#I think it's getting out of hand though I may need to slow down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neetily · 7 hours ago

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Slow Down — SDV (Alex)

— ✧ warnings: discussions of sexual trauma, hurt/comfort, fingering, consent checks — ✧ word count: 4,336 — ✧ genre: smut 18+ / hurt&comfort — ✧ synopsis: With you is when he feels most at home. Most vulnerable. An opportunity to relax and truly be himself, without the pressure that the mundanity of daily life typically brings.

— ✧ A/N: THIS ONE GOES OUT TO ALL MY SEXUALLY TRAUMATISED READERS 🤪🤪🤪!

but for real. it wasn't your fault.

please take the warnings above seriously. the whole premise of this piece is that i wanted alex to comfort me through some trauma, so as such, this piece is highly personalised and might not tailor 100% to your tastes. and that's okay! we all heal differently. i just refrenced my own life because i wanted to be indulgent, and it's okay if you'd rather the events in this fic went differently.

be safe and look after yourself, okay?

The weight of your body on top of him was always the most comforting thing in the world. Like a warm blanket, having you wrapped around his own so gently, so snug. It reminded him that there was good yet in the world— the simple act of trusting him to keep you warm, with his own arms wrapped lazily around your back to keep you pressed snugly against him, the top of your head well within kissing distance for him to dote upon with spatters of light pecks. By virtue of simply existing, you make him feel whole. Accepted, most of all. With you as his sole audience, he knows that he doesn’t have to preform. No approval seeking, or admiration to attain. To lay there with you on top is the only role he feels is worth playing.

With you is when he feels most at home. Most vulnerable. An opportunity to relax and truly be himself, without the pressure that the mundanity of daily life typically brings.

“I love you.” He whispers so easily, tumbling from his lips like good morning. Followed by a contended sigh as he rolls you over to the side, wanting more than anything to look upon your pretty face with utter devotion. Tracing the smile lines at your lips with his half lidded gaze, barely rubbing his nose against your own as a way to further communicate I love you. I love you. I love you. It’s a fact of the universe, I love you.

He mimics your smile when you whisper I love you too back at him, big cheesy beam stuck on his face at the simple thought that he is loved.

All he wants to do is make you happy, more than anything he’s ever wanted before. It’s his life purpose now, etched into his teeth as he bares his pearly whites to you, dripping from the way his fingertips lightly float up and down your exposed shoulder, whispering affection with each pass. He can think of nothing better than to comfort you, as you so often do with him. To provide you with a happy, healthy life. Something mundane and— God forbid— normal. It’s what you deserve, really. It’s what he’s strived for since day one of dating you.

And oh, how he hopes you give you just that and more. Especially tonight, in the bedroom, hidden under soft sheets together with your legs already tangled in his own… God does he hope to comfort you. In as many ways as you may want or need— he’s your perpetual lap dog.

But he thinks he knows a good place to start.

Hand dropping onto your thigh, he shuffles under the sheets to settle it on your hip. Immediately tugging on the waistband of your panties—his favourite bedtime wear—almost absentmindedly. As if loving you was an instinctual need, borne out of his most primitive mind. Downright homesick for you, despite resting right by your side. He can never get enough of you, not ever in a million years; a fact he feels as though he’s known forever, too. And somewhere, probably hidden within his bones, and muscles, and tendons, is the truth that he was made for loving you.

It’s second nature for him to squeeze at your waist, the intimacy of being known. Like how he naturally smooths his thumb over your hip just the way you like, and how he knows he’s done good given the resulting heavenly sigh you let out.

If he had a tail, it’d sure be wagging right about now.

“’M so lucky t’have you.” He sighs with you, pinching lightly at your hidden but bare skin, because he can. Because he loves you.

And he knows you’re gearing up for a lovingly cheeky reply when you smirk before responding, shifting your weight from under the covers in an attempt to grow closer to him. To test his limits, no doubt.

“You have me?” You quip, raising a brow at his innocent assumption. “Isn’t it the other way around?”

He can’t argue with you there, folding immediately upon hearing your knowing giggle, because he’s so beyond happy to have been caught by you. To be yours is a privilege, he thinks, and one he doesn’t take lightly. Unless it’s with his touch, of which he’s the most gentle, of course. Ghosting against your hip, trailing feather light down your thighs to leave goose bumps in his wake.

His love is reliable, like the sun. How it rises every morning with your pretty sleepy face, sunlight soft and warm to the touch. And you, the light of his life, turn him into the most devout sun worshiper. Toiling day in and out in an effort to express just how much he loves you, how he simple adores every inch of you, especially as he lets his hand lay flat against your waist with a playful little squeeze. A reminder that he’s there, and he can think of nothing better than to lay in bed with you all night long with giggles and crinkled sheets and—

Well, he can think of one more better thing, actually.

It’s only natural, as so many things are when it comes to you, for his hand to dip a little lower. His body shifting up the sheets so that he’s resting his head in his bent at the elbow palm, supporting his heavy weight as he dotes on you from above. Affection oozing from every fluttering of lashes, there’s no better sight than your sunny smile. “You’re so pretty tonight.” He mumbles, mostly to himself. But he’s happy that you caught onto it too— Reliable. Like the sun you are.

“Tonight?”

“Every night,” He corrects himself with a huff, though he nonetheless beams back at you when you match his adoring gaze. You never fail to have him feeling like a little kid again, giddy upon looking at his crush. “Always. Always and forever. Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Part of his heart sinks upon spouting the truth, because it doesn’t matter just how often he compliments and reassures and dotes and loves upon you, it never feels like he’s doing so enough. Especially when his clumsy lips spill out all the wrong words in all the wrong order, just for you to tease him about.

You’re not the only one who can tease, though. And he’s always been better when talking with his hands, hasn’t he?

Just a dip further, barely noticeable to be honest, and he’s playing with the front band of your panties more purposefully. Not so much pinging the fabric back against you, but rather, rubbing the fabric between his fingers as a means to flirt. It’s soft, he immediately finds himself musing. And then, but you’re softer, a deep yearning in his aching heart just begging for him to explore the thought further, instinctively brushing his knuckles against the squish of your tummy with loving affection. So light and gentle, like he was afraid of hurting you with all of his trained for strength. He needn’t do much else to communicate his intentions, not when they’re so clear from the way his hazy gaze settles from your pretty face, down to where he assumes your equally as pretty pussy must be hiding under the sheets, but he pauses nonetheless. Offers you a small little smile, an attempt to ease you into the transition he’d like to go tonight.

“Is this okay?” He questions you wholeheartedly, with as little pressure as possible. Just love. Simple affection.

“Mhm…” You mumble back at him, which certainly sounds like approval, but he’d like to seek more. His hand still idly pressed under the sheets, against your half bare body, waiting for the further confirmation his raised brow is seeking.

It’s a game he’s played often with you, so a second or two is all you really need to pick up on what he’s putting down. A shared connection; communication without communicating.

“I mean, yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. More than, really.”

“That’s better,” He praises you, once more returning to tugging mildly at your panties, staring down at you with that boyish grin you so easily force him to make. Like the pride that’s swelling in his heart over simply laying next to you is spilling onto his warm cheeks, never mind the sheer joy that comes from being given permission to touch you— God, that’s a dream come true every. Single. Time. “Jus’ lemme know if y’want me t’stop, and—”

You cut him off with an exaggerated sigh, and the faux annoyed eye roll you send his way only makes his smile grow larger. Cheeky girl, you wear confidence so well. Makes his cock all twitchy, actually. A bead of precum rising to the tip, solely from admiring you command him so easily, without words at all. And he’ll follow you every fucking time, all your whims and wishes, they’re all his privilege to obey.

“Jus’ gonna move down a bit, okay?” He alerts you, waiting for you to nod before committing to lowering his hand under your panties, an inaudible gasp escaping him at the feeling of the warm wet that greets his fingertips upon petting at your slit. Slowly, like a prayer, a lazy up and down from bottom to top, and then top to bottom, just to help ease you into the sensation of him touching you. Not that you aren’t aware of what that feels like, but because he likes to take his time with you. Really savor the moment with you, for both his and your own pleasure. Teasing, lightly edging his way further between your lips until he can almost dip a digit into your hole before he stops, and the cycle continues.

You sound so nice when he’s playing with you like this. All light and airy— pretending to be shy, coy little thing… You know just how much fun he has playing these games with you, don’t you? And you’re so eager, aren’t you? The quickening up and down of your chest, the cute little lip bite you greet him with behind peering lashes; you’re so fucking attractive to him without even really trying. Excited for what the night might bring, how he might look after you tonight. As he’d love to every night, mind you. Hand down your pants or not, that doesn’t matter to him. So long as he can make you smile all pretty like you are right now. Dopey and sunny, just the way he likes you.

Just the way his cock likes too, apparently. Bobbing against his worn out boxers, threatening to spill out from the plenty holes they adorn from just how much he utterly adores you and your cute little face that’s staring back at him so lovingly, so expectantly, and fuck if he doesn’t want more than anything to preform so well for you tonight. Playing his favourite role— your lover.

You feel nice, like always. Laying down beside him, looking up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. And his cock twitches with pride, among other things. Beyond thankful to be right here with you, curled up so late at night, with his cock rock hard and twitching against his tummy whilst his rough finger pads explore your pretty little pussy. You’re his gorgeous girl, and he intends on providing you with the princess treatment you properly deserve tonight.

“So wet…” He coos down at you, lovesick little grin tugging at his lips when you mewl so sweetly back up at him. And the way you sound has him absolutely fucking certain that he’ll never get over you. Not for as long as he lives, endeavored to love and support you forever more— including by taking care of your sexual needs, too. “Wanna make y’feel so good,” He practically whines with affection, letting his lashes flutter shut briefly as his fingertip finds home on your clit. Tender with his touch, treating you like glass from how he ghosts over your clit so smoothly. His hips soon following suit with his movements, itching to be buried inside of you already. And he’d be embarrassed about it if he wasn’t so routinely honest with you, words and body in mind. “I swear—” he laughs with you at his immature thrusts, ever eager to please, he muses to himself. “The things y’do to me… And yer jus’ lyin’ there!”

But it’s true. You could do literally nothing and he’d pop a boner. Sometimes, just the mere thought of your cute little face, or of your pretty smile, or fuck— even just the sound of your voice sometimes is enough to get him going. So whipped, in fact, that he’s quite happy to get off simply from getting you off, really. Letting his finger rub small circles against that puffy little clit he oh so adores, his throat suddenly drying at the sweet squelch of the movement. Something hidden under the sound of your meek whimpers and whines, but something he does his best to hone in on— because God, he loves hearing just how wet you are. Loves trailing slick up from your sopping hole and back to your clit, just to aid in how badly he wants to make you feel good.

And he doesn't mean to, honestly, but he gets a little too lost in the moment. Enjoys himself a little too much when it comes to getting you off, the finger he has pressed nicely against your clit instinctively drags down as he leans in for a brief kiss, his chest tight with the amount of lust and love he has pooling in his tummy, but he doesn’t mean to move so fast. Unaware of his mistake until his lips press hungrily against your own, and he’s met with… Well, what feels like confusion. Not a press back against him, but a barely there recoil. A wash of grey overtakes him, and he pulls back as fast as he can to assess the situation.

His finger rests idle against your hole, slightly dipped in before being met with refusal. And your lips, pressed into a thin tight line, only communicate the same. Time seems to stop for a moment or two, and all he can do is dumbly stare back at you, until you make the smallest little whimper and he finally manages to catch up to your concern.

Immediately, he softens. In both cock and gaze. And he instantly retracts his finger from your cunt, even going so far as to pull his hand out from your underwear completely.

“Fuck, babe… I’m so sorry, I—“ He fumbles, tone panicked and heart just bursting with apologies left muddled and tangled together. He’s not so good with words, but he hopes that his furrowed brows and the distance he places between himself and you communicates enough. Your joy is his joy, just as much as your pain is his pain, and he has to fight with himself not to touch you in response to your absent gaze. To not accidentally make things worse for you— though he wants to hug you so tight as soon as possible. Naturally, in his very bones, he wants to pull you closer and kiss you all better. Wrap you up in his big strong arms for protection— from him? “I should’ave asked, ‘m sorry— A-Are y’okay?”

There’s brief silence between when he questions your wellbeing to when you answer, and he worries he’s done more wrong. But he remains quiet— he doesn’t want to overwhelm you when something has clearly gone awry. His feelings come second rate right now, he needs you to understand.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” You eventually deadpan, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard someone more unfine than you are right now.

“I don’t think y’are, babe…” He seeks out more reassurance, hovering a hand above the sheets and hip. “Is it okay if I touch you? Like this, I mean.” He nods towards his hand, hoping to let you know that you can say no. He’d never force anything upon you— God, he hates the fucking thought.

Almost as much as he hates the thought of accidentally harming you. In any way, shape, or form; guilt seeping into his expression, and he regards you with complete acknowledgment.

It’s as though you’re no longer present, given how long it takes you to eventually nod, and his palm squeezes reassuringly at your covered hip. “Sorry, I… I dunno what happened, I just…” The way you trail off into nothing with your words, staring out at nothing in particular despite him being right beside you, breaks his fast paced big heart. He wants to comfort you so bad, needs to make you smile again, but only on your own terms. He wouldn’t force even that upon you, no matter how hard the instinct itches. “Sorry.” You finally look at him, and his heart only breaks some more at the cracked tone of your voice.

He hushes you gently, like a mother might when consoling a child. Not as a means to patronize you, but to comfort. I’ve got you, I’m here for you, and I love you. “It’s okay, you can think about it if y’want.” He offers you, his nerves getting the better of him as he continues to squeeze and tug at your waist. “But I don’t feel comfortable continuing t’night.”

“Yeah, um… Gimmie a minute.”

And God, the way you sound. So distant and unsure, like trapped under a bubble of obscurity. He could cry if he didn’t feel the need to be stronger for you right now.

He can’t help but to feel as though he’s failed you somehow, struggling to swallow the lump of upset that’s caught in his throat as his breath hitches, uncertain as to how to best proceed. Deep down in the sickly pit of his stomach, he hopes you know that he meant you no harm. And perhaps the anxiety choking his mind isn’t serving him very well, given that your eyes beg for him to remain seated when he attempts to move back to give you some more space. And all he can think is: Thank God, thank the Gods that he knows you well enough by now, inside and out, to pick up on your unspoken cues. Seemingly far better than you can yourself— or perhaps more willingly is the correct wording?

You asked for a minute, so he supposes he should give you that at least. At least. Several, in fact, until you feel more comfortable opening up. He’s in no rush, simply staring down at the sheets, idly rubbing soothing circles against your hip. And to be honest with you, he’d stay like this all night if you wanted him to. Unmoving, stable in his support of you.

But it seems as though you’ve sorted through your thoughts enough to bless him with some reprieve.

“I wanted to,” You start, and it feels as though his throat is closing some more at just how small you sound. Trigger fingers pleading to wrap you up in a tight, comforting hug. But he doesn’t want to push you so far— listening is enough. “I still want to… Continue, I mean.”

“I know, but—” shit, he didn’t mean to interrupt. Peering down at your little pout, he wonders if you can hear how scared his heart is. “Sorry, uh… Please continue, I’ll shut up now.”

You shuffle closer, shifting under the sheets to bury your head against his chest, and he’s unable to fight his instincts this time. Immediately his arms wrap around you as a means to protect, to shield and comfort you from the big bad in the room.

He really hopes it isn’t him.

“It felt good, really! But then… God, I don’t know how to explain it… I just, I couldn’t relax. Like, despite wanting you to keep going, I— I think I got scared?”

“Oh, my baby…” He can’t help but coo down at you, sniffing apprehensively in the wake of your revelation. “’M’so sorry… I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just—”

“No, no,” You rush to cut him off, and he loves you so fucking dearly, of course he gives you the floor with a tight squeeze of his arms wrapped around your shoulders. “It wasn’t you that scared me, promise. I promise, Alex, it wasn’t you…”

The panic in your voice, as if you had done something wrong, and not the fact that sometimes your brain isn’t so kind to you, and how badly he wants to pick out all the bad, one by one, until there’s nothing left but good to fuel you, and how he can feel you slightly shake with residual fear, even in his protective arms, and how he wishes so much to hurt and harm those who even dared to make you feel this way, and how he wants to wrap you up forever and ever so that no more harm can come to you, and—

“It wasn’t you.” You drag him out of his thoughts. And there’s that crack in your words, the sliver of tears the line your lash line— he can feel them wet his bare chest.

Until now, he didn’t know that his heart could physically ache with how much he feels for you.

“I know,” he swallows his own tears, hushing them away. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t mean to get scared,” You frantically attempt to soothe the assumed hurt, and he doesn’t know how to appropriately communicate with you just how much the hurt has never stemmed from you setting boundaries. “I wanted it, I promise.” The fawning. He hates the fawning. Not you, but what those people made you feel forced to do.

“It’s not your fault.” He tries again, sterner, this time.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Baby,” He sighs adoringly. “It’s not your fault,” He hums down at you, gently rocking you in his iron grip because it’s all he feels he can do for you right now. I want you to be okay, that’s all. “’M proud of you actually, for speaking up. That must have taken a lot out of you.” He continues to soothe, making sure his touch remains soft, in spite of how hard he grips onto you. Safety, no threat. You can leave at any point, and he’d thank you for it.

You turn further into him, and he takes it as an invitation to keep holding on. Face squished against his chest, wet with your fear. “But,” you sob, and he’s patient. He waits for you to cry some more before speaking. “But I didn’t, I was too scared to do even that, and—”

He lovingly hushes you, pressing a kiss to the top of your bed head of hair. “You’re talking now, that’s all that matters I think.”

This, at least, soothes you enjoy to simply sob. Right against him, seeking comfort from him despite your past and your issues, and he’s never felt so proud of you before— truly! To have the strength to speak up, and to seek help, even if it took some little pushing. You got there. You managed to work up the courage. You were able to articulate your boundaries for him to respect. You’re so strong, baby. Much stronger than he’ll ever be, he thinks to himself.

Ah, but he wishes you needn’t have to be so strong…

If he could, he’d make sure you never had to worry again. If only he knew you a few years ago, God, he’s sick with it, honestly. With the want to protect you from the past, sorries spilling from his fingertips as the rake lightly down your back, providing shivers of promise. I wish I could have helped, so that you may not need help now. He loves you, almost as if he were trying to make up for lost time.

You’re here now, he reminds himself. Safe in bed with him, with no expectations surrounding you. Surely, that’s what matters most.

“I love you.” He whispers above your head. Intended solely to soothe his own aching, bleeding heart, but he’s happy to hear you repeat it back to him through sniffles and coughs.

And hidden behind his words is: I’d do anything for you. Yes, even that.

His eyes close with contentedness as you start to calm down in his arms, body relaxing in his hold enough for him, too, to loosen his grip. See, you’re in control, always. He’s happy to simply follow suit.

“Every part of you, I mean,” he yawns with the night, though he’s more than determined to stay awake for as long as you may need. Whatever you require, he loves you like a dog. “Even this. Especially this,” his body buries deeper into the sheets with you in tow, tugged under to get comfortable together for the (hopefully) long night. You deserve a good rest. “Thank you fr’trustin’ me.”

So beyond enamored with you, even nights like these are a genuine pleasure to endure with you. So long as he has you, and you’re willing to allow him to help, he’ll be there. Happily. Lovingly. You take a moment to reply, inhaling and exhaling heavily as if to calm your nerves. And he suddenly thinks to himself— he’s so lucky.

“I’m sorry, Alex… I really wanted to continue.”

Sometimes, it helps to say the same thing over and over again, right? Like repeating yourself slowly puts the puzzle together, piece by piece, per each repetition. It’s okay, he doesn’t mind reassuring you to the ends of the Earth and time itself if he has to.

But as per his life mission statement: “Your comfort is the most important thing to me. There’ll be other nights. Jus’ wanna cuddle t’night, s’at okay?”

“… Please.” You nod, but he can hear the smile in your words, too.

#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv alex smut #stardew valley alex smut #sdv alex x farmer #sdv alex x reader #stardew valley alex x reader #stardew valley alex x farmer

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ceiling-karasu · 1 year ago

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Update on the future AUs I'm writing. Since I am only a few chapters away from finishing Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket, I was thinking this was the right time.

I am glad other people have been enjoying it!

AU Based on Episode 32: The way it ended still angers me.

The next story will focus on Geumsaegi after the cliffhanger in Episode 32. Season two does mention that while Dr. Huinjogjebi is in charge, Commander Jogjebi's brother is gathering a lot of support to get rid of him and take over the army himself, so this is a viable plotline close to canon I would think. Plus Dr. Huinjogjebi seems like he would be fun to write.

I want to have a civil war power struggle within many groups of the surviving weasel army (the rebels of mount rock, wolfspider cave, surviving Tokgasi, Mulmangcho, ect), with Geumsaegi being one of the prizes. As the former guard commander/special envoy/special aide, he knows a massive amount of the old codes, intel, supply cache locations, and other information, so anyone who convinces him to join gets most of the power. He can use the disorder to his advantage.

I have not seen the supposed episodes 33 and 34, nor have I seen the rumored AU stories about them from people who claimed they did see it. However, as I have said in a previous post long ago, this series tended to end episodes on cliffhangers showing the worst possible situation, only to fix them in favor of Flower Hill in the first few minutes of the next episode. So, I plan to go that route in the style of the show.

I'll finish this one before getting to any others.

White Ermine Nurse AU: Treading into OCs, but still using canon characters and ideas

This would be a shorter story. A white ermine nurse (the same one that briefly appeared in the current story? Who knows? Certainly not me yet) from Flower Hill visiting relatives outside of Flower Hill gets conscripted by the weasel army because they are a nurse, and she has to play along. She recognizes Geumsaegi years later, and tries to covertly ask for help, but comes off like the coroner/medical examiner lady in MIB, leading everyone to think she has romantic feelings for Geumsaegi when she does not, and neither does he. Eventually she witnesses the downfall of the weasel army.

I still have to think of a name, but it will probably follow Flower Hill naming conventions so Snowy = Nunsong or Frost =Seoli. The nurses and female mice in the show are forced to act flirtatiously to the males, so having a nurse who gets the reputation as an ice queen seems kind of fun.

Hyena Army AU: Still treading into OCs, and the Hedgehog Waitress and Rabbit Guide will be instrumental along with Geumsaegi and the Commanders in Cherry Valley

Another short story, The Wolf Unit brings in a unit of Hyenas to help crush Flower Hill. These hyenas are huge, larger than wolves, and extremely ferocious. The hyena village has actually been very close friends with Flower Hill for generations, but the weasel army has taken their families hostage to force them to fight for them, and were promised they would not have to fight their traditional allies. Commander Seungnyangi doesn't know that.

They aren't sure if they should honor historical edicts and forgo their families by destroying the weasel army, or try and fight Flower Hill and break the pacts. Maybe this includes an alternate episode 32 AU, where one of the hyenas working as a prison warden/interrogator is given the unconscious trio and has to make the final decision.

The concept of a flag flown upside down is a distress signal will be an important plot line or maybe even a joke.

Honestly I could put the white ermine nurse and the hyena unit into the Geumsaegi focused AU as some kind of intertwining story, but I don't know yet. It could be great for the plot, but I also feel like I would prefer keeping close to canon on that one.

The Kidnapped Research Scientists AU: This one will require a lot of work into studying Research Scientists and connecting it with what the Weasel Army would want exactly.

I've mentioned this one in another post. A group of scientists and young civilians from Flower Hill get kidnapped while everyone is distracted with Fowl Village, and get slowly convinced to work for the Weasel Army with the idea that they aren't directly hurting Flower Hill, and their work will also help Flower Hill in the long run. Half serious, half humor.

There is a plotline in the beach episode where the Weasel Army discusses kidnapping other scientists, so that can work with canon as well. RIP the disguise artist, but sabotage does not work when a random like Mulmangcho can casually create a better disguise than what you provide.

I feel like the famous Skippy's List might show up here, although with it being used by the hostages to undermine the Weasel Army from within. I'm just going to have some fun with it until I get Geumsaegi into the mix as coming for an inspection, along with interactions of other canon characters from both sides.

Cage of Eden AU: The Fun One

Years ago I really liked an old story called Cage of Eden, so I was thrilled that they recently produced an ending. I don't think one needs to actually read that series to read the AU though.

Probably going to be a mix of a lot of canon characters and OC characters here. Honestly I kind of want an excuse to write more Dr. Huinjogjebi, because again, he seems like he would be fun to work with and write about. Also the sturgeons.

A group of Weasel Army and a group of Flower Hill go to peace talks in a third, neutral, country, and go back on a jumbo jet filled with supposed civilians. Something mysterious happens, and the plane crashes on a suspiciously large island and everyone gets separated. Mystery animals are still non sentient on the island.

Except instead of the ending to Cage of Eden, more like The Forest where the plane was deliberately brought down, but not like the ending of The Forest either. I don't like mixing alien god time travel magic relic stuff into other fandoms that don't have it, but there are several plausible ways in the Squirrel and Hedgehog universe to solve the ending and escape.

Ideas being:

the Weasel Army smuggled a group of solar powered Sturgeon robots onboard, which is not hard since they can fold up like briefcases in the show

The Weasel Army also smuggled weapons bio-coded to weasels and mice onto the plane

Flower Hill squirrel soldier who went to a foreign university accidentally legally married a mouse during a drama club performance, but they both got drafted when they went back to Flower Hill to explain the situation and have yet to explain. This is revealed by a former classmate who also happens to be there.

Someone, possibly Bamsaegi, is scouting the area around the plane crash using a hanglider, only to get caught up in a strange wind that whips him all the way to the residential area, where he is injured enough to have to stay and investigate all the skeletons and apparent failed evacuations.

Neither Flower Hill nor the Weasel Army are going to put up with Nishikiori's antics. I'm seeing him as a White-Naped crane.

Going off of the discussion on the international community, and laws discussed in 'Pangulggot Reports,' I can come to the idea that medics are not supposed to fight the enemy unless the enemy is non sentient and/or actively trying to kill them. Using this logic, the weasel army captures a Flower Hill field medic/surgeon with the idea that medics are extremely important to have in such a situation, who goes with them since there are creatures in the woods, they can't find anyone from their squad, and the weasel's weapons are bio-coded, and they can also glean important information. The medic become the team dad/mom/voice of reason while shenanigans happen.

Instead of the Mina plotline, a third party spy group disguises themselves as members of Flower Hill. Their intentions are mysterious, even to me because I have not yet decided if they are hostile or not.

Mainly going to follow the plot of Cage of Eden, I think, but undergone with more soldiers and survivalists than high school kids.

Mistaken Identity Hedgehog AU: The one Least Likely to be written at all, since there would be few if any canon characters

A hedgehog living in some kind of integrating Ainu style village in another small country near Flower Hill. Traditionally they speak in a kind of mountain dialect/mountain language that is shared within a few villages, but the new village leader forbids it and wants everyone to speak the common tongue. Maybe the hedgehog does not have a given name other than the identifier Goseumdochi yet since children are raised communally. Apparently, not allowing girls to have given names was actually a thing in some Korean and Chinese cultures.

Their area gets destroyed in the crossfire between Flower Hill and the Weasel Army, and when the village tries to escape, Flower Hill mistakes them for a group trying to escape conscription, and since they cannot give names, and are forced into the army to train. Eventually, after several years, and most of that village dying. the lone hedgehog breaks down and says some things at a gathering. A nearby military investigator recognizes a faint accent and starts a military investigation, whereupon they realize they have no records of these hedgehogs. And if the story is true, that's an international incident where they are at fault, so they send them to some allied islands/coastal country to hold them while they figure it out.

I was reading the plot of Barakamon (came across my dash) and remembering the old series Useless Ponko while thinking of this, so peaceful village life, except instead of calligraphy it will be the hedgehog learning that not everything has to be bad, and they are not some sort of representation of the child from Omelas. Except these islanders speak a similar dialect/language to the mountain people, so they start learning that to fit in.

Planning some romance and eventual marriage with the locals, and harassing officials from the mainland who want everyone to have special IDs but don't even speak the local language. So maybe a bit of a dark story going into humor later on.

Unfortunately, some other people have posted ideas about suspected spies being arrested, as well as the idea of 'mountain languages' that military investigators do not like, so I may have to alter or drop that idea.

However, this idea for a plot originally came from when I watched the new Murder on the Orient Express and then played TMOSTH right after. It consisted of a drunk Flower Hill hedgehog despairing over being accidentally conscripted years ago to the bartender, and the story making it back to everyone on the train, becoming a key part of the investigation. Was not sure why a group of Flower Hill soldiers are on this train.

In this version, I had two ideas. She was either a laboratory scientist, and willingly sneaks off with a group of soldiers from the weasel army who would stand to gain a life changing amount of reward money for acquiring a scientist like that, or joins an idol/performance group/the private investigator Poirot character of some kind where they have to wear a disguise. Adventures happen while avoiding secret scouts and investigative agents from Flower Hill looking for deserters and weasel army looking for soldiers.

Random Short Stories Collection: Small stories, shorter than the ermine and hyenas

I have some one shot ideas. Very short stories, maybe rewrites of other chapters where things go differently but not enough to change the plot.

Whatever loose ends I miss in Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket, because wow do I have quite a bit to clean up

Earlier or different rescue in Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket

More fluff scenes

Actual Scooby-Doo-esque shenanigans with Commander Jogjebi in the background

A tufted ground squirrel scientist visits Flower Hill with a hyena bodyguard. Turns out the roles are the opposite

'Nope' parody, but I don't know if I want it to be a Weasel Army weapon or not

Jinro the Jindo dog is probably going to drift in and out of stories, making delicious food and then get everyone drunk on his special soju so he can escape being conscripted as a cook.

Names for non canon characters:

I'm just having fun with these AUs. I'll think up some names as I go along, although I will probably have to hunt down other AUs and old fanfictions (there's years old stories on here including Hanahaki fics) from across the internet to look for OC names, because I don't want to use a name someone else has already used. Unless it fits really really well and is generic enough.

Really kind of liking the idea of naming characters after trees and flowers, but I'll have to rewatch the show again to make sure I fully understand Flower Hill naming conventions. Also I think I love the name Nunsong (or Nunsongi) from a visual perspective.

#squirrel and hedgehog #lily bell in the thorn thicket #I got a taste of writing and decided I liked it #I think it's getting out of hand though I may need to slow down #yeah the other AUs after the episode 32 AU are going to be pretty self indulgent but still close to canon as I can make it #except maybe the mistaken identity AU #I like writing close to canon it is fun for some reason #sah #screaming into the void #cage of eden #no sir no relic magic here just the improbable science that fascinates and annoys Dr. Huiniogiebi #love me some sturgeons I want to study them #If an idea comes from a book or movie I will mention it in the comments of the chapter #otherwise it is mostly stuff I just think up at random and see if I can integrate #wow this is long sorry about that

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chiwhorei · 3 months ago

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𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘴 ₊˚⊹♡

Pairing: ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ, sʏʟᴜs, ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ, xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ, ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tags: shortform, drabble, daddy kink et al, nasty back-shots, men begging, nothing too crazy but all smut. MDNI I swear to GOD dfwm

Notes: The LaDS and their cocks, that’s all this is. I can’t stop thinking about them, I’m lost in orbit. I may never make it back. —Xoxo, Dollie

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ has a thick cock you can barely fit your lips around and makes your jaw ache. It’s a feeling you’re seemingly addicted to, so he’s contented to let you suckle on the tip with tears in your eyes for as long as you need. Zayne is observant, acutely aware of when your eyes get glassy and your bottom lip trembles ever so slightly. He knows just what you need. He’s a not-so-secret freak with iron-clad composure so he’ll keep you down there for hours humping his leg and blowing bubbles on his tip. Your face and chin are shiny with spit and tears, pupils blown fat as saucers when two fingers lift your head to meet his even and positively adoring gaze. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, tapping twice before you suck it into your mouth obediently.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “Such a pretty girl. Daddy’s pretty cock whore, so desperate for anything I give you.”

sʏʟᴜs has a long, curved cock that curls right into your g-spot, veins pulsing prominently on either side that you can feel distinctly. And even though it hurts going in every time, once you’re stretched around it you physically can’t stop yourself from cumming on it repeatedly and milking him dry. He can’t help wrapping his long, lithe fingers around your throat, fingertips pressing in just enough to remind you what’ll happen if you stop your desperate bouncing. Your legs ache, your head is swimming, but you continue with a sloppy wet rhythm. Tears prick at your eyes for Sylus to thumb away, gentle for only a beat before something sinister curls around his lips. You yelp at the mean pinch to your clit, your final warning.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “We’ve barely just begun, sweetheart. I thought you were my big girl? That’s it, baby, cum around it again”

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ has such a stupidly big cock —coke can thick and slaps his belly button— that he’s worried might kill you one of these days, especially with how fucking insistent you are that he gives it all to you at once. He takes hours working you open before he’ll even unzip his pants, shaking his head at the way you plead against your own best interests. You’re squirting against his chest and abdomen once he pulls your ass up and gives you what you say you want so bad. Your pussy stretches around his almost-impossible shaft and leaves a creamy ring around the base. Caleb swears he feels a vein in his temple burst when you’re reaching back to slow the abuse of his hips. You complain that he babies you, then you cry that it’s too much? With both of your wrists in one hand and your jaw in the other, he’ll teach you a lesson in follow through.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “Mmf- Messy-plap-Fucking-plap-Brat. Can’t make up your mind, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve always known what’s best for you.”

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ has a disastrously sensitive cock. Even through his boxers, his sweats and your leggings, he can feel how warm your little slit is. Each haughty rut of your crotch against his is making the air around him feel thicker and harder to swallow. A wet patch is forming on the tent in his lap, precum and the leaking of your pussy. Xavier feels dizzy, his twitching dick so painfully hard that your movements border on torture. He needs some kind of relief, but you just look so perfect grinding down on him like this. He can’t stop you now, when you’re whispering how close you are into the shell of his ear. Your back arches sharply, cunt pulsing against his shaft until he’s shooting into his pants- but he doesn’t mind. He’ll just flip you over and lick another orgasm out of your poor pussy until you’re screaming yourself hoarse and he’s ready to go again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “God, baby, you made such a mess of me. No, no, no— we’re not stopping until I return the favor.”

ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ has the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen. It’s perfect in every way, like it was made just for you. Long and just a bit thicker at the base, with a deep pink tip that always blushes under your awestruck stare. Your favorite place to kiss and nuzzle is the twin freckles on the underside of his shaft. You love curling up in between Rafayel’s legs on the floor while he’s sat spread on the couch. You kiss every inch of soft, delicate skin- covering his balls with your nipping and sucking first, then up his length and across his perfectly trimmed pubes. Rafayel, never one to deny you— even at the cost of his own sanity— might just pass out from the lack of blood in his brain. The only thing you love more than slathering spit and sticky lipgloss all over him, is the way he moans for more. So fucking pretty, so perfect.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “Ah- ah- FUCK, you’re going to be the death of me, I need you so- ah- I need you so bad.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

❥ ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2025©️ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.

#lads smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads rafayel #lads caleb #lads zayne #lads xavier #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader

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3rachaslut · 8 days ago

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SKZ and the type of sex they give you + links - (hyung line)

SMUT !! MINORS DNI

cw: degradation and pet names. choking and rough sex? I think that’s it sorry i missed any

(not proofread, sorry for any mistakes)

MAKNAE LINE

chan

personally, I think chan is such a romantic love but if you ever asked him to be rough with you one night, he would take that opportunity to give you the horniest night of your life. like, the way he would slap your clit until you’re nothing but a whimpering mess as he begins to work you up. you’d be spread for him with your legs shaking every time he spanks your pussy.

“good little slut”

your voice would be so strained at the way he wraps his hand around your throat as he slides his cock all the way inside you as you’re whimpering his name and your eyes are rolling back. he lives for feeling how you get wetter around his cock every time he thrusts into you, never slowing down no matter how loud you moan.

“this is what you wanted baby? hmm?”

lee know

it’s very rare that lee know is ever gentle with you. as soft as sweet as he may be outside the bedroom, inside is another story. the way he speaks to you is so dirty as you are soon dripping for him. he always wants both your holes filled, never letting one of them left out because he is so so ‘generous’. omg I swear this man is obsessed with your butt.

“can’t leave her out can we doll?”

then after you’ve begged him for so long for his dick, he finally gives you what you need. the way he makes you ride him whilst he fingers your asshole whilst you’re blabbering nonsense on top of him gets him horny like nothing else does. he loves making you feel so full and horny that even forming a sentence is nearly impossible.

“that’s it baby, no thoughts in your head, just go all dumb on my cock for me there you go”

changbin

i feel like changbin has two ways of loving on you. tired after work or hungry for you. no in between. you love to treat changbin so much though that on days where he’s too tired, you get under the desk as he’s playing video games so you can suck him off after a long day

“oh my god baby, you really know how to spoil me”

and on the days when he’s not too tired, you best believe he wants to ravish you. the way he makes you get on top whilst he fucks into you because your legs have gone jelly from riding him. also I personally think this is his favourite position of all because he just gets to see all of his favourite girl.

“so fucking beautiful baby.. fuck-“

Hyunjin

same as chan, I think he’s such a sweet lover but is so dominant in the bedroom when you both want him to be. the way he devours your pussy to get you going whilst you write under him from the overwhelming stimulation, begging him for more and more. he would definitely make you come first before even getting his cock out.

“you look so pretty when you cum for me baby”

after eating your pussy, he is always rock fucking hard for you and more than ready to feel you around him. the way he would fuck you into the pillow so rough after being a brat and begging him over and over for him to just fuck you. the smirk that is plastered over his face when you cum around his cock is so sly as well I can’t get that look out of my head omg.

“thereee you go baby. that feel good? you’re making a mess all over my cock”

a/n: I kinda loved writing these ngl. I’ve never done anything like this before and I love to try something new so I hope you like it. I’m debating also doing a maknae line so lmk if you would be interested 👀

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x y/n #straykids imagines #skz oneshots #stray kids imagines #skz hard hours #bang chan smut #leeknow smut #changbin smut #hyunjin smut

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strwberri-milk · 29 days ago

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Can you do a longer piece focused on sylus and how he would talk a virgin mc through her first time having sex at all, not just with him. Sexy reassurance and hand holding please!

hihi!! you can also look here for a shorter little blurb w him!! i also know you mentioned wanting something w nervous mc/reader but lowk to me its implied and thats why hes taking his time and being so thorough but idk if other people will catch that so this is me telling you that hes being this nice and slow bc youre nervous lmao

Sylus is very kind and takes things very slow. He doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable and would absolutely hate to do anything to hurt you so even if you weren't a virgin he'd take things very slowly regardless. His hands run over your body over and over, almost as though committing the way you feel under his palms to memory. He chuckles lowly as he feels your breath catching with each pass of his hands. He practically worships you, his eyes doing all the talking as he looks down at you adoringly.

He wouldn't even take off your clothes until you're basically begging him to, wanting to push you to that edge of desperation to make sure you are absolutely ready for everything that's going to come next. He tells you what he wants to do to you but not explicitly - he just hints at it, telling you that he can't want to hear your moans or see how big of a mess he can make of you. His eyes watch your every move, taking note of what sounds are elicited by what actions to make sure he can do it again, and again, and again.

When he does strip you down the act is reverential. He trails kisses down your chest all the way up to your thighs, fingers running up and down along your heated sex. He loves the way you sound when his fingers tease you but he also knows he wants to be inside of you desperately, trying to balance between the feral need to finally have you and keeping your comfort.

He'll get you to spill over his fingers first, a hand reaching to find one of yours as he pins it over your head. You think that the feeling of his hand moving against you is too much but all thought is knocked out of your head the second he starts kissing you stupid. His lips move against yours in a way that matches how his hand is moving, the erotic feeling making that pool of desire in your gut spill over. You know he can tell it's coming judging by the way his hand tightens over yours, pressing it more insistently into the bed as you melt all over him.

When you finish cumming he'll slowly slide inside of you after the aftershocks, your pleasure forcibly drawn out as he takes his sweet time sliding home. He knows his size is intimidating and refuses to go all in at once, no matter how you may be trying to convince him that you can handle it. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt you but he makes you feel so perfectly full, hitting spots you never knew you needed as you make a mess under your joined bodies.

For your first time he's going constantly whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he has nothing but good things to say to you. He praises you for taking him so well and for being so obedient, tongue sweet and saccharine as he makes you feel pleasure you never thought you could before.

His hips move slowly against your body, pace steady as he lets you adjust to his length. Your body squeezes tightly against the intrusion and it's all he can do to not just hold the backs of your thighs and fuck you mindlessly. He wants to make you dumb on his cock but instead just decides to make your orgasm a slow climb to the peak.

You can reach down and try to stimulate yourself but he'll just grab your free hand and pin it over your head with the other one. He'll start grinding into you slowly, not really fucking you until your breathing picks up and you start getting closer. When you start keening and begging for more he'll pick up from his slow, deep pace to a steady pace against your body, wet noises rhythmic as you listen to the depravity.

You won't realise you're cumming until you are, his patience making your mind melt as you moan and sigh his name. Similarly to the entire act, he'll be whispering soft praises into your ear, urging you to cum all over his cock and show him just how much you love it. You can't help but whimper and moan pathetically, Sylus loving every minute of it.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #sylus smut #lads smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut

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rafecameronssl4t · 10 months ago

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Happy house || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: just a cute fic of the Cameron family being one big happy family and infatuated with you and Rafe’s daughter ��

Warnings: breastfeeding (?) apart from that this is all fluff

Word count: 1388

A/n: this was so cute to write 🥹🥹 loved writing the fact that the Cameron family is tight-knit and love one another

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider be @yoonitos

“Got everything?” Rafe glanced back at you, his hands full with bags laden with mostly Mabel’s things. You hummed contentedly, one hand gently adjusting the bucket hat on Mabel’s head while her plushy little hands playfully reached for your face, her giggles filling the air.

“We’re not late are we?” You called out as the two of you boarded the Cameron’s luxurious yacht. “Hmm? Not really, they can wait,” Rafe grinned, glancing around as you shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “They’re here! They’re here!” Wheezie’s voice echoed excitedly from above deck, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps rushing towards you.

You shared an amused glance with Rafe as he shook his head affectionately. “Wheezie, slow down!” Sarah’s voice called out in a mixture of exasperation and amusement, just before Wheezie came bounding around the corner, closely followed by Sarah, Rose, and Ward.

“Hey!” You greeted them warmly, arms open for hugs all around. Wheezie and Ward gravitated towards you and Mabel, their faces lighting up at the sight of the youngest Cameron family member.

Wheezie squealed, bouncing up and down in excitement as she gently pinched Mabel’s cheek. “Hey, easy there,” Rafe interjected firmly, earning a glare from his younger sister, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay, Rafe, she’s being gentle,” you reassured him with an affectionate smile, his protective nature endearing as always. “Wanna take her, dad?” you offered to Ward, who nodded eagerly. “May I?” he asked softly, reaching out to cradle Mabel in his arms.

“Of course you can, she’s your granddaughter,” you chuckled, leaning in closer as Mabel reached out to Ward, her little arms outstretched in anticipation. You moved closer to Rafe’s side, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice low with admiration as he whispered, “They all look so happy.”

Jesus, Sarah. Stop shoving your phone in her face,” Rafe groaned, his tone edged with mild annoyance as he watched Sarah snap yet another 0.5 photo of Mabel. You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the sight, knowing that it was always Sarah’s candid photos of Mabel that Rafe eventually looked back on with a chuckle.

“Send them to me,” you mouthed to Sarah, who winked in response, both of you giggling like schoolgirls. “What are you giggling about, hmm?” Rafe asked, looking down at you with a smile, his irritation quickly fading. “Nothing, nothing,” you said, your smile widening. “Just excited to get to the island and have lunch together as a family again.”

Rafe’s smile softened, appreciating how much you valued these family moments. Before he could say more, Rose chimed in, glancing at her watch. “Okay, I think we should move this upstairs, don’t you think?” she suggested. Everyone agreed, and the group began making their way up to the spacious upper deck. The Bahamas sun was bright overhead, casting a warm glow over the yacht.

“You know, if you ever need a babysitter, I’m right here,” Wheezie offered, linking her arm through yours as you ascended the stairs. She batted her eyelashes playfully, making you giggle at her antics. Rafe, close behind, scoffed. “Yeah, as if I’m letting you look after my kid by yourself.”

Wheezie rolled her eyes dramatically. “And why not?” Rafe gave her an incredulous look. “Remember the time you almost burnt down the house because you wanted to heat up chicken nuggets in the microwave?” Wheezie huffs, “That’s not fair!” She protests, her cheeks flushing. “I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to put metal in the microwave!”

Your jaw dropped in mock horror as you imagined the scene. “Exactly,” Rafe said, patting Wheezie’s head with a teasing smile. “You’re not looking after Mabel by yourself. End of story.” He walked away, leaving Wheezie pouting with her arms folded. You squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Maybe you can help out when I’m around,” you suggested, trying to lift her spirits. Wheezie perked up a bit, her eyes brightening at the idea. “Deal!” she said, grinning.

“Guys! You have to tan with me, the UV rays are insane right now!” Sarah called out from one of the outdoor loungers, her phone in hand as she checked the weather app. “I’ll be right there!” you shouted back, finishing up changing Mabel’s clothes. You handed her to Rose and Ward, who eagerly took over entertaining their granddaughter with coos and smiles.

Rafe trailed behind you, intrigued by the idea of getting some sun. He settled next to you on the lounger, stretching out and letting the warmth of the sun wash over him.“How are your boobs not saggy?” Sarah suddenly blurted out as she watches you tie up your hair, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Sarah!” Rafe hissed, shooting her a disapproving look.“Shit, sorry. Is that a bad thing to ask?” Sarah’s face flushed slightly, realizing the bluntness of her question. You couldn’t help but laugh, finding the situation amusing. Sarah joined in, her laughter a bit more nervous.

“I’m just asking. All my friends said that your boobs begin to sag because your baby is always sucking on them,” she explained, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “Which one of your friends has a fucking baby at your age?” Rafe interjected, his expression one of pure disbelief.

“None of them. They were just saying that,” Sarah shrugged nonchalantly. You giggled, reaching over to rub sunscreen on Rafe’s face where he’d missed a spot. “I think it’s different for everyone. I mean, I hope mine don’t sag,” you said, glancing down at your chest and giving them a light, playful touch.

“You have such nice tits, it’s really unfair, ” Sarah sighed dramatically, leaning back and closing her eyes against the sun. Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly done with the conversation. “I’m putting my AirPods in,” he announced, inserting them with a huff as you and Sarah chuckled.

“Mabel, come here,” Rafe clapped his hands with a gentle yet encouraging tone. Mabel babbled happily, steadying herself before taking a few small, determined steps towards you and Rafe; you were nestled against his chest as you cheered her on.

“Keep coming, sweetie,” you cooed softly, your hands ready to catch her. Eventually, Mabel reached you and crashed into your waiting arms with a squeal. You kissed her chubby cheek affectionately, “Good job, baby girl!” You lifted her up in the air, as she squealed with joy.

Rafe took the moment to take a photo, capturing the pure happiness on both your faces. As Rafe looked through the many photos already taken, you couldn’t help but notice how Mabel lingered close to your chest.

“Are you hungry, bels?” You asked gently, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Glancing at your phone, you noticed it was about time for Mabel’s next feeding.

With Rafe still focused on his phone, a small smile gracing his lips as he looked through the photos of you and Mabel, you adjusted your bikini top and began to nurse Mabel.

Noticing the quietness, Rafe briefly looks down, his eyes widening slightly. “Jesus, kid,” he muttered under his breath, quickly reaching behind him to grab his shirt.

“What? Mabel was hungry,” you said innocently, as Mabel peers up to the both of you. Rafe didn’t mind you breastfeeding in public, if his baby girl was hungry, she was hungry. But he always made sure to help you cover up with a blanket when you puly down your top, his protective instincts kicking in.

Rafe’s gaze darted around, making sure no one was watching. “You should’ve let me know beforehand so I could’ve helped you cover up,” he murmured, adjusting the shirt and to peek at Mabel.

You chuckled softly, appreciating his concern and love. Mabel watched the two of you with wide, curious eyes as she nursed contentedly. "Next time I will," you assured him, reaching over to pat his thigh affectionately.

yourusername

Liked by itssarahcameron, christoper_thorton, rosejcameron and 85,208 others

@/rafemfcameron we’ve got the cutest baby 🥰

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rafemfcameron: damn right mamas

↘️ eloise_cameron: I just puked 🤢

↘️ rafemfcameron: throwing u off the boat

itssarahcameron: SQUISHY

↘️ rafemfcameron: are you calling my kid fat?

↘️ yourusername: HAHAHAHAHA

christoper_thorton: guys let me babysit her again

↘️ yourusername: you tried offering her one of your brownies top….

↘️ rafemfcameron: im sorry, he did what?

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seumyo · 27 days ago

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how easy it would be to forge itoshi rin’s signature.

“What’re you doing?”

Rin sat on your bed, his back pressed against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. Your dorm was decent, neat in some areas, and cluttered in others—nothing too bad to the point where it was concerning. The desk was stacked with books and loose papers, a mug of half-finished tea sat forgotten on the little kitchen counter, and the walls were decorated with a mix of posters that he remembered you saying that you liked, candid polaroids, and lots of memorabilia.

You sat cross-legged beside him, practically bouncing as you shoved your scrapbook into his lap, your excitement bubbling over like always. Rin had long since learned that when you got like this, there was no stopping you—only surviving.

Surviving meant just going with whatever it is that you wanted.

“You have to sign this page,” you said, pointing eagerly at a newly decorated spread.

“It’s for today, so I don’t forget it.”

Rin glanced down.

The page was filled with doodles—some of him, some of a soccer ball, and what seemed to be a very lopsided drawing of a goalpost. You’d also glued a small Polaroid of you two together from earlier, where you had ambushed him for a selfie after his practice.

Without a word, he picked up the pen (a glittery navy blue one, if he may add) you handed him and flipped to the empty space at the bottom of the page. He’d done this enough times that he didn’t need to think about it. With fluid, precise strokes, he wrote his full name: Itoshi Rin.

No embellishments, no fancy loops, just his name.

As soon as he finished, you leaned over to inspect it.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“That’s it?” you asked, tilting your head.

Rin frowned. “What?”

“I mean…” You pursed your lips, squinting at his handwriting like you were analyzing a piece of evidence. “Your signature is so simple. I could probably forge it.”

Rin immediately shot you a warning look, as if already giving you an internal monologue. “Don’t.”

“But it’s so easy,” you said, dragging out the last word as you grinned. “Like, I could totally get away with it.”

He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Why would you want to?”

“Well,” you hummed, tapping your chin in exaggerated thought. “What if I need to sign something important on your behalf? Like, let’s say you’re too busy being a famous soccer player, and I need to approve some official documents for you.”

“You don’t.”

“But what if?” You smiled, leaning closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What if a brand deal needs your signature, and you’re not around, and the deadline is right now? I could save the day.”

“You’d get arrested for fraud.”

“Would I, though?” You poked his arm, and Rin shrugged with a quick, quiet sigh. “Because I’m pretty sure your manager would just be like, ‘Wow, what a responsible lover! Always taking care of Rin!’”

Rin’s face fell flat.

“No, they’d be like, ‘Wow, what a criminal. Get them arrested immediately.’”

You laughed, completely unbothered. “Okay, fine, I won’t forge your signature for business deals. But, hypothetically speaking, what if I had to? Like, say I get kidnapped—”

Rin groaned, already regretting engaging in this conversation.

“Why are you kidnapped now?”

“Because!” You gestured dramatically.

“Some rival team wants to use me as leverage against you. They tell me, ‘If Rin doesn’t throw his next match, we’ll make you disappear!’”

He let out a slow breath. “Then I’d just find you.”

“Oh?” You awed, tilting your head. “You’d come rescue me?”

Rin didn’t even hesitate.

Why would he?

“Obviously.”

For a brief moment, you paused, your playful demeanor faltering as you stared at him. Then, just as quickly, you shook off the thought and cheekily smiled.

“Okay, okay, new scenario,” you continued. “What if you get kidnapped—”

“Why am I getting kidnapped now?”

“Because you’re Rin Itoshi! Maybe some crazy fan takes you hostage, or a rival team wants to sabotage you, or, I don’t know, some billionaire wants to add you to their private collection of elite soccer players.”

“That’s not how people work.”

“Well, whatever the reason,” you said, waving a hand, “you’re held captive, and they demand that you sign a fake retirement letter so you can never play soccer again. But! You refuse because you’re stubborn, so they bring me in and tell me, ‘Forge his signature, or else!’”

Rin leaned his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. He could feel you draping your legs over his, and he made no move to try to move them away. “I hate that you put this much thought into these things.”

“Come on, it’s fun.”

“No, it’s exhausting.”

“Well, since you refuse to make your signature harder to copy, you better hope no one actually tries to forge it.”

He cracked an eye open to give you a skeptical look. “Are you planning to?”

You gasped, placing a hand over your heart like he had just accused you of the worst crime imaginable. “Me? Your beloved? I would never commit fraud against you.”

Rin didn’t look convinced.

“Okay, okay,” you relented, leaning back against the pillows. “I won’t forge your signature. But you should really think about making it cooler. Maybe add a little flourish?”

“No.”

“An underline?”

“No.”

“A small soccer ball doodle at the end?”

“No.”

You pouted. “You have no fun.”

“And you have too much.”

You laughed again before turning your attention back to the scrapbook. Running a finger over his signature, you muttered, “Still, I bet I could copy it.”

Rin reached over and flicked your forehead.

“Ow!” You swatted at him, though there was no real force behind it.

He clicked his tongue, though softly. “Try it, and I’ll make sure you never get to hold my autograph again.”

You gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

You huffed before flopping onto your stomach, burying your face into the bed. “You’re so mean.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

Rin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for your scrapbook, flipping through the pages filled with their memories. His name was already scrawled across several of them, marking the proof of your time together.

“Next time,” you said, peeking at him, “I’m making you sign in cursive.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No.”

“Just wait and see, Rin. I’ll wear you down eventually.”

Rin exhaled slowly. If it were anyone else, he would have dismissed the idea entirely. But this was you. If there was one thing he had learned about you, it was that you were relentless.

And, somehow, he didn’t really mind.

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sttoru · 1 year ago

Note

Aventurine with a virgin reader </3 guiding her and moving slowly and gently as he always gives her praises 🥹

𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. soft dom!aventurine x virgin!female reader. smut. p in v -> protected. lots of praise. clit stimulation. breast play kinda. very soft and gentle sex. reader gets called ‘baby, my jewel, pretty girl.’ wc; 1.4k

aventurine is a gentle lover; never once having forced you into any acts of intimacy. you’re always the one leading the progress of your relationship. the control over the speed of how things go soothes your worries.

your comfort and consent is his number one priority. his little ‘may i’s before touching you are what reassure you. you’ve clearly chosen the right person to be your partner.

even now - when you’re finally beneath him, with your naked bodies indulging in a romantic session - aventurine makes sure to go slow. softly, gently and tenderly; like you’re a delicate flower. a delicate gem that’s threatening to break with just the slightest touch.

“you’re okay, baby,” aventurine mumbles quietly against your skin, his lips attaching to your neck. he gives you soft kisses all over in hopes to soothe you. he can feel you tremble when he pushes his tip against your tight entrance, “i got you, i got you—i promise.”

he does, in fact, have your back. you trust that he does. aventurine never fails to keep his promises, he always keeps his word even if it may seem impossible. perhaps it’s due to his luck—perhaps it’s due to his overbearing love for you.

“kakavasha..” you whimper his name. the blonde nearly chokes on his spit at the way you called out to him. he pats your head gently, that same hand moving down to collect the tears running down your cheeks. you sniff, “mph, h-how much more?”

aventurine kisses a tear drop away, sighing against your skin. you’re so precious to him and he wishes to convey that fact. he’s trying his best to keep calm, though he can feel his restraints fading each time your nails dig into his back. it hurts so good.

he doesn’t want to hurt nor scare you. therefore, aventurine takes a deep breath and flashes you his charming smile, blonde locks covering his magenta and cyan colored eyes. those eyes that were once devoid of life, now sparkling with affection for you.

“just a little bit. can you hold on for me?” aventurine asks in a soft tone. he places a quick kiss on the tip of your nose. his hands move to hold yours, fingers interlocking. he squeezes them when you answer his question with a nod, “heh, thank you.”

aventurine bottoms out after what feels like hours. he sighs in relief and buries his face into the crook of your neck. you’re tight, squeezing his cock like you’re begging him to stay—to stay connected forever. he gives you all the time you need to adjust to your insides being stretched and moulded to fit him.

your eyes are glazed over as you stare up at the ceiling. you feel so full. the stretch hurts a little, though you’re quick to accommodate to the intrusion. your fluids make it easy and more comfortable for both aventurine and you.

you’re grateful that your lover understands your position. you’ve been scared of sex since you were but a virgin, however it doesn’t seem as bad in the moment.

not when you got a boyfriend like aventurine.

“so precious,” aventurine coos and kisses your jaw. he eventually reaches your lips and gives them a quick yet passionate peck. his eyes roam over your naked, sweaty body that’s glimmering underneath the dim light of the small lamp, “you look stunning, my jewel.”

you tighten up around aventurine the moment he calls you by that nickname. he hisses at the feeling, his cock throbbing with the desire to move already. aventurine distracts himself from those urges by kissing your breasts.

his tongue rolls over your nipples, his hands still pinning yours to the soft mattress below you. he sucks on your chest and doesn’t think twice before leaving a hickey or two. you’re his and he likes to remind you of that fact.

aventurine slowly detaches from your tits, his saliva coating the plump flesh. he grins at the sight and hums in satisfaction. he looks up at you and watches as you say those words he’s waited on;

“it’s okay, you can move.”

aventurine nods after he makes sure you’re totally fine with it. he pulls his hips away, until his cock is halfway in before pushing back in your pussy. slow and gentle thrusts are the way to go.

you quickly get used to the rhythm of your lover’s thrusts. you can feel the love and passion behind them, each move done with a purpose. that purpose being to pleasure you and make you feel appreciated.

“is this okay? yeah?” aventurine pants, his pace quickening, yet also slowing down whenever he feels like he’s overwhelming you. your moans slowly fill his ears and your brain is visibly being taken over by the satisfaction.

your lover is entranced by the way your tits bounce in circles with each soft thrust. he can feel his tip hitting the deepest parts of your wet cunt, claiming you like he’s always dreamed of doing. the way you’re already drunk on pleasure is adorable.

he leans down and presses his lips against yours. this isn’t just mindless sex—it’s your first time and he strives to make it as romantic as possible. his tongue mingles with yours, the mixture of saliva running down your chin because of how sloppy you’re making out.

“just like that– fuck,” aventurine groans as his hips roll against you. he’s slowly drowning in the ecstasy. seeing you enjoy the moment as much as he does, is exciting him more than the actual act. he loves it when you enjoy yourself—gets off to it even, “let me hear more of that pretty voice.”

you let out little whines, blessing aventurine’s ears with your voice, just like he asked you. your boyfriend moans at the sound of you as his fingers reach down to circle your clit. he’s addicted to you—so in love. his hands move to your thighs, pulling them apart just a little more so his dick could reach further.

you get more sensitive by the second. especially when aventurine wraps your legs around his waist, his hands wandering all over your body. the pad of his thumb presses down on your clit, making you even more sensitive. your eyes roll back as you leave red scratches on his back, “feels good, s-so good!”

aventurine smirks at your moans. you’re beautiful in this moment beneath him, his cock filling you up to the brim. he feels the connection between the two of you deepening, your relationship reaching new heights.

the blonde male pants while he holds your body close—hips moving non-stop. he can’t get enough of you and vice versa.

“you’re so sensitive, baby,” aventurine chuckles as he feels your pussy spasm around his thick dick. it’s your first time, so he doesn’t blame you when you tell him that you’re close. he slyly increases the pace in which he rubs your clit, “gonna cum, hm? c’mon, you can make a mess on my dick, pretty girl.”

his smooth voice echoes in your mind and that’s all it takes to push over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover’s biceps and your back arches off the bed, head lolling backwards against the pillow. your lower abdomen tingles and you feel your legs shake due to the impact.

you’ve never felt so good. it’s so much—the feeling is overwhelming you. your body shakes underneath aventurine. he reads your body language and easily concludes that you’re a bit overstimulated by your own orgasm.

“good girl,” aventurine pats your head and rubs your cheek with his thumb. he kisses the corners of your eyes before doing the same to your forehead. your little whimpers and incoherent babbles melt his heart. your lover nods, “shhh, shh, i know. i know.”

he doesn’t care about the fact that he didn’t get to cum. tonight is all about you, not him. aventurine hugs you to his chest and whispers sweet nothings into your ear while you come down from your high.

“i love you so much,” you whisper between shallow breaths. you can feel your lover smile against the skin of your shoulder before he kisses you there. he sighs in content, not yet pulling out.

aventurine wishes to stay with you as one. for as long as you allow him to. he tilts his head back and looks down at you, placing his forehead against yours.

he truly is a lucky man;

“i love you more. so much more.”

#sttoru writes.#hsr smut #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n

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osarina · 24 days ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 TO THINK THAT WE COULD STAY THE SAME

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: after your night out goes terribly wrong in every possible way, you find yourself at a strange house. you don't know if this is real or some elaborate trick of an ability—worse, you don't know which will hurt you more in the long run. you don't know how you're supposed to survive this. if you can survive this.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: YAYAAYAYAAAAYYYYYY PART TWO GUYS I HOPE U ENJOY <3333. reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, beast!dazai, tragedy, angst, canon compliant.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: lots of whiplash and confusion & lots of frustration. unprotected sex. oral (m->f).

SEE: TWO SLOW DANCERS SERIES MASTERLIST

You expect to wake up in a damp basement tied to a chair, cramped and uncomfortable. You hardly remember what happened last night—you remember drinking in Chuuya’s penthouse, the two of you sprawled out on top of each other in his bed after cracking open his nicest wine, and you remember Albatross’s incessant texts beckoning you guys to the bar. You vaguely remember getting to the bar and an argument breaking out between you and Iceman, but you can’t really remember what was said—maybe that’s for the best.

And you remember the man that attacked you outside of the bar—not his face, but the panic that spread through your chest, the sharp scent of the rag placed over your mouth, the way your vision went dark.

Shit, you think, slowly coming to. You instinctively lift your hand to your head and then frown when you realize you can lift your hand. You’re not tied up… more than that, you’re not in pain. If anything, you’re comfortable. Your lashes flutter open, squinting at the early morning sun that’s rising directly in your eyes—you’re not underground either, clearly. You seem to be lying on some sort of couch—what is going on?

You’re careful not to make any noise as you slowly regain your bearings. You’re in a small room—a living room or something—you see a fireplace directly across from where you’re lying, a coffee table in front of you, your head is resting on a pillow that someone must have laid beneath you, and there’s a soft blanket pulled over you. You exhale softly, riddled with confusion as you try to figure out what’s going on. You wonder maybe if Chuuya or one of the Flags had figured out what was going on and intercepted the kidnapping before they could get you somewhere, or maybe Itou and Klaus were able to track you down, but this place doesn’t look reminiscent to any of the safehouses you guys use.

You’re uncertain as you sit up, looking around hesitantly as you try to pinpoint where you might be. You see a window to your left and make note of it if you need to escape, but you’re more curious about the view outside of it. You’re on the coastline? Your lips part, looking around the small area for any hints to where you may be, but the place is extraordinarily plain. There are no trinkets on the coffee table, no pictures on the walls—it looks like a freshly bought house, but you can see dust on the far cabinet, signaling that nobody has been here for a long time. If it were freshly bought, the real estate agents would’ve been sure to make sure it was spotless.

You turn your head to the left and find your breath catching at the sight of someone sitting at the kitchen table. Someone almost familiar, but your brain refuses to accept who it is that’s sitting there with your back to you. He’s hunched over the table, furiously writing away at something—it’s Dazai. Though you could only see the back of his head, you could recognize him anywhere. The dark hair, the bandages peeking out from under it, but he’s not wearing his black jacket. He’s dressed in a cozy gray sweatshirt and sweatpants—the sight is so disconcerting, so strange, that you almost think you might be hallucinating, you might be being affected by some sort of ability.

“Dazai?” you whisper softly, voice raspy.

His head snaps to the side at the sound of your voice, and his dark eye is unusually warm as it focuses on you. He folds the paper he was writing on and puts it in his pocket, rising to his feet. His lips curl up into a soft smile, and you struggle to breathe. You’re confused, too hopeful for your liking, and still mostly convinced that this is some figment of your imagination.

“You’re awake,” he says quietly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, unsure. “What… is this? What is going on? The man who kidnapped me… You intercepted?”

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly go pink, gaze falling to the ground, and you’re baffled by it. You haven’t seen him so red in the face since you were eighteen and teasing him while the two of you were curled up in bed. You feel sick—if this is a joke, a trick, an ability, then there’s none as cruel as this, showing you the boy you loved, everything you’ve ever wanted. The number of times you’ve imagined escaping the Port Mafia with him, living a quiet life in the countryside; how many times have you wondered what life would’ve been like if you’d gotten to Mori’s office in time, if he never took over as boss, if he never became what he has.

It’s too cruel—crueler than any words Dazai has ever spoken to you, crueler than what your life has become over the past four years.

“Uh, no,” Dazai says awkwardly. “That was me.”

“What?”

“I sent him.”

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?” he suddenly asks, clearly trying to evade the subject.

Your expression twists in frustration but instantly smooths when he takes a few steps closer to you. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead before letting his hand drop to your cheek. He caresses your cheek gently, thumb running along your cheekbone.

You stare up at him, lips parted in shock. You’re not imagining the love in his gaze, not this time—it’s so plain that it has your chest painfully tight, it has your breath shaky, it has your eyes welling with tears that you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold back. You can’t help the way you lean into his touch, and that only makes his expression soften impossibly more. You don’t understand what’s going on, you don’t understand what’s caused this change, you don’t understand any of this.

You don’t realize that the tears have spilled over until you feel him wiping them away.

“I don’t understand,” you say, voice cracking as you take in a wet breath. “I don’t—is this real? I don't understand—”

“It’s real,” he tells you quietly, fingers gliding gently over your cheeks to wipe your tears before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s real.”

You know that’s something your mind would say to soothe your doubts, but his touch is so real. His fingers are warm, they’re callused from his gun, they’re so achingly familiar that you can hardly breathe—you want to believe that this is real, you so badly want to believe that this is real, but how could it be?

“I don’t understand, Dazai,” you whisper, shaking your head and pulling your face away from him. He doesn’t let you, his hand sliding to the back of your head to hold you in place. You can’t think straight with his hands on you, you’ve never been able to, but especially not like this, not when they’re so gentle, not when they’re everything you’ve ever wanted. Your voice comes out too much like a plea when you say his name, “Dazai, stop please—I don’t—what is this? Why are you…?”

Why are you dressed like this?

Why are you acting like this?

Why are you treating me like this?

What is going on?

You don’t even know what you want to ask, and you don’t know if you want to know the answer. A part of you just wants to bask in this—whether it’s a trick of your mind or an ability, you should take it as a blessing. You should bask in the time you have with your Dazai before you’re tossed back into your cruel reality, but the bigger part of you needs to know. If this is a trick or an ability, you don’t think you’ll survive being taunted with this only to have it ripped away.

Dazai’s expression twists, uncertainty in his eye as he looks down at you, like he doesn’t know what to say or how to explain it. His lips part to speak, but no words leave them. He lets out a shaky breath and then lets his gaze drop to your body. You realize you’re still wearing the dress from yesterday, albeit dirty and wrinkled now; his hand drops your face and you feel too cold without his touch, but you can at least think a bit more clearly now.

“What is going on?” you ask, voice steadier. “Where am I? Why are you here? Where are your guards? Is this place secure?”

Dazai looks at the ground, a resigned expression on his face. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, which has frustration bubbling in your chest along with a little mania, you have no idea what’s going on, you have no idea where you and Dazai are, you have no idea if this place is safe, you don’t see any of his guards standing watch, you don’t have your phone with you to call Chuuya or the Flags, you–

“You should get changed,” Dazai says quietly, much to your exasperation.

Your expression twists. “Dazai—”

“If it’s alright,” Dazai interrupts, voice unsteady, gaze still trained on the floor, “while we’re here, can you call me Osamu?”

Your mouth dries at the request, studying Dazai’s face as best as you can, but you come up infuriatingly blank as you try to figure out what might be going through his head right now. He almost looks like a kid again, back when you first met, sixteen and fumbling, unsure how to act around you but wanting desperately to be in your presence. He would force himself into your space and try to initiate conversation but would visibly get anxious as soon as he did, second-guessing his every word.

“Osamu,” you correct, and you don’t like how unfamiliar his given name is now on your tongue. It used to roll off easily, like it belonged there. Dazai’s shoulders slump in relief, gaze flickering up to meet yours. His eye looks like a pool of honey under the early morning sun, nothing like the black pit you’re used to. “Will you tell me what’s going on? At least if we’re safe here.”

“We’re safe here,” he confirms, swallowing thickly, and then repeats, “You should… get changed.”

You sigh as you look over to the bedroom he keeps glancing over at and then say, “Fine, but then you’re explaining.”

“Okay,” he agrees, voice unnervingly wobbly, but you only give him one last long, semi-suspicious look before making your way over to the bedroom.

You don’t realize how much his presence has fogged your mind until you’re in the bedroom with the door shut behind you. You can suddenly breathe, you can suddenly see—you press your hands to your face as you sit on the edge of the bed and try to get ahold of yourself. You’re still not entirely sure that this is real; it could easily be a figment of your imagination, it could be a dream, it could be an ability.

You exhale shakily—first and foremost, you need to figure out if this is real.

Your gaze lifts to the window in the bedroom. If this is an ability and you’re being taunted with your deepest desires, then you likely won’t be able to feel the fresh air. You’d be held in an enclosed area that’s masquerading as this beach house, there would be no wind or breeze when you try to step outside because you’re not actually outside. Holding your breath, you take a step forward—the window gets stuck a little as you try to push it up, but once you get it up, you’re immediately met with a fresh breeze from the bay. You can smell the faint scent of saltwater in the air, you can feel the warmth of the rising sun—it’s too real to be an ability.

Shit, you think, even more confused. Your gaze snaps up to the clock on the wall, watching the second-hand tick—you can read it just fine. Not a dream. What is going on?

You shake your head as you make your way over to the closet, sliding open the door to figure out what exactly Dazai wants you to change into. You pause when you see two outfits hanging up—one is casual loungewear, a matching set to what he’s wearing, and the other is one of your suits.

It’s a choice, you realize, throat tight as you take in a shuddered breath. He’s letting you choose whether you’re going to stay with him or if you’re going to go to the meeting with the Red Chamber.

Fuck, you think, rubbing your face hard, staring hard at the two outfits. You still don’t understand what’s going on, and you want to stay with Dazai. You really do, more than anything. You want answers, and you want to indulge, but you’re scared. You know that if you stay with him, indulge in whatever this is… you know it won’t last, and when you inevitably have to go back to reality, it’ll just make things hurt so much worse.

Your fingers graze the familiar fabric of your suit jacket, and for a second, you imagine going out there in it. You imagine the way Dazai’s expression will fall when he realizes you didn’t choose him. You imagine the way his throat will spasm as he nods in resignation and calls for a car so the two of you can leave. You imagine the hurt in his eyes, and it’s almost enough for you to choose to leave. The vindictiveness is tempting, the prospect of hurting him even a fraction as much as he’s hurt you the past four years is too enticing, but more than revenge, you want answers. You want to know what spurred this because you have a bad feeling in your gut about it.

After a moment’s hesitation, you yank the loungewear off the hanger, slipping out of the dress you’ve been wearing for far too long to slide the thin sweatshirt over your head and pull on the shorts. They’re comfortable, the cotton is soft against your skin, and for some reason, it causes a heavy feeling to settle on your chest. You shake your head and leave the room before you can second-guess yourself.

Dazai is sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched over, back to you, head tilted toward the ground. He doesn’t hear you when you exit the bedroom; he doesn’t even look up until you clear your throat. When you do, his head snaps around instantly. There’s an uncertain expression on his face that quickly fades into relief when he realizes what you’re wearing.

“No,” you say immediately, glad that your voice comes out harsh instead of wavering. “You don’t get to look relieved. I want answers. What is this?”

Dazai rises to his feet. His lips part, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what. His brows furrow, and he looks down at the ground as he says, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Frustrated, you snap, “Well, figure it out, Dazai.” Dazai has the audacity to withdraw, and you let out an exasperated sigh before correcting quietly, “Osamu.”

“I can’t—”

“You have to,” you say, raising your voice and taking a step forward. Dazai takes a step backward, expression falling. “I’ve dreamt of this, Osamu. Of waking up one day and things were suddenly the same again, like they were. I thought I would be happy, but I am so fucking angry. You don’t get to do this after everything you’ve put me through, not without an explanation.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, voice pitched, rising in distress. “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t—this was a mistake, I can’t—”

Dazai suddenly looks like he’s about to cry, and you hate how all of the anger immediately drains from you. He looks so much younger dressed like this in a sweatshirt too big for his thin shoulders, without his jacket acting like a shield from the rest of the world, without Mori’s scarf hanging around his shoulders, a reminder of all that he’s done. He looks like he’s sixteen again, startled awake from a nightmare, too lost and too alone, and just like back then, your instinct is to try to calm him down.

“I don’t understand,” you say helplessly.

“You can’t understand,” he replies shrilly. “I shouldn't be here, you shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”

He cuts himself off suddenly, and you watch as his expression hardens in an instant. His voice goes cold, and he says, “Forget it. We should go. I’m going to—”

“No,” you say harshly, reaching out to grab his wrist to stop him from walking past you. You shove your forearm against his chest to push back against the wall. He doesn’t fight back. When his back hits the wall, he only stares down at you, his visible eye wide and swirling with too many emotions. “You’re going to explain what’s happening. Please, Osamu.”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “We shouldn’t be here, I never meant—I just wanted—”

You sigh as you step away from him, looking away. You’re getting nowhere—you need to take a different route, you’re not going to get any answers from him this way. After a few moments, you ask, “What happened with the meeting with the Red Chamber? Who is going? What happened to the plan to assassinate Baoyu Jia?”

This is obviously the wrong question because Dazai looks embarrassed again as he looks away. “Lippmann is handling the meeting,” he says after a moment.

“Lippmann doesn’t do assassinations,” you reply.

His gaze lowers. “He’s not killing him.”

You let your eyes slide shut, trying to calm yourself down. “You never planned to have me kill him,” you realize.

“No.”

“You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dazai doesn’t meet your gaze as he stares to the side. “I planned to have you kidnapped on the way to the meeting. I figured it would be easier if you were thrown off and focused on an unusual mission. I only ended up doing it last night because…”

Because of how things went down yesterday, you finish for him silently.

You rub your face as you step away. “Why did you kidnap me?” you ask flatly.

Dazai looks as if he doesn’t want to answer. His throat spasms and he almost looks like he wants to run away, but he knows you’ll be quick to stop him. As he realizes that fleeing is not an option, he starts to get visibly upset again.

“I just wanted one day—” he begins, his voice pitched again. Wobbly. He rubs at his face harshly, first his cheeks and then over his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, and his body tenses like he’s going to bolt. You brace yourself to stop him, but his shoulders slump suddenly, and his head hangs forward. He says softly, “I’m so tired. I just wanted one day where things could be normal again.”

You swallow as you stare at Dazai. He looks… incredibly fragile right now, more so than you’ve ever seen him before. Even those nights when you woke to him screaming and sobbing, the night you raced to the rooftop to stop him from jumping—none of it compares to right now. His eye looks like glass, ready to shatter at a moment’s notice, and his lips are trembling; it’s only a thread that’s holding him together right now, and you could so easily pull it apart.

All it would take is a single word.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, a bullet loaded in the chamber and ready to let fly. You could do it, and a part of you wants to. You want to hurt him—the vindictiveness you felt in the bedroom returns with a vengeance. You want to rip that thread away and watch him fall apart, you want him to shatter, you want him to hurt.

“I—” You start to say, but the words die on your tongue when his gaze lifts to meet yours. The expression on his face is resigned, defeated, like he already knows what you’re going to say, like he knows that one day of normalcy could never be an option. And you can’t bring yourself to do it, can’t bring yourself to hurt him the same way he’s hurt you so much over the last four years. “You didn’t have to kidnap me, Osamu. You could’ve just asked me to come. I would have.”

You’re weak, you think bitterly. Dazai deserves your anger. He deserves your cruelty. He deserves your hatred. He’s treated you horribly over the last four years, and the moment he puts on a sad face, you fold for him. You should walk away, leave him here to break down on his own. You don’t give a fuck if he’s tired, you’re tired. You’re tired of the four years of hell your life has been, you’re tired of clinging to the past, you’re tired of Dazai.

Your life would be so much easier if you could just hate him and move on, but you’ll never move on from Dazai Osamu. Your souls have been inexplicably entwined since the day the two of you met six years ago, so entangled that you no longer know where yours ends and his begins; there’s no world for you without him, and if that means letting him drag you through hell, if it means letting him ruin you, ruin everything you had with him, then you would let him.

“Would you have really come?” he asks solemnly, like maybe he knows what you’re thinking.

You look away and answer, maybe a bit too bitterly, “I always come, don’t I?”

“It doesn’t matter. It had to be this way,” Dazai responds after a moment.

“It had to be a kidnapping?” you ask dryly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“... You wouldn’t understand.”

You let out yet another exasperated sigh, head falling back as you will yourself the patience because, of course, it’s back to this.

“Then help me understand,” you say tightly. “Osamu, would you please stop being difficult?”

“I can’t,” he repeats, much to your frustration. “I just—I can’t.”

You don’t respond this time, shaking your head and looking away. You don’t know if you’ll be able to indulge him the way he wants without an explanation. You want to know what’s going on—you need to know what’s going on. You have to understand what triggered this, you have to understand what has him so wound up. Just as you’re about to ask, he asks softly:

“Can we go to the cliffside?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Is this place even secure? I know you want one day to be normal, but you’re still you. You have billions of yen on your head, we can’t—”

“It’s secure,” he interrupts, looking uncomfortable by the reminder. Your gaze softens. You thought maybe you would be relieved with solid proof that the boy who loved you was still here, but it only makes you feel strange now. Bitter, maybe, hurt—if he’s still here, why has he hurt you so much in the past four years? A part of you wonders if maybe it would’ve been better if Chuuya was right; if Dazai was better off dead. “Please, let’s go out there.”

“Okay,” you agree, shoving your hands in your pockets and making your way over to the slippers Dazai left out for you before walking over to the back door.

He trails after you slowly, remaining a pace behind you as you walk up the dirt path leading to the clifftop. The early morning sea breeze is cool against your skin, and the rising sun casts a pretty glow over the bay. Your hands are stuffed in your pockets as you drag your feet against the dirt—you don’t dare look back at Dazai.

You try to piece together all that you know. Something has Dazai highly distressed and emotionally unstable, you aren’t sure what. This place, for some reason, is special to him—he can’t seem to handle any form of coldness or cruelty from you while here. He can’t explain to you what’s going on, and he can’t explain why he can’t explain to you. This was evidently a whole plot he’d been planning for a while now, what with using the meeting with the Red Chamber and already having the house and property around it secured. It’s all too confusing, and you have a feeling you’re going to come out of this more hurt than you were to begin with.

You come to a stop at the cliff’s edge, but you don’t sit down. Dazai comes to stand next to you, shoulder brushing yours as the two of you look over the bay.

“It’s my birthday today.”

Your head snaps to the side as you look up at him, eyes wide, “What?”

“You know, in another universe, you found the files when you and Chuuya went looking for them,” Dazai says with a wry smile.

Your lips part when he looks down at you—he looks stunning under the early morning sun, he looks alive, and you don’t think you’ve seen him look so at ease in four years. There are still bags visible under his eye, but his expression is smooth otherwise, his lips are curled up softly, and his dark eye looks golden under the rays of the sun.

“You knew about that?” you ask quietly, voice coming out a bit more breathless than you mean for it to.

“… I know a lot of things,” he answers cryptically. “I made sure you couldn’t get your hands on them this time, though.”

In another universe, this time—his words finally start to register, and you frown, trying to piece together what he means.

“Why?” you ask carefully.

There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he gazes out to the bay, like he’s looking at something that’s not really there. “I fell in love with you many times, but that night was always the night I fell the hardest. I was scared.”

You let out a shaky breath as you stare up at him. You don’t know what he’s talking about, you don’t know what he means, but he’s saying what you’ve only dreamed of hearing from him, and it leaves you at a loss. You can only see the side of his face, but the corner of his lip is twitching down again, his brown eye soft beneath the sunlight.

“Scared?”

“Scared,” he confirms quietly. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to follow through with what needed to be done… I… I wasn’t supposed to get close to you at all. I knew it would make things more difficult.”

What needed to be done—did he mean killing Mori? Did he have that planned for that long? How hadn’t you known?

You don’t know what to say—not because you’re at a loss for words now, but because you’re scared that if you ask the wrong thing, he’ll clam up again. You don’t know what he means, talking about another universe and ‘this time’ and how he wasn’t supposed ‘to get close to you’—he’s talking like he knows everything that was supposed to happen, everything that has happened in another life. It’s too strange, you don’t know if Dazai has genuinely gone off the deep end or if he’s been hiding something from you since the moment you met him. Both explanations are disconcerting.

“Then why?” you finally settle on. “Why did you get close to me? Why did you—”

Why did you fall in love with me?

Why did you make me fall in love with you?

If you knew how things were going to turn out, why would you put me through this?

Dazai looks down now, gaze trained on the rocks below as the water crashes against them. He looks sad. Your hand twitches to reach out for his, but you refrain, if only barely.

“What if I told you it was to use you?” he asks quietly. “To make you love me so that you could make the power transition easier because I knew people wouldn’t question me if I had Mori’s daughter’s support.”

“I would call you a liar,” you reply. “Tell me why.”

“Because I love you,” he whispers, lips trembling, throat spasming. “I love you so much that I can barely breathe when you’re in the room. That I can’t think straight when you’re around, even when you’re not around. I become stupid, reckless—I don’t think at all. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I tried so hard to stay away to protect you. I told myself it over and over again leading up to the day we met, but then I saw you, and I just—I couldn’t do it… I couldn’t do it.”

Dazai’s eye is glassy as he stares down at the water, and his fingers tremble in front of his body. He twists them awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with himself—the same way he did when he fumbled over words when you guys were seventeen and he was trying to ask you out on a date.

This time, you do reach out. You brush your fingers against his, at first hesitantly, and then when he doesn’t immediately pull away, you slide your hands into his, entwining your fingers together. His grip on your hand is tight, like he’s afraid to let go in fear that you might disappear. Like he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers.

“I don’t understand, Osamu,” you say quietly, grip tightening on his hand in case he decides to bolt once he hears your question. “Then why did you push me away so much? Why were you so…”

Cruel.

He grimaces like you spoke the word, incapable of looking you in the eye. He indeed tenses like he’s going to run, but then his shoulders slump. “Because I—I wasn’t supposed to—you’re not supposed to—you don’t understand, I can’t—”

“Help me understand,” you insist, frustration starting to pull at you again. “Osamu, please, I—”

“You were never supposed to be the price of this world,” Dazai finally blurts out, voice shrill again. He tries to pull away, but you don’t let him; he takes in a ragged breath, and your lips part in shock when you realize that the tears that had been welling in his visible eye have started to spill over. Again, he tries to yank his hand away and nearly sends himself careening off the side of the cliff, it’s only your quick reaction to tug him hard toward you that prevents him from tumbling back. The two of you crash backward onto the ground. “I’ve ruined everything, I’ve ruined you, I ruin everything I touch. Everything was supposed to work out perfectly for everyone, but I ruined it. I was supposed to stay away from you; I was supposed to let you live without me, but I couldn’t stay away. I was selfish, I’ve always been selfish, and it’s always at your expense. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and Dazai buries his face into the crook of your neck. He’s shaking terribly, and he feels so small wrapped up in your arms like this. He’s too thin, his shoulders feel frail—Dazai has never been good at taking care of himself, but you can’t help but wonder when the last time he’s eaten, if he’s eaten, with no one looking after him anymore. Your hand slides up to cradle the back of his head, and Dazai sobs, his whole body shudders, you can feel him clinging to the back of your sweatshirt desperately.

And you don’t know what to say to calm him down. You don’t know what he’s talking about, you can’t understand any of this. You don’t know if he’s gone crazy, and you don’t know what to do if he has because people are already starting to question his decisions. There are rumors spreading that something’s not right with Dazai—ever since all of this unnecessary tension with the Armed Detective Agency began a few weeks ago, there have been whispers, even among your closest confidants, that maybe Dazai’s reign as boss has come to an end, that maybe it’s time for a new regime to take his place.

The Flags are eager, Itou and Klaus are ready for it, and Chuuya is resigned. He’s waiting for you to give up on Dazai so he can finally put his old partner out of his misery—or that’s what he’s telling himself, anyway.

But a small part of you wonders if there’s any truth to what he’s saying.

Dazai has always been smart, but there were times when you questioned whether his intelligence was the product of his own natural instincts and skill or if maybe there was something else going on because sometimes he predicted things that he shouldn’t have possibly been able to predict.

He knew about an assassination attempt on your life before anyone in the Port Mafia caught wind of it—not any of Verlaine’s girls, none of your contacts, none of Mori or Kouyou’s contacts, but somehow he knew. He knew that there was a trap laid out in Kyoto for you and Itou, and that’s why he was so insistent on being the one to go in your stead. Not only that, but he knew things about you before you ever told him—your interests, your fears, your desires. Sometimes, he would let you tell him them, but you could tell that you were only confirming what he already knew.

It never made any sense to you, but if he somehow knew what happened in other worlds and used that knowledge here… that would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?

But how?

How would he have had that knowledge?

And why didn’t he tell you? Chuuya? Anyone?

He’s still talking, but you can’t make out any of the words he’s saying anymore. His voice is muffled against your skin, and he’s heaving over sobs. You wonder when the last time Dazai let himself cry like this—if he ever has.

“This was a mistake.” You finally make out the ragged words as he presses his face harder into your neck, like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to be here. I’m going to ruin everything, I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”

“It’s already ruined,” you say suddenly, feeling Dazai still in your arms as soon as your words register. “It’s ruined, I’m here. There’s no taking that back. So, why don’t we just enjoy your birthday, and we can figure everything else out tomorrow, okay?”

Dazai pulls back so he can look at you. His eye is still wet, and his cheek is smeared with tears, but they’re no longer steadily rolling over it. You lift your hand to caress his cheek, using your thumb to wipe his cheek gently. His lashes flutter shut as he instinctively leans into your touch, turning his face a little to the side so he can kiss your palm. When his eye reopens, the adoration swimming within it takes your breath away.

He hasn’t looked at you like this in years, and it makes your chest feel like it’s going to cave in—you’re not doing this to indulge, you tell yourself. Sure, you’re not going to complain about it; you’ve dreamt about this before, but it’s more important that you figure out what exactly is going on with him. You still don’t know what he means and haven’t managed to get a single answer out of Dazai. If anything, you have more questions. Your head has gone dizzy with all the possible explanations swimming around in your mind. The first thing you need to do is get Dazai to calm down, you’re not going to get anything out of him in this state, and then, you can try to figure out the best plan of attack for getting some answers.

“It’ll make everything worse,” he replies softly. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have—it’s just going to make everything worse, and—”

“Can it really get worse, Osamu?” you ask with a wry smile.

Dazai’s gaze lowers to the ground, the expression on his face is resigned, so you know that you’ve won, but his words still unsettle you deeply:

“Yeah,” he says. “It can.”

———

You thought maybe that once Dazai calmed down, you’d be able to get answers from him. That was a mistake, of course, because once Dazai calmed down, he became even more careful with his words. A part of you knows that you should’ve expected this—it’s Dazai, for fuck’s sake—but you can’t blame yourself for not thinking straight, all thing’s considered. Every time you tried to broach the topic, he expertly evaded with a soft smile and a change of subject; you were starting to get frustrated, but you were doing your best at not letting it show on your face.

The two of you are sitting on the beach now, shoulders brushing as you look out at the bay. The sand is soft between your fingers, the bay water cool against your toes as you bask in each other’s presence—you almost feel at peace. You want to feel at peace, but you can’t with the nagging fear that something is seriously wrong. You can’t with Dazai sitting next to you and not explaining why he treated you so cruelly for four years. Having to stay away isn’t an explanation, not enough for you to be at ease.

You need to understand. You need the truth.

Instead of going about it in a convoluted, sneaky manner, you decide to be upfront this time and quietly say, “I need to know why, Osamu.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to you, and when you glance at him, you find him looking down at his lap, a resigned expression on his face. His jaw tenses like he’s going to reply, but then his lashes flutter as he turns his face away—you’re so close, you can tell he’s on the brink of giving in. He wants to tell you, but something is stopping him, and you just have to get him to that point where the desire to explain overwhelms all of his common sense.

You can do that.

“You hurt me,” you tell him. Your voice cracks, you don’t need to fake the pain that he’s made you feel over the last four years. You can only see the corners of his eye and his lips, but you can see the way they tighten at your words. “Do you even know how bad you hurt me, Osamu?”

“I do,” he whispers, his voice just as weak as yours is. “I—”

“You don’t,” you interrupt. “You don’t know because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to sit here with me and not give me an explanation.”

Dazai doesn’t respond now, so you take the opportunity to continue.

“At first, I convinced myself it was because you loved me,” you say quietly, staring down at your lap. “You didn’t want people to think I conspired against Mori in case the coup went poorly. You didn’t want to put me in the middle and force me to choose. You were cruel because you were putting on a show for the rest of the Port Mafia because you loved me and didn’t want your actions to come crashing down on me if things took a turn for the worse.”

You still don’t look at Dazai; you can't bear to; you don’t want to know what he’s thinking. It’s taking all of your energy to keep yourself together as you speak all of this out loud for the first time. You think you’ll break if you look at him.

“We didn’t see each other for days because you were busy consolidating power, and I was busy in Tokyo with our allies. I made so many excuses for what you’d done during that time separated that I drowned myself in them; I couldn’t speak to Chuuya or Itou or the Flags without getting into an argument with them because I defended you after you murdered the closest thing I had to a father and taunted me about it.”

The first time you and Chuuya got into a screaming match over Dazai was in the immediate aftermath of the coup. Chuuya had been just as blindsided as you, and he had been with you when you got up to Mori’s office and saw Dazai sitting at his desk. He heard what he said to you, how he treated you, and would’ve killed him on the spot if you hadn't been there to see it happen if he did.

You were both drunk a few days after everything happened. It was a long day of talks with Mishima Yukio, and you guys were trying to relax, but the topic of Dazai came up, and everything went to shit. You couldn’t handle what Chuuya was implying when he was venting about Dazai going behind your backs for the coup, and you started voicing all of the excuses you’d been gathering in the back of your head, and things escalated until they blew up, as it always did whenever Dazai was brought up the past four years.

“I defended you so much that I really believed it, Osamu,” you tell him, voice cracking again. You take in a wet breath, desperately trying to calm yourself down. You rub your face harshly, but it only bothers you more because the sand grates your skin. “When I came back to Yokohama after things settled with Mishima, I thought maybe I would get an explanation now that things had calmed down. After everything you did, I thought maybe there was still a chance that things could go back to normal. I thought there could still be a normal.”

You were ashamed of it. You can’t stop the sob that tumbles from your lips now, so you press your hand to your mouth to try to muffle it. Chuuya had never looked down on you the way he did when he realized what you were hoping for; it was the only time he didn’t get angry when Dazai was brought up after the coup. He walked away from you, and that was somehow worse.

Itou and the Flags—they never voiced their disapproval, but you knew they lost respect for you when they realized you were still clinging to Dazai after what he’d done. And it hurt, but it didn’t hurt quite as much as the thought of losing Dazai entirely, so you pushed through it and clung to your hope even if it was killing you.

“And then you called me to your office for the first time.”

You hear Dazai take in a sharp, shaky breath; he lets out a noise as he exhales—a whimper or the beginnings of a sob, you can’t tell. You think he wants to tell you to stop, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to.

“I think I understand now—you were angry at yourself, weren’t you? You were trying to push me away, but you couldn’t, so you were hoping that I wouldn’t come when you called, and when I did, you were angry. At yourself, at me, at the situation,” you continue, finally turning your head to the side so you can look at him. He’s buried his face in his hands like a coward, so you shake your head and look ahead again. “But I didn’t understand back then, Osamu.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out so quietly that you barely hear him.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you whisper, helplessly looking up at the sky. “I really don’t, but it wasn’t that. Of everyone, I really thought you would be the last to use me like that, but even then, I thought that if this was the only way I could have you now, then I would be okay with it. I would let you ruin me. Ruin us.”

You don’t even know where you’re going with this anymore. You forgot how this started, forgot what you were getting at, but you think there’s something relieving getting all of this off your chest to the person who caused all of your distress.

“And then you fucking sent me away,” you spit, angry suddenly as you turn to look at him again. “You sent me away, Osamu. Not even twenty-four hours after you fucked me over Mori’s desk after you killed him. You had the audacity to send me abroad for a year.”

“I had to—”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply, raising your voice. “What did you think would change? Did you think that after a year away, when I came back, I wouldn’t come when you called for me? I always come when you call. Always. It was just more fucking humiliating crawling back to you like a dog after you sent me away.”

“It wasn’t like that—” Dazai tries to protest, voice cracking. “It wasn’t—”

“How am I supposed to know what it was like? You never explain anything, all I knew was that you sent me away with no explanation after you fucked me in the most degrading way possible, and the moment I came back to Yokohama, you had me bent over that desk again,” you snap. “Do you even know what people say about me? Do you even care?”

“How could you even ask that?” Dazai demands, voice ragged as he finally turns to face you. His dark eye is glassy with tears that roll over his cheek steadily—you can’t even find pleasure in it. “How could you—”

“How could I?” you repeat loudly, so frustrated that you almost want to grab him and shake him, hit him, anything. “How could I, Osamu? Because you treated me exactly the way they said. Like a fucking whore.”

“Please—”

“The shit you said to me, the way you mocked me because you were too fucking weak to let me go, so you wanted to force me into being the one to cut you off,” you interrupt him, pulling your knees to your chest as you take in another sharp breath. “You knew I would never, you had to have known.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, ashamed, regretful, but is it enough?

“If you’re sorry, then explain,” you insist, looking up at him again, but he’s turned his head away. “Look me in the eye and tell me after all of that you still can’t explain, Osamu.”

After what feels like an eternity, he drags his gaze to yours, and with tears rolling over his cheek, regret and sorrow swimming in his dark eye, he shakes his head and whispers, “I can’t.”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sob you don’t want to let out; you feel sick to your stomach, nauseous, but there’s nothing in you to throw up. Your hands are shaking—you think your whole body may be shaking—you feel defeated, resigned to the fact that you’ll never get a clear answer from Dazai as to why he did this to you.

“At least tell me if it’s worth it.” You hate that you’re begging him even now, but you need to know. “Even if it’s a lie, just tell me it’s worth it. Whatever you’re trying to do that cost us everything we had, tell me it’s worth it.”

You don’t look at him when he says shakily, “It is,” you don’t want to know if he's lying.

After a few moments of silence, he speaks again, voice just as resigned as you feel. “If you only stayed to get answers, you can still leave.”

Please, leave—you can see the desperation plain on his face when you look at him.

Leave this time, he pleads, don’t stay. Let me go.

But what’s the point of leaving now? The damage has been done—there’s no coming back from this, there’s no shielding yourself from getting hurt any more than you already have. No matter what happens after this conversation, when things inevitably go back to how they were before he brought you here, it will destroy you. He will destroy you.

So, instead of leaving, you ask quietly, “Will you kiss me?”

Dazai doesn’t waste a second.

For the first time in four years, his lips touch yours—you can taste the saltiness of his tears, the familiar mixture of tobacco and whiskey, the hint of iron. They quiver against yours terribly, his fingers tremble in his lap until he lifts them to cradle your face gently. Dazai kisses you like he’s afraid that you’ll disappear, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you before it’s too late. It’s desperate, reverent. An apology.

His breath catches as he pulls you closer, and you decide that just for today, you’ll let yourself pretend that this is enough. That his hands caressing your body and the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters is enough to rewrite four years of heartache, enough to undo all of the pain he’s caused that led you here.

Just for today, it will be enough.

———

Dazai is in the shower.

He’s been oddly antsy since dusk has fallen, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s because he’s realizing the day is ending and that when the sun rises tomorrow, things are going to have to go back to how they were. It certainly has you antsy—each passing second is a reminder that your time with him is limited, that this was never meant to last.

He’s also been oddly… distant. Maybe not emotionally, but physically—a total 180 from the past four years when you could only be close to him physically. Besides the kisses on the beach, Dazai has hardly touched you. When you made lunch, he hovered just close enough that you could almost imagine that his skin was brushing yours; when the two of you were lounging on the couch after a few hours in the sun, he subtly shifted away whenever your thighs touched.

It’s strange, you think that maybe it has to do with your words from earlier: every time he touches you, he cringes away in a reminder of how he treated you the past four years. When his fingers brush your wrist, he’s reminded of the way your arms must’ve ached when he pinned your wrists to the small of your back after bending you over his desk; when his thigh touched yours, he glances down and sees fading purplish hue on your thighs from where the edge of his desk had dug a bit too deep into your skin with each thrust.

You want to remind him that you knew what you were getting into when you chose to go up to his office, you knew his touches weren’t going to be gentle, and you knew his words wouldn’t be kind. You went because you wanted him in any way you could have him, but you don’t think that will make him feel any better. You don’t know if you want him to feel better. A part of you is relishing in the agony he feels over how he’s treated you the past few years.

You’re snooping now. This is a different bedroom from the one you changed in; it’s not quite as empty as the rest of the house. There are little trinkets scattered on top of the dressers, and the dressers are actually full. Most of the clothes in them seem to just be more casual loungewear for Dazai. You thought that this place was unused at first glance, but now you can’t help but wonder how often he comes here. He used to disappear for days at a time before he took over as boss, and no matter how much you and Chuuya looked for him in his usual spots, you couldn’t find him.

Was he coming here?

You slide open another drawer and pause when you see clothes that are decidedly not loungewear and decidedly not Dazai’s. You tilt your head to the side as you skim your fingers against the silk lingerie—they’re soft under your touch, the tags still clipped on, your size. Your throat swells with something indecipherable. Fondness, maybe? Sadness? Both? Neither? You’re not sure.

How long has he been planning to bring you here?

When you hear the bathroom door creak open, you ask lightly, “How many women have you brought here, hm? Am I one of many?”

You hear Dazai let out a huff of laughter, and you turn to face him, lips parting instinctively at the sight of him. He’s mostly rewound his bandages around his body—legs, arms, and torso all covered by the gauze—and his towel hangs low on his hips, but he hasn’t rewrapped his bandages around the left side of his face yet.

For the first time since you’ve known him when your gaze tracks up to his face, your eyes meet both of his. His gaze is soft as he looks over you, a longing expression on his face. Dazai is usually quick to school his expression around you, but he’s been disconcertingly open with you since you woke up here. Obviously, he’s still keeping things from you because he’s not explaining everything, but he’s not hiding anything. He’s not masking his emotions, he’s not hitting you with flimsy excuses to dodge the conversation. He’s been open—more open than Dazai Osamu has ever been with anyone.

“Oh yes,” he drawls, giving you a languid smile before reaching over to grab a sweatshirt and pants. “Many women.”

You side-eye him. “Don’t even joke about that.”

He raises his eyebrows, looking unbearably amused, and then he murmurs, “You know you’re the only woman for me.”

You let out a pleased huff and raise your chin, giving him a simpering smile before he steps back into the bathroom to get his clothes on. As soon as he does, you’re looking back down at the lingerie, and with only enough time for a split second to make a decision, you glance back at the closed bathroom door, yank the set out of the drawer, and change into it as quickly as you can.

You’d like to see him keep his hands off of you while you’re dressed in this.

You toss yourself on the bed, humming to yourself as you stretch, making sure the lingerie is fitted properly while you wait for him to get out of the bathroom. You don’t actually know if this is a good idea—the conversations you’ve had with him, the emotional intimacy, it’s a lot for one day, and a part of you is worried that he’s been avoiding physical intimacy because it would just be too much. How are either of you supposed to go back to how things were once you’ve fully indulged in what could be?

That’s also part of the reason why you need to seduce him. You need to show him that he doesn’t have to go back to how things were, that this could be the new norm if he just allowed it. You’re already not sure if you’ll be able to handle going back to how things used to be tomorrow, but you’re in too deep already that you may as well fully indulge. You may as well use this time to try to make him really understand what he could have if he just allowed it.

When you hear the bathroom door creak open, you don’t lift your head to look at him. You know the exact moment he notices you because he’s mid, “Do you want—” when his voice abruptly cuts off.

You hold your breath when you don’t immediately hear him walk in your direction, uncertainty rising in your chest when he also doesn’t speak. It’s an agonizing few seconds as you wait for him to do something. Eventually, you hear his feet padding against the ground as he makes his way over to you.

You don’t know if he’s approaching from behind your head or from your side, and you don’t want to crane your neck around to look. It’s only when you see movement from the corner of your eye as he reaches out to trace his finger up your body, starting from the valley between your breasts up to the middle of your throat. His touch burns, and you can’t think as he drags his finger against your skin. When he finally gets to your throat, he rests it there, and it feels like a brand, searing and heavy as if he’s pressing his claim into your skin with just the pads of his fingers. The air feels thick, suffocating, and you realize you’ve stopped breathing entirely. His pupils are blown wide as he stares down at you silently, gaze running up and down your body intensely, but his fingertips linger on that one spot at the center of your throat—unmoving, heavy, possessive.

You’ve succeeded, but at what cost?

“Tease,” he finally breathes out. The word is shaky, and his finger tenses on your neck before he drags it up to your cheek so he can caress your face. “You’re beautiful.”

You press your face into his hand, looking up at him through your lashes as you say softly, “I’m yours.”

He draws his hand back like he’s been burned, but he doesn’t move away, staring down at you with an expression that you just can’t place. After a few long moments, he whispers, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you repeat, pushing yourself up and shifting on your knees so you can look at him, sitting back on your heels. His throat spasms as he swallows, hardly able to keep his gaze on your face. “I’m yours. I always have been, always will be, you must know that by now.”

“You need to move on,” he tells you, voice wavering. His hand twitches like he wants to reach out again, but he stops himself. “You need to let me go. Please.”

Your lips curve up into a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “That’s not an option, Osamu.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, thick and suffocating. His jaw clenches, and his eyes are dark with something unreadable. He exhales sharply before looking away, shaking his head like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hands curl into fists against his thighs, his breath shuddering as if he’s trying to steady himself.

Then, almost too quietly, he says, “You have no idea what you do to me. You don’t understand.”

His voice is hoarse; this time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out. His fingers tremble as they brush against your cheek. You swallow thickly and then give him a teasing smile to try to lighten the mood, winking as you say, “I can imagine.”

“You can't,” he replies, throat bobbing terribly as he looks at you with the same expression you imagine a condemned man wears to the gallows. “You can’t. I don’t even understand it. It’s… unfathomable—it consumes me, corrodes me from the inside out. What I feel for you, I feel it in my bones, in my blood. It’s unbearable. I tried to rid myself of it; I tried to rid myself of you to make things easier on both of us, but I couldn't.”

“Osamu—”

“I tried to make sense of it. I thought maybe understanding what I feel for you would help me learn how to be apart from you,” he interrupts, voice taking on a more manic tone. His eyes are glassy now as his gaze flits away for a moment, like he’s trying to regain some semblance of control over himself but fails. “I tried so hard, but it was impossible. You twist me up inside, whether you’re around or not. You—you haunted me. Haunt me. You’re alive—whether it’s a city away, ten floors down, or across the sea—but you haunt me. You’re in my every thought, seared behind my eyelids, a ghost in the mirror behind me. I can’t escape you, and I don’t want to escape you—you’re here when I close my eyes, and when I open them, I search for you without meaning to. I knew I would ruin you, I knew how things were going to end from the beginning, but being apart from you was… it was agonizing.”

You don’t know what to say as you stare up at him. His eyes—wild, dark, desperate—search yours as if looking for something that might make this easier, that might make it make sense. He wants you to understand, you realize, but how could you understand what he doesn’t even understand himself?

“I’ve known so much pain,” he continues quietly. His voice shakes, raw with something too heavy to name. His thumb brushes over your cheek. His hand is trembling, his touch adoring and aching, like he’s memorizing the feeling of your skin against his, like he’s afraid that you’re a mirage that will disappear if he presses down too hard. “More than you could ever know. So many lifetimes of it, I saw them all—lives of other mes and other yous. I’ve seen you die over and over again, I’ve felt death myself more times than I can count. None of that pain compared to the prospect of a single life without you in it.”

He swallows hard, and for a second, it looks like he might say more. Instead, he lets out a breathless laugh, humorless and tired. “You don’t understand,” he repeats, softer now, almost to himself, as he caresses your cheek. “You can’t… Maybe it’s for the best.”

“I want to understand,” you insist. When he tries to pull his hand away, you lift yours to grab it, entwining your fingers with his and holding it close. “Help me understand. Please.”

He looks down, and you think he’s about to say no. You see the conflicted expression on his face, the reluctance, but just as you’re going to sigh and look away, something changes. He looks up at you again, searching your eyes for some sort of answer, and whatever it is, he finds it. Your mouth dries when you see the small smile that curves to the corner of his lips, when you see the way his gaze softens. The mattress shifts as he comes to kneel next to you, and when he lifts his hand to cradle your face again, there’s no hesitation in his touch.

“In another life, you were my wife,” he breathes out softly, thumb running along your cheekbone as he commits your face to his memory. “In every other life, you were my wife. I wish it could’ve been this one, too.”

Your breath catches, heart stuttering in your chest as you stare up at him. You search his face for a lie, for madness, for anything to cling to that’s not hope, but all you find is truth. You don’t understand it. Dazai’s not explaining, but he fully believes in what he’s saying, and you want to, as well. You want to believe that there are lives out there where the two of you had been able to live happily and in love, but that would mean accepting that it was possible in this one, but Dazai didn’t allow it, and he won’t tell you why.

Like he can see thoughts running through your head, his expression becomes a bit more solemn, the smile on his lips fading as he looks down. “I know I have no right to ask you this, but please, for the rest of the night, can we pretend?”

You should say no. You should demand more of an explanation. How can he say this—how can he call you his wife, how can he tell you all of this and not explain how he knows? How can he not explain why it couldn’t be this life, too? How can he not help you understand? But Dazai is begging you with the same expression he wore before—that of a condemned man, like he knows a dark fate is awaiting him and wants one last mercy from the woman he loves.

So again, you ask quietly, “Will you kiss me?”

Unlike on the beach, Dazai doesn’t kiss you immediately. His dark gaze remains trained on your face, and his expression is almost sad as his thumb gently caresses your skin. He looks at you and touches you like you’re something fragile, something precious, something he knows he shouldn’t be indulging in but can’t bring himself to stop.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You’re frustrated because you still don’t know what he’s apologizing for. You don’t know why he’s so against being with you; you don’t know what he knows from these other lives he’s supposedly witnessed, and you don’t know how it affects the two of you. He doesn’t give you the chance to ask, though. All of your frustration and confusion wash away as soon as his lips touch yours.

He kisses you as gently as he cradles your face; it’s not nearly as intense as the kiss you shared on the beach. His lips move slowly against yours, savoring the moment, memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you breathe against him. There’s no sense of urgency, no desperation—just quiet devotion, worship, a type of tenderness that makes your chest ache. His fingers cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your cheek as he deepens the kiss slightly.

It’s another apology.

“I don’t understand,” you gasp again as his lips glide to the corner of yours, down to your jaw, down to your neck. You can hardly breathe, and your hands are trembling as you lift them. You rest one on his shoulder and slide the other to the back of his head, fingers carding through his dark hair. “Osamu, I don’t understand.”

“I know,” he says softly. Your lashes flutter shut as he kisses the underside of your jaw again and then your pulse point. “I know, I’m sorry. You were never meant to understand, I’m scared now that you will.”

“Osamu—” you try again, voice pleading, but his name cuts off into a shaky moan when his hands slide down your body. Your breath wavers as he kisses down to your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin. You think he’ll maybe unhook the top piece of the lingerie, but he only pulls back so he can look at it more carefully, eyes dark and breath unsteady before he continues kissing down your chest. “I—”

His hands settle on your hips as his lips trail down to your navel, each kiss lingering, and your head feels foggy. Your fingers dig into the sheets, back arching as Dazai’s lips brush right above the red silk of your panties. He pulls back just a few centimeters, warm breath fanning across your skin.

“You’ll never forgive me,” he whispers. “I know that, but I’m so selfish to want you to.”

You want to ask him to explain again, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Your breath catches when his hands slide from your hips to your thighs. You expect him to pull them off of you, but he only hooks a finger beneath them to pull them to the side. You try to say his name again, but it dies on your tongue when you see the intense expression on his face as he stares down at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. His eyes slide shut as he kisses your inner thigh. Each kiss is reverent, like he’s trying to convey to you through actions, everything he can’t possibly articulate in words. “You’ve always deserved better than me. I’ve never understood…”

“You’re all I want,” you tell him shakily, brushing your fingers against his cheek.

He looks up at you, and his lips curl up into a solemn smile. He says regretfully, “I know. I wish I weren’t.”

Your lips part to question him, but Dazai seems to sense the question on your lips because he finally stops teasing. A gasp tears from your lips as Dazai’s tongue dips into your cunt; he drags a long line between your folds before sucking gently on your clit.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, thighs trembling as Dazai’s tongue moves slowly, tracing patterns against your cunt—letters, maybe? You can’t tell. His hands are warm and steady as he keeps you open for him, lapping at you gently.

He hums against you, the vibration making you shudder. Each flick of his tongue has your body hot and fuzzy—just enough to keep you at the edge but never quite enough to push you over it. His mouth works over you like he’s savoring every reaction, relishing in every twitch of your hips as he holds you in place.

“You’re a drug,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. You forcibly lift your head so that you can look at him; he’s already looking up at you, his eyes dark and full of something you can’t place. “I can never get enough of you. Can never stay away. I tried so hard.”

His lashes flutter shut again as he returns to devote his attention to your pleasure. A needy moan spills from your lips when he seals his lips around your clit again, this time letting his teeth graze it before he sucks hard. His hands shoot from your thighs to your hips to hold you down when you try to grind your hips against his face.

Dazai hasn’t gone down on you at all in the last four years, and you’ve almost forgotten how good he is with his tongue. He knows your body like the back of his hand—he always has, but there’s something now that’s different. He’s just as skilled as you remember, but it’s not just that practiced expertise now—it’s desperation, hunger, a type of need that makes your whole body tremble. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you still, but there’s a tremor to them, like he’s physically having to hold himself back.

You won’t survive tonight, you think, head fuzzy as Dazai’s tongue swirls around you faster.

“Osamu,” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. He moans against you, lashes fluttering as he sucks hard, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. Your thighs quiver around his head, but he only hums in warning, the vibration sending you closer to that edge.

You expect a teasing remark or a smug comment, but Dazai is completely focused on making you come undone on his tongue—you can only hear the sound of your breathy moans and the lewd slide of his mouth against your cunt. The heat in your abdomen becomes unbearable, almost painful, and when he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them just right as he rolls your clit between his teeth, your whole body tenses.

“That’s it,” he breathes against you, voice pitched with need. “Let go for me, baby.”

And you do. You shatter as he holds you in his arms, coming apart on his tongue and fingers. Your eyes knock back as you take in a choked breath that shifts into a cry of his name, and when your back arches off the bed, Dazai’s free hand slides up and down your side soothingly. He rides out your high, fingers slowly pumping in and out of your cunt, before he pulls them out to replace it with his tongue, lapping up your cum with the eagerness of a man starved. He lets out a low groan, and your body spasms as pleasure shifts into overstimulation.

“Osamu,” you choke out again, trying to push at his head when he doesn’t relent. Your gaze is still blurry and dancing with spots when you try to look down at him again, but it’s like he doesn’t hear or feel you. His hips grind against the bed as he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging you closer so he can devour you. Your body is hot, too hot, and twitches uncontrollably as he fucks his tongue deep into your sensitive cunt. “I ca—haaah, fuck, ‘samu, please—”

“S’okay, baby,” he gasps, voice ragged. “I know your limits, you can give me another.”

You almost sob when you say, “I can’t,” but even as you say it, your head is lolling back, vision darkening as your hips jerk against his face. You think he lets out an obscenely lewd moan when he feels your walls tighten around his tongue, but your ears are ringing, your body on fire as you finish a second time within a matter of moments.

You don’t know how long it takes you to settle down, you think you might’ve blacked out for a few seconds because you only really start to register what’s happening when you feel Dazai kissing back up your body. Your hand is trembling as you reach up to rest it on his shoulder; your breath shudders when he kisses your neck, deceptively gentle.

“Osamu,” you whisper weakly when he lifts his head to look at you. His dark eyes have a hazy look to them, and his lips curl up into a sweet smile as he reaches up to wipe away the drool pooling at the corner of your lips.

“Lookit you,” he coos, but his voice is rough with need as he kisses your cheek. “So fucked out, and we’ve barely even done anything yet.”

I love you, you want to say, lifting a trembling hand to brush your fingers against his cheekbone. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. This is all you’ve ever wanted, you think—your eyes blur again, but this time, instead of from pleasure, it’s with tears. You realize you were wrong before, you hadn’t been in too deep at the beach or even after the conversation when he got out of the shower, but now… this…

Your heart clenches as you stare up at him, throat tightening over a sob—you know this isn’t going to last. You should’ve left when you had the chance to survive this.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, wiping away your tears. “I’m sorry, I know this was a lot for one day. We can stop.”

“No,” you say immediately, reaching up to hold his hand to your cheek. “Please.”

He searches your face like he doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. His fingers twitch against your skin, expression flickering between hesitation and something more vulnerable.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quiet as he cradles your cheek gently.

You nod, throat spasming as you swallow. “I’m sure.”

Dazai exhales slowly, thumb stroking your cheekbone, tracing the damp trail your tears left behind. His gaze softens, and then he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before trailing his lips down over the bridge of your nose, brushing against the corner of your mouth. He pauses there, waiting, giving you one last chance to change your mind.

But you don’t. You tilt your head up to close the distance between the two of you, and when your lips meet his, he melts into you with a soft sigh. You taste yourself on his lips; he kisses you slowly and threads his fingers through yours, holding your hand against his chest, right over the frantic beat of his heart, like he’s offering you a piece of himself that he’s never been able to before.

“At first, I wanted to run away,” he admits, voice shaking. You don’t know what he’s referring to, but you find yourself lost in his words anyway. “I was fifteen, and it was so much—too much—I just couldn’t handle it. I wanted to run, I bought this place because I was scared. It was the only place I could go where I felt like everything was… bearable. I felt less lonely here.”

His breath fans against your lips as he speaks. His expression is so frail—on the verge of breaking—that you can hardly bear to look at him. He seems to have more to say, so you stay quiet as you wait for him to speak.

“I bought it for us,” he whispers, throat bobbing as his eyes slide shut and he rests his forehead against yours. “I wanted to run away here with you.”

Your breath catches.

“We still can,” you say weakly, lifting your hands to cup his cheeks. His eyes slide back open so he can look at you—they’re warm, familiar, sad. You know his answer before he speaks it, but you try anyway. “We still can, Osamu. We don’t have to go back.”

“You still don’t understand,” he breathes out, lifting his hand to cradle the back of yours, holding it against his face. “I hope you never do.”

A heavy silence lingers between the two of you, thick with everything he refuses to tell you. His skin is warm, thumb stroking the back of your hand idly. Your fingers slip from his cheek, trailing down the sharp edge of his jaw, brushing along the column of his throat. His pulse thrums beneath your touch, quick and unsteady, and his eyes are dark and intense, and something about it—about the way he watches you, like he’s still holding himself back—makes that heat return low in your stomach.

“I love you,” you tell him, one last desperate plea for him to change his mind. “I’ve always loved you. I’ll never not love you, Osamu.”

“I know,” he murmurs, brown eyes glassy and expression distraught as he looks to the side. “I know, I’m so sorry. It was never supposed to be this way.”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a sob, your chest tightening with the weight of his unspoken answer—your love for him isn’t enough. It never was and never will be. He says nothing, but you feel him brush your hair behind your ear, caressing your skin. His touch lingers, warm and gentle, and then a soft, wet drop lands against your skin. Then another.

Dazai is crying.

“Kiss me,” you say again.

Dazai inhales sharply, fingers stilling against your cheek. His breath is warm and uneven against your lips, but he doesn’t move. Your chest aches. You’ve never seen him like this—so unsure, so vulnerable. His walls have always been impossibly high, even before he took over as boss, but now they’re crumbling right in front of you.

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your head up, your lips barely brushing his. “Just kiss me.”

A shudder runs through his body, and then, his lips crash into yours. There’s nothing slow or unhurried about this kiss—it’s desperate, frantic, like he’s trying to consume you. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangling into your hair—you can hardly breathe, slipping your own hands beneath his sweatshirt to slide against the bandages wrapped around his torso.

“Please,” you beg again, unsure of what exactly you’re begging for this time. His teeth graze your lower lip, and a soft whimper spills from your lips, swallowed immediately by his mouth. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, but you can still taste the saltiness of your combined tears on your lips. “I’ve got you, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you tell him, voice shaky as your grip on his waist tightens. You want him—it’s always been him, only been him. From the day you met him, he was all you ever wanted. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he says, voice low and rough. He presses his forehead to yours again, the weight of his touch grounding you. “You’ve always had me. I’ve always been yours. Heart, body, and soul—I’m yours.”

“But it’s not enough,” you gasp. “It’s not enough, is it?”

Dazai swallows as he shakes his head. “It’s not enough.”

You don’t ask him this time when you lean up to kiss him again, desperate to muffle the sob that threatens to spill from your lips. You make your intentions quite clear when you slide your leg up his body to hook it around his waist—you need to pretend just for tonight that you’re enough.

“Please,” you murmur against his lips, letting out a breathy moan when he kisses the underside of your jaw, hand dropping down to your thigh. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, even though you know it’s only for tonight. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The word hitches into a quiet whine when he rocks his hips against yours, biting down over your pulse point just hard enough to draw a gasp from your lips. The sharp sting melts into pleasure when his tongue soothes over his mark, breath hot against your skin. His grip on your hip tightens, the hand on your thigh sliding up and down soothingly.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he groans against your throat, voice low and wrecked. “Fuck.”

He grinds his clothed cock against you again, slower this time. He kisses up and down your neck as his hand drops from your hip down to the waistband of his pants. He lets out a grunt as he yanks them down, and you lift one hand to his head so you can pull his face up to yours, pressing your lips to his right as he rolls his hips, cock sliding between your folds.

“I’ve always been so selfish when it comes to you,” he gasps. You’re barely able to hold your eyes open as your body trembles in anticipation for the familiar feeling of his cock stretching you out—his tip presses against your entrance, but he doesn’t push in yet. His forehead presses against yours, breath hot and heavy. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. Your voice is shaky, barely more than a breath as your hand slides from the back of his head to his cheek again. “It’s okay, you can be selfish. Please, be selfish.”

Another groan rips from his throat; this one is more ragged, like your words break something inside of him. His eyes are glassy with tears again—the hand on your thigh is tight, but the one cradling your face is gentle.

“It was never supposed to be like this,” he whispers. “You were never supposed to be the price.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Osamu,” you tell him again, voice breaking.

“I know,” he breathes out. “I hope you never do.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to reply as he finally sinks into you. Your breath catches, head falling back against the pillows, eyes half-rolled back at the familiar stretch of him. A broken moan escapes your lips, fingers trembling against his waist and shoulders, digging into the bandages covering his skin to try to pull him impossibly closer. His breath is hot against your throat, ragged and uneven, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Fuck,” he gasps, voice strained as he buries himself to the hilt. He drags his lips from your neck up to your cheek, panting as he tries to maintain some semblance of control. “You feel—you’re perfect. You’re perfect. I’m sorry.”

Your hand slides back into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you force him to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his expression torn with regret and need. You tilt your hips up slightly, urging him to move, and he inhales sharply, lips brushing yours as his eyes slide shut.

“Please,” you breathe for the last time, and his restraint finally snaps.

He pulls back only to thrust forward again. He’s barely moved at all, and you’re already desperately trying to keep control of yourself. You’re drunk off the feeling of him inside of you again, the feeling of being whole is intoxicating. You tilt your head up to brush your lips against his jaw, and he instantly turns his face down to you, pressing his lips sloppily against yours to muffle the pitched moan that almost escapes him as he rocks his hips into you again.

His pace is nothing like you’re used to—he fucks you slow, each thrust deep and steady. Like he wants you to feel every inch of him. Like he’s trying to mold himself inside of you, dragging it out until you’re gasping, whining his name, writhing against him. It’s overwhelming—the way he holds you, the way his breath hitches with each roll of his hips, the way his fingers tighten on your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

His forehead stays pressed against yours, his lips brushing over yours in fleeting, teasing kisses. “I’m scared,” he confesses, hips stilling, voice trembling. “I’m so scared of what comes next. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I act like I do, but I don’t, and I’m scared I’ve done everything wrong, and this was all for nothing.”

You cradle his cheek again, lifting his face so that he’s looking at you. “You’re Dazai Osamu—you’re the smartest and most infuriating man I’ve ever met,” you say, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips when you see the pain and fear in his eyes. “I trust you, and I don’t know what your plan is, but I know you, and I know things always work out the way you want them to.”

“Not always,” he whispers. “You have too much faith in me.”

“You don’t have enough faith in yourself,” you counter, carding your fingers gently through his hair. “I love you.”

A strangled sound escapes him, something caught between a sigh and a sob, and then his lips crash to yours again.

“I love you,” he gasps against your lips, picking up the pace of his hips. He lets out another moan into your mouth, lashes fluttering, dark eyes glazed over, hardly able to keep them open as he fucks you harder, pace quickening as he desperately chases his release. “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry.”

You can’t even say it back now, head falling back against the pillow, lips parted in a noiseless moan. Each thrust jolts your body further up the bed, the tip of his cock bullies so deep inside of you that it has you half-convinced that you can feel him up in your stomach. Your head spins, drowning in the obscene sound of Dazai’s cock driving in and out of you and the lewd slapping of skin-on-skin, lost in the incoherent babbles of I love yous, and I’m sorrys that keep spilling from his lips. Even before he took over as boss, Dazai had never been particularly loud when he fucks you, but he is now as he moans your name alongside the jumbled words, gasping and panting and cursing each time he feels your walls convulse around him.

“I—”

You start to speak, but you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. Were you warning him that you were about to cum? Were you trying to say I love you too? Were you just speaking to speak? Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision dancing with too many spots. Every time you try to breathe, you choke over another moan—he doesn’t even have his hand around your throat, and you just can’t get any air to your lungs.

One last thrust pushes you over the edge for a third time. When you cum on his cock, gasping over what you think is his name, there’s no question about whether you blacked out because, this time, you feel the sudden numbness that spreads through your body as your head lolls back. Dazai’s still fucking you through your orgasm by the time you come back to, lashes fluttering and gaze unfocused on the ceiling—you can feel his grip tight on your thigh, keeping it snug around his waist as he snaps his hips into yours even when you can’t hold it up yourself anymore, and his lips on your neck, breath warm as he pants against your skin, murmuring something you can’t quite grasp as he chases the last of his pleasure.

“Kiss me,” you try to say, unsure if the words are even comprehensible. Even if they aren’t, Dazai seems to get the gist of what you’re saying because he pulls his face from your neck. Even through your blurry, unfocused vision, Dazai is beautiful—his dark hair is matted to his forehead, his lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed pink, eyes glazed over, and half rolled back—he’s so lost in the haze of pleasure that he seems to forget what you said almost immediately, so you take what you want instead.

Your hand trembles as you lift it to cup his cheek, dragging his face down so you can press your lips against his. As soon as you do, Dazai is wrecked, moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against yours as he cums deep inside of you—you think you might’ve finished again, too, because your body spasms beneath his, hips jerking and eyes knocking back for a split second when you feel his cum filling you up, warm, thick, sticky. Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around his sensitive cock, rolling his hips against yours slowly as he fucks his cum deep inside of you.

The grip on your thigh loosens until he’s sliding his hand up and down it soothingly; his free hand comes up to cup your cheek as he slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, mapping out the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You’re not sure how long you lay there with him; your hands eventually drop back down to his waist, settling on his bandaged hips as he kisses you.

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. His thumb strokes your cheekbone as he gazes at you, dark eyes swimming with too many emotions for you to name.

“I love you,” he says softly, voice aching as he traces your face with his fingers longingly. “More than you can ever imagine.”

Your chest tightens at the words you’ve been dying to hear for four years, but you find no relief in them. You only find resignation because you know his love for you doesn’t change reality.

“But it’s not enough.” Your voice is weak, cracking over the words as you look up at him, searching his face desperately for a different answer but not finding one. “It’s not enough, is it?”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, lashes fluttering shut momentarily.

“No,” he breathes. “It’s not enough.”

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

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onepieceisreeeeaaalll · 2 months ago

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Smutty Law HCs

I finally did it. Just like I did for Zoro, here are my self-indulgent Law smutty headcanons in their full glory. I can't help it. My brain rot is too far gone. I may go back and edit after posting like I usually do, but here it is.

CW: NSFW MDNI! P in v, light impact play, slightly dominant Law, possessive Law, some sweetness too though

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this!

Law is someone who keeps himself relatively focused and composed. It’s obvious to anyone who knows him that he’s a busy man. Honestly, you weren’t even sure he had a sex drive until you got together.

Oh boy, were you wrong.

This man has a fairly good grasp on work-life balance despite how busy he keeps himself. He’ll work for hours on end tirelessly but always makes room for companionship to spend time with his crew. You included.

So, after a grueling day of work, he might need to blow off a little steam.

Where he’ll start might seem obvious - he’ll grab you up the moment you’re alone in either of your quarters, already placing heated kisses and nips along your neck. There isn’t always a warning, but it’s become fairly routine at this point.

Law loves necks, collarbones, ears - the whole upper body is his domain for foreplay. He loves to tease, nipping and claiming territory where he’s careful to place in areas that no one will see.

Not that he minds if anyone did see the marks he’s left.

He’ll push you up against a wall, his tongue lavishing your throat with attention, sucking and nipping at the helpless flesh as he pulls small gasps and moans that vibrate against his mouth.

It just makes him go crazy.

His hands like to travel, moving down your chest, to your hips, your waist. Anywhere he can grab, he’s gonna grab. Love handles? He’s grabbing them. Hip dips? Baby, those are the perfect indents for his hands.

It’s always needy with him, too, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s pent up or because he can’t get enough of you. Probably both.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about you,” He’ll groan, his voice muffled against your skin.

The moment he decides he can’t stand to wait anymore, when he’s already covered you with a sufficient amount of hickeys and love bites, the clothes have been tossed aside and you’re on the bed. He’s kissing everywhere his lips can land.

When he’s feeling a little more rough, though? He loves to push you down over a desk, a table, a nightstand. One of his favorite things is to bend you over, smack your ass, grab it, and tell you that you’ve been getting on his nerves all day. He’ll even provide examples, though on days you were fine, he’ll honestly just nitpick all the ways your body drove him crazy.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, you know that? Walking around like you own the goddamn ship. Remind me who your captain is.”

“Tired of seeing you show that much skin in battle. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get yourself killed.”

When he’s taking his time, though, it’s more careful. His hands travel, and he loves to caress you anywhere he can. His touch is always deliberate - slow, calculated. Mind over matter.

He’ll kiss down your body, worshipping it in a way that’s purely possessive. Every inch of your body is part of the journey, his hands running over your breasts, down your stomach, tracing along each curve with his tongue.

He likes to tease with his fingers more than anything, whether it be against your pert nipples, down your sides, into your aching cunt. He knows how to use his hands very well - they’re steady, practiced, the tell-tale signs of a surgeon. Law treats your body with as much care as any operation he performs.

The 'E' and 'A' tattoos on his hands always sink so perfectly into you, curling in the way that he knows you crave. If you rut against his hand, he'll tut, holding your hips steady with the full grip of 'death' on his other hand.

"So needy. Can't you be patient for me?"

All the while, his smile is bordering sadistic. He loves seeing you go crazy for his hands.

Law has your body mapped out in his brain, all the places that elicit very specific reactions from you. He lives for the moans or gasps from grabbing your hips, gripping your ass, spreading your thighs.

He likes to take you apart piece by piece, a small reminder to both himself and you that each part of your body inexplicably belongs to him and no one else. Nobody else can touch you the way that he can, can systematically bring you to the edge of orgasm and hold you there the way he effortlessly does.

Blowjobs, though. We need to talk about blowjobs, because these are always an event. This is a quick blow-job sidebar.

Law used to hate them. Full-stop, he hated the idea of his dick in someone’s mouth. It always felt too vulnerable, and far too unsanitary.

Something about you though just makes him want to see how far down your throat he can get it, if you’re willing.

He used to think he couldn’t come from a blowjob. He was almost certain. One time he saw your eyes prick up with tears, though, and heard you moan around his cock. That sent him over easily, and now it’s a regular occurrence. He loves the idea of you enjoying sucking his dick, bringing him that pleasure, and he’ll happily let you sink to your knees and take care of him.

Sex itself just depends on his mood.

While he talks more during foreplay, he’s usually more quiet during sex. This is mostly because he’s using so much effort to keep himself from coming too fast.

When he wants to be rougher and say nasty things to you, you’re on your hands and knees so he can’t come too quickly from the fucked out look on your face.

“Yeah - listen to you, so loud for me. You gonna be a good girl and keep taking what I give you?”

He’ll whisper expletives under his breath, and if you fuck back on him? He’ll lose it, right then and there, easily. It’s your quickest way to ensure a fast orgasm from him.

Otherwise, he looooooves to push you onto your stomach so he can kiss your back, grab your ass, slide his fingers down to that aching wet pussy he’s already worked up so well just by giving you attention. Something about you not being able to see what he’s doing turns him on.

“So sensitive, and I’ve barely even done anything.”

His favorite positions, though, are the ones where he can see your face. He loves every expression you make, the way your face contorts in ecstasy, how your eyes glaze over as you get closer to coming. He’s never seen anything more erotic.

During this kind of sex, Law’s still a talker, but it’s quiet. Hushed. He doesn’t want others to hear anything remotely vulnerable from him. It’s only for you. Only ever for you.

He’ll whisper that he loves you, that you’re beautiful, things that he’s certain he’ll only ever say when his cock is buried deep in your velvet walls. Outside of sex, Law keeps these feelings to himself - making love, however, he lets it out. It’s almost impossible for him not to.

When he finally comes, he’s always louder than he wants to be, but he can’t help it. The grunts from holding it in always turn into long, quiet whines that he muffles into your shoulder or neck. His hips always slow steadily, pumping as much as he can until he finally gives out from exhaustion.

He likes to just cock warm after sex for a while, always careful to place his arms around you once he’s picked himself up. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything like that, but the proximity of having you perfectly wrapped around him feels nice. The connection is what gets him more than anything.

If he doesn’t go more than once, it’s a rare occurrence. Refractory time on this man is crazy. We’re talking at least two rounds every time you go at it, likely because he’s been pent up.

Aftercare is important. In fact, it’s not even a second thought with Law. It’s so natural.

When he’s finally had enough and lets his cock out of you, he takes a brief second to admire his come spilling out of you before he’ll let himself lay back on the bed. His bedside table always has towels at the ready, along with painkillers and water. He likes to cuddle, to rest for a while before getting into the shower with you.

At first, showering with you felt awkward. He didn’t know where to stand or what to do with his hands. Eventually, though, he grew more comfortable.

Now it’s a matter of just staying as close as possible to share the warm water, and his hands are always gentle as they caress and wash your body.

#one piece #op #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #one piece smut #one piece lemon #trafalgar law lemon #trafalgar d water law x reader

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roastedoatmilk · 9 months ago

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Lunch Box Scandal

Kento Nanami x Gn! Reader

Summary: Someone seems to be packing Nanami’s lunch for him and Gojo is determined to figure out who it is.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: the most tooth rotting fluff, mentions of satosugu, gojo needs a hug he's also a little shit in this, nanami being insanely whipped for his partner

This is also on ao3 !!

Little Things Masterlist here

Kento Nanami sighs as he walks into the faculty room, lunch box in hand, Gojo had been on his nerves all day pestering him over the smallest things. Sitting down at the farthest table from the door Kento sets his lunch box onto the table wondering what you had prepared for him for his lunch that day. Unlatching the buckle holding the tin box closed Kento hears the door to the room open and then quickly close again, he inwardly groans knowing exactly who had just entered the room.

“Nanamin!” Gojo cheered, “not having lunch by yourself, are you?” Making his way over to the table that the blond man was at and plopping down into the seat closest to him.

Kento tries his hardest to ignore the 6 '3 man child and opens the lid to his lunch box finally getting a view of what you had packed for him that morning. A small smile comes to the man’s face when he sees the effort you put into his lunch. The rice balls molded to be shaped like penguins each one having a different little face, the sausages cut to be shaped like octopuses, the eggs made out to be a duck with little faces, and a star shaped carrot placed over his peas. Taped to the lid of the box is a little note in your handwriting that says “You’re my Honey Bee” with a tiny drawing of two bees underneath it. As he was reading the note he could feel the gaze of a certain blindfolded man on him.

Sighing, Kento turns to the white haired man and asks, “Yes Satoru?” trying his hardest to make it look like your note didn’t affect him.

Gojo didn’t buy it for one second, a wicked grin on his face. Snatching the note from the top of the lunch box before he could say anything, Gojo brings the note closer to him and reads it before laughing, Kento just groans knowing what’s coming next.

“Awwww Nanami I didn’t realize you were the type to like being called such sweet pet names, I always took you for the type to hate them.” Gojo commented before continuing with “Maybe I should start calling you Honey Bun.”

Kento glared at the white haired man while he angrily munched on one of the rice balls that you had packed him, it was delicious as usual. You always insisted on waking up early to pack his lunch for him even though he has told you countless times that it isn't necessary. Gojo eyes the food curiously taking in the presentation of it.

“Hold on now Nanamin, who exactly packed this lunch for you?” The white haired man questions noticing how much effort was put into the lunch.

Gojo likes to think that he knows Nanami well enough at this point and he is certain that the stoic man wouldn’t put this much effort into his own lunch instead opting to buy a sandwich from a local convenience store and call it a day. Kento sighs not really wanting to tell Gojo about you, not because he was ashamed of you, that's not the case at all. Instead, it’s because he knew that the second the special grade sorcerer knew of your existence, he would never hear the end of it. Popping one of the sausages in his mouth the blond chews as slow as he possibly could to avoid answering the question.

Gojo groans at this before chirping “Come on now Nanami you can tell me anything.” to prove his point Gojo props up his head with the palms of his hands to signal that he’s paying attention.

Kento exhaled heavily before wiping his mouth with a spare napkin, turning his head away from Gojo he finally mumbles “Mypartnermakesmylunchforme.” saying it so quietly that Gojo wasn’t able to catch it.

“Nanamiiiii speak up. I may have six eyes, but my hearing isn't the best in my old age.” Gojo retorts, chuckling at his own joke.

Kento turns his head to face the lanky white haired man, a bright red painting his freckled face and his ears. Taking a deep breath the blond finally says, “My partner makes my lunch for me, now that’s quite enough Satoru I’d like to finish my lunch in peace.”

The second Gojo hears the word partner he perks up immediately, questions racing through his head. He takes in the look on his junior’s face, the red painting his cheeks and ears, the look in his eye as he reads the note you left him over again. In all of his years knowing the man, not once had Gojo seen him look like this. Instead of teasing the blond Gojo nods his head in understanding.

“They must be a really great person to have you looking like this.” Gojo says softly remembering the only person to ever make him look like the blond did now, causing Kento to look up at him.

“They’re the best person I know, they make me a better man.” Kento stated as if it was a fact, the love the man had for you was obvious.

Kento reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, opening it up and turning it towards the special grade sorcerer. Inside one of the main parts was a photo of a person looking directly into the camera, a bright smile lighting up their face. Flour covering their entire being smeared all across their face and clothes, some of it even making it into their hair. Kento smiles fondly at the photo remembering how you both had attempted to try a new recipe which ended in the both of you covered in the ingredients barely any of it making it into the bowl. The blond takes the photo out of the wallet and hands it to Gojo.

“This was the result of the first and last time the two of us tried to bake something together,” Kento explained “We came to realize that we don’t make a good team in the kitchen, more flour ended up on us than in the bowl.” The smile on his freckled face grew the longer he looked at the photo.

Gojo could feel the beginnings of tears welling up in his eyes, thankfully hidden behind his blindfold. The white haired man felt so happy that his junior had found his person, thinking about when he lost his own person all those years ago. Clearing his throat Gojo composes himself and says to the man next to him “Your secret is safe with me, don’t worry.”

Hearing the man say this briefly shocked Kento before he nods his head in thanks, placing the photo of you back in its rightful place in his wallet. Reaching for one of the rice balls he breaks it in half and gives a piece to Gojo, not saying a word as he does so. The two men sit in silence as they eat, a mutual understanding between them.

When Kento returns home that night he asks if it would be too much trouble for you to pack a sweet in his lunch for the future. You nod with a small smile on your face knowing that your lover isn’t a sweets fan but that a certain white haired sorcerer is.

A/N hiya !!! this is part one of a mini series that i’m working on i hope y’all enjoy :3 reader will be having a bigger appearance in the later parts !!!

#nanami kento #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami fluff #kento nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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chrrybbmb · 3 months ago

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HEARTWEAVE

STARRING ... SPIDEY!J. JUNGKOOK X READER

WORD COUNT ... 9.0K

SUMMARY ... in which jungkook realises his heart is caught in your web.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... PATHETIC KOOK ALERT!! cringefail!jungkook, mostly pure fluff. unrequited(?) love if you blink. slow burn(?). unresolved crush. idk i had a lot of fun writing this tho!! not proofread, so there may be mistakes 🫣

taglist. next.

jungkook doesn't know how to approach you.

he's seen you in passing countless times, walked your path because the two of you share the same class. he's considered saying hi, or asking if you need help with schoolwork, or literally doing anything else other than following you and staring like a creep.

the only genuine interaction the two of you have had was during freshman year when jungkook asked you to point out the lecture hall for chemistry, and you laughed and told him you were headed the same way — and just as lost as he was.

he thinks about that moment more often than he should. not because it was anything significant, but because it was the last time talking to you felt easy—effortless. before he let hesitation sink its claws into him, before he started overthinking every glance, every opportunity to speak.

now, jungkook just watches from a distance, caught somewhere between curiosity and cowardice. he wonders if you remember that day at all, if you ever think about him in passing the way he does you. probably not. he wouldn’t blame you.

still, the thought lingers. maybe tomorrow, he tells himself. maybe tomorrow he’ll say something.

jimin always makes fun of him for it, saying he’s fought villains before and yet one girl makes him shy?

“bro, you’ve literally been thrown through a building,” jimin snickers, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. “but god forbid you say hi to a girl in your chemistry class.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, staring down at his untouched burger. he doesn’t pay jimin’s teasing any mind—he never does. it’s easy for jimin to talk; he’s never had to hide a whole second life, never had to balance midterms with stopping armed robberies. he doesn’t get it.

(though, to be fair, jimin is right. jungkook has gone toe-to-toe with some of the worst criminals in the city. yet somehow, the idea of talking to you makes his palms sweat.)

“it’s not that simple,” he mutters, picking at the edge of his tray.

jimin snorts. “right, because saying ‘hey, what’s up?’ is way harder than getting launched off a bridge.”

jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. he doesn’t have a good rebuttal for that. mostly because jimin’s right, and he hates that.

“it’s different,” he insists, even though it really isn’t.

jimin raises an eyebrow. “how?”

jungkook opens his mouth, then closes it. then opens it again. “because—” he starts, but the words get stuck in his throat, tangled up in excuses that don’t make sense even to him.

jimin grins, sensing victory. “you’re scared of her,” he sings, dragging out the last word obnoxiously.

jungkook scowls. “i’m not scared of her.”

“you so are,” jimin laughs. “like, imagine this. you’re mid-battle, bad guy’s got you in a chokehold, and suddenly—boom! it’s her. she’s watching. do you still pull your usual show-off stunts, or do you fumble and get your ass kicked?”

jungkook doesn’t answer.

jimin gasps, slapping the table. “you’d fumble.”

“i would not.”

“you so would.”

jungkook glares at him, but it’s weak. because, again, jimin is right. jungkook has had guns pointed at his head, has dodged death more times than he can count, but somehow, the thought of you seeing him trip over his own feet is what keeps him up at night.

jimin waggles his brows. “just talk to her, dude. it’s not that deep.”

but it is. it is that deep. because talking to you is different. talking to you is real, not some masked-up alter ego that people only half-believe in. and if he messes up as spiderman, he can hide behind the suit. if he messes up as jungkook—well.

there’s no hiding from that.

jungkook stabs at his fries with unnecessary aggression. “it’s not that simple,” he mutters again, knowing full well jimin won’t let it go.

“bro, it’s literally that simple,” jimin says, leaning back in his chair like he’s exhausted by the sheer weight of jungkook’s awkwardness. “just go up to her, say—i dunno—‘hey, you dropped this’ or something, even if she didn’t. instant conversation starter.”

jungkook squints at him. “so, lie?”

“not lie,” jimin corrects, “strategically mislead. big difference.”

jungkook exhales through his nose. “you are the worst person i know.”

“and yet, i’m the only person willing to help your pathetic ass,” jimin grins, stealing one of jungkook’s fries.

jungkook should be used to this by now. the teasing, the dramatic reenactments of how he supposedly looks when he freezes up around you (jimin does this thing where he goes stiff as a board and stares blankly into space—it’s completely inaccurate, by the way). but today, it gets under his skin more than usual. maybe because he knows he’s been avoiding this for way too long.

“whatever,” jungkook grumbles, shoving jimin’s hand away from his tray. “it’s not like i have time for dating, anyway.”

jimin rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with it. “oh my god, it’s not about dating. just be normal for once. be her friend. say more than two words to her that aren’t ‘thanks’ or ‘sorry’ when you accidentally bump into her in the hallway.”

jungkook hates how easily jimin reads him. it’s not like he hasn’t considered all of this before. but the thing is—he’s not good at the whole “normal” thing. he doesn’t know how to balance both sides of his life, how to let himself want something outside of the web-slinging and late-night bruises.

because what if he lets you in, and you see everything? what if you see the real him, and you don’t like what’s underneath?

“just think about it,” jimin says, shoving back from the table and tossing his empty tray onto the pile near the trash. “but not too hard. your brain might overheat.”

“ha ha,” jungkook deadpans.

but later, when he’s walking home with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he thinks about it. he thinks about it way too hard.

today is the day. jungkook is going to do it. he’s going to walk up to you, give you his biggest award-winning smile, and he’s going to ask if you want to study together.

he’s going to do it. he’s going to do it.

he’s not going to do it.

because now you’re here—actually here, walking straight toward him, completely unaware that he’s been psyching himself up for this for the past fifteen minutes.

his heart stumbles over itself.

he keeps walking, like a normal person. normal people walk. normal people breathe. normal people don’t panic just because the girl they like is getting closer with every step.

you’re looking at your phone, scrolling absentmindedly, your brows pulling together in a way that makes jungkook wonder what you’re thinking about. your bag is slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, and you look—god, you look good. not in some over-the-top, magazine-cover way, but in the kind of way that makes his stomach feel weird and his feet feel heavier than they should.

he was not prepared for this.

his brain short-circuits. every pre-planned conversation starter he practiced disappears into the void. his feet slow down before he can stop them.

he’s close enough now that he could just say something. one word. one syllable. literally anything.

you look up, and jungkook stops breathing.

and then, like the complete disaster he is, he stops walking altogether.

which is unfortunate, because you don’t.

he realizes his mistake half a second too late, just as you get close enough that you nearly crash into him. nearly, because at the last second, you sidestep smoothly, like it’s no big deal, like you totally meant to almost collide with him just to keep things interesting.

and then you smile.

“oh! hey, jungkook!”

your voice is bright, cheery, like this is just another normal interaction between two normal classmates, not the catastrophic event jungkook’s body is currently treating it as.

his brain goes static. you said his name. you’re smiling at him. did you always smile at him like that? did the hallway lights always make you look this—

“you okay?” you ask, tilting your head. “you kinda just froze.”

jungkook blinks. words. say words.

“i—uh.”

good start. solid foundation.

you don’t seem fazed by his awkwardness. instead, you just grin and shift your bag higher on your shoulder. “what’s up? where are you headed?”

this is it. this is his chance. the perfect opportunity to say something cool, something casual, something that doesn’t make him sound like he’s barely holding it together.

jungkook swallows. “library.”

…right. just one word. like a total weirdo.

but somehow, you don’t seem to notice, nodding along like that was a perfectly normal response. “same! i have a psych paper due, but i was procrastinating, so now i have to power through. you too?”

jungkook should say something. something about school, or studying, or—oh, right, the reason he even stopped you in the first place.

ask her to study. ask her to study.

his mouth opens. what comes out instead is:

“you look… happy.”

he immediately wants to throw himself into the sun.

you laugh. a surprised, airy sound that makes jungkook’s chest feel tight. “thanks? i try.”

he nods. good. cool. nailed it.

(jimin is going to clown him so hard for this.)

you shift your weight, still standing in front of him and obviously waiting for him to contribute something meaningful to this conversation. as if he’s capable of that right now.

“so,” you continue, oblivious to the fact that jungkook’s brain is actively short-circuiting, “are you studying for midterms, too? or just, like, catching up?”

this. this is his moment.

just say it, he tells himself. it’s so easy. just ask if she wants to study together. worst-case scenario, she says no, and you move on, and you never speak again, and you have to drop out of school and move to a remote island where no one knows your shame—

“yeah,” he blurts out. not an answer to your question, exactly, but something.

your smile doesn’t waver. “cool, cool.” then, as if the universe is giving him the easiest possible setup: “wanna study together?”

jungkook’s entire soul leaves his body.

because—what? what?? that was supposed to be his line. that was the whole plan. but now you’re standing there, looking at him expectantly, like this is a totally casual, no-big-deal offer.

he should say yes.

he should absolutely say yes.

“uh.”

your head tilts. “you don’t have to,” you add quickly, as if you think he’s the one who might not want your company. “i just figured, y’know, since we’re both headed there anyway…”

this is so much worse. now you’re giving him an out, and if he hesitates any longer, he’s going to look like an idiot. more than he already does.

“yeah,” he says, a little too fast. “i mean, yeah. let’s—uh. let’s do that.”

you beam, like this is the best news you’ve heard all day. “awesome! let’s go.”

then you turn and start walking, fully expecting him to follow.

and jungkook? jungkook thinks he might actually die.

not from a supervillain attack, not from getting thrown off a building—no, it’s worse than that. he’s dying because you just asked him to study, and now he has to actually go through with it.

he forces his feet to move, catching up to your side even though his entire body feels like it’s running on autopilot. this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. he was supposed to be the one taking the initiative, proving to himself (and to jimin, unfortunately) that he could be normal about this.

instead, he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy, barely keeping up with the conversation.

“so,” you say, tucking your phone into your bag, “what class are you studying for?”

jungkook opens his mouth, then immediately panics because he didn’t think this far ahead. he is studying, technically, but he didn’t have a specific subject in mind. his only plan was talk to you and try not to embarrass himself.

which—so far? not going great.

“uh, chemistry,” he says, because that seems like a safe bet.

you hum in acknowledgment. “oof, rough. you started on that assignment yet?”

“yeah,” jungkook lies, because sure. why not.

you wince sympathetically. “brutal. hope you’re not failing as bad as i am.”

jungkook lets out a weak laugh. hope you’re not failing. if only you knew the things he actually had to juggle on top of school. but no big deal—he can totally pretend to be a normal college student for a couple of hours.

the library comes into view, and suddenly, it hits him—he’s about to spend an actual study session with you. at the same table. breathing the same air.

“you good?” you ask, shooting him a curious glance.

jungkook clears his throat. “yeah. just—uh. mentally preparing.”

you snort. “for studying?”

“yeah.”

you shake your head, laughing. “you’re a little weird, huh?”

jungkook nearly chokes.

but you don’t say it in a bad way. you’re smiling as you say it, like you find it endearing. like it doesn’t make you want to walk away. jungkook has no idea what to do with that.

his brain is still buffering by the time you step through the library doors, pushing them open with ease. this is just another regular day for you, like you didn’t just tell him—straight to his face—that you think he’s weird.

and that you don’t seem to mind.

he follows in a daze, letting the cool, quiet atmosphere of the library settle around him. there are plenty of empty tables scattered throughout the study area, but you don’t hesitate, making a beeline for a spot near the windows. sunlight spills over the wooden surface, and you plop your bag down, evidently having claimed this space a hundred times before.

“this seat good?” you ask, pulling out a chair.

jungkook nods dumbly. “yeah. good.”

(why does he sound like he just learned how to talk?)

you don’t seem to notice his internal struggle. instead, you pull out your laptop, sliding into the chair with the kind of ease that makes him jealous. how are you so normal about this? why does it feel like this is just a casual, no-pressure situation for you, while jungkook is actively fighting for his life?

he sits down, trying to regain control over his body. trying to focus on literally anything other than the fact that he can smell the faint scent of your shampoo from here.

(focus, he tells himself. be normal.)

you glance at him as you open your laptop. “do you need to charge anything?”

jungkook blinks. “huh?”

you gesture toward the outlet beside the table. “your laptop? phone? charger?”

right. yes. because normal people bring chargers to study sessions. normal people actually bring their school stuff.

slowly, with the painful realization that he is so unprepared for this, jungkook unzips his backpack and stares into the absolute void of nothingness inside.

no laptop. no charger. no notebook.

just… snacks. and, for some reason, an extra pair of gloves. his stomach sinks.

you peer over curiously. “uh—did you forget your stuff?”

(lie. lie, you absolute idiot.)

“yeah,” jungkook says, forcing a laugh that does not sound normal. “guess i left it at home.”

you blink at him. then, without missing a beat, you shrug. “that’s fine! we can just share.”

his brain nearly explodes. “what?”

you gesture toward your laptop. “i mean, if you’re studying chemistry, i have my notes from last semester. we can go over them together?”

together.

as in, sitting close. looking at the same screen. existing in the same breathing space.

jungkook swallows. he is not ready for this.

but somehow, he forces his legs to move, pulling his chair closer so he can see your laptop screen. the metal legs scrape lightly against the floor, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet library, but you don’t seem to care.

you rest your elbows on the table as your laptop boots up, fingers tapping absently against the keys. “so, chemistry,” you say, glancing at him with a playful smirk. “you’re totally failing, huh?”

jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. “i mean. define failing.”

“oh my god.” you laugh, shaking your head. “yeah, okay, you definitely need this.”

your screen flashes on, illuminating your face as you navigate to your files. but jungkook isn’t looking at your notes.

because just before you click away, his eyes catch something else.

an open tab. a news article.

Spider-Man: Hero or Menace? City Officials Weigh In.

his heart jumps straight into his throat.

he doesn’t mean to react—doesn’t mean to tense up, doesn’t mean for his fingers to curl against his jeans—but it happens before he can stop it.

you don’t notice right away, too busy sorting through your documents. “i think i have an old study guide in here somewhere,” you mumble, scrolling. “oh! do you wanna—”

then you pause. jungkook can feel the exact second you realize where his attention is. you glance at the screen, then back at him.

“oh,” you say, blinking. “you’re a spider-man fan?”

he should lie.

he should lie, laugh it off, make some offhand comment about how everyone is at least a little curious about the city’s masked vigilante.

but his throat feels tight, and his brain is still processing the fact that you—of all people—were reading about him.

his hesitation must look weird because you tilt your head, smiling lightly. “i mean, i don’t blame you. he’s kind of cool, right?”

(kind of cool.)

jungkook swallows. “uh. yeah. i guess.”

you glance at the article again, then back at him. “i was just skimming,” you say, feeling the need to explain yourself. “some people in class were talking about him, and i realized that i don’t actually know much about him, so—” you gesture vaguely at the screen, “—research?”

jungkook’s head is spinning. “research,” he echoes.

you nod, chin resting in your palm. “it’s kinda crazy, though. no one even knows who he is.”

he forces himself to breathe. to relax. to be normal.

“yeah,” he says, voice even. “crazy.”

you huff out a laugh. “what do you think? hero or menace?”

jungkook blinks. “what?”

you nod toward the article, eyes bright with curiosity. “the headline. do you think he’s a good guy? or is he, like, actually sketchy?”

he should say something neutral. something vague. something that won’t give him away.

but for some reason, looking at you—sitting there, genuinely wondering, genuinely curious—he can’t stop himself from asking:

“what do you think?”

you blink, surprised by the question. but you consider it, eyes flicking back to the screen as you chew on your bottom lip.

then, finally, “...i think he’s just trying his best.”

jungkook’s stomach flips.

you shrug, scrolling absently through the article. “i mean, yeah, the whole vigilante thing is kinda illegal, but—” you pause, then shake your head, like you’re struggling to find the right words. “i don’t think he’d do all this if he didn’t care, y’know? like, he doesn’t have to help people. but he does anyway.”

you turn back to jungkook, smiling softly. “so yeah. i think he’s a good guy.”

jungkook is silent.

because suddenly, sitting here, right next to you and hearing you say that, he’s pretty sure you just turned him into an even bigger mess than he already was.

jungkook doesn’t know what to say. he just sits there, staring at you, heartbeat in his ears, hands curled into fists beneath the table.

he’s just trying his best.

he swallows hard. you have no idea.

but you don’t seem to notice his internal crisis, already clicking away from the article, pulling up your notes like this conversation didn’t just make his brain short-circuit.

“okay, so, chemistry,” you announce, stretching your arms over your head before settling in. “i have, like, three different study guides, so take your pick.”

jungkook is still trying to remember how to function as a person.

he clears his throat, shifting in his seat, eyes flicking away from you as if that will help him not think about what you just said. “uh. yeah. sure.”

you hum, scrolling through your files. “oh, also—before i forget.”

he glances up. “huh?”

you flash him a grin. “you should totally tell me your opinion on spider-man sometime.”

jungkook chokes.

he should’ve seen that coming.

his reaction is immediate—too immediate, too obvious, and you blink at him like you weren’t expecting that much of a response.

he forces himself to play it off, coughing into his fist. “uh—why?”

you tilt your head, amused. “you just seemed interested, that’s all.”

interested? yeah, that’s one way to put it.

you shrug, tapping at your keyboard. “not now, though. we’re totally studying. no distractions.”

(no distractions. funny.)

jungkook nods, gripping his pencil a little too tightly. “right. studying.”

but as you start explaining your notes, flipping through equations and diagrams, jungkook isn’t paying attention, because all he can think about is the way you looked when you said it. like it was obvious. like you didn’t even have to think twice.

"i think he’s a good guy."

yeah.

he’s so not ready for this.

the next time jungkook sees you, he’s in the suit.

he doesn’t expect to find you all the way across town, so far from campus—especially not here, where the streets are rough and the people are meaner. and he definitely doesn’t expect to see you sprinting full-speed down the sidewalk.

his stomach drops. and then he sees why.

before he can think, before he can second-guess, his body moves on instinct.

jungkook swings down without hesitation, landing hard on the pavement just a few feet ahead of you. the second you see him, you skid to a stop, sneakers screeching against the concrete.

“whoa—” you breathe, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling from the sprint.

but jungkook isn’t looking at you. his focus is already behind you, on the two men barreling toward you from the other end of the street.

his web shoots out before they can get any closer, yanking the first guy clean off his feet and sending him crashing into a lamppost. the second guy isn’t any smarter—he reaches for something in his jacket, but jungkook is faster, spinning and kicking the guy square in the chest before he even has a chance to react.

it’s over in seconds. too easy.

but the part jungkook wasn’t prepared for—the part making his heart pound harder than the fight itself—is you.

because when he finally turns back around, you’re still standing there, staring at him like you’ve just seen a ghost.

he swallows. he should leave. he should web them up, say something cool, and leave.

instead, he says, “you good?”

you blink at him. your breathing is still uneven, adrenaline still high, but... you smile.

“yeah,” you say, nodding. “that was… really cool.”

jungkook has been shot at before. he has been punched through windows, thrown into walls, nearly crushed by collapsing buildings. but somehow, this—you, standing there, grinning at him, eyes bright—is what almost knocks him on his ass.

he clears his throat, trying to regain control of his entire existence. “uh. yeah. just—y’know. doing my job.”

you huff a laugh. “well, thanks for that.”

(you’re thanking him. you’re actually thanking him.)

jungkook knows he should leave. he knows this.

but instead, his eyes flick to your bag, then back up to your face.

“what are you even doing here?” he blurts.

you blink, surprised by the question. “uh. getting very nearly robbed, apparently.”

jungkook exhales sharply. great. real smooth.

you shake your head, adjusting your strap. “i was just picking something up for my friend. obviously didn’t think that one through.”

jungkook doesn’t say anything, just clenches his fists at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t been here. if he hadn’t been on this side of town tonight.

“seriously, though,” you continue, tilting your head at him. “you okay?”

jungkook freezes. “what?”

“you just… looked kinda tense for a second.”

his brain short-circuits. because what kind of person almost gets mugged and then asks if their rescuer is okay?

he shakes his head, stepping back, forcing himself to get it together. “yeah. i’m good.”

you don’t look convinced. but you nod anyway, shifting on your feet.

“…guess this is where you do the whole mysterious-hero thing and disappear, huh?” you joke lightly.

jungkook should, he needs to. but he hesitates. because for the first time, standing here, watching you look at him like this, he wonders. if he took off the mask right now...

would you still look at him the same way?

jungkook needs to leave. he should web up the guys groaning on the pavement, throw out a quick “stay safe,” and disappear into the night like he always does.

but he doesn’t.

because you’re still looking at him. really looking at him. and for some reason, that makes it impossible to move.

he swallows, gripping his fingers into fists at his sides. don’t be stupid. don’t linger. don’t let yourself wonder. his fingers twitch and he almost—almost—reaches up.

but then you sigh, shaking your head with a small, amused smile. “well, thanks again, spider-man,” you say, rocking back on your heels. “i should probably get going before more weirdos show up.”

just like that, the moment shatters.

jungkook blinks, the weight of reality crashing back in.

right. spider-man.

not jungkook. not a guy who shares your chemistry class, who has spent so much time psyching himself up just to talk to you like a normal person.

just a masked stranger you’ll forget about by morning.

he exhales, finally forcing himself to take a step back. “yeah,” he mutters. “probably a good idea.”

you nod, gripping the strap of your bag. “guess i’ll see you around?”

jungkook hesitates. he shouldn’t answer that. he shouldn’t make promises. but then—because he’s apparently the biggest idiot alive—he hears himself say,

“yeah.”

your lips twitch, eyes flicking over him one last time. and then, without another word, you turn and walk away.

jungkook watches you go, his chest tight, his heart pounding like he just walked out of a fight.

and that—the way he feels right now, standing frozen in the middle of the street, watching you disappear around the corner—is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced.

after that first time, jungkook just keeps running into you.

you’ve been caught up in a gas station robbery. your train got derailed. been a victim in three separate mugging attempts.

either you’re trying to manifest him showing up, or you might actually be the unluckiest person jungkook has ever met.

and the worst part is you don’t even seem bothered.

the first couple of times, sure—you were a little shaken up, a little breathless, wide-eyed and gripping your bag like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. but by the fourth time he drops out of the sky to save you, you barely even flinch.

“oh,” you say, blinking up at him as he lands in front of you, cutting off yet another guy who thought it would be a great idea to corner you in an alley. “you again.”

jungkook stares. you again?

he webs the guy’s wrist before he can bolt, yanking him forward just enough to knock him out cold with one clean punch. then, once the guy is down and sufficiently tied up, he turns back to you. arms crossed. head tilted.

“...okay,” he says slowly. “you have got to be doing this on purpose.”

you snort, shaking your head as you adjust your bag strap. “oh, totally. i go wandering through crime-infested areas just hoping you’ll show up.”

he points at you. “see? that’s exactly what someone who’s doing this on purpose would say.”

you just roll your eyes, amused. “do you think i want to be constantly in danger?”

jungkook narrows his eyes. “...i don’t know. do you?”

you laugh, and something about the sound makes his stomach do something weird and annoying. “trust me, spider-man,” you say, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. “if i had it my way, you and i would never be seeing each other again.”

for some reason, that makes his chest tighten. he should let it go. he should web this guy to a fire escape for the cops to find and leave. but instead, he hears himself saying, “what were you doing here, anyway?”

you blink. “going home?”

“through an alley?”

“it’s a shortcut.”

jungkook throws up his hands. “it’s also where people get mugged!”

you squint at him like he’s being dramatic. “not all the time.”

jungkook lets out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “oh my god.”

you snicker. “relax. i’ll take the long way next time, okay?”

he doesn’t believe you. not even a little bit. but he can’t exactly force you to change your entire route home.

he exhales, shaking his head. “if you say so.”

you smirk, tilting your head. “aww, do you worry about me, spider-man?”

jungkook nearly chokes. “what— no. no, i—” he shakes his head aggressively, backing up like that will help him recover. “i worry about the crime rate.”

you nod, way too entertained. “right. of course.”

he glares. “i do.”

“sure, sure.”

he groans, already regretting everything about this conversation.

and then—because he really needs to get out of here before he embarrasses himself any further—he steps back, flexing his fingers before shooting out a web.

but just before he swings away, he hears you call out:

“see you next time, spider-man.”

he freezes. that almost sounded like a promise.

“dude.”

jungkook sighs. “no.”

“dude.”

“jimin, no.”

“duuuude.” jimin is vibrating in his seat, practically buzzing with excitement as he leans across the cafeteria table. “you know what this means, right?”

jungkook takes an aggressive bite of his sandwich, staring him down. “that i have terrible luck?”

jimin gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like jungkook just personally offended him. “terrible luck? bro, are you hearing yourself? this isn’t bad luck—this is literally fate.”

jungkook makes a face. “it’s really not.”

“okay, so let’s go over this one more time,” jimin says, ignoring him entirely. he starts ticking off on his fingers. “you meet this girl in class. you like her. but you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it—”

jungkook glares. “thanks.”

“—and then, suddenly, the universe just keeps throwing her in your path. over and over and over again. and not just in normal, everyday ways—no, no, no. she gets into highly dangerous situations that just so happen to require your heroic intervention.”

he wiggles his fingers dramatically. “it’s like magic.”

jungkook takes another bite, chewing slowly. “or, and hear me out—maybe she just has bad luck.”

“bad luck doesn’t land you in the same masked superhero’s path five different times,” jimin says, slapping his hand on the table. “this is literally the plot of, like, half the romcoms i’ve ever seen.”

jungkook groans, dropping his head onto the table.

“you’re actually insane,” he mumbles into his arms.

“insanely right,” jimin corrects, grinning.

jungkook lifts his head just enough to squint at him. “you’re telling me that if you got randomly mugged three times in the span of a month, you’d consider it romantic?”

jimin shrugs. “depends on who’s saving me.”

jungkook groans again, slumping further into the table.

jimin, unbothered, just leans in closer. “look, bro, all i’m saying is—you clearly have some cosmic connection to this girl. so use it.”

“use it?” jungkook repeats, deadpan.

“yes. as in, maybe instead of waiting for her next near-death experience, you actually talk to her for real.”

jungkook scowls. “i have talked to her.”

jimin makes a face. “you’ve talked to her as spider-man. that doesn’t count.”

jungkook hesitates.

because… yeah. he has technically talked to you. but barely as himself. hardly without the mask.

and the worst part? he kind of likes it that way. because spider-man isn’t awkward. spider-man doesn’t trip over his words, or overthink every interaction, or panic every time you smile at him.

spider-man is confident. quick. easy.

but jungkook? jungkook is an absolute mess.

he presses his lips together, staring down at what’s left of his sandwich.

jimin watches him, expression shifting slightly. “look,” he says, voice a little softer now. “you don’t have to do anything. but… don’t you think it’s a little crazy that she keeps showing up in your life like this?”

jungkook doesn’t answer. because yeah, it is crazy.

but what’s even crazier is the way he already knows this isn’t the last time it’ll happen.

jimin squints at him. “wait, hold on.”

jungkook braces himself, because he knows that look. that’s the i’m about to make your life hell look.

“didn’t you guys, like… study together once?” jimin asks, tilting his head.

jungkook shifts uncomfortably. “uh. yeah.”

jimin slaps the table. “exactly. so that means you already had an in.”

jungkook sighs, rubbing his temple. “what’s your point?”

“my point is,” jimin says, voice heavy with dramatic exasperation, “you had a perfectly normal, non-life-threatening interaction with her before all of this. meaning, you had every opportunity to follow up—y’know, send a text, sit next to her in class, act like a human being.”

jungkook stares at his sandwich, avoiding eye contact.

jimin’s grin sharpens. “...so?”

jungkook exhales, slumping back in his seat. “i, uh… didn’t actually talk to her again,” he mutters.

jimin blinks. “after studying?”

jungkook nods, already regretting admitting anything.

jimin’s jaw drops. “not once?”

jungkook shrugs helplessly. “i was gonna, but then—”

jimin points an accusatory finger at him. “but then you saved her as spider-man and decided that totally counted as interacting with her, didn’t you?”

jungkook opens his mouth. closes it. scratches the back of his neck.

jimin gasps. “oh my god,” he says, full-body flopping back in his chair. “you absolute loser.”

jungkook groans. “i know.”

“no, you don’t know, because if you did know, you would have done something about it.”

jungkook buries his face in his hands.

“i tried, okay? but it’s—” he groans, dragging his hands down his face, “—it’s just easier this way.”

jimin levels him with the flattest look imaginable. “easier?” he repeats. “easier how?”

jungkook hesitates. because if he says it out loud, then it’s real. but jimin is staring at him, waiting, and—well.

he’s already lost his dignity at this point.

“…spider-man is cool,” jungkook mutters finally, eyes glued to the table. “spider-man doesn’t get nervous, or embarrass himself, or say dumb shit and then want to throw himself off a building.”

jimin snorts. “oh, buddy. that’s cute. you think you haven’t embarrassed yourself?”

jungkook glares. “shut up.”

jimin is grinning now, full and unrestrained. “bro. do you realize how weird you probably sound to her? imagine getting rescued by the same guy five times in a row and every time he acts progressively more awkward about it.”

jungkook groans. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t,” jimin says, smug.

jungkook drops his head onto the table again. because, unfortunately, he’s right.

jungkook groans into the table. “okay. fine. let’s say you’re right—”

“i am right.”

“—and i have been weird about it—”

“super weird.”

jungkook lifts his head just enough to glare. “jimin.”

jimin grins, unrepentant. “continue.”

jungkook exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face. “whatever. what am i even supposed to do now? just waltz up to her in class and pretend i haven’t been awkwardly saving her from disaster every other week?”

jimin shrugs. “yeah.”

jungkook stares. “you cannot be serious.”

“why not?” jimin says, stealing a fry off jungkook’s plate. “you already know she’s cool. she doesn’t freak out around you, she doesn’t think spider-man’s a menace, and she definitely isn’t scared of you—”

jungkook scoffs. “yeah, because she doesn’t know it’s me.”

jimin points at him with the stolen fry. “exactly! you have nothing to lose!”

jungkook squints. “that’s not how that works.”

jimin waves him off. “look, bro. i love you. i do. but you overthink literally everything.”

jungkook frowns. “i do not.”

jimin gives him a look so flat it could be legally classified as a murder weapon.

jungkook shifts. “…okay, sometimes.”

jimin nods approvingly. “glad we’re on the same page.” he shoves the fry into his mouth before pointing at jungkook again. “so, let’s think about this logically.”

jungkook groans. “oh, now we’re thinking logically?”

jimin ignores him. “you already know she likes talking to spider-man. you’ve literally heard her say she thinks he’s a good guy. and you also know she was cool with studying with you before you started avoiding her like a total dumbass.”

jungkook winces. “ouch.”

jimin grins. “so, what does that tell us?”

jungkook crosses his arms, scowling. “that i’m a dumbass?”

“correct. but more importantly,” jimin leans forward, voice going annoyingly dramatic, “it means you’re already in.”

jungkook blinks. “what?”

jimin gestures vaguely. “she already likes you. not just spider-man, but you-you. maybe she doesn’t have a crush or anything—”

jungkook’s face burns at the mere mention of the possibility. “dude—”

“—but at the very least, she doesn’t hate you,” jimin finishes, undeterred. “so, all you have to do is act normal for once in your life, and maybe you can stop making things harder than they need to be.”

jungkook stares at him.

jimin stares back.

“…that’s it?” jungkook asks, skeptical.

jimin shrugs. “that’s it.”

jungkook exhales.

because—okay. it does make sense. maybe he is overcomplicating things, like he always does. maybe he really is just making his life ten times harder for no reason.

but then he thinks about actually doing it. about sitting down next to you again, about saying hey like it’s nothing, like he hasn’t been a complete coward for weeks.

and suddenly, he’s panicking all over again.

“…okay,” he mutters. “sure. i’ll talk to her.”

jimin beams. “hell yeah.”

“eventually.”

jimin’s smile drops. “no.”

“yes.”

“jungkook—”

jungkook shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and stands up. “gotta go, bye.”

“jungkook, don’t you dare walk away from me—”

but jungkook is already halfway across the cafeteria, ignoring the way jimin’s voice follows him, loud and accusing.

because, yeah.

maybe he’ll talk to you.

but eventually sounds a hell of a lot safer than right now.

it turns out you end up talking to him first.

jungkook barely has time to process the end of the lecture before you’re suddenly there, standing next to his desk, shifting on your feet like you’re nervous about something.

which is weird.

because you’re never nervous. not when you were nearly mugged, not when a guy pulled a knife on you, not when you looked spider-man in the eye and grinned at him like it was just another tuesday.

but now, standing here, looking at him?

you’re fidgeting.

and jungkook’s brain immediately starts malfunctioning.

“hey,” you say, voice a little softer than usual.

jungkook stares.

then, realizing that yes, this is real, he forces himself to swallow the dumb why are you talking to me that nearly slips out.

“uh. hey,” he says instead.

you shift your bag higher on your shoulder. “so, um.” you clear your throat, glancing around the emptying lecture hall. “this might be kind of random, but… do you, uh. know anyone who tutors?”

jungkook blinks. “tutors?”

you nod, still looking strangely hesitant. “yeah. for chemistry.”

chemistry.

the subject he lied about needing help with.

jungkook can feel the irony punching him directly in the face.

but beyond that, beyond the fact that he is absolutely not qualified to help you with this, there’s something else creeping into his mind.

the fact that you came to him.

out of everyone in this class—hell, out of everyone on campus—you chose to ask him.

his stomach flips.

it has to be fate, right? this is too much of a coincidence. after all the near-misses, after all the nights he spent convincing himself to just talk to you already—you end up coming to him first?

it doesn’t feel real.

but you’re still standing there, watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

jungkook swallows. “uh. yeah. i mean, i��” he clears his throat, scrambling to make his voice sound normal. “i can ask around.”

your shoulders drop a little, like you were bracing for rejection. “oh. cool. yeah, that would be great.”

you pause, glancing at him, hesitant. “and, um… if you hear of anyone good, could you maybe… let me know?”

jungkook nods so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. “yeah. of course.”

your lips curve into a soft smile. “thanks, jungkook.”

his breath stutters.

(oh, he is so screwed.)

and then, just like that, you wave and disappear out the door, leaving him sitting there in the empty lecture hall, gripping his desk like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

he doesn’t move for a solid minute.

his heart is still hammering, his brain is still catching up, and all he can think is jimin is going to have a field day with this.

and jimin fucking does.

“you’re actually kidding me.”

jimin is staring at jungkook like he just confessed to being an alien.

they’re in jungkook’s apartment, controllers in hand, some game running on the screen—but jimin has completely forgotten about it, pausing mid-match to turn and gawk at him.

jungkook, on the other hand, is doing his best to act normal. which is hard, considering his entire life has just been flipped upside down.

“i’m not kidding,” jungkook mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. “it happened.”

jimin lets out a loud, incredulous laugh, tossing his controller onto the couch. “so let me get this straight. you—who have been avoiding this girl like she’s an actual fire hazard—you were literally just sitting there, minding your own business, and she just walks up to you? and asks for a tutor??”

jungkook grits his teeth. “yes.”

jimin cackles, grabbing a pillow and whacking him over the head with it.

“bro, fate is spoon-feeding you a love story and you’re just sitting there like a fucking brick!”

jungkook groans, shoving the pillow away. “okay, first of all, relax. it’s not a love story.”

jimin scoffs. “it could be.”

“it’s not.”

“it could be.”

jungkook sighs aggressively, running a hand down his face.

jimin flops dramatically against the couch, shaking his head. “so? what did you say?”

“i said i’d ask around.”

jimin blinks. “you said you’d—” he stops, eyes narrowing. “...ask around.”

jungkook shifts. “…yes?”

silence.

“you idiot!” jimin yells, smacking his arm.

“ow!” jungkook jerks away, scowling. “what? what was i supposed to say?”

“literally that you could tutor her yourself!”

jungkook’s stomach flips. “i can’t tutor her, dumbass, i'm barely passing chemistry myself.”

jimin throws up his hands. “bro, she doesn’t know that! just pretend!”

“pretend?”

“yes! look up some notes, re-learn a few things, do what you need to do!”

jungkook shakes his head aggressively. “no way. i am not tutoring her when i don’t know shit.”

jimin levels him with a deadpan stare. “so instead, you’re just gonna, what? let her go find some other guy to tutor her?”

jungkook freezes.

jimin grins. “ah.”

jungkook clenches his jaw. “fuck you.”

“no, no, let’s think about this,” jimin continues, voice full of fake contemplation. “some dude, sitting real close, explaining things all smart and helpful. maybe he’s got nice hands. maybe he’s charming. maybe he’s better at chemistry than you—”

jungkook throws a pillow at his face.

jimin laughs as he catches it. “so? what’s the move, lover boy?”

jungkook scowls, but deep down, he already knows.

he sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch.

“…i’m gonna have to tutor her, aren’t i?”

jimin claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him with excitement.

“yes, you absolutely are.”

jungkook hasn’t seen you in days.

which is weird, because ever since this whole thing started, you’ve been everywhere. in class, in study sessions, in the middle of very questionable situations that require his immediate intervention.

but now, you’ve just vanished.

he’s checked the usual places. your usual seat in lecture, the library, even the coffee shop on the corner where he thinks he saw you once. nothing. no sign of you anywhere.

he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

(yes, he does.)

but he pushes it out of his mind. or at least, he tries.

because right now, he’s got other things to focus on—like swinging through the city at just the right angle to catch the breeze, flipping effortlessly between buildings, scanning the streets for trouble.

except there is no trouble. not tonight. it’s weird. quiet. almost peaceful.

and then he sees you.

not running. not being chased. not clutching your bag like your life depends on it.

just… standing there.

paintbrush in hand, clothes speckled with color, entirely focused on the massive mural in front of you.

jungkook nearly crashes into a building.

he just barely manages to recover, swinging onto a rooftop ledge, crouching down to watch from a safe distance.

because what the hell?

you’re supposed to be in a classroom. or getting into some ridiculous situation that requires his immediate assistance. not this. not standing in the middle of an empty lot, surrounded by paint cans, filling an entire wall with streaks of blue and gold.

you look… calm.

you step back, tilting your head at your work, lips pursed in thought. then, with a small nod, you dip your brush into another color and go right back to it.

jungkook stares.

because somehow, in all this time, in all the chaotic ways he’s seen you before—he’s never seen you like this.

focused. steady. completely lost in something you love.

he exhales, watching the way the city lights catch in your hair, the way your brows pinch slightly when you concentrate.

for once, he doesn’t have to worry about saving you. for once, he just gets to watch. before he can help himself, jungkook is swinging down.

it’s instinct, like muscle memory. one second, he’s crouched on the ledge, watching from a safe distance, and the next, he’s mid-air, descending toward you before his brain can even catch up.

he lands a few feet away, boots hitting the pavement with a soft thud.

you don’t even flinch.

just glance over your shoulder, brush still poised against the wall, and say “hey, spider-man.”

no startled jump, no wide-eyed what the fuck?, no immediate questioning of why a masked vigilante just casually dropped into your art session. just… hey, spider-man, like you expected him to show up.

his brain malfunctions. “uh.”

you smirk, finally lowering your brush. “you always this quiet?”

jungkook clears his throat, scrambling to pull himself together. “uh—no, just… wasn’t expecting you to be so—” he gestures vaguely, “—chill about this.”

you tilt your head. “should i not be?”

“i mean, most people don’t just greet me like i’m their next-door neighbor.”

you hum, considering. “well, most people don’t run into you five times in a row, either.”

jungkook exhales sharply. “true.”

you grin, then turn back to your mural, wiping your hands against your paint-stained hoodie. “so,” you say, glancing at him. “what brings you here? crime’s looking pretty low tonight.”

crime is low. there was literally no reason for him to come down here. he just saw you. and… well.

you smile knowingly, like you can see the wheels turning in his head. “you were watching me, weren’t you?”

jungkook chokes.

“what— no. no, i—” he shakes his head aggressively, backing up like that will help him recover. “i was patrolling.”

you arch a brow. “patrolling from a rooftop directly above me?”

he groans. “oh my god.”

you laugh, bright and easy, and jungkook swears his entire world tilts for a second. “relax,” you say, dipping your brush into a new color. “it’s kind of flattering, actually.”

jungkook short-circuits. “it’s what?”

you just wink. “so, you sticking around, or was this just a quick check-in?”

jungkook should leave.

he knows that.

but then you turn back to your mural, completely at ease, completely unbothered by the fact that you’re casually talking to spider-man like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

and jungkook, against all logic, against all common sense, sits down on the curb.

“guess i’ll stick around.”

you glance over when you hear him sit, eyebrows raising slightly. but you don’t question it, don’t make it weird. just hum, like this is normal, like masked vigilantes dropping into your painting sessions is a completely regular thing.

jungkook doesn’t know what to do with that.

you dip your brush into another color, dragging long, confident strokes across the wall.

for a while, neither of you speak.

it’s… oddly comfortable.

jungkook watches, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted as he tries to figure out what you’re painting. it’s not quite clear yet, but the colors blend together in a way that makes his chest feel weirdly tight. like something about it is important.

finally, he clears his throat.

“so… what is it?”

you pause, glancing at him before looking back at the wall. “not sure yet.”

jungkook squints. “you’re not sure?”

you smirk. “it’s a process.”

he huffs a soft laugh. “so you’re just winging it?”

“more like… feeling it out,” you correct. you step back, tilting your head, eyes scanning over the patterns of color like you’re looking for something only you can see.

jungkook doesn’t know why, but that makes sense.

for a while, he doesn’t say anything else. just watches as you paint, as your hands move with purpose, as you fill the blank spaces with something real.

and then, before he can stop himself, “why do you do it?”

you pause, brush still hovering over the wall.

jungkook feels his stomach drop. “uh—you don’t have to answer that, i was just—”

“because it’s mine.”

he stops.

you’re still looking at the mural, voice calm, steady. “it’s something i can make real. something i can create, and leave behind, and know it’s mine. even if someone paints over it later.”

jungkook stares at you. he doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. just watches as you pick up where you left off. and that’s when it hits him. this is the first time he’s ever spent time with you since the library without worrying about saving you. the first time he’s seen you just be.

and it’s terrifying, because suddenly, jungkook isn’t sure what scares him more. the thought of you getting hurt again, or the thought of you never looking at him the way you look at spider-man right now.

jungkook hates this. hates the way his stomach twists every time you look at him—at spider-man—like this. open, unguarded, like you trust him. like he’s someone worth trusting. hates the way he wants you to keep looking at him like that.

because he knows this isn’t real. or at least, not fully real. not like it would be if it were him sitting here beside you, mask off, just jungkook.

(but would you even talk to him if you knew?)

he exhales slowly, pressing his palms against his knees. you don’t seem to notice his internal crisis, still completely focused on your painting, eyebrows furrowed just slightly in concentration.

“you’re staring,” you say after a moment, not looking away from the wall.

jungkook jolts. “what? no, i’m not.”

you smirk, finally glancing at him. “you totally are.”

he crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “you want me to lie?”

“i want you to at least try to be subtle about it.”

he scoffs. “okay, and what exactly am i supposed to be staring at? the back of your head?”

“or my art.” you gesture to the mural dramatically. “y’know, the thing that’s actually interesting here.”

jungkook huffs a quiet laugh. “yeah, okay. so what’s it supposed to be now?”

you step back, surveying your work. “dunno.”

he stares. “so you still don’t know?”

you shrug. “told you. it’s a process.”

jungkook exhales, shaking his head. “yeah, well. not every process ends up making sense.”

“maybe not right away,” you say, glancing at him. “but eventually.”

eventually.

the word sticks in his head, clinging to something deeper, something he doesn’t want to think about right now. so instead, he sighs, shifting to stand. “well, don’t get mugged while you’re doing your whole process thing.”

you grin. “what, no more rooftop patrols?”

“depends,” he says, adjusting his gloves. “you planning on wandering into any more dark alleys?”

you pretend to think about it. “maybe. depends on who's gonna save me.”

jungkook groans. “i hate you.”

you just laugh, waving your brush at him in a mock salute. “see you next time, spider-man.”

jungkook’s fingers twitch. he lingers—just for a second. because for the first time, he knows something you don’t. he knows he’ll see you again. not just like this, not just as spider-man, but as himself.

because eventually isn’t good enough anymore.

#spideykook #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts au

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