you'd just walk home after work, it was only a few blocks to your shared flat.

At first, he blatantly refused the idea, arguing that he'd just pick you up even if it meant waiting around for a few hours when he already had plans, you argued back stating that it wouldn't be dark considering the sun wouldn't set till later, and the walk was short. Eventually, he gave in, agreeing to your terms of having your location on during your walk and keeping a finger on the pepper spray he had placed in your purse.

Everything was going fine until you actually stepped out of the office, ignorant to the fact that there was a football match that night, and the pubs would be littered with drunk patrons, shouting from every street corner. The echoes of their voices made you nervous, the fact that you didn't have your scary boyfriend to protect you made it worse, a small panic setting into your nerves as you picked at your nails.

You move to the curb to watch for his truck, eyes glazing over every pair of headlights that made their way down the street, tapping your foot in an effort to ease yourself.

"OI"

You turn your attention to the shout,

"Yea you, whatcha doin all alone out here love?" A man standing a few feet away begins walking towards you, even from the distance you can smell the alcohol on him, turning away to ignore him.

"Ah c'mon then, just tryna have a chat"

"M'not interested, sorry"

"Inna chat? Don't worry I won't bite"

You take a few steps back as the man gets closer, invading your space as he continues to speak,

"Don't have to be a priss, just wondering why a pretty lil thing like you s'all alone"

"I'm waiting for someone" You nervously dart your eyes around, willing Simon to appear,

He stumbles closer "You gotta boyfriend?"

"Yep" You cross your arms over your chest, walking backwards as the man continues to get closer

"Bet I'd treat ya better, wouldn't let you walk around all alone" He drags out the last word, staring directly at you,

"You know, I'm just gonna walk, have a good night" You turn to walk down the street, moving at a rushed pace,

"I'll walk you home" He moves in tandem with you

"No that's alright, I'll manage"

Your body freezes as his hand makes contact with your arm, tugging you back a step as he grips the skin, "Why've you got to be such a bitch?"

You try to pull your arm from his hold, "Excuse me?"

"Just tryna be nice"

"You're hurting me" Your body is in full panic, your mind racing as the man's stare pins you down, his grip firing you backwards until your back collides with the wall.

"You know it'd be a lot easier if you played along"

His words make your chest feel hollow, your eyes moving to avoid his gaze before they land on a pair of headlights in front of you, the slam of a car door breaking your focus as you let out a sigh at the sight of your boyfriend moving towards you.

In a flash the man is off you, Simon's grip around his collar as he pins him to the wall, the back of his head hitting against the stone as you gasp.

"Si-"

"Get the fuck out of here"

The stranger's eyes widen at the sight of the masked man, Simon's large form dwarfing his as his arm holds his shirt tight around his neck, Simon releases him, the man gasping for air, sparing you a final look before rushing down the street.

"I'm sorry I-"

He cuts you off, "Get in the car"

You spend the short ride home in silence, not even bothering to turn the radio on, the tension in the air palpable as you let yourself out of the truck, following behind Simon as he makes his way into the house.

You flinch as he slams the door behind him,

"M'not mad at you" His voice comes from behind you

"I know"

You watch as he storms toward the bedroom in a fury, his fists clenched as he breezes by you. following him through the room. Your eyes are glued to him as he sits in a chair, alone in the corner facing the bed, his legs spread as his hands settle on the arms of the seat.

"Take your clothes off"

You do as he says, nervous fingers working to remove your shirt before reaching for the belt on your pants, tugging them down your legs,

"All your clothes"

You stand naked before him, his eyes roaming over your form, his stare making goosebumps rise on your skin,

"Get on the bed"

You sit on the edge of the mattress, shuffling your body backwards as you rest against your arms,

"I want you to touch yourself, and keep your eyes on me"

Your throat dries at his words, your eyes looking for some sign of sympathy but there's nothing behind the mask, doing as you're told you snake a hand down your torso, settling your fingers against your clit, cursing yourself at how wet you already were.

You work your fingers around the bud, keeping your gaze locked on him as pleasure blossoms in your chest, your heels digging into the sheets as you find a rhythm.

He doesn't say anything but you can see the strain on his knuckles as he grips the armrests of the chair, his pants growing tighter with every moan that falls from your lips. You're teetering on the edge but it's not enough,

"Simon, please,"

"Your fingers not enough?"

You shake your head, "Need you"

"Need me to what?"

"Need you to fuck me, please"

He wastes no time in standing from the chair, practically tearing his pants down before his hands grip your waist, flipping you with ease so that your chest presses against the mattress, your cheek digging into the sheets as he presses his length against you.

He groans at the feeling of your weeping pussy against his length, his palms spreading you so he can get a better view,

“So fucking perfect, you gonna be good for me?”

You wriggle your hips for him, “Yes, all for you”

“Good girl” He drags his palm along the length of your spine, settling his fingers around the nape of your neck as he lines himself up, teasing his head through your folds, collecting your slick before inserting himself.

He bottoms out with a grunt, his pubic bone pressing against your ass as he leans over your form, caging you and forcing you to take every inch of him. You whimper below him, begging him to move as he holds himself still inside you.

He pulls himself nearly all the way out before thrusting back in, forcing a yelp from you as he begins pumping into your pussy, your slick gathering around his shaft as his cock splits you open.

“So fuckin tight love”

His fingers dig into your waist with a bruising grip, holding you still as he thrusts into you, you can feel the coil inside you still burning but it’s still not enough,

“Si, please, need more”

His hand reaches around your neck, pulling you from the bed so your back is flush with his chest, his fingers teasing on your pulse point. He snakes his other hand around to toy with your clit, you clench down on him as he makes contact, his rough fingers circling the bud.

“Can’t cum unless it’s me huh?”

You shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut,

“Tell me, who does this pussy belong to?”

“You Si, fuck”

“Not good enough” His hand constricts around your throat

You struggle to find your words, his cock driving into you from below, “It’s yours Lieutenant, only yours”

“Much better” His hand releases your throat allowing you to gasp for air in between your moans, your orgasm threatening to erupt from inside you.

His hands knead at your breasts, teasing and pinching the raised buds as his fingers work in tandem with his strokes, you reach behind you to touch him, to grab anything to ground yourself , your fingers settling on the hem of his mask.

“That’s it love, soak my cock, show me how good I make you feel”

Your skin feels like it’s on fire as all your muscles tense, Ghosts moans fill your ears as your pussy clenches down on him, his hips stuttering for a moment as he fucks you through your high.

When he feels you come down he pulls himself out, groaning at the loss of contact as his hands find their way back to your waist, flipping you onto your back and slotting himself between your legs.

You wrap your limbs around him, holding him to you as he pushes deep inside you, his face is inches from yours, his eyes glued to where you meet.

“Gonna fill this fucking pussy, maybe i’ll fuck a baby into you, s’that what you want? Want everyone to see your stomach grow with my fuckin seed? Let them know who you belong to?”

His gaze turns to you, his dark eyes staring back at you, you struggle to form a response, your hand moving to tug at the hem of his mask as your hooded eyes watch him. Like he’s reading your mind he tears the mask off in seconds, revealing his face to you, his rosy cheeks and plump lips, the way his jaw clenches with every thrust.

“I’m yours, only yours”

His lips crash into yours, swallowing your moans as he kisses you, rough and messy as your arms snake around his neck, holding him to you.

He pulls back, his forehead resting on yours, “Fuck, squeezing me so tight beautiful”

“Cum in me Si, need to feel you”

He watches your eyes fill with lust, your soaking pussy swallowing him as he bottoms out, your heels dig into his back as he spills his seed into you, coating your walls.

“Fuckin hell” He holds himself inside you as he finishes, his softening cock holding his cum deep in your pussy as he leans in for another kiss, it’s more tender this time.

He pulls out of you slowly, pushing up the bed and lying back as his arms tug you to him, your legs tangling with him as your hands find their spot on his chest.

“M’sorry”

His fingers thread through your hair, “S’not your fault love”

“I know I just feel stupid”

“You’re not stupid, you shouldn’t have to deal with shit like that”

You give a small hun in response,

“I would’ve killed him”

“I know”

“Like terrible, awful, excruciating pain kinda murder”

You huff a small laugh in response, knowing that he was deadly serious as you push yourself from his side, your palms nudging him over,

“C’mon go get dressed for bed”

[ribcagecavityy]

CRPs with a Pregnant! Female! Reader (including Lexi <3)

Like their darling joined the crew before finding out any teh pregnancy. Some can either be the parent or the baby is someone else's (prior to relationships bc some ppl don't find out Abt babies for months)

If you're possible!

Any CRPs you want!

Creepypasta X Pregnant!Female!Reader

Characters: Jeff The Killer, Eyeless Jack, Ticci Toby, Masky, Hoodie, Clockwork, Jane The Killer, Lexi Kills

Summary: You, the reader, discover you’re pregnant and tell your partner.

♡

Jeff The Killer

jeff never took anything seriously. not life, not consequences, not even you. everything with him felt temporary, like you were just something to pass the time. maybe that’s why it took you so long to tell him. maybe that’s why you had to ambush him just to get him to listen.

“what’s up, doll?” he flopped onto the couch, grinning lazily, but his hands twitched inside his hoodie pockets. restless.. or maybe just impatient.

“can you be serious for a second?” he rolled his eyes but nodded. “jeff… i’m—well, i’m pregnant.”

silence.

his grin lingered for half a second, like he thought it was a joke. then it dropped.

“shit.” his voice was flat, serious in a way you’d never heard before. “you forreal?”

“jeff-“ frustration tightened your throat. your eyes burned. “obviously i’m being serious!”

his hands shot up defensively. “woah, okay.” then, hesitantly, they found your shoulders. “hey, come on, don’t cry. we’ll, uh, we’ll deal with this. come here.”

he pulled you in, his arms locking around you, his lips pressing against the top of your head. his chest rose and fell too fast. he was terrified.

Eyeless Jack

jack was always attentive. always doting. even though it had only been a few weeks, even though you had barely done anything, he treated you like you hung the stars. so when you started getting sick every morning, he tore the place apart trying to figure out what was wrong.

he paced outside the bathroom, restless, waiting. the second the door creaked open, he snapped to attention, still as stone.

“so?” his voice was urgent.

you stepped out, silent. then, “it’s positive.”

jack snatched the test from your hands, holding it close to his mask, inspecting it like he thought he might’ve read it wrong.

“but we haven’t…” his voice trailed off. then, he said quietly, “…oh.”

“i’m sorry, jack,” your stomach twisted, wishing you could see his face, to see his reaction. “you didn’t sign up for this…”

he looked up suddenly. “are you kidding? i’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

Ticci Toby

broken people always seemed to find each other. that was true for you and toby. something about being together had healed you both, in ways you didn’t even realize you needed. you understood each other. no one else ever really had.

but finding out you were pregnant was the first time you had ever been truly afraid that he might leave.

“toby.” your voice came out weaker than you intended.

he turned immediately, crunching back toward you through the leaves, his head tilting in concern. “w-what’s up, baby?”

your breath trembled, your fists clenching at your sides. “i’m pregnant.”

his hand, just about to touch you, froze mid-air. then he stumbled back. his goggles were ripped up in an instant, his mouthguard yanked down as he struggled for air. he doubled over, his breaths short and sharp. for a second, you saw it, shock. brief excitement. then, crushing over everything else, doom.

“toby?” your voice was barely above a whisper. you reached for him. he stepped back.

“i-i can’t—” his hands flew to his face, gripping at his hair as he turned away, pacing. “no—i-i can’t, i ca-can’t be h-him.”

your heart ached. you lunged forward, grabbing his arm, pulling him back before he could spiral further.

“you won’t be.” your voice was firm, your grip unwavering. “you’re better than that.”

his wide, panicked brown eyes locked onto yours. then, slowly—his whole body collapsed against you. his lungs heaved, his fingers clutching onto you like a lifeline.

Masky

in your relationship, there were always three. you, masky, and slenderman. whatever that thing wanted, it got. no matter what you were doing, no matter where you were, masky would drop everything and go like a soldier answering a call to war. you hated it. he hated it. he hated that he had no control. and he hated himself for dragging you into it, for putting you in danger. so when you found out, you already knew how this would go.

“i have something to tell you.” you stood in the doorway, gripping the frame like it could keep you steady.

“can it wait?” masky asked, his voice muffled behind the mask as he cocked his gun. “i need to go.”

“no.” but he was already at the door. you had to move fast, had to grab his arm to make him stop. “masky- tim. i’m pregnant.”

silence. long. suffocating.

“…what?” his voice was quiet. miserable.

“i’m pregnant.” you repeated, softer this time. but he’d heard you the first time.

his fingers twitched. his eyes, brown and distant behind the mask, flickered with something unreadable.

“i—” his throat bobbed. “i can’t. i’m not putting a kid through this. let alone mine.”

your breath caught. “what-? are… are you leaving?” your voice broke, tears rising fast.

“i can’t do this.” his voice cracked too, just a little. his eyes blurred. “i’m sorry.”

the door slammed shut behind him. you didn’t move. didn’t breathe. just stood there, staring at the space where he used to be.

Hoodie

hoodie was quiet. always had been. he didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to—he showed you he loved you in the little things. the way he always made sure you ate. the way he pulled you closer in his sleep. the way he tried, so hard, to keep you away from all of this. he wanted to protect you. and for the most part, he did. but the idea of losing him still terrified you.

you stepped outside, finding him on the steps, a cigarette between his fingers. his mask was pulled up just enough to let him smoke. you sat beside him, weaving your arm through his. he turned slightly at the contact, his lips twitching like he was about to smile.

“hi.” you murmured. he huffed a quiet laugh. “i have something to tell you.”

he turned, stubbing out his cigarette before pulling his mask back down. then he faced you.

“we’re having a baby.”

his whole body tensed. you squeezed your eyes shut, hating the way your chest tightened at his silence. but then his hands, warm and steady, cupped the sides of your face. his fingers threaded through your hair, gentle, deliberate. your eyes fluttered open, finding his mask inches from your face, his touch grounding you.

“really?” he said softly, his voice warm enough to melt the fear inside you. “that’s great.”

Clockwork

being with clockwork was the most fun you’d ever had. even in such a short time, she had turned your whole world upside down. she was reckless in the best way—sarcastic in a way that always made you laugh, drove too fast, lived too fast. but you could keep up. until you couldn’t. you didn’t know why, not at first. then you took the test.

“shit!” your heart pounded as you stared at the result.

“let me see!” before you could stop her, clockwork burst into the bathroom, snatching the test from your hands. you yelped, but she ignored you, narrowing her eyes at the two bold lines staring back at her. “shit indeed.”

you searched her face, waiting for something. panic. regret. maybe even fear. instead…

“guess we gotta get one of those baby on board stickers, huh?”

“nat, be serious!” you snatched the test back, your hands shaking. “you, a baby, and a car should never be a combination that exists, anyway.”

“hey, i’m trying to be supportive!” she huffed, throwing her hands up. then she exhaled, rolling her shoulders back, composing herself. when she looked at you again, her green eye was soft. “okay.” she took your hands, squeezing them. “we’ve got this. we’ll handle this. i love you.”

the breath you’d been holding finally escaped. “i love you too.”

Jane The Killer

jane was the most responsible person you had ever met. it showed in everything she did. especially when it came to you. she made sure you ate, kept up with your tasks, got places on time. but more than anything, she loved you. even in the short time you’d been together, she loved you fully. so when you found out you were pregnant, because of something so irresponsible, you were terrified to tell her. you weren’t sure you could.

“hello, my love.” her voice was soft as she came up behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder. her hands followed, gliding down your shoulders, pressing lightly against your arms. she was examining you, the way she always did. “why are you tense?”

your throat tightened. you gripped the windowsill. “i have something to tell you.”

jane immediately spun you around, her black eyes sharp, scanning you like she could find the answer herself. “what happened?”

“i messed up.” you choked, the words barely out before the tears followed. “i’m pregnant.”

jane stilled. “oh.” her voice was unreadable for a second. then she took a breath, steadied herself. “how far along?”

“three months.” you sniffled, swiping at your tears.

jane exhaled slowly. her shoulders relaxed. you blinked at her in confusion. then it clicked. you had only been together for two.

“come here.” she said. she pulled you into her arms, holding you tight. “it’s going to be okay. i’ve got you.”

Lexi Kills

lexi was always hard to read. always distant. always somewhere else, even when she was right in front of you. the only reason you were together at all was because, once, just once, she had been vulnerable. so telling her wasn’t easy.

“lex’?” you walked up to where she was polishing her axe on the porch.

“mhm?” she barely replied.

“i…” you wanted her attention, but you scarcely got it unless you demanded it, “um… so.. i’m pregnant.”

she reacted like you had hit her. her body jerked, her green eyes snapping to yours, wide and startled. for a second, she just stared. then she stood, searching your face like she didn’t trust what she heard.

“really?” her voice was cautious.

“yes.” your own voice was barely above a whisper, your shoulders shaking as you fought to hold back tears.

she didn’t look away. “i’m bad with kids.” her eyes were sharp, unreadable.

“you don’t have to-” but before you could finish, a tear slipped free. she moved instantly. her arms locked around you, so tight you could barely breathe.

“don’t be an idiot,” she murmured, her fingers threading through your hair, holding you closer. “and don’t cry, either. we’ll be fine.”

♡

hehe i had so much fun doing this one, tysm for the idea :3

[thewickedjazzy]

𓇢𓆸𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𓂃 ִֶָ𐀔

➵𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: beast dazai x f! reader x beast chuuya

➵𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: beastzai is intensely toxic and manipulative towards you, treating you as his puppet. despite his twisted behaviour and control, you unexpectedly start developing feelings for chuuya.

➵𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : sfw, 11.3k of pure angst, hurt/no comfort? slight fluff, abuse, toxic relationship, dark themes, unaware relationship, falling out of love, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, intense themes, dark romance, psychological trauma, death mentioned, guns, mafia themes..*lord have mercy*

➵𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: hi hi! I spent a whole month working on this fic, and it was really tough trying to come up with fresh ideas that didn’t feel like my other stories. But I decided to try something different this time—totally unexpected! Just a heads-up, it's super emotional, so you might want to have some tissues nearby because it even made me tear up, I swear!

The ink had barely dried when you realized you had sold your soul.

You felt your pulse in your throat, even muffling your ears as the contract lay between you, the elegant script of your name stark against the cold, white paper. It was supposed to be a testament to your love, an act of devotion that was meant to bind you both in a bond unbreakable until death parted you. You had signed it with trembling hands, convinced that this was the key to a future you had always dreamed of—a future by his side, where you would be cherished, protected, and loved.

But love was never part of the deal.

The first few months felt like a dream. His touch was warm, his words like honey that poured into the empty spaces of your heart, filling them with sweet illusions. He had promised you the world, and you had believed him. You had wanted so desperately to believe that this contract was a symbol of your bond, that it meant he saw you as an equal, a partner.

But as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, the honey began to taste bitter.

His warmth turned cold, his touch became a chain, and the promises—oh, the promises—revealed themselves as lies dressed in silver and silk. You were no partner, no equal. You were a possession, a carefully crafted doll that danced to the tune of his commands, your strings pulled tighter with each passing day.

And now, with you on your knees in the dim lit room, the truth finally sank in. The contract wasn’t a bond of love; it was a cage, a cruel joke that only he was in on. You had signed away your freedom, your life, to a cunning man who had never intended to let you go.

The ink had barely dried, but your heart had already started to bleed.

In the lavish confines of Dazai’s private quarters, shadows stretched long and sinister across the opulent velvet drapes and intricate furnishings. The room, a testament to decadence with its flowing silks and priceless relics, exuded an atmosphere of icy desolation and stifling tension, where every corner seemed to whisper of unspoken dominance, a reminder of the dark authority that presided over this space.

His hand gripped your hair with a cruel twist, yanking your head back forcing you to look at him. His eyes, piercing and cold, drilled into yours with an expression of bitter disappointment. The smirk that curved his lips was devoid of warmth, a chilling mask of control and disdain.

You knelt before him, every muscle in your body straining to maintain a rigid posture despite the tremors that coursed through you. The hem of your burgundy silk robe had slipped off your shoulder with each harsh jolt of his grip, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His fingers, entwined cruelly in your hair, wrenched your head back further, forcing you to lock eyes with his merciless gaze.

“Do you think this is some sort of game, darling?” He hissed, moving his face closer to yours. “Did you actually believe you could act against my orders and escape unscathed?”

"Every time you go against my commands, you only prove how little you understand your place." He tugged at your hair, a harsh reminder of his control, his eyes never leaving yours. "I could have shown you mercy, but you seem to believe that you’re entitled to something more than the role I’ve given you. You’re nothing more than a toy to me, and toys that malfunction need to be fixed."

The chill in his voice was palpable, made your mouth go dry. "If you dare to disobey me again, I won’t just deal with you harshly. I’ll make sure you remember your place with every fiber of your being. This is your last warning. Test me again, and I’ll enjoy watching you break."

He released his grip on your hair, the finality in his gesture echoing through the room. His gaze lingered, a final reminder of the cruel power he wielded over you, as he turned away, leaving you alone with the sting of his words and the weight of your broken dreams.

You took a ragged breath swallowing heavily and trying your best to hold back your tears. You replayed the scene in your mind. Dazai had called a critical meeting, standing in the middle of the meeting room as he outlined the plan to dismantle the rising organization that threatened their dominance in elaborate detail. You, seated at the long mahogany table, had grown increasingly restless, the grandiose vision he painted beginning to grate on your nerves.

As Dazai spoke, your patience wore thin. The more he elaborated on the intricacies of his plan, the more it seemed like a house of cards built on shaky ground. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you let out a scoff, a sound that cut through the room's uneasy silence.

“Seriously, Dazai?” you had said with a tone dripping with derision. “You really think this convoluted plan is the best way to handle this? It sounds like you’re trying to win a chess game against an opponent who’s only playing checkers.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The members, who had been intently listening, now turned their eyes to you, their expressions a mix of shock and disapproval. Dazai’s gaze, which had been focused on the plan, snapped towards you with a chilling intensity. His eyes, normally so unreadable, burned with a cold fury and with the bandage that covered his left eye made his eyes more unreasonable. Chuuya, seated across from you, cast a sharp, warning glare in your direction. His expression was a silent but unmistakable message: you had overstepped, and you were about to pay the price.

His lips curved into a predatory smile, though it was devoid of warmth. “Is that so?” His voice was eerily calm, but there was a dangerous edge beneath the surface and you knew it, you knew whats about to come. “And pray tell, what do you suggest we do instead? I’m all ears.”

The meeting continued and you couldn't voice any thoughts, but you could feel the change in the atmosphere, a very noticable shift as if the walls themselves were closing in around you. Every word from him seemed to carry a weight of barely concealed menace, like he was waiting patiently for you to overstep the boundaries once again. The laughter and whispers that had once followed his speeches had turned into a deafening silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of a pen or the shuffling of papers.

As the meeting drew to a close and the room buzzed with the murmurs of dismissal, you rose from your seat, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere without getting noticed. But just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the noise with an icy edge.

“Not so fast,” he clicked his tongue. “Go to my quarters,” The command in his voice made you freeze, “Wait for me there.” Your hand gripping the back of the chair as you turned slowly to face him.

Chuuya, who had been observing the exchange with a deepening frown, cast a final, concerned glance at the unfolding scene. His brows knitted in worry. Despite his desire to act, the circumstances of the situation and his own status kept him paralyzed.

You nodded silently and turned to leave, each step felt like a descent into a personal hell. The cold, opulent halls of the mafia headquarters seemed to stretch endlessly, each corner echoing with the oppressive weight of what was to come.

And there you are, in his private quarters, the aftermath of that meeting lingered like a dark cloud. You were acutely aware of the weight of the contract you had signed, its promise of a future that now seemed like a cruel joke.

You had thought that by challenging his plan, you were asserting your own intelligence and capabilities. Instead, you had laid bare the depth of your disillusionment, sparking a fury that only served to reinforce his dominance.

You rose from the floor, your hands trembling as you rubbed at your neck, the marks left by Dazai’s grip still stinging and visible in the mirror's harsh light. Each trace of his touch seemed to burn with a reminder of your entrapment, and the sight made you nauseous. The reflection staring back at you was a cruel parody of the confidence you had once worn so easily.

An hour had passed in a blur of anguish, your mascara-streaked face a testament to the emotional storm that had ravaged you. You had cried until your tears ran dry, your sobs echoing off the cold, opulent walls of his quarters. Now, with your back against the tall windows, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across the room, you waited in tense silence.

You were trapped, not just within these walls, but within the labyrinth of your own emotions. Love and hate twisted together in a grotesque dance, each feeding off the other, until you could no longer distinguish where one ended and the other began. Dazai was your captor and your saviour, your tormentor and your solace. You hated him with every fiber of your being, yet you couldn’t imagine life without him. The cruel paradox of your existence, a twisted love that both sustained and destroyed you.

The soft click of the door opening jolted you from your thoughts. Dazai entered the room with a quiet grace, his presence filling the space with an oppressive authority. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew he held all the power, who knew you were his and his alone. As he settled into a nearby chair, his gaze fell upon you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

"Have you had time to think about your little outburst?" His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm. His eyes were fixed on you as if waiting for your reckless response.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "I just wanted to provide my input, to help…"

A scoff escaped him, and though his expression remained unreadable, the shadow of a smirk remained the same on his lips. "Embarrass me? In front of my subordinates? Do you think that’s something I take lightly?"

You flinched, his words sinking deep into your chest. "I didn’t mean to—"

Dazai sighed, the sound heavy with a weariness that wasn’t lost on you. His hand lifted, a silent command for you to come closer.

Your heart kept pounding in your chest as you slowly pushed yourself away from the window, your legs trembling with each step. You fell to your knees before him, the cold floor biting into your skin as you looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. His gaze was surprisingly gentle now, his eyes softening as they met yours. He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands. The warmth of his touch was unlike the earlier brutality. How could he be so cruel yet so gentle at times? You'd never know.

“Look at you, darlin’,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against the traces of mascara that had smudged your face, “you look much better when you’re obedient, hmm?”

His eyes drifted to the marks on your neck, and a sigh of regret escaped him. Did he even feel remorse? "I’m sorry," he whispered, though the apology felt like a mere formality, a concession to the damage he had inflicted. “I didn’t mean for it to get so rough,” 

Before you could fully process his change in demeanor, he lifted you effortlessly from the floor. You found yourself cradled in his arms, the sudden shift from cold distance to warmth disorienting always confused you. With a gentle yet firm grip, he carried you toward the bathroom, the opulence of the room giving way to the sterile, clean environment.

In the bathroom, he set you down by the sink and you stood there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, the sight of your broken self almost too much to bear. You were never like this—never so vulnerable, never this fragile.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression unreadable as he gently grabbed a damp washcloth and wiped the smudged mascara from your face. The tenderness in his touch was a jarring hypocrisy compared to the cold cruelty he had shown you earlier, and it made your heart ache with a confusion you couldn’t untangle. meticulous, as he tended to your appearance.

“Darlin’,” he said, his tone lighter, "I expect a lot from you. I always have. But I also need you to remember you're not just a toy. I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You mean a lot to me, even if I don't always show it the way you need."

You loved him. God, how you loved him. Despite everything, despite the pain and the humiliation, you were obsessed with him. He was your world, the center of your universe, the one person who could make or break you with a single glance. But that love was a double-edged sword, cutting you deeper with each passing day. The same hands that caressed you with such care were the ones that left bruises on your skin. The same voice that whispered sweet nothings in your ear was the one that tore you apart with venomous words.

"I hate you," you thought bitterly, even as your heart cried out for him. "I hate you for what you’ve done to me, for making me love you like this."

But the truth was, you hated yourself more. For being so weak, for letting him break you, for still wanting him even when every part of you screamed to run away. You were trapped, bound to him by invisible chains, a prisoner of your own twisted desires.

He finished cleaning your face, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment before he set the washcloth aside. He turned you to face him, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you with an expression that was almost...tender.

"Don’t make me hurt you again, my love," he said softly. Was it a threat or a plea? Again, you could never tell. "I don’t want to break you... but I will if I have to."

You nodded numbly, the words sticking in your throat as you tried to find your voice. "I won’t," you whispered finally, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You didn’t know if you could keep that promise, didn’t know if you could resist the urge to push back, to fight against the suffocating control he had over you.

But for now, you would pretend. You would play the part of the obedient porcelain doll, the perfect little puppet that danced to his tune. Because despite everything, you still craved his approval, still wanted his love, even if it was nothing more than a cruel illusion.

And that was the worst part of all.

He took a step back, his eyes scanning your now-clean face, as if searching for something. Perhaps he was looking for the woman he had first fallen for, the one who had signed away her soul in the name of love. Or perhaps he was looking for a sign that you were still his, still willing to endure whatever torment he decided to inflict, just for the chance to be by his side.

“I know you hate me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And yet, you can’t help but love me too, can you?”

You didn’t respond because there was nothing to say. He knew the truth as well as you did. The love was there, intertwined with the hate, a poisonous cocktail that you drank willingly every day.

His hand reached out, his fingers tracing your cheekbones before settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “You’ll always be mine,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “No matter how much you hate it, no matter how much you love it. You belong to me.”

And you did. You hated him for it, but you loved him even more for it. It was a twisted, toxic love, one that had consumed you whole. But it was the only love you knew, and so you clung to it, even as it tore you apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m so sorry.”

His lips curved into a smile, one that was equal parts gentle and cruel. “Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s put this behind us, shall we?”

You were his, for better or worse, until the end. And you would endure, because that’s all you could do.

But deep down, you knew—one day, the weight of that contract, of your love, would crush you completely.

And when that day came, you wondered if Dazai would even notice.

Dazai’s arm was draped over your waist, his warmth enveloping you in the stillness of the night. His breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension in your own body, a restlessness that wouldn’t let you surrender to sleep. You stared at the ceiling, your mind restless, unable to quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

The memories of the day replayed themselves, his harsh words and the sting of his hand still fresh. Yet, for all the pain, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more—something you had long since buried under layers of survival.

Carefully, you began to slip out from under his arm, moving slowly to avoid waking him. You had become an expert at this over time—perfecting the art of leaving unnoticed. You dressed quickly in a plain outfit, something that would allow you to move quietly through the mansion.

Just as your hand touched the door, Dazai stirred, his hand reaching out to the empty space where you had been. His fingers brushed the sheets, searching for your warmth.

“Darlin’...where are you going?” His voice was soft, laced with sleep but edged with that familiar sharpness. Even half-awake, Dazai’s awareness was something to be reckoned with.

You turned back to him, keeping your voice calm and steady. “I can’t sleep, Osamu.” you murmured, brushing a hand through your hair. “I’m going to the studio. Just need to clear my head and paint for a bit.”

He blinked at you, still half-asleep, and nodded slowly. “Alright darlin’,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he sank back into the pillows. “Don’t stay up too late.”

You offered a faint smile that he wouldn’t see in the darkness, even though doubt lingered in your heart. He trusted you, not because he was careless, but because this was routine—something you’d done many times before. Painting in the middle of the night was your escape, the one place where he let you be without question. Maybe because he knew you needed it. Or maybe because he thought there was nothing to worry about.

You watched him for a moment longer, ensuring his eyes were closed again before you quietly slipped out of the room. The door closed with a soft click, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The penthouse was silent as you made your way through it, the city lights filtering through the large windows. Your art studio wasn’t far—just a few blocks away from Dazai’s penthouse, nestled in a quieter part of the city where you could find peace.

The streets were quiet at this hour, the city’s usual bustle replaced by a serene stillness. You breathed in the cool night air as you walked, the distance from the penthouse helping to clear your mind. The studio had become your sanctuary, a place where you could escape from everything, even if just for a little while.

When you arrived, the studio was just as you’d left it, an oasis of creativity nestled in the heart of the city. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the scent of paint and canvas greeting you like an old friend. It was a small space, cozy and cluttered with half-finished projects, but it was yours. Here, you could breathe—here, you could forget.

You turned on a single lamp, the soft light illuminating the canvas that awaited you. It was an abstract piece full of dark swirls and sharp lines, a reflection of the turmoil inside you. The brush felt natural in your hand as you began to paint, your strokes quick and deliberate, losing yourself in the rhythm.

Yet, despite the comfort of the studio, a weight lingered in your chest—a heaviness that had nothing to do with the late hour or the paint fumes. It was Dazai.

Your thoughts kept drifting, your concentration wavering as you replayed the events of the past months. Dazai had always been a mystery—a man who treated you like a prized possession, something to be admired, controlled, but never truly acted like he loved you. He had his moments, of course—moments of gentleness, fleeting glimpses of a man who could care, who could be kind. But those moments were always followed by something darker—a harsh word with a bruising grip.

You weren’t sure if what you had with him was even a relationship. The lines between affection and possession had blurred long ago.

And yet, despite everything, you had stayed. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. But now, with each passing day, with each secret meeting at the studio, you felt your resolve wavering. There was someone else who occupied your thoughts more and more—someone who had never hurt you, who had only ever offered you kindness, warmth.

Your hand faltered on the canvas as your thoughts drifted to Chuuya. Over the past six months, your late-night meetings had become the one thing you looked forward to, the one thing that felt real. Chuuya was different—gentle in ways Dazai could never be, caring in a way that wasn’t calculated or fleeting. He never asked questions about the dark bags under yours that you tried your absolute best to hide with your concealer, never pressed you for answers. He was simply there, offering a quiet comfort that had slowly begun to fill the cracks in your heart.

You dipped your brush in a deep crimson, the colour bleeding onto the canvas in a sharp, harsh shade. It was the shade of blood—Dazai's hands, his clothes, stained night after night. But with a gentle shift, you softened the stroke, blending the red into the backdrop until it faded, becoming something warmer—something closer to the warmth you found with Chuuya.

But as you worked, you became aware of another presence in the room. It was subtle at first—the faint echo of footsteps, a soft rustling that barely disturbed the silence. You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you turned towards the secret passage that led to the back of the studio.

And then he was there, stepping out from the shadows like a memory made flesh. The mafia executive who had effortlessly stolen your heart.

His ginger locks caught the dim light, and he offered you a small, knowing smile. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I couldn't, It’s not finished yet,” you murmured, though even you could see how close it was to completion. The image on the canvas was abstract but familiar—an echo of your life, your feelings, laid bare in strokes of colour and shadow.

Chuuya crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hands finding your shoulders, gloved fingers gently massaged your tense muscles as he looked you over, his gaze lingering on the faint bruise peeking out from under your sleeve...he didn’t say anything—he never did—but the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened, told you enough.

You knew he noticed, with a soft sigh you reached up, placing your hand over his. “It’s fine,” you lied, though you both knew the truth.

He shook his head slightly, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing a path that was both tender and protective. “You shouldn’t have to say that,” he murmured, his voice carried a sadness he rarely allowed himself to show.

There was so much more you wanted to say in that moment—words that lingered on the tip of your tongue, feelings that you had tried so hard to bury. But instead, you simply leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his presence, in the safety he offered without ever needing to say it.

The two of you drank some wine as the night deepened, a bottle that Chuuya had brought with him, a quiet indulgence in a world that offered so few. You picked up your brush again, continuing the painting you had started, the colors flowing more freely now, less restrained.

Chuuya watched you as he always did, with a quiet admiration that never failed to make your heart flutter. How could someone like him exist in this world? So gentle, so pure, so loving? You never told him how you felt. There was no need to. Chuuya was perceptive, far more than he let on. He knew. And as much as he cared for you—more than he probably should have—he never acted on it. He knew the consequences, knew that you were Dazai’s. And yet, here you were, night after night, finding solace in his presence.

But tonight, the wine loosened your inhibitions, the brushstrokes on the canvas becoming bolder, more expressive. You could feel Chuuya’s eyes on you as you painted, a silent observer to the emotions you were pouring out onto the canvas.

When you finally stepped back, you studied the painting with a critical eye. It was abstract, filled with swirling colours and dark, chaotic strokes. But there, in the centre, was a figure—a man with fiery ginger hair, his back turned, and beside him, a woman, her features obscured but unmistakably you.

Chuuya approached, his eyes tracing the lines of the painting, his breath catching as he realized what you had done. You could see it in the way he tensed, in the way his eyes softened with something that looked like pain.

“Is that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t need to. The realization was there, hanging in the air between you.

You nodded, offering him a soft smile.“It is,” you replied simply, the words hanging between you like a quiet confession. Instead, he slipped off his glove, revealing the bare skin of his right hand, and gently reached out. His fingers ghosted across your cheek, a delicate touch, hesitant, as if you might vanish beneath his fingertips.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Chuuya’s gaze flickered between you and the painting, his heart fluttering with a confusing mix of emotions. He wanted to say so much to ask why, to tell you how much this meant to him. But the words wouldn’t come.

“I…” he started, but the words trailed off. What could he say? That he was touched beyond measure? That he didn’t know how to handle the feelings you stirred in him?

You placed your hand over his, leaning into his touch. “It’s okay, Chuuya,” you murmured. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Chuuya's hand lingered against your cheek for a bit longer, his touch as soft as the brushstrokes you had just painted. His thumb traced the outline of your face, so delicate, velvety even it almost felt like a whisper, like he was afraid you might shatter under his touch. But you didn’t. With him, you never did.

There was a warmth in Chuuya that didn’t demand, didn’t seize more than you could offer. Instead, his gentleness defied everything you had been taught to expect, everything you had come to accept as inevitable. It was a tenderness that stood in defiance of everything you had known with Dazai. Where Dazai’s hands were icy, sharp with toxic edge of possession, Chuuya’s were a haven—soft, steady, and sure, grounding you even as the shadows of your past threatened to consume you.

His fingers, calloused from years of battle, should’ve been rough, yet the way they caressed your skin was anything but. It was a tenderness that made your breath hitch, your heart fluttering as his presence filled the cracks of your heart. The weight that had clung to your chest moments ago seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something that made the air between you feel light as a feather.

"You're always too good to me," you whispered, barely audible, afraid that if you spoke too loudly, the moment would shatter. But he heard you, and you noticed how his gaze started softening even more as his fingers curled slightly against your skin.

"You deserve someone to be good to you," he murmured in return, his raspy voice made your stomach sink "I will forever protect you, won't let anyone take from you what you truly deserve."

"You don’t need to protect me, Chuuya," you sigh softly, “I’m a woman who’s been through too much to need protecting. I can handle myself.”

His gaze sharpened as he shook his head firmly. “No, I will protect you,” he replied, his voice brooking no argument. “Not because you need saving, not because you're a woman, but because you’re ‘my woman,’ and no one—not even Dazai—will take from you what you truly deserve.”

“Your… woman?” You stuttered, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. The idea felt foreign, surreal even.

The dim light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, and the flame-red strands of hair that framed his features like something out of a dream. You found yourself captivated, as you always were, by how someone so dangerous could be so gentle with you.

And then, his eyes—those deep, stormy blue eyes—locked with yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You knew what he wanted to ask, what he had been holding back for months, and you answered before he could even speak. Your hand, still resting over his, gave a small squeeze, your own heart pounding in your chest.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade until there was nothing but him. The ginger leaned in slowly, hesitantly, as if giving you a chance to pull away—but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, it was as if time stopped. The kiss was soft, tentative, and filled with a sweetness that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t thought possible. His lips moved against yours like he was afraid of breaking you, but there was a passion simmering just beneath the surface, one that spoke of everything he had kept buried for so long.

With Dazai, kisses had always been possessive, demanding, like he was trying to stake a claim, to remind you that you were his and his alone. There was never any softness in them, only a dark, consuming hunger that left you feeling hollow. But with Chuuya—oh, with Chuuya, it was different. His kiss was tender, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to make you feel wanted, cherished, safe.

You melted into him, your hand slipping up to tangle in his hair, tossing his hat aside and pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, grounding you in the moment. The world outside ceased to matter, the chaos of your life fading into the background until there was nothing but the quiet intimacy you shared with him.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. Chuuya’s eyes searched yours, his breath warm against your lips, and you could see the question there again—an unspoken plea, asking if this was real, if it was okay to want this, to want you.

“It’s okay, Chuuya,” you whispered, echoing the words you had said earlier, but this time, there was more behind them. There was a promise. A promise that, with him, you didn’t need to be afraid.

Chuuya's hand slid to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse. “You don’t have to stay with him,” he said quietly, his voice shaking with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. “You deserve more than what he gives you.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing against the lump in your throat. He was right. You knew it, had known it for a long time. But leaving Dazai wasn’t as simple as walking away. There were consequences—ones that could ripple far beyond just you.

“I know,” you murmured, leaning into him, finding solace in the steady beat of his heart against your chest. “But it’s not that easy.”

Chuuya didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Instead, he held you close, his arms wrapping around you as if shielding you from the world, from the pain that had become all too familiar.

You gentely pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, the desperation building inside you. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, but there was something heavier pressing against your chest—something you could no longer ignore.

“We could leave,” you whispered suddenly, your voice barely audible but heavy with the weight of your plea. “We could run away from all of this. Together. Far away. Somewhere Dazai can’t reach us.”

The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw something flicker in Chuuya’s eyes—hope, maybe, or the brief illusion of escape. But then, just as quickly, the reality of the situation settled over him like a dark cloud. He sighed, his hand sliding down to rest on your arm.

“You know we can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “Dazai won’t take it lightly. He’s... not someone we can just leave behind.”

You knew he was right. You knew it the moment the words left your mouth, but still, the thought of staying in the suffocating grip of Dazai’s control was unbearable. You couldn’t live like this anymore—not with the strings he had wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like you were choking. You had been his puppet for too long, forced to dance on command, every move dictated by his whims, every decision manipulated to suit his goals.

“I can’t do it anymore, Chuuya,” you choked out, your voice trembling as the words tumbled from your lips. “I can’t stay with him, a slave to whatever sick game he’s playing. He’s made me do things—things I can’t even live with anymore. I’m not... I’m not myself anymore. I’m just another one of his puppets.”

“I know,” he sighed, eyes frowning. “I know what he’s done to you. And I swear, if I could—” He cut himself off, his hands trembling slightly as he reined in the fury threatening to spill over. “But we can’t just run. Dazai... He’s too smart. He’d know. He’d find us, no matter where we went.”

But of course again you knew Dazai, he was no ordinary man. He was calculated, methodical, and always one step ahead of everyone around him. He weaponized his false incompetence, using it to manipulate people into underestimating him. It was a clever façade, one that hid the dark and twisted brilliance beneath. He knew exactly how to pull the strings, to twist every situation in his favour. Running from him wasn’t just difficult—it was impossible.

“He’d hunt us down,” Chuuya continued, his voice a strained whisper. “No matter where we went, no matter how far we ran, Dazai would find us. And when he does...”

Chuuya didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You both knew what Dazai was capable of. There were no limits to how far he’d go to maintain control, to remind you that you were his, body and soul.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness of your situation sank in. You bit your lip, trying to steady the storm brewing inside you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Dazai had this much control over your life, that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break free. But staying wasn’t an option anymore. Not after everything you had been through. Not when you had finally allowed yourself to feel something for someone else—someone who treated you like a person, not a pawn.

“We have to try,” you whispered, your voice pleading. “Even if it’s dangerous, even if he hunts us down, we have to at least try. I can’t keep living like this, Chuuya. I can’t be his toy anymore.”

Chuuya stared at you, his expression softening as he saw the desperation in your eyes. He knew you were serious. He knew how much you had suffered under Dazai’s thumb. And though every instinct in him screamed that running was a death sentence, he also knew that staying would break you in ways even he couldn’t fix.

“Alright,” he said quietly,“We’ll try. But we have to be smart about it. He's not someone you can just escape from without a plan.”

You nodded, relief washing over you as you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’ll plan it,” you said, your mind already racing with possibilities. “We’ll find a way. Somewhere, he won’t think to look. Somewhere safe.”

The night ended peacefully, the two of you spending the remaining hours in quiet companionship. Chuuya left the studio with a lingering look as if he was trying to commit the memory of this moment to heart. You watched him go, your heart heavy yet light all at once, knowing that you would return to the embrace of the man who tore you apart.

When you slipped into bed later that night, Dazai was already there, his presence was unlike the warmth you had felt with Chuuya. He hummed softly as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“Did you drink tonight?” he asked slowly with a low and deceptively gentle voice.

“I needed to relax,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even. Dazai’s lips moved to your forehead, where he placed a soft kiss, a gesture so tender it almost made you believe in the facade he presented.

Your mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and plans, urging you to be more cautious. How did you even end up here in the first place? What were you thinking—did you really believe he’d love you? You scoffed bitterly at your past self.

How do you make this vicious cycle end? Convinced yourself to like the bed you shared with him while crying, going numb and lying bare. You did it all for him and more, with all your body getting sore.

How could you be so brutal to yourself?

Finally, after what felt like hours, you drifted off to sleep, knowing that tomorrow the cycle would begin again—Dazai’s cruelty followed by hollow apologies, his grip on you tightening with each passing day But in the quiet of the night, your thoughts drifted to Chuuya, and your heart fluttered with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. It had been months, yet the excitement you felt was just as strong as the first time.

The next evening, you slipped into a cami top and jeans, your movements careful and deliberate. When you approached the door, you saw Dazai at his desk, yawning and eyeing you with his empty, hollow gaze. The bandage over his left eye only heightened your simmering anxiety, but you forced yourself to remain calm as he asked, “Are you going to the studio to paint? Darlin’,”

You nodded, hoping your nervousness didn’t show. Dazai got up from his desk and walked over to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’ll come with you then,” he suggested, his tone light but laced with an undercurrent that made your heart race in fear.

This is bad—so, so bad!

As Dazai moved to slip on his coat, you seized the moment, your fingers moving swiftly over your phone's keyboard. The message to Chuuya was short, urgent: "Mission 006." It was the code you had agreed upon, a signal that he should stay away from the studio tonight.

You hit send just as Dazai turned back to you, "Ready?" he asked. There was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral as you followed him out the door. The walk to the studio was silent, the usual chatter between you two absent. Dazai’s presence was as suffocating as ever, but tonight, there was something more—an intensity that made your skin crawl. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew if he had somehow pieced together the secret you and Chuuya had been carefully guarding.

When you arrived at the studio, the familiar scent of paint and canvas did little to ease your nerves. You unlocked the door, and the two of you stepped inside. Dazai paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the small space as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"It's cozy," he remarked, though his tone was flat, devoid of any real interest. He wandered further in, his steps slow, as if he was taking stock of every detail.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the cold sweat forming at the back of your neck. "It’s my little sanctuary," you said, forcing a lightness into your voice that you didn’t feel.

Dazai walked over to the easel where your unfinished painting stood, his head tilting slightly as he studied it. You could feel his gaze on the canvas, lingering on the dark swirls and sharp lines. His silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until finally, he spoke.

"What were you trying to express here?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to decipher your painting.

You hesitated, your mind racing to come up with a safe answer. "Just… emotions," you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor. "I paint what I feel."

Dazai didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, his fingers tracing the lines of the painting with an almost careless touch. "It’s dark," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Like a storm brewing."

You forced yourself to nod, though your throat felt tight. "It’s been a… difficult time," you said, the understatement almost laughable.

Dazai finally turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss. As he pulled back slightly, his gaze remained fixed on you, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You know," he murmured, "sometimes I wonder what goes on in that pretty little head of yours."

The words were light, almost teasing, but you knew better than to believe that façade. You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your expression neutral. "Nothing special," you lied, offering a small, strained smile.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before he let out a low hum, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced but didn’t feel like pressing the matter further. "Well, let’s see what you can create tonight," he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the canvas with a casual wave.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to pick up the brush with steady hands. As you dipped it into the paint, you could feel his piercing eyes on you, watching your every move with a calculated gaze that made your skin prickle.

The brushstrokes felt heavy, each one a struggle as you tried to focus on anything other than the man standing behind you. But all you could think about was Chuuya, hoping against hope that he had gotten your message in time, that he would stay away, that tonight wouldn’t end in disaster.

Just as you began to settle into a rhythm, the soft buzz of your phone vibrating in your pocket broke your concentration. Your heart leapt into your throat as you hesitated, knowing it could only be Chuuya. Dazai’s eyes flicked towards you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he noticed your sudden tension.

"You should get that," he said, his tone almost too kind.

With shaky hands, you pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up with a message from Chuuya: "Understood. Be safe."

You breathed out a sigh of relief, quickly typing back a short reply before slipping the phone back into your pocket. "Just Chuuya making sure I received the files earlier from today," you lied, hoping to deflect any suspicion.

Dazai didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t entirely fooled. He stepped closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You have such a pretty face," he murmured, his fingers against your cheek lingering a bit too long. "It would be a shame if anything happened to it."

You stiffened at the veiled threat, your heart pounding in your chest as you forced yourself to stay still, to not flinch under his touch. "I’ll be careful," you whispered, though your voice wavered.

Dazai smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Good," he said, his hand dropping back to his side. "Now, continue your magic darlin’."

You turned back to the canvas, struggling to concentrate as your thoughts swirled in disarray. The weight of the evening pressed down on you, with tonight promising its own set of trials.

Just then, Dazai's phone rang, the sharp sound breaking through the quiet. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to one of urgent concern.

"I'm sorry, darlin’," he said, "I have to go. There's an emergency I need to handle."

He stepped closer, cupping your face gently in his hands. His lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss—tender and bittersweet at first, but slowly growing more possessive, as if he were kissing you for the last time. As he pulled away, he offered a reassuring smile.

"I will wait for you at my penthouse" he promised, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he turned and walked toward the door. With a final glance back, he slipped out, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the dim light of the studio.

Once Dazai had left, you quickly grabbed your phone from your pocket, and typed a message to Chuuya: "Mission 006 is complete. Head to the HQ now."

You quickly gathered your things, taking one last look around the studio to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything—a gun, your favorite painting, and a few clothes for emergencies. With a deep breath, you slung your backpack over your shoulders, stepped out the door, and made your way to the headquarters.

The streets were eerily quiet as you walked, your mind racing with what you were about to do. When you reached the mafia headquarters, you slipped inside through a side entrance that you had memorized for emergencies like this.

The headquarters was still, the usual hustle and bustle of the mafia's operations eerily absent. You made your way to the main floor, your heart pounding in your chest. you approached the central hub where most of the mafia members were stationed.

With trembling hands, you took a deep breath and activated your ability—the one you had kept hidden for years. Phantom mists, a memory fog that could cloud the minds of everyone around you, except for Dazai. It wasn’t going to be effective against him, but against the mafia? It would create the perfect chaos. The pendant around your neck warmed as you focused, pouring your energy into the ability.

A swirling mist began to spread from your fingertips, a soft fog that permeated the air. You could feel the tendrils of your ability seeping into the minds of everyone in the vicinity. The effect was immediate—confusion and disorientation began to take hold.

Voices started to rise in panic, shouts echoing through the hallways. "What’s happening? I can’t remember..." one mafioso cried out.

You could imagine it clearly—the mafia’s best, their subordinates and leaders alike, suddenly unable to remember who they were supposed to trust, who their allies were. They wouldn’t even remember Dazai was their boss.

You slipped into the dimly lit maze beneath the headquarters, the fog of your ability still working its magic above. The soft echo of your footsteps against the cold stone ground was the only sound as you navigated the narrow tunnel that led to the next step in your escape. Your pulse raced with adrenaline, knowing the chaos you had unleashed would buy you just enough time.

As you approached the end of the tunnel, your beloved mafia executive appeared from the shadows, waiting by the ladder leading to the manhole cover above. His familiar silhouette, though tense, brought you an unexpected sense of relief. He glanced up at you, his sharp eyes softening the moment they met yours.

"About damn time," he muttered, but his tone lacked any real bite. You knew him well enough to recognize the relief in his voice.

You gave him a quick nod, stepping forward as he reached out, placing a steadying hand around you. For a moment all that mattered was Chuuya Nakahara just 'him' with his short temper and rough edges, he had always been there for you. It was a truth neither of you had ever said aloud, but it didn’t need to be.

"Are you okay, hun?" His voice was so velvety gentle. He didn’t meet your eyes, his attention seemingly fixed on the ladder. But his hand remained at the small of your back, his thumb tracing a small, absent-minded circle against your clothed skin.

You nodded, trying to control your breath. "I’m fine," you whispered, though your heart was still racing. "It’s done. We have a window."

He exhaled, finally letting his shoulders relax. "Good, we need to move fast," he said as he positioned himself beneath the manhole cover. "This will take us closer to the station."

With a grunt, the mafioso climbed up the ladder and pushed the heavy metal cover aside, the cold night air rushing down to meet you both. He climbed up first, then reached down to help you out, his fingers gripping yours tightly as he pulled you up onto the street. The city was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.

You glanced around, quickly regaining your bearings. "The train station is close, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, already starting to walk, picking up his pace. "I arranged a train to Kyoto. It'll give us enough distance, at least for a little while."

After a few minutes of fast walking, you approached the station, the faint glow of the train's headlights illuminated the platform in the distance. Chuuya glanced at you, his hand briefly finding your wrist, pulling you back for a second. His captivating azure eyes met yours, filled with something deeper than his usual intensity.

"You did good tonight," he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. "But… you know he’s not going to let this go. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."

"I know," you murmured, stepping closer. "I have everything planned."

He just gave a small nod and released your wrist, his hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with yours in a fleeting gesture of reassurance.

"Come on, we don’t have time," he said, his tone regaining its usual bite as he pulled you toward the station.

The two of you boarded the train, slipping into one of the empty compartments as the doors slid shut behind you with a soft hiss. The train rumbled to life, and the gentle sway lulled you into a momentary sense of peace, though you knew it wouldn’t last.

The mafia executive sat across from you, his hat pulled low over his eyes as he leaned back. He tried to act casual, like everything was under control, but you could see the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers drummed restlessly against his knee.

"Are you going to pretend you're not worried about me?" you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Chuuya huffs dramatically. "Shut up," he muttered, though his lips twitched slightly with amusement. "You’re not as helpless as you look. Who would have guessed you had such a powerful ability hidden up your sleeve?"

"Flattery won’t get you anywhere," you joked, watching the man beside you shift in his seat.

The man in question leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost as if the empty train could somehow betray his words. "I mean it, though. No matter what happens… I’ll keep you safe." He parts his lips slightly as if he was hesitant. "He’s not laying a hand on you again."

You knew the moment of peace was fleeting, a temporary respite in the chaos that would inevitably catch up to you both. He’d find you—of course, he always did—but this soon? You weren’t expecting that. Still, you had a plan, a counter to his twisted, manipulative games. After all, you knew his mind, how he bent and twisted reality to his will. So, you played dirty, just like him.

The sudden jolt of the train hitting something, the screech of metal twisting and crashing, sent a shockwave through the entire train. Chuuya’s arm wrapped around you, his ability immediately activated shielding you from the impact. Through the dizzying haze, your vision blurred, but you saw him—a familiar silhouette in a dark coat, red scarf flowing behind him like a warning. He was walking toward you, his figure growing clearer as the dust settled.

There’s no time left. You had to move now, or it would be too late.

Your heart raced as you saw him clap his hands, the sound mocking in its slow, deliberate rhythm. He was amused. Of course, he was. The familiar twisted smile, painting the corners of his lips as he spoke, his voice sounded like something that could’ve been approval—or maybe it was just a new layer of threat. "Good job," Dazai drawled, eyes gleaming with that familiar, unnerving intelligence. Was he proud of you for finally releasing your ability for blanketing the entire mafia headquarters with the dense, confusing memory fog? Or was this his way of saying you’d only managed to amuse him, that your effort was nothing more than a brief diversion in his grand scheme?

He always knew, somehow. It was as if he could sense it every time. The thought gnawed at you as the devil in question stepped closer. Of course, Dazai had known about you and Chuuya all along. No matter how careful you were, how meticulously you avoided suspicion, he had always been one step ahead. Because he's the cunning devil himself, he's Osamu Dazai, the demon prodigy that was never left in the dark—not where you were concerned.

And now, you were trapped in his web again.

You saw him as he moved with the same old unsettling calm, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence as he found a seat among the debris, settling down as if he were nothing more than a bored spectator to the carnage.

A crooked smile curled on his lips, his eyes gleaming with that disgustingly cold amusement. "Finally," he let out a breathless chuckle. "You’ve let your ability take control. I was beginning to wonder how long you'd hide it." His gaze flickered toward you, sharp as a blade. "I must say, I enjoy it just a little bit. Tell me darlin’, does that make me insane?"

Chuuya, of course, wasn’t about to sit idle. The moment Dazai’s words slithered into the air, he shot up, standing between you and Dazai, "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you have all of us under your command?" he growled, "You’re wrong, Dazai. I don’t give a damn about your twisted games or the Port Mafia. If it means keeping her safe, I’d watch it all burn."

The mafia boss's lips curled into a cruel smile, "Ah, Chuuya," he mused, tilting his head with a condescending air. "How touching. Such devotion. You’re so willing to throw away your morals, your loyalty—everything you’ve stood for—just for her. And here I thought you were just a pawn, but it seems I’ve underestimated you."

"You want to talk about misplaced loyalty? How about you look at her. Look at how you’ve torn her apart. Do you think you’re protecting her? Loving her? It's not an act of love if you force her, " Chuuya spat, shaking his head with disgust. How could he act like he didn't destroy you, tore you apart?

Dazai leaned back, unperturbed." Chuuya, you misunderstood everything, ehh? Everything I did was to protect her, to train her to conquer her fears and take control of her life. And look at her now—she’s in control, free from her own constraints. I’d say I’ve succeeded."

He leaned in closer, smiling like a maniac that he is, "If you think your misguided sense of protection is better than what I’ve done, then perhaps you should reconsider your own humanity. After all, it seems you’re more concerned with playing the hero than understanding what real strength and freedom look like."

You cut through the tension, drawing the gun that was placed in your backpack and aiming it at Dazai. "Enough." Your voice was steady, but your heart was not. "You’re right about one thing—this is my plan. I know you’re not as unfeeling as you pretend. I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done."

Dazai scoffed, his eyes dismissive. "You can’t muster the courage to kill me, darlin’."

You clenched your teeth, the gun steady in your hand. "It’s not about killing you. It’s about making you feel the pain you’ve inflicted. Two years of this twisted mess, of apologies from my tongue but never yours, just endless torment."

You stepped closer, your voice trembling with rage and exhaustion. "Tell me, Dazai, if we had a daughter? I'd watch and could not save her. The emotional torture? from the head of your high table... she'd do what you taught her. She'd meet the same cruel fate.

"So now I've gotta run, so I can undo this mistake... At least, I've gotta try" your breath hitched in your throat.

For the first time in your life you saw Dazai's expression stripped of its usual layers of detachment. It was almost readable—though, in truth, it had always been so readable, you were just too hurt to see it..he seemed genuinely vulnerable, a rare sight for someone who usually masked their feelings so well.

"Do you really believe that, after everything," he voice dripping with a sadness he could no longer hide. He knew he had inflicted profound pain that his actions had not succeeded as he had claimed. He saw the woman he cherished, distancing herself from him, and it shattered him in ways he couldn't admit.

You fought to keep your tears in check, swallowing the rising tide of anguish.

The mafia boss, now a broken man, rose from his seat and moved closer with the same pained expression on his face that was too unfamiliar to you. For the first time, you didn’t flinch as he approached. Maybe your plan had worked—maybe now, he was the one truly hurt.

He gently took your hands, still gripping the gun so desperately, and aimed it at his heart as you stood there unshaken. You had emptied the gun, knowing that the real weapon was your words, not a filled barrel. You were fearless, no longer afraid of what Dazai might do, because the true pain was already inflicted.

"Go on, my love," he demanded, “Shoot me,” He pressed lightly against your finger on the trigger. Still, you didn’t move, you remained utterly still.

Time seemed to stretch, seconds dragging as Chuuya stood by, his eyes widening in shock. 'Is he out of his mind???' This can’t be happening!!!

Chuuya began to step forward, his ability ready to activate. But his shout was too late. “NO! THIS ISN'T YOUR GUN!!!”

You felt the pressure on your finger intensify, bewildered by the urgency in Chuuya’s voice. He knew the gun was empty—why was he stopping you? What does he mean this is not your gun?

Your confusion wavering as the trigger pressed down with an inexplicable force. Time seemed to distort, the moment stretching into a surreal blur. A bullet, as if conjured from the void, shot forth with a chilling precision, piercing the veil of reality and leaving you numb, detached from the gravity of what was happening.

As the bullet pierced Dazai’s chest, everything around you felt unreal, a dreamscape where the laws of cause and effect seemed suspended. The sound of the gunshot echoed in your ears, dissonant...distant, like a harsh reminder from another world.

Your eyes widened in horror. You were sure you had emptied the gun. How could this happen? Your heart raced as you screamed in agony. “NO, OSAMU!!!”

You reached out, your hands trembling as you tried to grasp the enormity of what had just transpired. Dazai's body fell forward against yours, a warm, crimson stain spreading through your clothes.

You collapsed to the ground in a haze, disbelief clouding your mind. This can’t be real… it feels like a cruel illusion. His shallow breaths brushed weakly against your skin, barely there but enough to hold onto.

Chuuya rushed forward, gently cradling Dazai's head beside you, his eyes betraying a depth of sorrow that he struggled so hard to contain. The train car, once a mere backdrop to your confrontation, now felt like a tragic stage for this final act.

Dazai's breath was shallow, as he slowly tilted his head, his eyes locked with yours, a fading smile painted his now blood stained lips.

“Finally, my love,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re free from my grip… free from my control.”

His gaze shifted to Chuuya, and he managed a weak, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry... for everything.”

His heartbeat faltered, the rhythm of life slowing to a stop. With a final, shuddering breath, Dazai’s eyes closed, and the warmth faded from his body.

You could not control your sobs, the anguish tearing through you like a relentless storm. You had hated him, yes, but never wanted this. Never wanted to see him die, to feel this unbearable void where his presence had been.

Chuuya, his face etched with profound sorrow, held back his own tears as he watched his boss and former partner slip away. “You were always such an idiot, Dazai.” He managed a sad smile through his tears, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities of their shared history. He knew now, all too late, what Dazai had truly intended and the extent of the manipulation that had led to this tragic end.

The wrecked train car felt like a distorted realm, every sound and motion warped by the intense grief that filled it. Your loud sobs echoed eerily through the wreckage, the sound reverberating in a way that made time seem to stretch and slow. Each cry was a jarring note in a symphony of desolation, creating a haunting melody that seemed to hang in the air.

A day had passed since Dazai's tragic end, whether it was death or a calculated suicide. The weight of his absence still lingered in the room.

The sun cast a dim, melancholic light through the window as you sat next to Chuuya on the couch in your room, holding a burgundy envelope. its edges slightly crumpled from the many times you had picked it up and set it aside. The elegant cursive writing on the front, "𝑇𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 :D" the absurdity of the smiley face—silly and oddly incongruent—making you hesitate even more.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m here,” Chuuya whispered, placing his gloved hand on your thigh and rubbing circles to sooth you down.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and carefully peeled open the envelope.

"𝑇𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠,

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡, 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝐴ℎ, ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠.

𝐵𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤, 𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛.

𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦. 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡, 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝐼? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒—𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛—𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑗𝑜𝑦. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑦.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠: 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑠𝑘.

𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙, 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑜�� 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.

𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑. 𝐼𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑠𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐼 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝐼𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡—𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒. 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒, ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠. 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑡.

𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒,

𝒪𝓈𝒶𝓂𝓊 𝒟𝒶𝓏𝒶𝒾,

𝑃.𝑆: 𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑢𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ—𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜."

As you finished reading, your sobs erupted uncontrollably, the grief of his words and the weight of his absence overwhelming you. Chuuya encircled you with his arms, drawing you close and planting gentle kisses on your temple.

“It’s okay,” he whispered repeatedly, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

As your cries began to subside, the room remained shrouded in a mournful silence. The letter had left a new reality for you both to face.

The ink had indeed dried, but it was not your ink that marked the paper; it was Dazai's.

A/N: If you’re still with me, high five! You’re just as wonderfully tormented as I am, haha. Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! *KISSES*

-Heavily inspired by the songs "Labour" by Paris Paloma and "Will I Ever Love?" by Anya Nami

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

If it is okay, may I please request a headcannon of MC being found badly injured by Ace, Lilia, Trey, Floyd, and Jamil? I really love these characters so much! And angst, too.

Ace Trappola:

Ace had a hard time keeping the panic from showing on his face, hands hovering over you like he was afraid to touch you. What if he hurt you more? He’d never claimed to have a healing touch but even now he knows there’s not much worse he could do other than finishing the job, a thought that proceeds to make him sick to his stomach. There’s another feeling burning deep in his gut, a rage only held back by the initial shock of seeing you in such a state and trying to process what to do from there. Your safety was at the forefront of his mind, getting you straight to a person who can heal you, even if every other instinct of his wanted to get even with the person who hurt you first.

Floyd Leech:

Though Floyd is not your enemy, you can’t help but feel uneasy as he approached. He’s not really glaring at you but past you, like there was a general barking orders at him that he had no intention of following. He hadn’t said much since he found you, another oddity as he wasn’t generally the quietest. You don’t think he’s ever handle you so gently before as he scooped you up, changing his pace or repositioning you carefully each time you winced or whimpered in pain. The first thing on his mind was returning you to safety, but once you were… He asked with an eerie calmness if you could give details on your assailant, even if it was more than one person, because he fully intended to pay them all back double (and Sevens help whoever tried to stand in his way).

Jamil Viper:

Jamil hadn’t quite gathered himself together, priding himself on analyzing situations, on predicting outcomes, and yet your interference had always been a variable he forgot to account for. Just like in his life, he had never expected you to come crashing in nor had he expected you to make a home beside him. He thought you were crazy for seeing any value in a relationship with him but he supposed you had your uses, hiding behind the shadow of a manipulator despite how truly grateful he was for your presence. Now he’s confronted with that, life spitting in his face again, demanding that he beg on his hands and knees, grovel, to assure that you survived your injuries. He knew the basics of healing, knew how to clean wounds and to dress them properly, but he had to hope mentally you had the strength to pull through for him. He hoped you could hear him begging for forgiveness, a promise to treat your relationship more seriously if you just came back to him.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia’s always been good at wearing a mask, showcasing a playful smirk or firing off witty flirtations in moments that don’t necessarily fit the mood. But he feels a bit of the façade crack when he sees you in such dire straits, clinging to the last bit of calm he possessed as it tried to slip right through his fingers. It’s not that he’s scared, his battlefield experience allowed him to determine your status with a quick glance, but he felt a deep-seated fury building inside him. He remembered being pulled away from someone important before in a drastic, life-changing moment, unable to protect—fight by their side as he was meant to, and it seemed that same crossroads was appearing before him again. He had been forced into one choice for the sake of Briar Valley before but there are no such forces present now. He kneeled by your side, making a serious face you’re not quite used to seeing on him as he promised he wouldn’t let the culprit touch a hair on your head ever again.

Trey Clover:

Trey is used to keeping his cool under any circumstance, having to be the level-headed vice dorm leader had brought him many days of experiencing pressure to assure emotions didn’t boil over. Yet none of that training matters now when he saw your blood-soaked clothes, his heart skipping a beat until he realized you were still breathing. He tried to talk to you, offering soothing words, promising he’d get you to someone who could help soon. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth as he knew he likely wouldn’t have the chance to get his hands on the person who hurt you, biting down on his lip so hard it began to bleed, but he couldn’t voice his frustrations now to a person who was in a much worse state than he was. And he didn’t think he ever would, letting his anger fester deep in his chest until he had a moment alone to dispel it.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Willem Hart

Antisemites abhors Jews equally for the age-old stereotype of greed as for their philanthropy. Walking through a university campus or passing a hospital and seeing the Jewish names of donors on the building and they think: “Damn rich Jews putting their names everywhere like they own the place!”

Again, two completely diametrically opposite stereotypes – neither one an accurate depiction of the average Jewish person’s attitude toward money and charity – paint every Jewish person as one or the other, contingent on nothing more than circumstantial convenience.

Perhaps the recent most example is playing out currently in our global discourse on coloniality and race. In Europe, where it once was convenient to scapegoat the stateless Jew, “othered,” as the enlightened like to say, and ostracized him for his origins in the Orient. Then, the Jews were perhaps slightly darker in complexion and not truly part of any European country. Once Jews achieved statehood in Israel, overnight they became “white supremacists, “European colonizers” and the like.

Never mind that Sephardim, Jews from the Iberian peninsula who went on to populate Diaspora communities, particularly in North Africa and the Ottoman Empire, account for the majority of Jews currently living in Israel.

Never mind that only relatively recently six million Jews were murdered because they were not European enough. Not German enough. Not white enough.

It is entirely irrelevant whether the refrain being angrily shouted at the Jew is “Go back to Poland” or “Get out of Poland.” The directions might be different, but the intended destination is always the same: the destruction of the Jewish people.

It simply does not matter. The Jew is always wrong. Antisemitism is a living, breathing embodiment of non-falsifiability, an illogical death trap where reason cannot reach. Do not try.

The Israel-Hamas war

Consider this: While Israeli hostages are being released by Hamas, they are paraded in front of a jeering crowd in a public spectacle. Surrounded by masked men, guns at the ready, with cameras thrust in their faces, the hostages are made to read from scripts and thank their captors. In a previous display, a bewildered Omer Shem Tov was instructed to kiss one of the terrorists on the forehead in a grotesque and morbid display. Propagandists will use this scene as definitive proof that he was “treated nicely” in captivity.

However, the very moment he or she crosses into Israeli territory, instantly any testimony about his time and torture in captivity is reduced to being mere “Zionist propaganda.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Changes

What do you do when the person you once were becomes the person you miss being the most?

Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Jungkook's ex wife, mentions of past physical abuse, mentions of alcohol abuse, fluff, flirty Jungkook, no smut in this I'm sorry pls still read it :( there's some tension tho!!

Length: 6.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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"Thanks for picking him up." Taehyung sighs, his son happily in the living room, taking a nap from school as he tucks himself in on the couch while his favorite show plays on the TV.

"I would've asked her, you know, but I feel like I'm relying too much on her again." The young father sighs. "I'm basically treating her the same as I did years ago, just without the pay."

"I heard about that." Jungkook says, drinking his coffee at the kitchen table where he sits across Taehyung. "She used to nanny while you lived separately from your wife, I think it was." He hums, setting his cup down. Jungkook isn't on bad terms with Taehyung's wife- but he tends to not say her name, because he honestly harbors quite a bit of distaste towards the woman who refuses to properly take care of her own child.

"Well don't you seem to know a bit about her now." Taehyung squints his eyes in suspicion. "What happened to 'she's too young for me anyways' huh?" He teases, and Jungkook sighs.

"Well, things.. happened. And we talked." He shrugs. "We're not.. really a couple, but we agreed to spend time with one another." He explains.

"So you're friends with benefits?" He wonders, drinking his tea while Jungkook leans back.

"No." He shakes his head, even though deep down, it does kind of feel like that to him, now that he thinks about it a bit more. "It's.. a bit more complicated than that. We're simply talking, seeing where it goes." He says.

"Hmhm." Tae nods. "Just don't break her heart. I still got basically nightmares from her last relationship." He mumbles a bit angrily to himself, clearly a bit irritated even just by the thought of it.

"I.. wondered what happened." Jungkook says. "Dae said he was a drinker?" He wonders, and Taehyung nods.

"Drinker, druggie, abusive asshole." He huffs, crossing his arms. "It's the main reason she moved away when Daehyun was younger. She wanted to protect him- make sure he won't get hurt."

"Was he violent?" Jungkook wants to know, because honestly, he has a hunch that that might've been the case. Taehyung seems on edge now, clearly torn between probably saying the truth, and respecting your privacy. "I was intending to ask her anyways. But she seems like the type to downplay her problems in order to make things seem less serious, so I thought you might be more honest." He adds.

"Yeah, she is like that." Tae agrees softly. "I'm not too sure what exactly went down. But I do know that she.. distanced herself out of fear that Daehyun might get hurt." He tells his friend. "Greg started to pick her up every time she'd babysit Daehyun at my house, even after I told him I didn't like that. He still did, still argued, turned up drunk multiple times at my doorstep." The young father remembers. "I kept her with me, of course. I'd never let her drive home with that alcoholic- but I guess something must've happened because she just.. suddenly cut contact." He shrugs. "Sent me a text, changed her number, moved out her old apartment."

"When did she come back?" Jungkook wonders.

"According to Yoongi, a few weeks before the aftershow party." Taehyung responds.

"So that's why you didn't recognize her?" He figures, and Tae nods.

"She changed a lot. Not just visually. She's.." His eyes lower to the cup in his hand. "..a lot more quiet. Cautious. Jumpy." He informs his friend. "And at the same time, she seems to mask a lot of it- get's irritated easily. She's trying to be who she was, but it's obvious that something changed, and whenever someone notices, she becomes defensive."

Jungkook doesn't really know what to think. Looking at Daehyun on the couch, he can absolutely understand your standpoint back then to get away from Taehyung's family in order to protect them- but that means there must have been at least some form of fear against your former partner to make you believe that he could potentially be a danger to the young boy and his father. It could also just be jealousy, of course- but Taehyung is right. You are a little odd sometimes.

And he doesn't know if he wants to know exactly why, or if he wants to let sleeping dogs rest.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook leans back in his office chair, headache already almost too unbearable to him, especially considering the woman who's making her way up in the giant corporate building to see him.

She wants money again, he knows it. Evelyn only ever visits him if there's something she wants, after all.

"One might argue they'd know me by now." Evelyn huffs as she enters the office, hair a bit wet as she throws her coat over the chair in front of his desk, before she sits down. "How're you doing?" She wonders, and Jungkook doesn't look away from his laptop's screen whatsoever, still looking through his e-mails. He doesn't have to put too many thoughts into this conversation after all- she's most likely just here to leech off of him again.

"Cut it." He simply says. "What do you want?" He asks, phone on his desk vibrating and chiming with a new notification.

'I can just drop something off for you? I just got off work myself, so it's no hassle.' your message reads, an answer to a former rant from him about his headache, and the fact that he's 'locked in like a dog' in his office and without any proper food ever since this morning. It makes him softly smile a little, the fact that you want to bring him something to eat even though you're probably exhausted from your shift as well is something he's not used to. And he didn't even have to ask for it.

'Only if it's really not an issue for you' his answer reads, and you send a thumbs-up emoji as an answer, before you finish typing your proper answer.

'DW, is anything okay or do you want something specific?' you question, and he immediately types a response.

'Just whatever, really. Nothing too spicy though, please.' he offers, when a hand knocks on the table in front of him, the woman in his office dragging him back into reality with force. He signs, locks his phone before he puts it down, opening a chat with the front desk downstairs to let them know to bring you up when you arrive.

"You know, this was always the issue, Jungkook." Evelyn whines, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. "You're so consumed by your work, it's crazy." She shakes her head.

"That wasn't work, actually." He bites back with a monotone voice, not really offering her any emotion whatsoever- there's nothing left in him anymore he could offer anyways. She took it all, sucked it out of him like an insect, and now she's constantly upset that he's empty inside.

"Anyways, I got this letter recently stating that there was an issue with the bank transfer?" She says, giving him the letter to read- which he does, flying over it just to remember why that bank transfer did not go through. "I told them that they'll get their money by friday." She hums, leaning her face on her palm while he gives her the letter back.

"What do I have to do with it then?" He asks, and she sits upright again, tilting her head a bit in irritation. "You said they'll get their money by friday. Good. Why are you here then?" He asks, arms crossed, office chair squeaking a bit as he leans back into it.

"Well, it's your bank account!" She laughs a bit unsure. "I don't even know why there was apparently not a sufficient balance on it." She argues.

"I resigned the automatic transfer rights." Jungkook tells her, face not moving an inch as he breaks the news. "The letter doesn't mention an insufficient balance at all, Evelyn. It states that there's no bank account set for the automated transfer option at all." He informs her.

"What the fuck Jungkook?!" She barks. "And you didn't even tell me?!" She yells, standing up to slap her hands on his desk. "You can't just make these changes and not inform me about it! Do you know how expensive that was?!" She accuses, and he shrugs, noticing something move behind her, milky glass front of his office hiding what's going on inside and outside, only letting shadows be seen if someone's close enough. "I'll text you the invoice later, and you better fucking pay, you asshole!" She says, when she whips her head around, someone opening the glass door.

"Thanks." You tell the office lady having let you in, before your eyes widen, door closing behind you and instantly drowning out all noise except the very slight sound of the fan in the corner of the room.

"Ah, there you are." Jungkook sighs, suddenly feeling a lot lighter as he looks at you. "Come here- is it still raining a lot?" He wonders easily, taking the white plastic bag from you to set it on his table, before giving you a small hug to greet you. "I think that was all you wanted, wasn't it?" He asks Evelyn, who hasn't even gotten up from her seat, instead clearly studying you now.

"Actually, no." She tells him. "And it's kind of private, so it would be real nice if your assistant would leave." She tells you with a smile that reminds you of a snarling dog.

"Then come back a different day." Jungkook answers her however, offering to take your coat from you to hang next to his own on the wall close to the large windows. "Right now I'm really not in the mood for whatever it might be. Especially not with my girlfriend in the room." He bluntly says, and something seems to flash over her face at the mention of your alleged role in his life.

She slowly stands up to take her coat from the back of the chair, movements a lot slower now, a glare sent into your direction. "Don't get your hopes up, sweetheart." Evelyn tells you, slipping into the sleeves of her coat. "His first love will always stay his job." She almost threatens, before she takes her purse and leaves through the door, leaving a confused you, and a clearly exhausted Jungkook behind.

"Please, sit down." He offers, and you do so, watching how he leans back in his chair, hands running over his face before he sits up again. "I'm sorry. That timing couldn't have been worse." He sighs.

"Ah, here. Do you have water here?" You wonder, and he nods, pointing towards a water dispenser in the room. "Oh, fancy." You laugh, walking up to fill a cup to put in front of him. "I take them myself, they usually help really quickly. Not trying to murder you." You tease, and he chuckles, taking the medication and the cup for himself.

"Thank you, really." He sighs out before taking the pill, washing it down with half of the cup's contents before he closes his eyes for a moment. "God I hate her so much." He suddenly breaks out laughing, before he shakes his head, digging through what you've bought for him.

"I assume that was your ex wife?" You wonder, and he nods.

"I'm also really sorry for telling her you're my girlfriend when we haven't even talked about that yet." He tells you a bit.. shyly almost, while you pull the bag closer to take something out for yourself.

"It's fine." You shrug. "Got a nice ring to it, you know?" You joke, and he smiles, starting to eat.

It's quiet, but not oddly so. He enjoys this a lot, this company without any pressure, no eerie sense of something being about to happen. You're clearly here because you want to be, there's nothing you want from him, nothing you need, nothing you could gain from this. It's just what it is, nothing else, nothing to red between the lines.

"You can ask why she was here, by the way." He offers you, wiping his mouth with a tissue.

"I don't have to know." You say, however. "It's got nothing to do with me- right?" You ask, and he nods. "Then it's none of my business. You can rant to me about it, sure, but I can't really give you any opinions on it since I don't really know her, or the situation around you and her." You tell him.

Jungkook watches you for a moment, before he nods. "You're right." He agrees, letting go of the topic entirely for now. He know it's only fair to talk to you about it at some point- but right now is not the time for that, he decides. "Do you want me to drive you home later? I really only have to answer this one E-mail and then I can clock out." He tells you between bites, wiping his fingers before he taps away on his keyboard.

"If it's not a bother, sure." You shrug. "You said you got the weekend off, right?" You ask him, and he nods a bit absentmindedly. "Then how about you stay over?" You ask, and that definitely seems to catch his attention.

"Stay over?" He asks, just to make sure he heard it correctly, and you nod.

"Yeah." You nod. "It's, you know, what boyfriends do with their girlfriends." You tease, making him roll his eyes. "We could cook something, watch a movie. Oh, and one of the lightbulbs in my kitchen broke, so maybe you could fix that for me?" You chirp, and he suddenly smiles brightly to himself, clicking something on his laptop before he shuts it down. "What's that grin for, mister?" You ask, and he just shakes his head.

"Nothing, really." He tells you. "I'm just really happy." He confesses, and you smile the same, now a bit shy.

"Well, what's your answer then?" You wonder, watching him pack the leftovers back into the bag, before he walks to get both his and your jackets, helping you into yours.

"My answer is yes." He says, voice very close to your ear as he leans over your shoulder from behind you, hands on your arms for a second. "I'd love to stay over and fix that lightbulb too, of course.-"

"Since I heard that's what boyfriends do with their girlfriends."

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

"There we go." He says, slowly climbing down the plastic kitchen chair you're holding onto just in case. "Anything else while I'm here?" He genuinely asks, and you shake your head, moving the chair back to the small kitchen table.

"No, that was all. Thank you, really." You say, before you move to open the fridge, taking out some things while he stands around with his hands in his pockets. Your apartment is pretty small- living in it together with you would most likely prove to be way too much, but he still thinks it's better than his own, in terms of.. quality.

His own home feels empty. There's nothing in it, it's way too big for a single person, and the view from so high up above the clouds has long lost it's charm to him.

He sits down at the kitchen table, leaning on it a little as he watches you wash some vegetables before you grab a cutting board and a knife. "Daehyun said you're a little lonely without your dog." He says, and you giggle a little, smiling to yourself. "Have you considered getting another one?" He wonders, but you just shrug.

"I'm too busy at the moment." You deny. "I used to bring him to work with me, since he was a very quiet and calm dog, which fit perfect into our office." You remember. "He'd always sleep under my desk, right on my feet. Always kept them warm." You softly say, and he notices that he might've struck a still hurtful topic if only from the sound of your voice becoming somewhat tighter.

"I can imagine. I always wanted a dog too-" He sighs, leaning back. "But.. Evelyn, the woman you saw today, she doesn't like them. So it was out of the question."

"Really?" You wonder, cutting up the vegetables. "I mean, I guess, if both of you were really busy then it probably was for the best." You hum, tension leaving you again. "Gotta look at the bigger picture."

"Yeah, maybe it was for the best." He agrees. To be honest, Evelyn would've probably fought over the dog as well, just like she did over the apartment, and other more petty things like fucking furniture. She wanted to ruin him, if financially then emotionally, and somehow, she somewhat did.

It's quiet again, when you, surprisingly to him, cut into a topic he did not expect.

"His name was Greg." You say, filling a small pot with water before you place it on the stove, turning it on. "You probably talked about him with Taehyung."

"I did." He admits. "But there's not much I know." He offers. "And like you said about my situation, I don't have to know about things that don't concern me. However-" He begins, getting up to now stand closer, find your gaze that's turned downwards onto the cutting board. "-I don't want to accidentally do something that might make you uncomfortable due to past experiences." He says.

"What a tactful way to ask me if I've got any trauma from that guy." You chuckle, moving to put the cut up vegetables in a bowl before you continue the preparations for dinner.

"I'm trying to be gentle here." He attempts to lighten up the mood, and you indeed smile at that.

"And I'm very thankful for that." You offer him, before you sigh, setting down the knife. "I don't.. think we're at a point where I should be dumping all of what happened onto you." You inform him, and he nods, accepting that. "I don't like yelling. If I feel uncomfortable, I'll probably try and get myself out of a situation by any means necessary-" you admit, turning a little to look at him. "-and that will probably include some nasty words thrown your way, if that get's you away from me." You tell him. "And I don't like alcohol. Even if you hand me full on medical evidence that you can't even get drunk, the moment I smell it- I just can't trust you." You say, and he nods.

"Alright, I respect that." He nods.

"I'll also get pretty clingy over time." You add on, making him nod. "And I can be annoying. I'll text you a lot." You continue, and a small smile sneaks itself onto his lips as he shrugs, crossing his arms. "The moment you invite me into your home I'll practically steal half of your closet contents-"

"Is that what he told you?" He wonders, and you grow quiet, eyes avoiding him. "I'm obsessed with my work." He begins his own rant, standing up to walk closer to you. "I never have time for anything else. I'm boring. Sometimes rude, and immature. I'm a perfectionist, but I'm also lazy. I snore, and I work out too much to the point where I'm sweating buckets. I'm a little messy." He tells you, hugging you from behind, though not very intimately- giving you a clear way out if you so want to.

"…is that what she told you?" You answer, and he smiles.

"Let's just agree on getting to know each other just the way we are, not the way someone else described us in the past." He offers, and you nod.

"Alright." You hum, before you push him a little playfully. "Now go and let me cook in here, boyfriend." You tease, making him grin impishly, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he does not walk away from behind you, hands now flat on your ass. "Hey!"

"What? I'm out of your way like this." He tells you almost innocently, hands moving to hold your waist now.

"Sit down there and let me cook!" You laugh.

"But we wanted to cook together, no?" He wonders. "Like.. boyfriend and girlfriend." He leans his chin on your shoulder.

"Well, boyfriends let their girlfriends cook in peace." You threaten, making him chuckle as his fingers squeeze your hips a bit.

"Not if their girlfriend is this attractive." He purrs, making you roll your eyes.

"Jungkook…" You wonder, suddenly way more serious, making his stand up straight again so you can face him. "Is.. that what we are now?" You ask, and his lips part for a second, unsure of his own answer. "I mean, it's fine if we're just playing around. Just.. I'm scared that we might end up in some.. unnecessary drama down the line if we're blurring the lines too much without properly discussing things first." You say.

"What do you mean?" He asks, and you sigh.

"What if you end up calling me.. your girlfriend just as a joke? But I start believing it at some point- thinking we are something serious when we're not. Or the other way around." You explain. "I don't want us to get hurt again. Neither of us."

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and from this close proximity, you can make out two odd dots near his bottom lip you're not too sure of. You might ask him about them some other time.

"Let me take time off of work. Next week, three days." He offers, catching you off guard. "Let's go on a trip. Together. Someplace no one knows us, and we don't know either." He tells you.

"I mean- I would've had friday and the weekend off anyways but-"

"Okay, great, perfect. I'll cancel my Friday meetings." He tells you, hands moving- at first, they seem to attempt to hold your cheeks- but it's like that feels too intimate yet, so he settles for your shoulders. "Let's get to know each other. The real you and me that got.. buried at some point." He offers.

"Why on a trip?" You ask.

"Because it's perfect." He chuckles. "Close proximity of the hotel room we'll share, stress of navigating the unfamiliar environment, the tension of not being able to just 'escape' any uncomfortable situation right away forcing us to talk things out as they happen-" He begins, and your mouth shapes an 'o' as you realize what he's talking about.

"It's a stress-test." You say, and he nods, grinning.

"Exactly." He nods.

"…to be honest you're already stressing me out." You jokingly reply-

Jungkook laughing, and you have a feeling he's not done that in a long time, with the way his ears turn red and his hand covers his mouth in embarrassment of that outburst.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

When Taehyung opens the door, he instantly greets his son who Jungkook has put down the moment he'd noticed the young father arriving at the front door to let him in.

"Oh wow." Taehyung laughs as Jungkook walks in, almost nervously running a hand through his hair. "Is the world ending? Apocalypse? Or am I high?" He jokes, making Jungkook roll his eyes. "No, seriously! I didn't even know you could still put those piercings back in!" He laughs, taking Dae's school backpack to take out his lunchbox so he can sort out the leftovers and wrappers from his snacks.

"It was a bit tricky, I won't lie." He laughs a little. "But they didn't really close all that much since I had them for so long, so it wasn't a big deal." He shrugs.

"What's the occasion?" Tae wonders, throwing the wrappers of Daehyun's snacks in the trash. "You most certainly don't look like you're gonna go to a meeting like that. What happened to 'I'm not in my twenties anymore' huh?" He jokes.

"I'm honestly not sure." He answers, hands in the pockets of his pants. "Just.. felt like it. And I'm not going to the office- I took time off." He confesses.

"Okay, are you running a fever?" Taehyung asks, and Jungkook laughs to himself. "Are you gonna meet up with your.. friend?" He air-quotes, and Jungkook nods, checking the silver watch on his wrist.

"Yeah- we're meeting up later, she's currently packing her things last thing she texted me." He nods. "Our flight is in about three hours from now, but it's her first time flying, so we wanted to be there a bit early just in case." Jungkook shrugs.

"Oh, fancy." Taehyung laughs. "Why though?" He wonders, washing the colorful lunchbox of his son in the sink.

"Stress testing." Jungkook offers. "We just want to see if we can handle each other under pressure." He says, and Taehyung sighs.

"My god Jungkook, can you just once try and not make everything more complicated than it has to be?" He worries. "Just spend time with her. Go out for a coffee or something, watch a shitty movie at home and let her suck you off during the commercial break or something, you know, like NORMAL people!" He whines. "You're acting as if this is some million-dollar business discussion. It's really not." He huffs out in frustration. "Listen, I know Eve fucked you over bad, and honestly you've always had a shit-taste in women to begin with because holy fuck if I think back to Lucy-"

"Can you get to the point?" Jungkook complains, a little embarrassed as his friend brings up his admittedly terrible dating history.

"-yeah, sorry." He laughs. "But, trust me-" Taehyung says, drying his hands before he puts them on his friend's shoulders. "-she's honestly perfect for you. Once you help her get her confidence back up, trust me, you've got yourself someone who's not a raging cunt for once." He finishes his rant, and Jungkook takes a deep breath.

"You think?" He worries, and Taehyung nods.

"I do." He says, patting his friend's back before he leads him to his front door. "Be yourself. And I mean, your real self. Be that goofy dude who cries during disney movies and folds his laundry to Depeche Mode at 3 am."

"Why would I do that?" Jungkook cringes, thinking his friend is joking- but he's surprised to find Taehyung with a soft gaze instead, an encouraging smile on his lips.

"Because that's the Jungkook I know." He offers, a somber look on his face.

"And I miss him."

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

"Let me take that." He offers, taking the suitcase from you. It's small, scratched up, and he can't help but notice the stickers on it. "You good to go?" He wonders, and you nod, closing the door before locking it, walking next to him out the apartment building towards his by now familiar car, his own luggage already in the trunk where he puts yours now as well.

The moment you sit next to him inside, is when you notice how.. different he is today. Not only from looks alone- but it feels different, oddly enough. Lighter. Not as serious as he usually is. "I wondered what those.. spots were." You say, looking at him from the passenger side, and he raises his brows while stopping at a red light, turning his head towards you, who points to your own lower lip.

"Ah, yeah." He chuckles, a bit bashful. "I.. got them done in my early twenties. Took them out though, because.. I don't know." He shrugs.

"You don't know, of do you just realize that the reason was stupid?" You giggle, and he sighs, with a smile on his lips however.

"Caught me." He confesses, changing lanes as he makes his way to the airport.

"Why'd you put them back in?" You ask, leaning against the car door a bit.

"Because I wanted to be myself." He explains. "I.. like I said. I want you to get to know me. And not the person I became to please others around me." He tells you.

"I assume your.. ex wife didn't like the piercings?" You ask, testing how far you can pry into his past and how much you can poke until he tells you off. But much to your surprise, he seems rather unfazed by the topic.

"She hated my tattoos as well. Wanted me to get them removed constantly." He chuckles, and you're intrigued.

"You've got tattoos as well?" You ask, and he nods.

"Maybe I'll let you see them later?" He flirts, and you grin to yourself, adjusting your legs a little as you stay quiet. "Either way, Evelyn didn't like a lot about me."

"Then why did she marry you?" You ask, noticing too late how mean that question could come off.

"Probably for my bank account." He simply laughs. "I was.. stupid. I thought she was fixing me." He shakes his head. "I thought she only had my best interest in mind." He says, setting his turn lights to enter the airport parking area. "But she always hated me. Still does." He sighs, searching for a proper parking spot.

"Well, I don't hate you." You tell him.

"Yet." He mumbles, before he finally parks the car, turning off the engine. "Do you have your passport and everything on hand? Don't wanna have to unpack everything in a rush later at check-in." He tries to change the topic, but you look at him with eyes so soft that he becomes scared of them.

"Jungkook." You say his name, and he hates how kind it sounds. "As long as you're not like him, I won't hate you. Honestly, I don't even hate him." You tell him, and he nods a bit stiffly, before practically escaping the car, instead putting on his jacket before helping you take out your suitcase and handbag.

Inside the airport, he notices your nervousness, hand constantly reaching out but never holding on to him at all, in any way. It makes him chuckle a little as he watches you fight with yourself for quite a while, before he helps you check in.

You're clearly a bit overstimulated by everything going on around you, looking around anxiously, biting the inside of your lips constantly, even as you both sit down to wait for your gate to open for boarding. "Hey-" He reaches out to tug your lip from your teeth with his thumb, before he smiles in reassurance. "Okay?" He wonders, and you nod, though you're not looking at him. "Come here. You can hold onto me, by the way, if that helps you." Jungkook suggests, and you move your arms to wrap around one of his, body scooting closer to lean your face against his shoulder, sweater soft against your skin. He moves his arm around your shoulders to keep you closer, hand offering itself for you to hold instead, and you do so, fingers cold. "What's that scar?" He wonders, thumb running over a faint scar over the palm of your hand.

"A shoelace." You say, a little quietly.

"A shoelace?" He repeats, and you nod.

"Yeah." You confirm. "I had.. I was in the midst of changing the laces of.. Gregory's boots, because the dog had chewed them. But he got mad anyways, and pulled them out of my hand." You remember. "It happened really quickly, but I remember that it hurt badly." You chuckle. "It was an odd pain. Like my body couldn't decide whether or not I was burned or cut."

Jungkooks hand on your shoulder starts to move a little in a soothing motion, fingers circling around. It's his first confirmation that something did indeed happen, and he's almost convinced that what you just told him was probably not an isolated incident, but simply one of many that went down during your entire relationship.

"I didn't want him to get mad at Yogi. He already hated the poor dog enough." You sigh, closing your eyes as you settle against Jungkook's side. He enjoys this close proximity, the domestic feel of this moment, even though it's out in public and for everyone to see. He doesn't care.

"You can heal with me, you know?" He says, and you look up at him from where you're leaning against his body. "I can't promise you that.. our time spent will be all smooth sailing, but I can assure you that it will be nothing like what you've experienced." He hums towards you.

And you smile warmly, sighing. "Don't worry-" you giggle, closing your eyes.

"-It already is."

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

The hotel room is spacious, expensive looking, nothing like you've seen before.

Usually, you only really get to see things like these on vacation photos your friends show you- you yourself don't really travel, you technically don't take time off at all, rather always asking to have your off-days paid out instead if possible. You've got no reason to treat yourself with anything, be it time off or a full on vacation.

Your sense of self worth has shriveled up like rotten fruit over the years, now thrown out like the garbage it is.

Jungkook meanwhile clearly has a routine in him, as he walks through every room first to check if everything's okay, just to then place his bag somewhere near the bed, a big yawn escaping him as he opens the balcony door wide, letting the air of the seaside in. It's odd to see him dressed rather casual, simple but expensive sweater stretching over his broad back. His face still shows the clear stress he's accumulated, and it makes you wonder.

"Do you.. go on vacations often?" You wonder, and he shakes his head.

"No, usually I only fly out for business trips." He explains, watching you sit on the edge of the twin-sized bed. "I originally thought I should book two single beds, by the way. I just.. thought it might be more intimate like this." He tells you, leaning against the small balcony's edge outside, glass door open, as the wind blows through the curtains a little.

"It's okay like this." You nod, making him smile softly.

"Do you want to rest a little?" He asks, and you shrug, unsure. You only have three days- if you sleep now, it's probably annoying to him since he most likely planned something on this trip for you both to do. He at least comes across as someone who likes to have everything set out and structured- not like you, who dives in head first without any real plan. You don't want him to stay hidden inside the hotel room just because you're tired from the flight. "Hey." He asks, and you didn't even notice him squatting down in front of where you sit, his hands on your knees as he finds your eyes from where he's looking up at you. "Don't hesitate to speak your mind. If we want this to work, we need honestly, first and foremost." He encourages, and you nod.

"I'm tired- but I don't want to be boring." You worry.

"How would taking a nap be boring?" he chuckles. "I'm actually glad you're tired. I didn't want to come off as an old man who needs a break because he can't keep up." He laughs, standing up before he moves to lay down on the bed, patting the spot right next to him.

You lay down where he wordlessly suggested, taking in a deep breath while focusing your eyes on the collar of his sweater for a moment. It's when your gaze roams around that you notice something poke out on his wrist as he turns back around from removing his watch from the other arm. Your fingers curiously lift the fabric of the sleeve, making him chuckle quietly, before he moves to push the fabric up to his elbow, exposing different colors of ink underneath his skin.

What was Jungkook like when he was younger? Has he always been somewhat like this- or has he changed into this instead?

"Got them done in my early twenties too." He explains quietly. "Just.. lineart at first. Black and white." Jungkook remembers as he watches you trace some of the lines with your finger. "Then it got more. Over time, it looked a little messy- so I added color to it, this time actually going to a professional who specifies in forming sleeves." He tells you.

"Do you regret them?" You wonder. "Like.. your piercings and your tattoos?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"It's not like I regret them." He denies. "I still like the look of them. The aesthetic of it. It's just.." He sighs, inked hand turning around palm up, and you put your own on top of his, making him move to compare your hand sizes palm to palm. "..they don't feel like me anymore." He shrugs.

"Maybe because they aren't." You offer, now holding his hand with both of yours, your eyes on the blurred ink underneath the skin. "Maybe.. you changed. Even though you didn't want to."

He did. He knows that he did- but what he struggles with, is the question if he can even go back now. He wants to, but at this point, he feels like he's crossed that line by now, too far to step back and take a different path. Most people around him nowadays only now this Jungkook, not the one he used to be. If he just reverts back to who he once was, will he lose every friendship and connection he's made after he married?

Marriage. The moment he changed.

Love can make someone truly blind to a lot of things. He overlooked so many warning signs, pushed old friends and even family away just because they saw what he did not- or more so refused to. He's not spoken to his own parents in years, by now too ashamed to admit that he'd been wrong for the entirety of his past relationship, that his mother was right about her. What would she think about you?

She'd like you, he's very sure about that. His father would probably be a little suspicious of the age gab, and his brother would most likely tease the living daylights out of him, but he knows you'd fit right in. Do you have a good relationship with your parents? What would they think of him?

He wants to ask you, but the moment he becomes aware and snaps out of his thoughts, your eyes are already closed, breathing even. You're still holding onto him, and he realizes that he's never actually had a moment like this with Evelyn in the past, not even when they were just a regular couple, and definitely not after they got married. He feels.. free. No pressure on him, no obligations awaiting him, nothing needed or expected from him. You're simply sleeping, and yet the act itself makes his pride swell, because of your display of trust towards him.

He knows you've been hurt. He knows that he's been hurt-

And maybe, just maybe, together, you can finally begin heal.

Change once more, for a final time, into a happier version of yourselves.

[littlexdeaths]

ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

below you will find a collection of my eddie munson works.

this will be updated as things are posted!

all works are intended for audiences 18 and up.

minors do not interact!

ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴜʀʙꜱ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ:

✘ opposites attract

✘ scotty doesn’t know

✘ it’s a recipe for disaster

✘ the eras of us

✘ let’s go, don’t wait

ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ:

✘ whiplash - eddie x fem reader

a cute metalhead helps pull you out of a mosh pit at a metallica concert.

✘ i called her on the phone… - ghostface eddie x fem reader

you get a phone call from a masked man and things get a little heated between you.

✘ i get off - perv eddie x perv fem reader

your catch your neighbor watching you masturbate, but you like it a little too much.

✘ sympathy for the devil - demon kas x human eddie x fem hunter

a supernatural au, you finally come face to face with the demon you’ve been hunting for months. but his new vessel is a little too close for comfort.

✘ pushing up daisies - kas eddie x fem reader

visiting eddie’s vandalized grave, you get more than you initially bargained for.

✘ what are friends for? - best friend eddie x fem reader

movie night with you best friend + raging horny period hormones. what could go wrong?

✘ wild horses - eddie x fem reader

your boyfriend helps you get over your fear of rollercoasters… in a special way.

✘ as long as you’re mine - eddie x fem reader

you make the last moments you might spend with eddie count.

✘ borrow the moonlight - eddie x fem reader

a direct follow up to as long as you’re mine…

✘ she fuckin’ hates me - enemy eddie x fem reader

who doesn’t love a little hate fuck on your crushes bed… with his best friend?

✘ run, alice, run - mad hatter eddie x fem reader

you have more tricks than treats up your sleeve for your boyfriend…

© littlexdeaths all rights reserved!