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osarina · 1 month ago

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ᡣ𐭩 WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) comments & reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.

Is he dreaming? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right?

He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but it’s futile—the snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.

“... are we going to…”

Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see

Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?

Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s side. But what-

He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.

His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didn’t come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.

His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down.

Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasaku’s face ever again.

It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth.

Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision.

Like this.

“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.

A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.

Lake Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia.

Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you.

He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.

He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.

Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other.

It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.

Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical.

It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.

The thought makes him laugh.

He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-

“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”

Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.

The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kin—Dazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfather’s inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.

Traitors to country in the next section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.

Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened.

And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.

Is that-

“There’s only one way this ends.”

Dazai’s breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-

Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.

Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-

“Everyone out.”

Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.

They don’t argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”

You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”

Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.

Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he can’t catch your eye.

He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?

Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?”

Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.

“A safe house in Sakae,” you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”

Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where he’s laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes his—he knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can.

His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again.

“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesn’t work.

You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”

“How do-”

“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”

“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”

Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy you’re in love with.

“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating.

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazai’s execution, but you’re haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.

He accepted it.

You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…

He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.

Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside.

Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isn’t dead.

Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.

It worked. It all worked.

It had to have.

Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved.

Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Mori’s shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.

You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.

“Has it been done?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”

“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap.

Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.

You didn’t shoot him. Not really.

But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.

You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-

You don’t finish the thought.

You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.

Shit.

Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klaus—nothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that he’s okay, that you didn’t-

You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.

You see him. You see him, and he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-

Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.

You’re almost there. How much time had passed?

Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?

What is going on?

Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.

You leave your phone in the car and you’re careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone.

It’s only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazai’s ability…

“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.

He doesn’t know.

You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.

“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”

“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”

“But-”

“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”

Isn’t that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-

“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”

You don’t respond to him—your lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. He’s gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.

“Where the fuck are they?” he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”

You try to snap out of it—you do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.

You don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.

Your gaze snaps up, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.

Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”

“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”

Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”

You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.

Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazai’s unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.

“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder.

Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re giving you privacy as best they can.

He looks… peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine that’s what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.

It almost broke through his skull.

He almost died.

You almost killed him.

You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s probably what took them so long.

You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.

The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.

“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”

Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.

“I have to kill Mori.”

Dazai suddenly understands his dream.

“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”

“But-”

“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”

“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“

“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”

Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.

“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-”

You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazai’s gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.

“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to.

So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation.

This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly.

“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”

“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”

“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”

Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”

The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where he’d been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.

“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”

Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think he’s not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.

This place looks nothing like your apartment.

Your apartment is… plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and that’s just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasn’t come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be.

This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one.

“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.

“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”

Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes he’ll just have to figure it out later.

He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.

You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”

“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom.

He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a men’s shampoo and conditioner set.

A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.

Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?

He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him.

He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but you’re not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.

Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.

Whatever you’re about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.

Another fatal mistake.

Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready, and after that… Well, everything went downhill after that.

Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.

But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesn’t expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi.

“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.

The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything that’s happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that.

“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked.

“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.

The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.

“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”

“Oh,” you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was… reckless, saw it coming and… Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.”

Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”

Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.

“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.”

“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”

It’s an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, “I-”

“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”

“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling.

“I… Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability… how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight… nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”

“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”

The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted.

“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.”

He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it.

“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”

Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.

Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-

“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”

Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”

“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itou’s life.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears.

“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”

Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt.

He goes with the latter.

“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”

“You don’t think I have?” you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. “I killed your family, Osamu.”

“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers.

They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfather’s estate.

“You were a kid too,” Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. “You were fourteen. You-”

“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were… eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.”

“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.

“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”

“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”

“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he can’t because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”

“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”

“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”

“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.”

“Osamu-”

“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.

“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile.

This is a goodbye.

Dazai hasn’t spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.

Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.

“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”

“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”

You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.

Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”

“I did,” you reply quietly.

“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.

“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”

“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?”

“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”

“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”

You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.

You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?”

“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.

Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. “When I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”

“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”

“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”

“Mkay.”

You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that he’ll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.

The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.

You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.

But it’s Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…

You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.

“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”

“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”

Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”

“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.

“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”

“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”

Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”

“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”

Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”

“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”

“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”

“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”

Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-

“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”

You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.

“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”

The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s not their field. Their field is war, not politics… but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.

“What about Tolstoy?” a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”

“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”

“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”

“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”

He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldn’t matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin.

“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”

“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”

“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.

“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tolstoy won’t be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.

There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. It’s a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.

“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.

“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”

“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”

“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”

“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”

“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?”

“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”

“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”

“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”

You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”

Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”

“I know.”

SIX WEEKS LATER

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?”

“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.

Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.

“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”

“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”

Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery.

“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?”

It’s a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.

“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”

“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”

“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”

“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”

He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and it’s hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning.

It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.

“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”

“Is that so?”

Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage.

“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated… I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”

“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile.

“Dostoevsky.”

“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise.

Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.

“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it.

“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”

You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]

WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:

i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.

i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel

this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together

i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.

;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.

i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly

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

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bee-wg · 5 months ago

Text

PROLOGUE:

Our family isn’t too big. Ever since my grandparents moved to their cottage by the lake, It's just been the three of us. I don't even bring my teammates or friends home. And all the peacefulness is about to change.

“Ahh Shit- Sorry!” the fumbling buffoon said.

“Language, sweetheart. David! Could you help him pick it up? I'm tidying up the kitchen,” My mom replied.

“Coming!” My dad sprints down the stairs.

“Oh, Pumpkin, you're all grown up! Are you prepared for the semester?” Dad gestured to the culinary tools scattered across the floor.

“Yes, of course. Sorry about the mess,” he replied. The “Pumpkin” in question is my cousin, Theo. He's about to attend a college in the city to study culinary arts… or something. And, of course, he’s sharing the room with me. Not for long, though. I have a few buddies who have invited me to share a room with them. They reek, but it's a necessary evil.

“Jay,” my dad asked, nudging me, “Remember when you guys used to play house together every summer?”

“Yes, then he bit me and we never talked again,” I deadpanned.

“Oh come on, he was just a kid,” Dad retorted.

No, he wasn't. He was a little demon that stole my pretend credit card. My hand still itches thinking about that vicious attack.

I put down Theo’s luggage and bit back the argument. “I'll go back to the car to see what’s left.”

“Alright bud, thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” He could probably thank me by asking what happened at football camp, but what do I know? It's not like we haven't talked about football the entire summer. We could be doing that right now, on the deck with some ice-cold beer. But the twinky little “Pumpkin” needs help, and I have the muscle for it.

God, I wish the summer was over already.

***

“Hahahaha Exactly! I have never seen Chloé like that before.” Dad laughed.

“Right? Who knew mom had sass in her.”

Mom's competitiveness was kicked off by Theo's presence. The kitchen has basically been a war zone for the past two weeks.

Looking down at my watch, the light flashes on.

6 kilometres down, 5 more to go.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a good morning run with Dad like this one. The ocean breeze flowing past my hair and the faint rays of sunrise brought back some old memories.

Regulating my breathing, we slowed down for a second.

“Damn, son - your stamina has gotten so much better this past year.”

“The football camp really made you put up 20 pounds of pure muscles too, I’m glad I recommended you there.” Dad beamed proudly at me.

“You’re not too bad yourself, for an aging old man.”

I still get the same rush every time he compliments me. It’s like a reassurance that I’m doing something right.

“Hahahaha, you won’t be saying that when you’re one foot in your 40s; it’s basically death by fossilization.”

Dad has always been modest with his body, but everyone who knows him either admires his body, wants him, or is jealous of him and I am the same. Ever since high school I’ve been inspired to be like him. Even with the 15 pounds of muscle I have over him, I’m still lacking in so many ways. He just has the confidence to own it.

“Want some water?”

“Oh, right, of course. Thanks.” I took over the ice-cold bottle.

“About that training camp, I should request the school board to have the team register next summer for the training course. High school kids these days don't care about sports as much no more.” Dad said

“Speaking of which, remember your friend Lancaster who got held back for two years?”

“Yeah, Avery. He used to scold me when I didn’t take the nutrition classes with him. Haven’t hung with him in a while though.”

“Well, he probably won’t scold anymore. The kid got too cocky after getting a full sports scholarship and gained 70 pounds of fat in the summer. The university probably revoked the funds. Hope he didn't take it too hard.”

“Shit, that’s awful. I didn’t expect it to be him out of anyone. He was a damn good receiver.”

We resumed the pace, avoiding some rogue cyclists on the way.

Crazy to think the weight could creep up on Avery Lancaster of all people. I should watch out for myself too. I have good genes from dad so it probably will never happen, but the new influx of delicious food from Theo and my mom’s little competition definitely doesn’t help. At least it keeps the brat out of my room.

“Dad, I think I’m not going to move in with Brad and the guys.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Well first of all, as much as I love them, the guys stinks. Second of all, Theo is not as much of a blood-sucking gremlin as he was before. And I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to you guys.”

“Plus, How can I leave when the thing with mom just got interesting.”

“Staying for the family drama, huh?” He chuckled.

“We’re happy to have you for as long as you want, Jay. Truth be told, your mom has been crying about it for weeks. We’re both not ready to say goodbye too.”

“Tell you what, Chloe and Theo probably have some fancy lasagnas waiting for us back home; let's cut through the forest and head back early to celebrate.” He said, practically drooling.

“Lasagnas for breakfast?”

“Wait, You just want the Lasagnas. Don’t you?”

“Hahaha, Maybe.”

“Well, don’t get too drawn in, or you’ll end up as Hansel in the candy house.”

He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

That would be funny to imagine though, cause Dad is anything but a glutton.

Chapter 1 ->

#male weight gain #exjock #fit to fat #male weight gain story

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romanteacism · 2 months ago

Text

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader North

Synopsis: When you and your family traveled to the north, the temperature was not the only thing to turn cold. Warnings: None (yet), Jealous Aemond, Lover's Quarrel, Misunderstanding, Familial Problems PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART

“Wh-Who’s idea was it to… to hold a wedding in the north— when winter is coming!” You exclaimed, your teeth chattering and your body shivering as you were helped out of the wheelhouse. After a fortnight of traveling, you and your family finally arrived in the north for your cousin’s wedding. You were at first excited with the prospect of going north— to have a nice change of scenery, but your warm sentiments quickly turned cold as you realized how frigid it was in the northern wasteland. Even the multitudes of fur you wore did nothing to warm you. However, the moment you took hold of your knight’s hand as he escorted you out of the wheelhouse, you felt a surge of the comforting warmth you sought.

Aemond bit his tongue to hinder a quiet laugh, but he could do nothing to hinder the small smirk that only you could detect rising to his lips. With the coat, hand warmer, and even the hat you wore, you were completely covered by fur. “What’s so amusing?” You frowned, your mood turning sour as you were certain you were going to freeze to death. Aemond pursed his lips, his eye passing upon your frame once more as you frowned up at your knight. “You… you look like a baby bear, princess,” He dared to say, watching as your frown severed at his words. “It’s cold!” You defended, pouting as you looked upon the garments you adorned. “H-How are you not c-cold?” You chattered, quickly cutting Aemond’s amusement as he fully realized how truly cold you were. He was quick to take a fur blanket in the wheelhouse and cover it upon your frame, no longer caring that you were to be received with a blanket draped around you, for Aemond was more concerned at your shivering frame.

“I run warm, princess,” He answered your question as you huddled closer to him for heat. “As much as I love my cousin Eliza— I cannot wait to leave this place.” You muttered as the reason you and your family dared to venture to the frozen land was because of your cousin’s wedding. “By gods, is it cold!” Your brother exclaimed as he hurried to your side. “Could I borrow this?” He asked, gesturing towards the blanket Ser Aemond draped upon you. You frowned, and Aemond clenched his fists upon the prince’s question. “No! I-I’m cold! Get your own,” Aemond grew surprised as you denied your brother— the temperature was truly getting to you, and he was not certain if he liked it or not. He sometimes feared how selfless and kind you were, how easy it could be for others to take advantage of you, and that did not settle well with Aemond.

“Wow… I never thought the cold could make you so cruel!” Your brother exaggerated. Faking hurt just to tease you and make you feel guilty. “We must get to the hearth, princess,” Aemond muttered as you paused in walking to glare at your brother, who only laughed at your reddened expression as the temperature and cold breeze were nipping at your skin. “Yes, we must get you to the fire before the temperature freezes your heart that cannot even lend your dear brother a blanket!”The prince continued to keep up his act, trying to see how many shades of red your face could reach.

Aemond stood by your side as you huddled closer to the hearth in the great hall, your parents and brother greeting the other guests as you were excused to go and warm yourself. “That’s too close, princess, you might get burned.” Aemond fretted as you were nearing to enter the ablaze niche of the hearth just to warm yourself further. He quickly took hold of your hair that draped at your front and held it behind in fear it would catch fire. “But I’m still cold— how am I still cold?!” You quietly cried as you let your knight assist you to a chair. “Cousin! There you are!” The two of you turned as you heard the familiar voice of Lady Eliza, her hastened steps echoing through the halls as she practically ran to you. “Ser Aemond,” she greeted with a curtsey, eyeing the way your hand was still clasped with your knight as he assisted you to a chair.

“I see the temperature is not agreeing with you.” Elize teased, and you could only give a wry smile, “Why had you not warned me that it was this cold? Seriously? How will you survive here? I fear when night comes, I’ll be a frozen carcass tucked in my bed!” Eliza laughed, taking hold of your other hand in affection as your other hand was still firmly placed in the grasp of your sworn protector. “You’ll get used to it,” she smiled, her eyes holding a teasing glint as she glanced towards your other hand, and only then did you realize that you were still holding Ser Aemond’s hand. You slyly removed your hold, and Aemond silently cleared his throat. Both he and you had forgotten your places. “Uhm… so— when am I to meet your betrothed?” You suddenly asked, knowing full well the look on your cousin’s face as she turned her teasing smile towards Ser Aemond, who avoided her gaze. “Well, you would have to stand and remove yourself from the hearth to meet him,” You nodded and reluctantly stood, your knight offering his arm to assist you, but you pretended not to notice it as you feared that if you placed your touch upon his warm and comforting hold once more you would not let go.

“Cousin, I would like you to meet Lord Baron, my dearest betrothed,” Eliza smiled as you two reached Lord Baron, the burly, almost scruffy-looking lord bowing down to greet you. You forced a smile and tried your best to hide the question in your eyes as you glanced towards your cousin, who looked at her betrothed with so much affection that it was almost sickening. “A pleasure, princess. And we are forever grateful that you would venture all the way here just for our wedding despite your aversion to the cold.” Lord Baron smiled and circled his arm around your cousin’s waist. You waited for Eliza to react, any indication of displeasure, but Eliza only leaned closer to her betrothed.

“Well, of course; not even a blizzard would hinder me from attending my beloved cousin’s wedding.” You smiled, “Well, a blizzard would not stand a chance upon all that fur you wear, princess.” The lord observed and gave a hearty, reverberating laugh. You blinked and glanced towards your knight as you could not believe that a voice had the capability to boom so loudly. “If we saw you by the woods, princess, we could mistake you for a bear cub!” Your eyes widened, and you glanced upon Ser Aemond once more, his lips pursed as he hindered his laugh as the Lord had the same sentiments as him. “It’s cold…” you muttered as your cousin joined in the amusement of her betrothed. “Better to warm you up, princess… here, drink this— the best way to find heat around here.” The lord offered you a cup; you took it and hesitantly sniffed the contents. “What is this?” You questioned, your knight peering upon your shoulder to see the contents of the cup and to see if it was indeed safe. “Brandy, princess. The only way to combat the cold.” Lord Baron smiled, taking another cup and gave it to his betrothed.

You watched your cousin take a hearty sip, and her betrothed chugging down the contents of the cup, the brandy dribbling out from the side of his lips, absorbed by his thick and unruly beard. You turned to your cousin, believing that the affection she saw from Eliza was for show and surely the almost barbaric display her betrothed showed would make her falter in her act. She did not; she only laughed and wiped away the escaped drops of brandy from Lord Baron’s lips. “Well then, we shall leave you to rest and further warm up; we’ll see you at the welcoming banquet, cousin.” Eliza smiled, and you nodded, still confused as they walked off arm and arm, no hint of repulsion or feigned affection radiating off from Eliza.

You stayed silent as you stewed in your confusion. Aemond eyed you curiously as he walked by your side, your brows frozen in a furrow. He watched you take a sip of the cup of brandy that you never let go, your confused face morphing into disgust. “Gods,” you wretched, and Aemond quickly took the cup from your hands and gave another one of his handkerchiefs to wipe your lips. “Why is it so bitter?” You questioned, “Well… it's brandy, princess,” Aemond said, taking a sniff of the liquor, and he was immediately reminded of his older brother, who often indulged himself with the drink.

As you entered your assigned chambers, you hurriedly returned to sit by the hearth, your knight finding his rightful place beside you. “Are you truly not cold?” You questioned. “No, princess,” Aemond answered, looking towards the squires who hauled in your plethora of luggage. When the door closed, you sighed and turned to Ser Aemond. “Could I be mean for a moment…” You trailed, your knight surprised as you were capable of such attitudes. Intrigued, he nodded and stepped closer to you. “It is just, I’ve known Eliza my whole life— I know my cousin’s… taste and particularities and—“ You paused as the both of you heard steps outside the chambers. You motioned and moved closer to Ser Aemond as you lowered your voice. “As much as Lord Baron is nice… he’s quite uncivilized— did you see how he drank the brandy? He had no care that it was spilling in his beard! He did not even wipe it off or—or… apologize for such unseemly customs!” You exclaimed, quite scandalized.

Aemond breathed out as he realized how truly sheltered you were—only knowing the strict and decorated customs of court as you were never allowed to venture past it. If you revealed such claims to him moons before— before you had warmed your way through his cold and stoic demeanor, he would use it as further ammunition to justify his distaste for you. However, now, he only used it as another reason to protect and be by your side as you would surely need him when something would disagree with you. “The northern ways are very different from the capitol, princess,” he mused and watched a pout overcome your lips as you slowly nodded. “But… do you think Eliza is being forced upon this? That the affections she shows are fictitious?” You questioned. Aemond stayed silent for a moment, “I do not know of Lady Eliza and her disposition; I cannot know if she is true or merely acting.” He answered.

You sat quietly through the welcome banquet, a pleasing smile on your lips as the night went on. Observing your beloved cousin as she sat with her betrothed, merry with each moment spent with him, even if he boorishly ate his food, speaking with his mouth full— morsels escaping his mouth. Eliza only dabbed his lips. You turned to Ser Aemond, who stood beside you, looking to see if he saw the same scene; he only shrugged.

When the day of the wedding came, you helped prepare your cousin for her big day. When you two were left alone, you took the chance to voice out your concerns. “Cousin, I— I do not wish to offend you, but… are you certain?” You asked cautiously, not having the right words to articulate your regard for her impending nuptials. “Whatever do you mean?” She frowned at you through the mirror. “Are you certain about this marriage with Lord Baron? I’m… I’m well sure he’s kind, but…”You trailed, finding the right words that would not offend your beloved cousin.

Eliza sighed, already knowing where your concern lies. “Oh, cousin… He may seem rough around the edges— perhaps even brute looking, but you are right, he is kind— overly kind and compassionate and adoring… he may not be whom I thought I would marry, but I am happy that I am wrong for he is more than what I could have wished for.” Your heart softened at your cousin’s words, never witnessing her in such a way, completely in love. You nodded in understanding, giving Eliza’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Look at me explaining when you yourself feel the way I do,” Your cousin sighed, and her words made the smile slip off your lips. “What?” You asked, feeling your cold hands grow further cold. Eliza smiled, knowing that you were ready to deny whatever she would say next. “Do not lie to me— not on my wedding day,” She teased as she turned to face you eye to eye. “It’s plain to see cousin… not to the others, thank gods, but plain to me. It would seem you have been successful in warming your way to your knight— a bit too successful, you might say.” She snickered, and you shook your head. Had you two really been that obvious? It was one for your eldest brother to notice, but now Eliza as well.

You were left dumbfounded and anxious. Though you would prefer for you and your knight’s understanding to be known throughout the whole kingdom, you knew it was not yet the time. “I will not press you for the details for now… but know I am happy for you, cousin; he is exactly the sort of man I knew you would end up with,” She smiled, and you could no longer speak of your topic as other ladies entered the room.

It was a nice ceremony, Aemond thought— he was actually not really certain, but seeing as you teared up in joy halfway through your cousin’s nuptials, he assumed that it was nice as he based it upon your reaction. Aemond handed you his handkerchief as he saw tears spilling from your eyes, and you could only gratefully take it from him.

When the feast commenced, you sat next to your brother with your knight standing dutifully behind your chair, watching over you. Your hands were stiff from the cold in the north, and no matter the number of people that gathered in the hall, the hearth that was close, or the wine you consumed, nothing made you warm. You had the urge to reach for Aemond’s hand to find warmth, but you turned sour as you remembered you could not do such actions in a room full of prying curious eyes.

When your mother called your name, that was when you were brought out of your thoughts. You lifted your gaze and observed as your mother stood before you with an unfamiliar man with a charming smile by her side. “Lord Callum, may I introduce you to my daughter,” Your mother said with her fictitious smile as she nudged the lord closer to your direction. Your eyes glanced towards your father, hoping he would save you from yet another ploy of your mother of trying to marry you off, but the king was preoccupied with his brother.

“A pleasure, princess,” The lord bowed and boldly took your freezing hand to place a kiss on your knuckles. Aemond had to bitterly watch and stifle his urges to maim the lord who held and kissed the hand that was meant for him. You parted your lips to greet pleasantries as well and tried to steal away your hand as you felt the cold stare of Aemond, but the lord only held it tighter. “Your hands are cold, princess,” He said with a slight furrow in his brow, concern in his tone.

“Well… it’s a bit nippy in here, my lord,” You reasoned and tried to steal your hand once more, but the lord still held on to it. “Why don’t you two warm up by the fire then! Get to know each other as well,” Your mother shamelessly suggested, with no subtlety as she forced you upon the lord. You had no room to disagree or find an excuse as the lord looked upon you expectantly and hopefully. You gave a wry smile and cautiously stood, catching the enraged look in Aemond’s eye. You walked by the end of the table to a clear aisle where the lord and your mother waited for you, the lord offering out his arm for you to take, and you hesitantly did so.

Aemond’s jaw ticked as he readied himself for another moment where he had to witness you grow familiar with the lords, but as he tried to follow you, your mother placed the back of her hand on Aemond’s chest. “Your services are not needed, Ser, you could return to your post.” The queen said, satisfied by her little scheme. Aemond wanted to respond that his post was by your side, but he held back his tongue and returned to the back of your chair, watching as you stood near the fire with lord Callum.

“She won’t be happy with this,” Aemond heard your brother remark as he took a bite of his meal. “She is seven and ten— I had wanted her married since she had her first blood, she must finally take a husband.” The queen replied and took a long sip of her wine. “She is a child, mother,” Your brother sighed, still uncertain of your mother's urgency for you to marry. “She is a woman grown— she only acts like a child because you and your father indulge her. It’s time for her to be a wife, and finally, she’ll learn to take responsibility.” Aemond pursed his lips, “But do you not think it extreme? If you wish for my sister to learn responsibility, you need not let her marry right away… give her duties or anything but marriage!” Your brother defended you, but your mother only scoffed.

“She must marry and leave; she is too comfortable— too confident in her station and your father’s protection. She must know how the world truly works.” Your mother replied. “And besides, Lord Callum will be a wonderful ally. His house’s navy is one of the best in the kingdom, their coffers are filled with coin, and he is far enough from the capitol for your sister not to run to your father for every little inconvenience in her life,” Aemond’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as he heard your mother’s words, he could never understand the loathing she harbored for you, her only daughter. His anger only furthered as he watched the lord take both of your hands to his to try and warm you further.

As the feast ended and you were finally excused to return to your chambers, you and Aemond walked in chilly silence. You wrapped your arms around yourself as a method to warm yourself further, but it did nothing. “I’m so cold,” You say once more, glancing at Aemond, whose presence you barely felt. “Really? I would think Lord Callum had warmed you thoroughly,” You paused in the empty halls as you heard Aemond’s words. “Do I sense jealousy, my love?” You asked with a small teasing smile on your lips as you turned to him, bold as you threaded closer to him. But as Aemond averted your gaze and you saw an annoyed pout coming to his thin, pink lips, you knew he was not in the mood to jest.

You walked onwards with a sigh as he followed you. “You need not be mad,” You say softly as you stand by the door of your chambers. “Need not be mad? I had to watch that… that mating dance orchestrated by your mother— the lord having the gull to hold you, and you ask me not to be mad?”

“It’s not like I have a choice, Aemond,” You explained, but he only had a scoff. “You do! You have your father’s blessing and protection to not entertain the lords, but the moment your mother comes with a lord who vies for your hand, you readily jump at the opportunity!” Your eyes widened at his insinuation. “You think I wanted that? Being paraded off like some broodmare?” You asked incredulously, “It certainly looked like it,” Aemond muttered, and your stomach pitted as he would think so lowly of you. You feel tears prickling your eyes, but you cannot shed your tears as you fear they will turn to ice as they do.

“I had no choice, Aemond. I do not know why you do not understand that. You were raised as a lord— you should know firsthand the manners that are expected of us. I cannot blatantly deny his request and be standoffish as you wish I would be… I had no choice.” You say, throat growing tight with each word you utter. “And it hurts me deeply that you would insinuate that I enjoyed— that I wanted that when you yourself know what and who I want.” You added as you avoided your gaze.

As Aemond heard that he had hurt you, his senses returned to him, his sensibilities shining through as he realized he had forgotten to hold his tongue and unjustly poured out his rage onto you. “My l—“ Aemond tried to call, but you had already moved inside your chambers and closed the door, and for the first time since they arrived, Aemond felt the coldness of the north.

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archiveluna · 1 year ago

Text

being in a weird situationship with farleigh... <3 inspired by the song boyfriend by ariana grande ft. social house

WARNINGS ✧ none i think? ooc farleigh maybe, situationship? my bad writing… it’s been 7 years. written on my iphone at 1am while sleep deprived </3 sorry in advance! i also suck at writing endings ◡̈

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ︶︶︶⠀⠀୨୧⠀⠀︶︶︶

‘you ain’t my boyfriend and i ain’t your girlfriend but you don’t want me to see nobody else and i don’t want you to see nobody’

you could feel him glaring at you from all the way across the room but made no move to look his way. if he could go around hooking up with random people, then you had the right to do as you please also.

wether he’d like to admit it or not, farleigh was a jealous man, especially when it came to you and there was only so much he could take before storming your way, his long legs reaching you in record time and dragging you away from the confused boy who you’d been previously talking to.

‘even though you ain’t mine, i promise the way we fight make me feel like we just in love’

“what do you think you’re doing?”

you couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped your mouth. was he being serious? the only thing holding you back from causing a scene being the people around you guys and the not so subtle eyes of his cousin and friends watching everything unfold. god.. you knew coming to this party was a bad idea. “not sure what you mean.” you shrugged.

he nodded his head in a mocking way, pursing his lips. “hm, right. so this isn’t you getting back at me for the other day, is it? because i told you-“

“getting back at you?” you cut him off shaking your head in disbelief. “get over yourself farleigh. am i not allowed to talk to other people? not everything’s about you, you know.” except this totally was about him. you almost groaned when you saw the smirk forming on his lips. that bastard. he knew, of course he did.

‘i know we be so complicated lovin you sometimes drive me crazy cause i can’t have what i want and neither can you’

you refused to meet his eyes when he called out your name, arms crossed looking at the people dancing around you. farleigh chuckled, taking a step closer. you took one back in return. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were jealous.” his tone was teasing, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he still had that infuriatingly attractive smirk on his face. i am. “of what? you’re not my boyfriend, you can do whatever you want.” you looked up at him, doing your best to appear nonchalant. farleigh laughed, throwing his head back like you had said the funniest joke he’s ever heard, which only served to agitate you more.

his eyes were practically sparkling when he looked down at you, his hands reaching to cup your face despite your failed attempts to push him away. “i didn’t fuck her. if that’s what you’re pissed about, all we did was make out...” he trailed off unsure if he should say what he was thinking. the way he was looking at you made your cheeks warm up, but you refused to speak. you wanted him to say it. you knew what he wanted to say, and as stupid as it sounded, you refused to be the first one to break. “i haven’t slept with anyone for months now actually.” his hands now resting on your hips squeezed them lightly.

farleigh admitting that shouldn’t of felt as good as it did, but it was as if you could feel a weight lifting off your shoulders. you hoped for a different kind of confession, but this was also nice to know. although you weren’t all that happy that he was still going around shoving his tongue down other peoples throats you couldn’t exactly complain either. he wasn’t your boyfriend. you had to remind yourself of that.

‘but you ain’t my boyfriend and i ain’t your girlfriend but you don’t want me to touch nobody else baby, we ain’t gotta tell nobody’

“like i said, farleigh, you’re free to do whatever you want. nothing is stopping you.” farleigh let out a mixture of what sounded like a groan and laugh, pulling you closer to him without you attempting to push him away this time around. “you” he paused to pinch your cheek softly. “are so fucking stubborn, did you know that?”

you couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped your lips as you looked up at him, finally giving in to his touch. you had only been ignoring him for a few days, but it felt like a lifetime to you and even if he wouldn’t say it, you knew he felt the same way if the way he was gripping your hips was anything to go by.

“were you really going to fuck that loser to get back at me?” farleigh suddenly asked, looking over to where the guy whose name you’d already forgotten now sat talking with a different girl, his face in that permanent scowl he seemed to have when he wasn’t around you or his friends. “i tuned him out the moment he opened his mouth to be honest.” you could feel your cheeks heating up once again as he laughed at your honesty. “yeah, i figured once you wouldn’t stop eye fucking me from across the room.”

“shut up!” you groaned, swatting his chest. “you’re the one who has a staring problem, you creep. seriously, you’re worse than that fucking ollie kid.” farleigh huffed, somewhat offended that you would compare him to oliver but said nothing else as he pulled you towards the table where felix and the rest of his posse sat, all of them immediately pretending like they hadn’t been watching when you both approached except for felix, who gave farleigh a not so subtle smirk when he pulled you to sit on his lap.

‘if you were my boyfriend and you were my girlfriend i probably wouldn’t see nobody else’

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ︶︶︶⠀⠀୨୧⠀⠀︶︶︶

i suck at endings can u tell ꃋᴖꃋ i know i said i wasn’t gonna write and i probably won’t for a while but i had to get this idea out of my head! i ♥︎ farleigh start. also sorry for any errors! i’m nervous just posting this, bye

#farleigh start x reader #farleigh x fem!reader #farleigh start

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pshcomforts · 1 year ago

Text

➳ mad | psh.

non!idolsunghoon x fem!reader

“we’re fighting this war, baby, when both of us are losing”

synopsis: in which, you and sunghoon have an argument that leads to you guys distancing for a bit.

warnings/content: angst to fluff. written in third pov. hoon’s a little possessive.. and he gets drunk later. mentions of alcohol. reader and hoon are both petty and stubborn. not proofread (i’m sorry if it’s bad). cursing! i think that’s it but lmk!

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 5.0k

a/n: fictional characters — dae (jungwon��s partner), min-su (heeseung’s partner), and ji-woo (jake’s partner).

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

current song playing: mad by neyo

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

1:36 ──────|───────────── -2:37

keys aggressively landed on the floor as sunghoon dropped it in rage.

“you’re really making a big deal out of this?”

y/n rolled her eyes in annoyance. “yeah, i am because what you did was uncalled for.” she folded her arms, almost in disbelief of how he was acting.

“i pushed him off of you, y/n. you should honestly be thanking me.”

her brows scrunched together — “he’s my friend sunghoon. he wasn’t even close to me.”

he let a scoff slip by his lips in a moment of doubt. “yeah, he sure seemed like it with how close his body was pressing up against you.”

she squinted her eyes at his words. “okay lose the fucking attitude because i’m not having it.” he sent a glare at the girl, close to burning holes as he began to grow irritated.

“you don’t know the intentions of guys y/n.”

“he has a girlfriend, sunghoon!”

hoon poked his tongue out through his cheek as he rolled his eyes — face becoming stern within each second.

“guys still cheat on their girlfriends.”

y/n scoffed, shaking her head as her heart grew heavy. “his girlfriend is my cousin, hoon.” she stopped to think carefully with her words — “look, i love you okay? and as much as i enjoy seeing you jealous, it’s not a healthy trait for you to keep doing this.”

“keep doing what?” he gritted with his clenched jaw.

“hoon…”

he shook his head and turned his back against her. “fine, you want me to not protect you anymore? got it. done. i’ll act like we’re not even in a relationship if that’s what you want.”

✩ ‘now as i’m yelling over her’ ✩

y/n’s heart shattered within seconds before letting the irking feel wash over. “you’re really gonna be fucking petty about this?”

“if that’s what you want,” he bluntly said with shrugging shoulders. his back still faced her as he couldn’t have it in himself to look at her.

“i can’t believe you’re acting so stubborn right now.”

“he was close to you, how do you expect me to not act the way i am?” his jaw tensed when he thought back to the vision of seeing y/n and her guy friend near each other.

“we’ve been friends for a long time sunghoon, and he wasn’t even as close as you thought he was.” she narrowed her eyes at his back, crossing her arms as the events from tonight started to drain her.

“he’s probably just waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and catch you.” hoon mumbled with an obvious scoff.

silence easily took the room as y/n stayed quiet, not wanting to give a response for a second.

“are you serious? like, are you actually really fucking acting like this right now?”

✩ ‘she yelling over me’ ✩

sunghoon finally faced her, his gaze darkened as his eyes darted at her. he was upset, and so was she.

“how else do you want me to act?” he spoke, voice almost absent in the moment as his throat needed to be cleared.

she rolled her eyes, swiping her tongue through her teeth as she spat — “you’re really unbelievable.”

“yeah i bet you’ll quote that to him soon when you tell him what happened.”

✩ ‘all that that means is neither of us is listening’ ✩

her eyes were filled with betrayal. and after betrayal, came pettiness. the doubt that was taking over their relationship increased as soon as the words left his mouth.

✩ ‘but we won’t let it go for nothing’ ✩

“fine, you want me to go tell him? i will.” her hands swiftly reached for her jacket she threw off when she got home, shoes already intact as her feet quickened for the door. the burdened girl felt a sudden tug on her arm, knowing that her boyfriend was trying to pull her back.

“don’t leave.”

“talk to me when you’re no longer feeling petty. i don’t want to hear your stupid comments right now,” she spat out — pulling her arm back with a cold shoulder.

“it’s dark and it’s unsafe, it’s better if you stay here y/n.”

“honestly, hoon? i don’t want to be under the same roof as you right now.” the girl put on the last piece of her warm clothing and left. she was tired and she wanted to sleep but not when her boyfriend was being unreasonable.

sunghoon fucked up. he was a naturally possessive guy with his girl but he took it too far this time, and he knew that.

he groaned out a heavy sigh, taking his seat on the couch as he finally processed the fact that they’d just gone through an argument.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

hours passed and y/n was still gone.

truth be told, she never went to her male friend’s place. of course not. they were close, but she wouldn’t dare to do that to sunghoon — no matter how pissed she was at him.

so instead, she slept over at ji-woo’s. more specifically, ji-woo’s and jake’s.

“you sure everything’s okay with you and sunghoon??” her friend questioned with a concerned look.

y/n’s lips pushed together into a firm line, showing that she was a little unsure about the answer herself. “i don’t know honestly… i can’t tell who’s in the right this time..” her head drooped down in guilt as she replayed the cruel words she said to him before leaving.

“it’s not your fault y/n, he was a little out of bounds this time but you guys should still talk it out.”

“yeah, it always works for my girl and i.” jake chimed in, flinging his arm around ji-woo.

y/n’s face scrunched in disgust — “ew.. well, you know that sunghoon’s pretty stubborn..” her eyes tilted up to look at her boyfriend’s best friend who was dating her friend. he let a gentle smile play on his lips as he only nodded in agreement.

“you are too, y/n…” ji-woo added on, giving slow rubs on her boyfriend’s hand.

“you’re not making the situation any better but thanks.. bitch.” she rolled her eyes before shaking her head, earning a gasp and a laugh from the couple in unison.

“i’m sure you guys will work it out soon,” the dimpled girl said, giving a light kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek afterward.

“ew you guys make me want to be single..” y/n replied, face still scrunched in disgust.

jake awkwardly laughed, holding onto his girlfriend as he heard her yell — “shut up! just go to sleep!”

the couple returned to their bedroom, leaving y/n behind before the loud voice of jake boomed out, “and check your phone y/n! sunghoon’s been blowing up mine so i’m sure he is for you too!”

the girl raised her brows, turning her head to her phone on do not disturb. she clicked the screen and found the device to be flooded with texts from various group chats, and him.

‘You okay?’

‘Did you really go to his place?’

‘Oh I just saw you’re with Ji-Woo and Jake. Did you get there safe?’

‘I’m sorry for taking it too far’

‘Please come home 🫂🫂’

‘Good night gorgeous, I miss you ❤️‍🩹’

y/n grumbled out a groan, debating on whether to text him back or leave him on read. before she could decide, she received a text from her friend’s group chat.

jungwon’s bae 🩶:

YOU BETTER TEXT HIM Y/N!

JI-WOO MAKE SURE SHE TEXTS HIM

hoon’s gf <3:

and what if i just leave him on read!

jungwon’s bae 🩶:

BITCH

He keeps blowing up Jungwon’s phone

Tell him to stop!

hee’s fav 🤍:

he’s fucking blowing up heeseung’s too

hoon’s gf <3:

and you guys are too with mine!

hoon and i are.. fine…

jungwon’s bae 🩶:

BITCH

Omg stop lying!

Where’s Ji-Woo???

hoon’s gf <3:

HAHAHA

she’s with jake so she’s most likely asleep!

as should all of us so good night losers!

y/n quickly shut her phone before she could get a response from them. she sighed in defeat, truthfully wishing she was in sunghoon’s arms as she remembered the fact that ji-woo and jake were most likely cuddling in the next room over.

‘i miss you’ she thought to herself, giving a soft pout as she reminisced when he’d be clingy and not want to let go through the night.

she gave another sigh as she picked up her phone, ignoring the texts received from the recent group chat as she responded back to sunghoon.

hoon’s gf <3:

i’m okay

we’ll talk soon, night

hoonie 🤍:

I miss you with me

y/n rolled her eyes as a grin started to show on her face without even realizing it. “whatever..” she mumbled to herself, not even giving a reply as she felt her heart thump out of her chest.

as the thoughts of her boyfriend lingered in her mind, so did the argument. they bickered time to time, but usually things worked out in the end. this time though seemed a little more different, but she was sure they’d make it through — just not right now.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

a few days had gone by since their quarrel, and y/n remained to still be at ji-woo and jake’s place. she couldn’t face sunghoon just yet, knowing that he would most definitely still be petty about it. she would too though, which is why she avoided him for the time being.

bright shades of orange colored the sky as the day cracked on sunset. it was only ji-woo and y/n in the house — jake left to go drink with his friends, which included the rest of the enhypen members.

as the two girls were preparing dinner, a sudden ring call was made from ji-woo’s phone.

“hello??” she yelled out with an eyebrow raise — “jake?”

y/n slowly eased in on listening to the conversation without even realizing as she tried to mind her own business.

“what??? i can’t hear you jake! sunghoon??”

y/n’s head quickly shot up at the name. her boyfriend??

“y/n? oh, she’s right here.” ji-woo nudged the girl’s arm while uttering out, “jake said that sunghoon wants to talk to you.”

“what?”

“apparently you’re not picking up his calls and he’s kind of drunk so.. take it.” she gestured her hands closer to y/n. she sighed before taking the phone.

“hello?”

“y/n, that’s you right??” jake yelled out on the other side of the phone, his words being slightly slurred out.

“yes… why’d you ask for me? is sunghoon okay?” she mumbled, feeling a little uneasy in her tone. a few seconds passed and it was obvious that her friend’s boyfriend didn’t know how to respond back. “jake?? hello?”

she turned to ji-woo who was still focused on dinner, eyes laced with concern as she heard her call out her boyfriend’s name.

“y/n?? is that my gorgeous girl on my friend’s phone?” sunghoon’s voice suddenly slurred out. she heard him give a soft chuckle that sent butterflies to her stomach.

“hoon.. you’re drunk aren’t you?” she said with her brows furrowed.

it was like he could hear how upset she was as he replied, “just.. a little…….. sorry, angel.”

y/n scoffed a little, even though she felt her heart flutter at the nickname. “are you serious sunghoon?” the distress of hearing his drunken state got to her as she exhaled a heavy sigh.

“i’m sorry…”

almost immediately, the phone caught onto the shuffling movements of hands as hoon’s voice could no longer be heard.

“hoon???”

“sorry y/n, he was fighting for the phone to hear your voice. he’s kind of.. uhm sad but if you could just come though, it’d be great…” jake suddenly intervened. y/n caught hold that he took the phone as he gave a chuckle afterward — “oh! and bring my girl too, i think she might need me to drive me home.”

a few other voices mixed in the background that y/n couldn’t quite grasp onto — only for jake to talk in her ear again. “actually, could you bring min-su and dae too?? heeseung and jungwon are begging for them after hearing that you and ji-woo are coming.”

the girl on the end gave an exasperated sigh while rolling her eyes. “you guys just had to drink…” she mumbled before turning to her friend who was still chopping vegetables for dinner. “here ji-woo, ask your boyfriend for the location. we gotta pick them up.”

ji-woo’s face scrunched in confusion — “pick them up??”

“just take the phone and talk to your boyfriend.” she shoved her hand that had the phone to her friend before leaving to put her shoes on.

soon after, the girl in the kitchen hung up the call and approached the front door where y/n stood.

“apparently, they took your and hoon’s car so you have to drive it back when we get them. did you text min-su and dae?”

“just about to,” y/n responded. the two left out the door soon after gathering their necessities.

hoon’s gf <3:

the boys drank and they want us to pick them up

get ready @everyone

i’m with ji-woo so meet us there, min-su and dae!

hee’s fav 🤍:

what the fuck

i knew my hee was drunk

jungwon’s bae 🩶:

Omg!

No wonder Jungwon was drunk texting me

hoon’s gf <3:

LMAO just get ready 😭

minutes passed and the group had finally arrived to the scene of their boyfriends. min-su and dae came with their own cars after realizing the members carpooled in the vehicle owned by sunghoon and y/n, and another by sunoo.

they walked into the restaurant together with head shakes and heavy sighs to the sight of each boy in a drunken state. well, most but niki. the youngest was drinking lemon lime soda while giggling at how each member was acting.

“wow you guys actually came?” he snorted, downing another cup of the refreshing soda.

y/n shook her head in disappointment while searching for her boyfriend. she soon found him laying on jake’s shoulder, his arms clinging onto him as his cheeks flushed with a bright red. out of all of the members, it seemed like he was the most drunk.

jake softly shook the boy while mumbling — “hoon, your girlfriend is here.” the boy blinked his eyes before sitting up straight to see y/n in front of him.

“no, my girlfriend is mad at me. she wouldn’t ever want to come pick me up,” he sulkily said with a pout.

y/n softly smiled as she went closer to him, hands reaching for his hair to catch his attention. she let it run through the silk strands as his face scrunched together.

“oh! who is this pretty girl??” sunghoon mumbled, giving a bright eye smile as he grinned ear to ear.

her lips automatically curled into another smile as her eyes softened with love. “hey hoonie,” she mumbled only for him to hear.

it didn’t help though as he shouted, “HOONIE? is this really my girlfriend???” he flung his arms around her neck to pull her into a hug. his face plastered on a huge smile as he felt relieved to finally be in her presence again.

the name call that could be heard throughout the restaurant caused their friends to turn heads.

“uhm ew!” min-su yelled out as she held onto a stumbling and blushing heeseung.

“they’re making up, baby! leave them alone,” her boyfriend retracted back to her, leaving quiet giggles in the air as she tried to calm his asian glow down.

“they’re finally talking again,” jungwon chuckled with a head shake. “that’s a good thing huh babe?” he comforted his head closer to dae’s neck as he remained to be smiling.

“just keep resting wonie,” dae mumbled while petting his hair.

the drunken boy returned the hair pets as his hand went to dae’s curly hair, messily fluffing it as he beamed a smile. his dimples went on display while the younger male started to giggle from his act. he was more clingy than usual with the alcohol in his system but his sober boyfriend didn’t mind.

jake and ji-woo laughed together as his hands clung onto hers, forcefully intertwining as he planned to not let go of hers. the boy was drunk, he just wanted to be in his girlfriend’s arms.

“he was talking about you all night.” niki, the most sober one, snorted as he took a bite of his food. “seemed like he needed this more than any of us.”

y/n turned her head to niki — “did he really?”

“yeah, he was stressed about the fact that you guys fought.“

“you guys should really make up. i cant afford to drink alcohol every week.” jay retorted with a smile afterward.

the girl shook her head before responding — “well we’re here now so we’ll be taking our leave.” she softly patted her boyfriend’s arm, only to earn a head shake on her shoulders.

“let’s just stay here..” sunghoon beamed with a sloppy grin on his face.

y/n rolled her eyes — “okay we’re definitely going.”

“us too. come on, baby.” said min-su who was already dragging heeseung up on his feet.

the four couples stood up, each enhypen member propping themselves up on their partner as they felt the ground to be unsteady.

“will you guys be okay driving home?” y/n asked with her brows knitted together.

“us? yeah for sure, niki didn’t drink so he can drive us home.” sunoo responded while being slightly slurred with his words.

“you sure niki??”

“we’ll be fine, i’m a good driver.” niki said, giving a laughing scoff afterward.

y/n rolled her eyes before nodding her head. “okay fine, just.. drive safe please.”

the group sectioned themselves off — the couples going off in their own cars as the remaining three went in sunoo’s car with niki being their designated driver.

“you guys will be fine right??” y/n asked to her friends.

the three nodded in response. “of course we will, jungwon’s the drunk one, not me!” dae defended with a smile towards his boyfriend.

“hey!” won yelled.

his boyfriend shrieked out a laugh at his reaction. “i’m joking! i’m joking!”

“okay.. we’re leaving.” min-su hurriedly said with a disgusted expression.

“drive safe!” ji-woo shouted to the couple. “you guys be safe too!” she pointed at y/n and dae.

the two nodded before returning to their cars.

“let’s go home, sunghoon.” y/n softly murmured to him.

“don’t you mean hoonie???” he loudly questioned, eyes still squeezing shut with his shit eating grin.

she scoffed in a playful sense as she nudged his head. “shut up and close your eyes..,”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

throughout the car ride, sunghoon honestly fell asleep while she drove. she didn’t mind it though. talking to him while he was in a drunken state wasn’t ideal so she kept quiet.

when the two had finally arrived home, his arm clung around her neck to stable himself. the apartment was quiet, almost empty as the burdened presence of her filled every cracks of each room.

“god, you’re really heavy.” y/n grumbled with a groan.

sunghoon let out quiet words that she couldn’t comprehend, so she excused it as they finally arrived to the bedroom.

she pushed herself off of him so he could forward into the cushioned bed. “finally,” she groaned out, back area in pain from his tall body towering over hers.

the bed was neatly done. her side of the bed was obviously untouched as she hadn’t been home in days. with her absence, hoon couldn’t have it in himself to take up the remaining space that was always for his girlfriend.

when his body finally hit the bed, he whined out a groan that emphasized how tired he was from the alcohol.

“good night hoonie..,” she softly mumbled, feeling her heart already give in just at the sight of him. she gave faint rubs on his hand as she admired how sleepy he looked.

everything from his facial features had her heart thrilled with a warming feeling to the gut. his hair was messily laid out, and his eyes were gently resting so easily. his clothes were softly scrunched and ruffled, baggy almost with how he landed onto the mattress.

after admiring how gorgeous he looked, y/n decided it was time to let the boy sleep — so she turned away from him, prepared to take leave from the room. she was honestly still mad at him, and wanted him to least be sober when they finally met after their argument. but he wasn’t, so she thought it best for her to spend the remaining night on the couch.

as she reached out for the door, she felt a sudden pulse of his hand kick in as it wrapped around her wrist. the tug shocked her.

the girl opened her mouth to speak but sunghoon had beat her to it — “don’t go.” he refused to let her leave as his grip became stronger. he was scared.

✩ ‘girl i don’t wanna go to bed (mad at you)’ ✩

her face contorted into confusion. “i thought you were asleep?”

“please don’t go,” he mumbled — ignoring her words as his brows scrunched together. “i want you here with me.”

✩ ‘and i don’t want you to go to bed (mad at me)’ ✩

y/n pressed her lips to form a line as she said, “go to sleep hoon.” she tugged her hand back and he let her, most likely from being a little too drunk to do anything else.

she wanted to stay with him and be in his warming arms, but they were still going through an argument. so she turned off the light and situated herself on the couch soon after.

it wasn’t comfortable, but at least she was home.

after a few more minutes of being on the phone, the girl drifted herself off to sleep. her back faced the open side of the couch as she knocked out.

when hours passed, a pair of arms had suddenly wrapped around her body and embraced her into a back hug. it was sunghoon. he groaned out a sigh of relief as he let his arms cling at the waist.

it had probably been a little past midnight when the male found himself next to an empty space on the bed. he frowned before finding his girlfriend on the couch.

his chin softly laid on top of her head from his height. the cold hands that belonged to him most definitely awoken her when she grumbled out a confused whine.

“hoon..?” her hand reached out to the back of her, finding its place in his hair as he gave a faint chuckle in the silence.

“told you not to go,” he mumbled next to her ear, sending shivers down her spine as his arms pulled her closer to his embrace.

✩ ‘but baby, can we make up now?’ ✩

“don’t sleep without me, it feels lonely.” his hands soon found its way to her hands, placing it over hers as he squeezed her tighter. “haven’t been able to sleep without you here.”

✩ ‘cause i can’t sleep through the pain’ ✩

his warm hold finally made her feel like she was at peace, like the empty feeling in the apartment simply vanished within the seconds they were together.

sunghoon lifted his head and removed one of his hands to move her hair that sprawled out on the pillow, placing a gentle kiss on her neck afterward. he breathed deeply on it before muzzling his head into her neck. he was home.

“hoon-“

✩ ‘we can fuss, and we can fight’ ✩

“i know you’re still mad at me and that’s okay, but can i just hold you like this? just for tonight? i’ve missed you..,” he whispered against her neck, voice trailing off at his last sentence with how weakened he felt. “will you let me?”

✩ ‘long as everything’s all right between us, before we go to sleep ’ ✩

the girl felt his grip get a little tighter, almost as if he was preparing for her to reject his request, but she didn’t. instead, her hands followed to where his were, which were between her waist and hips.

they overlapped and she rested hers on top of his, closing her fingers so she could reassure him back.

“of course, hold me every night” y/n croaked out.

she couldn’t see it but hoon’s lips were tugging on a smile. he moved a few hair strands out of her face before pushing his face closer to her neck.

she softly laughed at the touch, earning a low chuckle to be heard from him as well.

“that’s my gorgeous girl,” he mumbled in her ear again.

sunghoon let his arms hold onto her tighter as they both began to sleep in the presence of each other.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

when the afternoon light peeked through their windows, y/n had been the first to awoken from the two as hoon was still knocked out from the alcohol.

the space on the couch was tight with how they slept but she didn’t mind. well, maybe she did a little but it wasn’t a big deal with how much she had missed him.

she had to get up though. it was her daily routine to do a big stretch right after she woke up, and possibly go to the bathroom for number one too. so she did. her body rose up and she just couldn’t help herself to simply admire the boy in front of her eyes.

the pretty boy was sound asleep with his clothes he wore from yesterday’s outing. “so handsome..” she uttered under her breath, eyes being glazed with captivation.

“am i that attractive?” he said as his inner corner of his lips curling.

y/n’s eyes widened with shock. “oh shit i didn’t know you were awake..”

“your staring woke me up.” his eyes fluttered open as he gave a half smile to her, hair messy and out of place.

“sorry.”

“i should be the one saying sorry,” he refuted.

“that’s sweet hoon, but i really gotta pee so please move, you’re blocking the whole sofa.” the man gave a wide chuckle at her words before moving his long legs aside. she rushed out to the bathroom to do her business, returning back to see him sitting up with his thick brows scrunched together.

“you wanna talk now or should we talk later?” y/n awkwardly asked with an eyebrow raise.

sunghoon gave another grin at her words. god, he was smitten for this girl. “let’s talk now because i want to apologize.” before he could continue on, he quickly placed a warm kiss on her forehead when she sat down beside him.

“hoon!”

“i haven’t kissed my girlfriend in days. what do you expect me not to do??” he gave a shrug to his shoulders that had her rolling her eyes.

“stop distracting me!” the girl said with a firm tone, trying to sound composed. her cheeks betrayed her though as they brought a warm color.

“do i distract you?”

“sunghoon- are we gonna talk or do i have to ignore you again?”

“okay okay fine,” he sighed at her words. “i’m sorry y/n. i was jealous and i admit that. he wasn’t close to you, but i just hated the way he couldn’t stop whispering things to you.”

she watched his face start to slightly frown at the remembrance of that night, and she only laughed at it.

“it was wrong for me to say all of that when we were arguing and i wish i didn’t. i’ll always protect you,” he added on. “i just.. can’t help it. i always get the protective urge to keep you safe.”

his head was drooped low in shame, and it caused y/n to cup his cheeks for him to face her. “you’re so cute hoon.” she placed a quick peck on the lips before she continued, “i know you’re a possessive guy and i’m okay with that. there are just certain times where it gets taken too far and it feels like it won’t impact well on our relationship.”

“i know.. but-“

“look, i love it when you’re jealous. it’s funny and hot at the same time, but you seriously have nothing to worry about. my friend was just whispering into my ear because it was loud and he was trying to tell me what he was gonna get for my cousin’s birthday.”

sunghoon’s lips formed into duck shaped lips as he quietly whispered, “oh..”

“you’re adorable, loser. i’m sorry too, i know you’re just being protective.” she grinned ear to ear as she planted another soft kiss onto his lips. as she prepared to pull away, she felt his hands on the back of her neck pull her in again.

his lips curled into a smile as she became slightly shocked with the sudden tug from him. hoon placed his hand on her chin, smiling even more as she finally got the chance to pull away with how distracted he got.

“god hoon!” a loud smack was sent to the arms.

“i missed being with my girlfriend, can’t i just kiss her!”

“geez we don’t talk for days and you become this clingy,” y/n said with an eye roll.

sunghoon gave a light grin as he rubbed his bruised arm. “only for you,” he mumbled with an eye smile.

“whatever.. let’s just go get lunch.” she stood from the couch and grabbed her boyfriend’s hands.

“what if i just want to stay home all day with you?”

“i’d love that but you drank a lot, so you need to eat something.”

a few more push and pull from the arms were made until sunghoon finally gave in.

the two went out for lunch and talked about what they did in their days apart. they were okay, and better than ever after getting through an argument. nothing could ever separate the two from each other.

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

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writingduhh · 5 months ago

Note

Would love to see a Fake Dating trope with Schlatt if you want 👀

This trope has been rotting my brain 😮‍💨

YES I LOVE ITTTT! Sorry for the mega mega delay

Jschlatt || The Perfect Scam

Summary: When you need a date to your cousin's wedding, your best friend Schlatt suggests the perfect plan: fake dating. But what starts as a convenient arrangement soon spirals into something more. (fem reader)

You had never been more desperate for a date in your life. Your cousin’s wedding was this weekend, and the idea of showing up alone while your ex flaunted their new relationship made you want to hurl. Unfortunately, every attempt to find a plus-one had failed miserably, leaving you with only one option: suffer through it or... well, you didn’t know what else.

Schlatt, your best friend, wasn’t much help either. He was leaning back in his chair, sipping a beer with a lazy grin as you ranted about your predicament. “You could always just tell everyone you’re happily single,” he suggested with a shrug.

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “They’ll never believe that. My family is obsessed with relationships! It’s bad enough they’re already convinced I’ll die alone.

Schlatt chuckled, the sound rich and amused. “What you need is a fake boyfriend,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief. “Someone who can make your ex jealous and shut up your nosy relatives all in one go.”

You looked at him skeptically. “And where exactly am I supposed to find someone willing to do that on such short notice?”

Schlatt raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You’re looking at him, sweetheart.”

The idea hit you like a ton of bricks. Schlatt... as your fake boyfriend? You couldn’t deny it made sense—he was charming, confident, and definitely knew how to play the part. But you also knew Schlatt, and the guy lived for chaos. Agreeing to this would be like handing him a golden ticket to mess with you for an entire weekend.

Yet, as you considered the alternative, Schlatt’s offer didn’t seem so bad. You sighed, the weight of the situation pressing on you. “Alright, Schlatt. You’re on. But no funny business, okay?”

He put a hand over his heart, feigning innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind. Schlatt threw himself into the role with an enthusiasm that both amused and unsettled you. He insisted on practicing hand-holding, linking your arms whenever you were out in public, and even coming up with pet names that made your skin crawl—and secretly your heart flutter.

“Come on, babe, we’ve got to make this convincing,” Schlatt would tease, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. You’d roll your eyes but couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened at his touch.

The wedding day arrived too soon, and you found yourself standing outside the venue, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. Schlatt was beside you, looking more handsome than ever in his suit, his signature smirk in place.

“Ready to pull off the scam of the century?” he asked, offering you his arm.

You took it, your heart racing. “Let’s do this.”

Inside the venue, Schlatt played the perfect boyfriend. He was attentive, affectionate, and never missed a beat in making sure everyone saw just how ‘in love’ you two were. His hand rested on your lower back as he guided you through the crowd, and his fingers would brush against yours in fleeting, yet charged, touches.

You approached your parents, and your mom’s eyes lit up when she saw you with Schlatt. “Oh my goodness, you brought someone!” she exclaimed, giving you both a warm smile. “And such a handsome young man too.”

“Mom,” you warned, already sensing her wheels turning.

Schlatt grinned, taking your mom’s hand and giving it a charming squeeze. “Mrs. [Your Last Name], the pleasure is all mine. I’ve been dying to meet the woman who raised such an incredible person.”

Your mom practically melted on the spot, while your dad gave Schlatt a once-over, trying to size him up. “So, how long have you two been together?” your dad asked, his tone casual but curious.

“Oh, it feels like forever,” Schlatt said smoothly, slipping his arm around your waist. “I knew [Your Name] was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

You shot Schlatt a look, trying to gauge if he was joking, but his expression was unreadable. Your dad raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “And what do you do for a living, Schlatt?”

Schlatt flashed a confident smile. “I run a few businesses here and there, nothing too fancy. Just enough to keep things interesting.” He winked at you, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your dad seemed satisfied enough, nodding slowly.

“Well, as long as you treat [Your Name] right,” your dad said, his tone firm.

“Like royalty,” Schlatt replied with a smirk. “You have my word.”

You were just starting to relax when you spotted your ex across the room, walking hand in hand with their new partner. They noticed you too, their eyes narrowing slightly as they took in Schlatt’s arm around you. Your heart sped up, the old insecurities bubbling to the surface.

Schlatt leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Showtime, babe.”

Before you could respond, Schlatt was guiding you toward your ex, his posture relaxed, but his grip on your waist firm. “Well, well, look who it is,” Schlatt drawled as you approached, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fancy running into you here.”

Your ex looked from you to Schlatt, their expression carefully neutral. “It’s been a while,” they said, their tone polite but with an edge.

“Yeah, it has,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “This is Schlatt, my boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Schlatt said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Your ex hesitated before shaking his hand, his grip just a tad too firm. “Likewise.”

Schlatt didn’t miss a beat, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You know, [Your Name] and I were just talking about how lucky we are to have found each other,” he said, his voice dripping with affection. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Your ex’s smile tightened, but they managed to keep their cool. “I’m glad you’re happy,” they said, though it sounded forced.

“Never been happier,” you replied, leaning into Schlatt, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or something else, but being in his arms felt... right.

Schlatt’s fingers traced patterns on your back as he spoke, his voice low and intimate. “We should be get back to the party, babe. Don’t want to miss our song.

You nodded, letting Schlatt lead you away. Once you were out of earshot, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “You really laid it on thick back there,” you muttered, but there was no real bite in your words.

Schlatt just shrugged, his smile playful. “What can I say? I’m a man of my word. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “it’s not hard pretending to be crazy about you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you hoped the dim lighting hid the blush creeping up your neck. Schlatt was always flirty, always joking, but something about the way he said that made your heart flutter.

The reception was in full swing by this point, the dance floor packed with couples swaying to the music. Schlatt kept you close, his hands resting on your hips as you danced together. The night had a dreamy quality to it, like you were floating on a cloud with Schlatt as your anchor.

“You’re a better dancer than I thought,” you teased, grinning up at him.

He chuckled, spinning you around before pulling you back into his chest. “I have my moments,” he replied, his tone light. “But you make it easy, you know.”

“Make what easy?”

“Being with you,” he said, his voice sincere. “I know this is just pretend, but... it feels real sometimes.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the honesty in his words. “It does, doesn’t it?” you admitted quietly.

The song slowed, and Schlatt’s gaze locked onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. The playful banter, the stolen glances, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he touched you—it all started to add up to something more.

“Schlatt,” you began, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say or how to say it, and the intensity of his gaze made it even harder to think straight.

Before you could figure it out, the moment was interrupted by your mom, who appeared out of nowhere, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You two are just the cutest!” she gushed, clasping her hands together. “I knew you’d find someone special, [Your Name]. And Schlatt, you’re such a gentleman. We’re so happy to have you in the family.”

You smiled awkwardly, trying to process her words. Family? This was fake, wasn’t it? But the way Schlatt’s hand tightened on your waist as your mom spoke made your heart do a funny little flip.

“Thank you, Mrs. [Your Last Name],” Schlatt replied smoothly. “I’m the lucky one, really. Your daughter is... she’s amazing.”

Your mom beamed, clearly charmed by him. “Well, I hope you both know you’re always welcome here.”

“Mom,” you started, but Schlatt cut you off with a gentle squeeze.

“We appreciate that,” Schlatt said, smiling down at you. “Right, babe?”

You could only nod, your thoughts a tangled mess. The line between what was real and what was fake had blurred beyond recognition, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep pretending.

As the night wore on, the reception began to wind down, and the guests slowly trickled out. You and Schlatt stepped outside for some fresh air, the cool breeze a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

“You were amazing tonight,” you said, turning to face Schlatt. “I can’t believe you pulled that off so well.”

He shrugged, his expression softer than usual. “Anything for you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you found yourself searching his eyes for any hint of a joke. But all you saw was... him. The Schlatt you’d always known, but also someone you hadn’t fully understood until now.

“Schlatt, I...” you began, but your voice trailed off, the words dying on your lips. You didn’t know how to say what you were feeling, how to admit that maybe—just maybe—this hadn’t been as fake as you’d thought.

Schlatt stepped closer, his hand reaching up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a tender caress. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and...”

“And?” you prompted, your heart racing in anticipation.

“And I think I’ve been falling for you for a while now,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours. “This weekend just made me realize it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. “Schlatt, I... I think I’ve been falling for you too,” you confessed, your voice shaky but sincere.

The tension between you was electric, the air charged with unspoken emotions. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Schlatt leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest of kisses. It was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but then the floodgates opened, and the kiss deepened, full of all the emotions you’d been holding back.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“That didn’t feel very fake,” you whispered , a small smile tugging at your lips.

Schlatt chuckled softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your cheek. “That’s because it wasn’t,” he replied, his voice full of warmth. “I don’t want this to be fake anymore. I want us to be real.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and joy. “Me too.”

And just like that, what started as a pretend relationship had blossomed into something real, something that neither of you had expected but both of you wanted more than anything.

As you stood there in Schlatt’s arms, the night sky above you, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this weekend hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but in the end, it had turned out better than you could have ever imagined.

#chuckle sandwich #chuckle sammy #jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt hcs #jschlatt headcanons #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt imagines #jschlatt imagine #schlatt hcs #schlatt x you #schlatt imagine #schlatt x reader #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt fluff

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yesimwriting · 11 months ago

Note

could maybe possibly do a blurb of farleigh being protective of bestfriend!reader like maybe someone was talking shit about her and before felix can even defend her farleighs beating him to it? idk if that makes sense but i love love LOVE your fics you’re SO GOOD at writing felix

this is the kind of thing farleigh would do by accident while drunk and then the reality of the situation would hit him so hard he'd decide to be sober for at least a week 😭

sidenote this was sooo fun to write omg

"Okay so it's--" Lacy (or Lizzie, or maybe even Lyla, Farleigh lost the girl's name at some point between between round 3 and 5) giggles as she squints at the tab. "It's--if we want to do an even split..."

She had been so happy to race to the bar when Felix first brought up leaving and continuing the night elsewhere. As if being the one to physically pick up the tab and hand over cash and cards to the clearly irritated bartender would cement her place, would make her a part of the night's inner workings.

The desperation had been so apparent that when Farleigh nudged your arm, you immediately whispered a sharp, "Stop it." You only react that strongly when you're already fighting for your life to keep your halo shiny.

"Hey." You extend the single syllable, voice hinting at a tipsiness that could explain your boldness. You're not exactly shy, but you tend to let the main group do as they please, content to do whatever as long as Felix is by your side. It's nauseating, but reliable.

"Do you mind if..." You trail off, lifting a hand to gesture towards the receipt. Lacy blinks, giving you a look that Farleigh's gotten used to. A subdued, jealous disdain.

Your ignorance would be endearing if this was some made for TV romcom. But it's not, so even though Farleigh knows that you mean your end of night comments that reek of insecurity because the new girls never like you, he'll still poke fun of you for it.

You let go of Felix's arm, walking forward until you're close enough to Lacy to read over her shoulder. You glance at the receipt, and then at the group. In less than a minute, you're announcing, "47 each."

Farleigh has been around you long enough to no longer be surprised. Tipsy division loses its shock value after awhile, and if Farleigh knows you well enough to no longer think twice about it, Felix definitely has no reason to be impressed. That doesn't stop Felix from beaming at you, expression truly lovesick. It's sweet enough to make Farleigh's stomach ache.

"A genius," Felix breathes, extending his arm as far as he can without falling off his stool, "My girl's a genius."

You try to glare, but there's too much softness in the look. "Am not." A response that could technically apply to the 'my girl' part as much as the 'genius' part. There's a hopeful beat in which the girls that aren't used to competing with you for Felix's attention seem to be waiting for a clarification that never comes.

Farleigh's lingering nausea is slightly alleviated by Lacy's pout. She must think that the praise and Felix's undivided attention should be hers. That they would be, if it wasn't for your interference. The thought feels laughable. Felix would have just as easily paid off the entire tab to avoid a frustrating debate. He isn't complimenting the solution, he's complementing you.

Felix pulls your hand towards you, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. "Next round's to you."

What's left of Lacy's mask of indifference crumbles. She glares briefly before remembering her place.

"Next round's somewhere else." You manage the correction through a soft giggle. "You wanted to go, remember?"

Felix blinks twice before nodding. Farleigh has a feeling that Felix's quick concession is more a result of his cousin's faith in you than his own memory. "Yeah, we're going..."

"To Austen's place, I think." Felix tugs on your arm, his attention more focused on squeezing your hand between both of his than actually figuring out what he's moving the group for. "It's closer to campus, he promised you weed."

Felix nods again, this time the motion a little more assured. He pulls on your arm gently. You laugh. "Lex."

"What?" The question is a halfhearted attempt at feigning innocence. Felix's free hand finds your other forearm. "Come here."

"Wait." Despite your protests, you do nothing to escape his grasp. "I have to--I have to go to the bathroom before we leave."

Felix frowns. Farleigh resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Y'want me to go with you? Show you where it is?"

"I'm okay," you mumble, voice sweet and slow as honey, "Stay here, figure out the cash thing. I'll be right back." Carefully, you untangle yourself from Felix's hold. "You have my purse, right?"

Felix lifts the small bag off his lap, a genuine hint of pride coloring his expression. The two of you get more unbearable by the day. "You need it?"

"No, but you can take out my wallet so no one has to wait for me to get back."

Okay, Farleigh actually has to roll his eyes at that. It's a routine that you insist on, trying to pay even though it's clear that Felix would rather you not even attempt to touch a wallet. That's what makes the least sense about you, Felix lets you get away with not giving him what he wants.

"It'll be settled by the time you get back."

Your eyes narrow at his wording. "That doesn't sound like--"

"Lovie, go before we leave you here."

An empty threat. Felix would sooner lose the group than abandon you for a second. You roll your eyes, but seem to accept defeat. "You're impossible."

Farleigh smiles to himself before you can disappear into the crowd, "Kept woman, are we?"

You flip him off without looking back. The joke is typical. The topic would be cruel if you couldn't afford to keep up, but you're from enough money to sustain your own nightlife. You're not from a wealth that equals the Cattons, but the father you're always hesitant to mention works in finance. Farleigh doesn't have the details, but it's clear that you're comfortable enough to not need Felix's charity. Unlike Oliver.

"Was it just me or was that '47' a little...?"

To Lacy's credit, she's smart enough to realize that openly insulting you would only alienate Felix, so instead of embracing the clumsiness of her friend's comment, she brushes a strand of hair off her shoulder. "She's nice," she hums, "A little loud, but nice."

"Loud as in her voice or what she's wearing?"

Vultures picking at bones, too ravenous to consider tact. They'll attack whatever they can think of in an attempt to cope with the fact that you're the one with Felix wrapped around your finger. Farleigh knows that's all it is, and yet it digs at him.

Your outfits, your uncertainty in certain social situations. Those are all fair shots, fair comments for Farleigh to make.

"Clara," Lacy mumbles, an attempt at virtue signaling.

"No," the patience in Felix's voice seems to drain them of their good humor, "Answer the question. Explain what you meant."

Lacy laughs once, the sound awkward and strained. Her uncertainty is oddly gratifying. "Oh, nothing, really." She tilts her head, eyes innocent yet alluring as she stares at Felix. "She's sweet, really Felix, I like her. She's darling." The last sentence is said the same way one would to describe a puppy. "But she--she's not like us." Lacy takes a step forward. "C'mon Felix, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Lacy means," Farleigh's own voice surprises him, "That she's the kind of girl you actually go home with, and Lacy isn't."

Wow. Okay, technically true because you do go home with Felix, it just--accuracy feels like the least important part of what just came out of his mouth. Farleigh can't tell who's more shocked--Lacy and her gaping friend, Felix, or himself. Did he--did he just defend you of all people?

He blinks. You, the voice of reason that's always willing to point out when gossip crosses the line between catty and cruel, who maintains a 4.0 without trying, who paints their nails bright colors, who scrapbooks. That's who Farleigh stood up for?

This could be the rockbottom alcoholics always talk about.

"Lizzie," her friend begins sharply, "I think our--our friend's waving us over."

With that, Lizzie-not-Lacy and her friend abandon their places by the bar in favor of the anonymity of the center of the bar. Farleigh's too distracted by self disgust to note their expressions.

Felix steps towards him awkwardly, eyes unable to meet his. "That was--uh, good of you, mate."

Farleigh lets Felix's praise have its usual affects for a brief moment, embracing the warmth as Felix throws an arm around his shoulders. Then, reality hits Farleigh all over again. One word about this, and you'll be making him a friendship bracelet. "If you tell her about this, I'm telling her about how you didn't shut up about her all of Christmas break."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny

#bestfriend!felix #bestfriend!felix x reader #felix catton x reader #felix catton #felix x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader

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thebearer · 2 years ago

Note

Okay-

Carmy’s gf being dropped off at Carmy’s restaurant (after closing) after another girls night, and she’s so drunk that she doesn’t recognize Carmy for a second lol, like he’s going up to take her hand and bring her to his office and he’s all lovey dovey, and picks her up, but she’s just like (as all the staff, and Carmy, are EXTREMELY amused lol) “No no no- I can’t goo with youu, my boyfriend wouldn’t like that *hiccup*, he gets reallyyy jealous sometimes, sometimes he’s mean about it, sometimes he’s so adorable I wanna smush his cheeks, and other times he’s HOT, or all three.” And as they’re all laughing she’s like, “He’d beat you up you know (pointing a finger at Carmy lol) *hiccup*,- he would *giggle* He loooveees me”

Lol Carmy responding, “Yes, yes I would, and yes I do baby”

Also they’re all like “He IS your boyfriend”

i'm doing a full thing on this bc i got inspired lol enjoy. sorta like a spin on the feeling but with a very very drunk reader lol.

"She's fucked." Alicia grumbles, pulling you in, one arm grabbing onto hers, stumbling in your heels.

"Yeah, you're fuckin' tellin' me." Richie muttered. "Cousin, can you come fuckin' get your girl under control?"

"Easy, alright." Carmen sneered, an edge to his tone that was cutting and dangerous. "What'd she drink, huh?"

"I thought it was tequila, but... then it might have been whiskey. I think she mixed which is a dangerous combo." Alicia looked at you, slumped over the table.

"Hey, baby, look at me." Carmen pushed your hair back, trying to pull your eyes open. You mumbled something intelligible, lids fluttering. "What? What did you say? Can you sit up for me, baby?"

"I have a boyfriend." You said harsher this time, eyes still fluttering while Carmen pulled you up.

Carmen blinked, brows furrowed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm aware of that."

"Then you should not be touching me, because if Carmy sees you do that... oh-ho man, he'll punch you in your face." You stated confidently, eyes crossing before focusing on Carmen's face, inches from your own. "You are very cute though. You'll find someone, it's just not gonna be me. But my f-friend... Alicia is single. Go talk to her."

Richie is overly amused, laughing at your expense. "She's fucked! She is gone!"

Carmen rolled his eyes. "Here, let's get you home, ok? We're gonna go home."

"I just told you!" You whined, face crumbling with heightened, irrational emotions. "I am not single! I-I have a boyfriend, and he's very pretty, ok?"

"Very pretty." Richie snickered, barking out a laugh.

"Hey, fuck off." Carmen sneered, rolling his eyes, hoping everyone couldn't see the way you flustered him. "C'mere. Let's go home, alright? Can you stand f'me?"

#thebearer #bearblahs #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fic #thebearerblurbs #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #the bear fx #carmy the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fluff

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leeknow-thoughts · 7 months ago

Text

୨୧ ENDEARING

𝝑𝝔 cw : they're in love your honor!! porn with so many feelings and a plot, p in v, foreplay, oral (reader rec.), petnames, angst if you squint, so much fluff, no clear dynamics but Minho is on top, realistic smut (a rarity on my page), slightly jealous!Minho if you squint, reader is Han's younger cousin and is one of the skz managers!! (read part 1 if you want more context!!!), drinking (nothing crazy but still felt like I should give a warning for it just in case), so many kisses,

𝝑𝝔 part two of "Kiss it Better"

𝝑𝝔 a/n : guys I love Mimo, he's so sweetieful I'm gonna fucking vomit

It was harder to sneak around than either of you thought it would be. Concealed kisses in empty practice rooms, his hand grazing your thigh under the table during dinner with the group, him sneaking out of the dorms to come over to your apartment in the darkest hours of the night. Being an idol meant he had no privacy, and being his manager meant at times you also had no privacy.

"You know," your older cousin, Jisung, starts from his seat on your couch, "I think Minho is starting to warm up to you, he's been acting different since you two went to Japan together to film his vlog."

"Really? I don't see it," you lie.

If only Jisung knew just how differently Minho had treated you since then. How Minho's once cold touches became gentle kisses to your face, how his glares became lingering gazes from soft eyes, or how his sour words became the sweetest of compliments. Jisung couldn't know that though, he couldn't know about how Minho had fallen for his younger cousin.

"I'm telling you, something is different," Jisung hums, "maybe it's because hyung is seeing someone?"

"H-he's seeing someone?" you can't help but stutter, "I didn't notice."

"Well, he's always sneaking out at night, he thinks we don't notice, but we do, I just am wondering who it is," Jisung confesses, "I hope he'll introduce them to us soon."

"Mhm," you hum, "I'm sure he will soon," even though you hope for the opposite.

"So what about you? Are there any boys who are trying to get with you?" Jisung changes the subject.

You shake your head, "no, no, you know this Ji, guys just aren't very interested in me."

"Well, you didn't hear this from me, but I think one of the guys in our film crew has a little thing for you," Jisung wiggles his eyebrows, "maybe you should give him a chance, he sounds nice."

"M-maybe?" you speak only so he'll be quiet.

Later that night your doorknob is turning, Minho stepping into your apartment, "jagi," he calls out to you.

"Hey Min," you say from your spot on the couch.

You hear him shuffling around in the kitchen for a moment, "I brought you some ice cream and other goodies," Minho announces, "also you have some mail."

"Mhm," you groan, you sit up and get a good look at the man who is standing in your kitchen, scooping your favorite ice cream into a bowl for you, and you can't help the warmth that runs all throughout your body at his gentleness.

"Did you have a rough day?" Minho inquires as he puts the tub of ice cream back into the fridge, finally turning to face you.

"Kinda," you inform him through a shrug, "just swamped with school and work and Ji came over earlier today as if I didn't just see him yesterday and my cat has a cold and yeah... today is just not my day," you ramble.

Minho is bringing the bowl of ice cream to you and wrapping you in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on your back, "I'm sorry, jagi," Minho muses, gently cupping your face in his hands, "I brought some wine, and I was at the store a few days ago and I noticed they had a sale on your favorite bath bombs so I grabbed a few of those for you," he informs.

"You're the best," you mumble, bringing Minho in for a tender kiss.

"I know," he hums against your lips, "let's take a nice bath together," he proposes.

He leaves one last kiss on your lips before he is standing up and walking into your bathroom, "eat your ice cream, jagi, I'll take care of everything else," Minho reassures.

You begin eating your ice cream and you hear the water for the bath turn on. You had just finished your bowl of ice cream when Minho is calling you into the bathroom.

You stand up and put your bowl in the sink before joining Minho in the bathroom. The only part of your apartment that you genuinely had no problems with was your jacuzzi style bathtub, it was large and perfect for relaxing in. The bath was full of warm water with bubbles floating on top, "I'm gonna go pour you a glass of wine," Minho announces before he steps out of the room.

You practically tear off your clothes and slowly sink into the warm water, letting the feeling of warmth and comfort completely consume you. "Jagi," Minho hums, opening the door to your bathroom carrying two wine glasses and a bottle of your favorite red wine in the other hand.

You can't help the smile that breaks across your face when you see him, he puts the glasses down on the counter, popping open the bottle before he pours you a glass of wine and hands it to you. "You always know just how to make me feel better, Min," you say while taking a sip of your drink.

"I try my best, jagi," he muses, beginning to take off his clothes so he can join you in the bath.

He eventually sinks into the tub across from you, sitting there with his own glass of wine that he poured. "So, I didn't know your cat was sick," he says after a moment.

"Yeah," you chuckle, "she woke me up getting sick on my bed this morning, so I took her to the vet, the poor thing has a stomach bug," you explain to him, "they are giving her some medicine and treating her overnight at the clinic."

"Ah," he nods, "I was wondering why she didn't greet me when I walked in," he takes another sip of wine.

"Yeah, I just hope she starts feeling better," you mumble, taking another sip of your drink, "but, enough about me, how have you been?"

"Y'know how work is, hell, you probably know more about my job then I do," he chuckles and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face, "it's well, work," he sighs, taking another sip from his glass, "honestly I'm excited for our break that's coming up soon, speaking of which, I was going to go camping and well I-I wanted you to go with me."

"Oh?" you raise your eyebrows, "me?"

"Well who else would I be talking to?" he deadpans.

You playfully roll your eyes, "I mean - why me?"

"I- you're my girlfriend," he tells you like you don't already know it.

You scoff, "well I know that- I-I just I'm not one for the woods."

"Well then we don't have to go camping, we should just take a trip, wherever you want," he rubs his face.

"W-wherever?" you can't fathom what he is telling you, "are you being serious?"

"Why would I lie to you, jagi?" he counters, "of course I'm being serious, is there anywhere you want to go?"

"I-I don't care, m-maybe Okinawa, I heard it's really pretty this time of the year," you comment.

"We can definitely do that," Minho's voice is like honey, the sweetest you've ever heard.

No one has ever spoken to you quite as sweetly as Minho has, it threw you for a loop everytime he would speak to you gently like this.

"I can't believe I used to find you intimidating," you mumble, talking about the man across from you in your tub.

"Most people find me intimidating, jagi, I think you're in the small minority of people who don't see me that way," he whispered in response.

"I can see why people think you are, but now whatever they find intimidating I just find endearing," you quietly confess.

You look into his eyes, his gaze soft, it was always soft when he was staring at you, like it was a privilege only you had, him looking at you that way. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," he breaks into a grin.

You take one last sip of wine before you're reaching up and placing the empty wine glass on the sink counter.

You dip your head into the water, wetting your hair before rising out of the water. You grab a bottle of shampoo, pouring it on your head, before massaging it into your scalp.

Minho repeats what you do, wetting his hair before shampooing it. You're putting your head back in the water, rinsing the shampoo out before grabbing your conditioner and putting it in your hair.

Once Minho rinses out the shampoo from his own hair you pass him the conditioner, letting him apply it.

While waiting for the conditioner to set in your hair you're moving over to Minho and straddling his lap, he takes a sip of wine before he's putting the glass back on the edge of the tub, his hands moving to your thighs under the water, gently squeezing the skin in his hands.

"You know, I can't believe how lucky I am to have you," you whisper before leaning down to kiss him gently.

You kiss him gently, hoping that your kiss will be as gentle as the way he speaks to you. A passionate kiss that he happily returns, it reminds you of the first kiss you two shared, the one that is a secret kept only between the two of you.

Each kiss you two share is a secret, almost like a language only the two of you know, one so tender and full of emotions. So rare and cherished because you both know you're the only two who will understand the words. As if every sentence spoken in the language was punctuated with a kiss.

Your chest went tight at your sudden realization, you love Lee Minho.

"You okay, jagi?" the man you love's voice snapping you out of your trance, "you went all still for a moment there," he chuckles.

"Y-yeah," you insist.

His right hand comes up to cup your face, pulling you back down for another kiss, "m'kay," he mouths against your lips.

Your lips move together in an almost hypnotic way against each other, in a way that leaves you dizzy and wanting more and more and more. You want as much as he'll give to you.

"Jagi," he hoarsely whispers against your lips, "y-you're perfect, y'know?"

Your arms link around the back of his neck, placing a peck on his lips before leaning back to get a good look at him, his eyes were glistening, wet hair slightly disheveled, and his lips are kiss bitten.

He breaks out into a toothy smile when he notices how you're looking at him, "you know, Ji thinks you're seeing someone," you inform him.

"Yeah?" Minho lowly chuckles, his eyebrows raising, "if only he knew I'm seeing the prettiest girl in the world, who just happens to share the same last name as him."

You can't help the blush that creeps onto your face from his sugary sweet words, "yeah, well, only if he knew I was seeing the handsomest guy in the world, who happens to be his best friend," you counter.

Minho's hands are tracing your sides now, tracing the stretch marks on your hips in the softest way imaginable, "they look kind of like lightning," he hinted at your stretch marks, "they're sexy, is that weird that I find every part of you sexy?" he ponders outloud.

"Just a bit, but I can't say much, I find every part of you sexy," you confide with a light blush on your cheeks.

You watch as the tips of his ears turn red and a shy smile breaks across his face, "every part?" he questions.

"Every part," you affirm, "even the parts you don't like," you whisper the last part.

You lean in and place a tender kiss on the underside of his jaw, while he leaves a kiss on your collarbone. Ripples of electricity flow through you when he gently bites down on your sweet spot and you can't help but gyrate your hips.

"J-jagi," Minho groans against your neck, "y-you're so fucking perfect."

"Make love t'me?" you request.

You can feel Minho's smile against your collarbone before he speaks, "let's rinse the conditioner out first," he suggests through a small chuckle.

You're quick to move off of him, dunking your head under the water, rinsing out the conditioner from your hair before watching him do the same. "You're eager," he teases, standing up from the tub before he's stepping out onto the bath mat.

You get a good look at him like this, a body so beautiful it looks like it was sculpted by the ancient Greeks. You can't help the way your eyes trail down his naked form, taking all of him in, from his beautiful face down to his strong calves and every piece of him in between.

"Like what you see?" Minho teases, grabbing a towel before drying himself off.

You can't help but rub your thighs together when you stare at his cock, semi-hard and quickly chubbing up.

You're standing up quickly, stepping out onto the bath mat, water dripping down every curve of your body, Minho is wrapping you in a towel of your own, helping dry you off.

He sinks to his knees without shame before he is drying off the lower half of your body. You can't help the whine that escapes your throat when he kisses your inner thigh, mere inches away from your cunt.

"And you say I'm eager?" you can't help but retort as you push the hair out of his face, his brown eyes staring up at you.

He smirks before kissing above the mound of your cunt. "I have the most beautiful woman in front of me, obviously I'm going to be eager," he compliments.

You're going to say something back to him but before you can you're moaning at the feeling of him gently sucking your clit into his mouth. "M-Minho-" a whimper tears itself from your throat.

"Just relax, jagi," he rasps before giving your clit a long, drawn out lick.

Your hands are grabbing at the sink counter for support because your legs are shaking so much you feel like they may give out on you. Minho's mouth working wonders on your clit, alternating between sloppy kitten licks, harsh sucks, and long drawn out movements of his tongue.

Your mind is turning into static and with every ministration of Minho's tongue you just fall deeper and deeper into the comfort of pleasure. Your hands are in his hair while his hands are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you still for him.

Time slows down like this, the only thing that matters in this world is the way your body shakes with every time Minho sucks on your clit. "My sweet jagi," Minho growls against your cunt, the vibrations of it sending you leaps and bounds closer to your orgasm, "are you enjoying yourself?"

He's not trying to tease you when he says this rather looking for genuine feedback and wanting to make sure he's doing a good job, "Minho d-don't you d-dare stop," you command, hands tugging on his locks.

And he is in no spot to deny your commands, returning to kitten licking your sloppy clit.

With a particularly hard suck on your clit you're squeezing your eyes shut and all that can be heard is white noise as you ride through the shockwaves of your orgasm, Minho's tongue gently licking over your clit, drawing out the fire pooling in your lower abdomen.

Your thighs shake in his grasp and your breathing becomes jagged while the bliss of your orgasm begins to fade away. "F-fuck," you cry out.

Minho gives your clit one last kiss, a gesture that makes tingles run up your spine, before he is standing up.

He is quick to bring you in for a passionate kiss and you can taste your essence on his tongue and it feels oh-so good to be this close to him. His tongue in your mouth and the taste of your own cum filling your taste buds. His hands resting on your hips before slowly moving up to your breasts, tweaking your pebbled nipples with his fingers.

When he pulls away from your lips he is breathless as he stares down at you, "you're so beautiful," he whispers, his chest heaving.

"Min," you choke, "p-please," is all you can manage to say.

But Minho knows what you want, almost like he can read your mind.

"I don't have a condom, jagi," he informs you.

"I'm on birth control, just please fuck me, Minho," you beg, "I think I'll go crazy if you don't."

He laughs at your remark, "okay," he whispers, pressing one last kiss on your lips before he's gently flipping you around, bending you over the sink counter.

You can't help but squeal as your body is pressed against the cold surface of the counter. A strangled moan tearing itself out of your throat when you feel Minho's cock rubbing against your entrance.

You look up into the mirror above the counter, watching Minho's face as he slowly pushes his cock into your awaiting cunt. Relishing in the way his eyes shut tightly and how his mouth falls open, a guttural groan ripping from his throat as he sinks into your pussy.

You can feel every vein of his pretty cock like this, questioning why you hadn't let him fuck you raw before. But you don't have much energy to think, not with the way Minho stills inside you, waiting for you to tell him to move, letting you adjust to his cock. Gentle with you even when you can tell he wants nothing more than to fuck your brains out.

"My perfect j-jagi, God i-it's so fucking warm 'n tight-" he groans, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on your back, you can't help but clench at his words which pulls an immediate reaction out of him, "g-god jagi, I-I c-can I move pl-please?"

You're nodding more frantically then you hoped you would, but you don't have time to be embarrassed when Minho's cock starts slowly thrusting into you. You watch as his brows knit together in the mirror, the look of pure bliss on his face.

And when his pace picks up and the head of his cock finally hits that spongy spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars, you lose all your composure.

You turn into a moaning, whimpering mess, letting out little 'ah,ah,ah's each time his mushroom tip kisses your cervix. Your head falls and you do your best to completely drown yourself in the pleasure of the moment.

The only sound you can hear in the room is the sound of skin slapping against skin accompanied by you and Minho's groans.

A strong knot begins forming in your lower abdomen, one that grows tighter and tighter with every hypnotizing thrust of Minho's cock.

Honestly, you don't think it can get any better until Minho's fingers trail down your side, moving to softly rub rub rub your clit.

And that is what sends you over the edge of another orgasm, the band in your abdomen snapping as you cum around Minho's cock.

Moans escape your throat to no avail as you clench on his cock, every thrust into you more delicious than the last.

"G-gonna cum," Minho announces with a low growl, "gonna cum in this perfect little cunt."

"P-please," you plead, chanting the word like a mantra as you feel hot ropes of Minho's cum spilling into you.

He rides out his orgasm thrusting into you erratically before his hips eventually stop their movements and now the only sound that can be heard is the two of you's labored breaths.

"My perfect girl," Minho leans back down, placing kisses along your spine, you whine when his cock slips out of you, "thank you."

You can't help the dazed, almost drunken-like grin that spreads across your face as you feel his cum dribbling out of your cunt.

Minho cleans the two of you up after that, helping dress you in one of his baggy shirts and a pair of your underwear while he wears a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tank top. He grabs the wine and the wine glasses and brings them into the kitchen, putting them in their respective places before joining you on the couch.

The two of you sit on your couch, your legs thrown across Minho's lap while you watch the show that the two of you had been binging for the past few weeks. Minho's hands tenderly massaging your calves, rubbing away any remaining stress before gently tracing shapes on your shins.

When he gets up to grab water he returns with a glass of water in his hands and a letter in the other hand, giving it to you, "it's from Hannie's brother," he informs you, placing your feet back on his lap.

You tear open the letter, a wedding invitation for you and a plus one of your choice. "Ji's older brother is getting married," you inform him, "it's a wedding invitation."

"Ah," Minho nods, you pass the letter to him letting him read it over, "a plus one?"

"Yeah," you shrug, "I would take you but, y'know..." you trail off.

"Yeah, I get it," he hums, placing the letter on the coffee table.

Two weeks before the wedding and Jisung was accompanying you while you went dress shopping. "Ooh, that one's nice, fits the theme," he comments when you come out of the dressing room with a nudish-pink frilly dress on.

"Yeah, I guess, what are you wearing?" you question.

"I'm wearing a grey tux, y'know being the best man and all," he informs, "but my date is wearing black."

"You have a date?"

"Well he's not a date, more like a friend, it's your favorite person," he wiggles his eye brows, sarcasm dripping from his voice, and obviously he was hinting at Minho.

Little did Jisung know, Minho was your actual favorite person, but he couldn't know that yet. "Are you bringing a date?" he interrogates you.

"No," you chuckle, "who would even be my date?"

"I'm telling you, y/nnie, that guy on our camera crew!" he gaffs like it's obvious, "I'm positive he'd love to go with you! And he seems nice! And I promise I won't embarrass you in front of him!"

"I dunno Ji," you sigh, just hoping Jisung will be quiet.

Later that week you were at the filming of one of the SKZCODE episodes, organizing the boy's schedule whilst waiting for the boys to get done with their hair and makeup the camera and set crew setting up, "y/nnie!" Han muses, you snap your head up, looking up at your cousin, next to him was a man you had seen at other recordings, one of the cameramen.

"Did I ever introduce you to Jang Siwoo-ssi?" he motions to the man next to him, obviously hoping to start off a conversation between you and the man next to him.

"N-no?" you stamper.

"Ah! Well he is the guy I was telling you about," he reminds you of the cameraman that he said had a thing for you, "and you two just sound like a good pair, so I wanted to introduce the two of you," he was straight to the point with his words.

"H-hi," the man - Siwoo - greets, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Hi," you return, "I'm Han y/n, I'm Han's younger cousin, and one of the managers."

"Well you two are already hitting it off! Oh look at the time! I need to get dressed!" Jisung is quick to run off.

"Uhm Han was telling me that you needed a plus one to a-a wedding," Siwoo informs.

"O-oh, yeah-"

"-well I think you're really pretty a-and if you still don't have a date I-I would r-really like to go with you?" he cuts you off.

"Oh," your tone falls, you can't not accept, if you refuse, Jisung will interrogate you to no end, "y-yeah sure, I-I'll give you my number."

You pull your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him, letting him type his phone number into your phone before he hands it back to you. "Siwoo! We need your help!" another cameraman calls.

"Coming!" the man in front of you responds, "I'll uh text you."

"Y-yeah okay," you agree.

Later that night you texted him the details for the wedding. The wedding that came sooner rather than later.

Your doorbell rang and you knew it was Siwoo, the two of you deciding to ride to the wedding with Han and Minho. You let the man into your apartment, the two of you making mindless chit chat until the door is being opened by Han, Minho behind him. "Who's this?" Minho asks, motioning to Siwoo.

"He's her date," Han informs Minho whilst grabbing a water out of your fridge.

"Ah," Minho's eyes find yours and you give him an apologetic glance, trying to convey your thoughts with your eyes.

The wedding ceremony itself was rather short, followed soon after by the reception, a reception where you were seated between Minho and Siwoo, Han on Minho's right.

You curse whatever God put you in this position, having to ignore Minho for so long, especially when he looked oh so good.

"I'm going to grab a drink, do you want anything?" Siwoo asks as he stands up.

"I'll join you," Han stands up, joining Siwoo.

You shake your head and let out a shaky breath, turning to Minho, his hand is quick to rest on your thigh, "you look nice, jagi," he leans in to whisper in your ear, "that color looks good on you."

"Minho," your voice trembles, "at times like this I wish I didn't have to pretend to hate you."

"Me too," he hums, "maybe we could sneak off? I could tell Han you're not feeling well, call a cab, and we could go back to your place," he suggests.

To say it's tempting is an understatement, Siwoo sliding back into the chair on the other side of you makes you almost jump up into the air. Minho's hand flying off your thigh and settling back onto his own leg.

Siwoo didn't seem to notice, though, which you were thankful for. "H-hey I had fun today, b-but I don't feel too good, I think I'm gonna head home," you announce to Siwoo.

"O-oh I'll take you back home," he offers.

"Oh, uhm, Minho was going to take me."

Siwoo looks between you and Minho for a moment. "Oh you two are-" you can see the gears turning in his head, "a-a couple?"

"Who are you talking about?" Jisung asks, standing behind his chair.

"Y/n and Minho!" Siwoo gaffs like it's obvious.

"What!?" Han's jaw practically falls to the floor in shock, "the-there's no way! I mean guys he's just talking out of his ass right now right?"

"I-I me-mean yeah!" you try to lie.

"Minho! You've been bumping uglies with my cousin!" Han can see through your lies, turning the blame onto Minho.

Now it is Minho's time to stammer and try to act oblivious, "w-what n-n-no!"

"Oh my God!" Han groans, "I'm so mad at the two of you I can't even look at you!"

Han is soon stomping away, leaving in a huff, you turn your attention back to Siwoo, "I-I honestly have no words, uhm, I- I'm gonna go," he announces his departure.

You glance at Minho, feeling so embarrassed you could cry. "M-Minho," you whimper, biting your tongue so you don't cry.

"Jagi," Minho coos, his hand resting on your thigh yet again, "c'mon let's go home," he insists.

He is swift to order an Uber. You can't help the lump welling in your throat the one that spills over with salty tears running down your face, "oh, jagi," Minho is quick to pull you up, across the reception venue and out into the hall.

He has you trapped between his body and the wall, "sweet girl, hey, look at me," he tilts your chin up so you're looking up at him.

His brown eyes lovingly gaze at you when he speaks, "everything is gonna be okay," he tries to reassure you.

"But it isn't!" you sob.

"It will," he promises, "I love Jisung, but not in the way I love you and not more than I love you. Are you hearing me, jagi? I love you."

The world could be hit by a meteor and you wouldn't care, not in this moment. Because all that matters is the man standing in front of you, cradling your face.

The man who has you as his cat's emergency contact, the one who knows every uninteresting thing about you, the man who loves you. He's in front of you, and he is unwavering in his love.

"Y-you love me?" you choke through a sob.

"I love you more than the tides love the moon," he confesses, "you don't have to say it back, I want you to mean it when you say it, don't just say it because I did," he insists.

"M-Minho," you pull him in for a hug, "I do love you," you confide.

"Y-you're being serious?" his breath hitches in anticipation.

"As serious as a heart attack," you try to joke through your tears.

You pull apart from the hug and look into his brown eyes, his gaze is tender, like always, but it's not just his usual tender gaze. The way he looks at you now is different, it's the look of love.

"Can't believe you love me," he whispers, "in no world am I deserving of your love."

You can't help but smile ear to ear, "are you trying to make me cry more?" you chuckle.

"No," he leans down and presses the softest kiss on your lips like if he kisses you too harshly you'll fall apart, he kisses you like you're made of the most fragile china, "I never wanna make you cry."

"I love you," you say it again for whatever reason, but Minho doesn't mind.

"I love you more," he insists, wiping the tears from your face, "don't worry about Han, he'll come around, he can't stay mad at me and you forever."

"Minho-hyung," Han's voice rings in your ear, both you and Minho's gaze snapping to the man, who looks like he walked in on the two of you, "y/n, I-I," he sighs, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten mad at you two," he apologizes, "so how long have the two of you been a thing?"

"Since that trip to Japan," Minho informs him, his hand moving down to interlink with your own.

"Well, you hurt her I hurt you," Han shrugs, "b-but I'm happy for the two of you."

"See? Told you he'd come around," Minho whispers to you.

Han is quick to return back to the wedding without another word, "so are we still going back to my place?" you mumble.

"Yeah, let's go," he agrees.

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