#anyway kind of a rundown of the end !!

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 SOMETIMES ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU (LATE NIGHTS IN THE MIDDLE OF JUNE)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: realizing you have no idea when dazai's birthday is, you and chuuya embark on a massive quest to figure it out. and you do—but you also find out something far more worrying in the process, making you question if you ever really knew dazai osamu. the issue? you have no way of bringing it up to him. but you'll have to worry about that later anyway. first things first: you have to plan a birthday that dazai will never forget. {sfw, 14.8k}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: AHHHHHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOYYYYYYYY im so proud of how this fic came out genuinely its my favorite thing ive written to date. i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it (warnings: fem!reader, mostly fluff with some angst sprinkled in at the beginning and end)

“Hey, do you know when Dazai’s birthday is?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever stop thinking about him?”

Your jaw drops as Chuuya lets out the loud complaint, head snapping to the side to focus on where he’s sitting in the chair at the tattoo parlor near headquarters, cheek pressed against the headrest, glaring at you as the artist continues to work on the right half of his upper back, finishing up the last section of the art spanning across his entire back. It’s his biggest one yet, you can hardly see an inch of unmarked skin—bright reds of camellia flowers and different types of animals and objects centered around the skull of a ram decorate his back. It’s beautiful, you have to acknowledge that, you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a stunning tattoo before and Chuuya is beyond pleased with how it’s turning out considering how he’s constantly pulling off his shirt to look at it in a mirror whenever he gets the chance.

To honor the Flags, he’d told you when he dragged you along for the first session. You didn’t know most of them—you’d worked with Lippmann a few times considering his job within the Mafia, and you’d met with Iceman to give him the rundown on targets that needed to be handled when Mori would send him to you in Kyoto, but that was about the extent of your interaction with them. Chuuya’d been closer to them—he didn’t like to talk about them at first, but he’s gradually been more and more open with it.

You think it’s because he’s afraid of forgetting them.

“You’re an asshole,” you snap after getting over the shock of his rude comment, turning your head away to look out the window.

Dazai evades the two of you whenever Chuuya has one of his sessions scheduled. You think it’s kind of funny, honestly; you know he does it because he hates pain and he knows that if he joins you guys, Chuuya will somehow goad him into getting a tattoo with a dare or a challenge that he won’t be able to back down from. So, instead, he makes excuses for missions that you both know damn well he doesn’t have.

“No, I don’t know,” he finally says irritably. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You give him an appalled look. “He’s your friend, and your partner. What do you mean you don’t know?”

“That bastard is not my friend,” Chuuya instantly hisses, but you can’t help but notice that he suddenly looks troubled by the realization that he doesn’t know Dazai’s birthday.

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes, knowing damn well that it’s a blatant lie. “That’s a fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Is not,” Chuuya spits.

“Is too.” 

Chuuya would have kept going with the back and forth, but he’s given a sharp look by the tattoo artist working on his shoulder and he settles down, but not before shooting you one last withering look.

“I bet he knows your birthday,” you add after a few moments of silence, just to trigger Chuuya again.

It works.

He lets out a noise more befitting of an animal, head snapping back to the side to look at you. “He definitely does n-” He cuts himself off before he can even finish the sentence, glaring at you. “That’s because that freak knows everything somehow.”

You only give him an easy shrug. “Just saying, it’s a bit…” You give him a twisted expression, nose wrinkled and lips pressed together rather than saying the word out loud, and Chuuya looks murderous. 

“It’s a bit what?” Chuuya demands. “You don’t know his birthday either.”

“I’m not his partner,” you counter to hide the fact that you are very bothered over not knowing his birthday.

“No, you’re just his girlfriend,” Chuuya says snidely.

Your face heats up. “I am not his girlfriend, Chuuya,” you scowl. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chuuya replies sarcastically, giving the tattoo artist an apologetic look when he gives the ginger another sharp warning with his eyes. “If Dazai wanted us to know his birthday, he would have told us. Y’know how secretive he gets over his personal life—he’d be shouting it off every rooftop if it was something he wanted us to do something about.”

You’re not quite as convinced.

At first glance, Dazai doesn’t shut up—he finds any and every reason to hear himself speak, whether it be random facts about crabs or ranking methods of suicide from least to most painful. Because of his tendency to run his mouth, most people don’t realize just how secretive he is about his personal life. You’ve realized that he probably uses it as a tactic to evade questions, because when people do poke and prod about his personal life, he becomes avoidant, expertly redirecting the conversation to something less personal by subtly changing the subject or pissing off whoever (Chuuya) is talking to him. You always catch it—conversation manipulation is your thing, you’ve finely honed your skills in guiding discussion to your discretion, it’s a skill that comes in handy at the negotiation table and in politics. You know he knows that you catch it too, always watching you carefully to ensure that you don’t call any attention to what he’s doing.

You don’t, of course, you’re not going to put him on the spot like that, but you don’t understand it. Well, you can to an extent—if you had random people prodding at your personal life, you’d also evade the topic. But you and Chuuya aren’t random people. You’re his friends, and you can’t for the life of you understand why he won’t open up to the two of you a little.

Every time you bring up the subject of him to him, he starts acting strange and cagey, like he knows that his evasion tactics won’t work with you and he wants to say something, but simply can’t get the words out. Maybe it’s his mistaken belief that he doesn’t deserve all of the things other people take for granted: comfort, friends, happiness. But still, you can’t imagine that Dazai doesn’t crave the experience of a normal birthday—well, as normal as things can get for teenage mafiosos—because you know that Dazai at his core simply wants to be a normal teenager.

As to why Dazai would rather deny himself happiness than to let you and Chuuya closer than arm's length? The answer alludes you even you.

When Chuuya grimaces, letting out a heavy breath and averting his gaze, you think that he’s come to the same conclusion as you.

“I assume since you’re bringing it up, you have some sort of plan?” Chuuya sighs, tired.

You smile.

“Naturally.”

You think Chuuya might kill you after this.

You can’t help but snort to yourself as you kneel on the floor next to Mori’s desk, rifling through his drawers to find the key to his file cabinet. Chuuya is somewhere downstairs trying to keep the man distracted with a fake medical condition while you try to find Dazai’s file in his office. You can hear him in the ear piece you’re wearing, flustered and stuttering over his words. You can almost picture how red his face is. 

Chuuya isn’t a bad liar, usually—in fact, he can act his ass off on missions—but lying to the Boss is an entirely different story. You think that you probably should have been the one to keep Mori distracted, but you worried that if Mori got up here and Chuuya was still searching, he wouldn’t be able to play it off. So, this was the lesser of two evils. 

Mori is getting increasingly more irritated as Chuuya keeps miswording the symptoms and backtracking, then blaming it on how ‘his head just hurts so bad, he can’t think.’ You’re sure he’s starting to suspect something—or more likely, the man probably figured it out right away—but you also know he’s too hyper-paranoid about losing his strongest ability user to dismiss Chuuya’s blatant lies for what they are.

You let out a victorious puff of air when your hand encloses around the key you’d been searching for, immediately shuffling over to the file cabinet, unlocking it as quickly as you can to shuffle through them, trying to find Dazai’s.

Mori has too many files, you think to yourself frustrated, eyes scanning as fast as you can as you flip through them, trying to spot the one you need, becoming increasingly more frantic when you hear Mori and Chuuya enter the elevator, not sure if they’re coming up to his office or if Mori’s dragging Chuuya down to one of the lower floor infirmaries.

Fuck, you think, finally flipping through to the D’s and letting out a frustrated groan when his file isn’t even there. You go through it again, more carefully this time, and nearly tug out your hair when you realize that either Mori misplaced Dazai’s file or there isn’t one. But you can’t imagine either of those options being true.

Getting increasingly more anxious as the seconds pass, and knowing that Chuuya actually will kill you if he embarrassed himself like this for nothing, you start rifling through the other letters in a panic. From the A’s all the way to the Z’s, it’s only on your second scan through that you pause, spotting a thick, unnamed file in the T section.

You stare at it for a moment, brows furrowed, a gut feeling twisting inside you as you try to pull out the file. It’s a struggle—the file is thick and the drawer is stuffed, but when you finally get it out and flip it open, your eyes widen when Dazai’s face stares back at you in the top left corner of the first paper in the file. He’s younger in the picture—no older than thirteen or fourteen—both eyes uncovered, black and void of life.

You let out a shaky breath, heart racing as your eyes scan dismissively over any information that’s not his birthday, because you know damn well Dazai will not take kindly to yours and Chuuya’s snooping and you want to mitigate the damage, only to halt when your gaze catches on blacked out information right above the date.

His name?

You pause, eyes focusing momentarily as you try to understand what you’re reading.

NAME:  ████████████████ 

ALIAS: Dazai Osamu

What?

You don’t know how long you stare at the file, lips parted and a torrent of emotions clawing at your chest. Mainly confusion, but also something else—tighter, more unwelcome. You don’t even have time to try to figure out what you’re looking at because at once, the remote in your pocket is buzzing, the last signal from Chuuya that Mori is on the floor of his office.

You let out a string of curses, putting the file back where you found it, locking the cabinet and putting the key back before darting to the other side of the desk. You mask the confusion and nerves rattling your mind and body with an irritated expression just as the door opens.

“… ggest that you take some time to rest, Chuuya-kun. Physically, there is nothing wrong with you.”

You look over your shoulder, eyes meeting Mori’s as you frown deeply. “You’re late,” you say. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes.”

“Ah, apologies, I’m afraid young Chuuya-kun has spent the past twenty minutes following me around with nonexistent health issues,” Mori replies with a thin smile, purple eyes carding over you before he looks around his office curiously, as if he knows you’d been up to something but doesn’t know what. Chuuya cringes next to him and gives you a withering look, he opens his mouth to protest but Mori is speaking again before he can get anything out. “What did you want to discuss?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation in Vladivostok,” you say, eyes following Mori, waiting for him to sit down so you can. You watch as he glances around his desk, as if trying to figure out what you’d been doing before he showed up. You almost smile when his eyes narrow after coming empty handed. “I think it would be in our best interest…” 

As you sit down across from Mori, you slip your hands behind your back, giving Chuuya a thumbs up, letting him know that his humiliation was not in vain.

Step one, complete. June 19th.

“I will never fucking forgive you for that,” Chuuya hisses when the two of you finally leave Mori’s office. “Never. That was humiliating.”

You snort. “It was pretty bad.”

“Fuck you,” Chuuya snaps. His face is still on fire, has been for the past twenty minutes as you explained your plan for the new organization rising to power in eastern Russia. “Well? When is his birthday?”

You cringe and Chuuya is instantly glowering at you. “Don’t even tell me you didn’t find it. You gave me the thumbs up. I’ll-”

“No, I got it,” you say dismissively. 

That’s not what you’re cringing over—you’re cringing for two reasons: 1) his birthday is less than five days away and you have no idea how the two of you are going to figure something out before then, and 2) the reminder of Dazai’s file, its misplaced location and the blacked out information where his name should have been, the alias labeling what you thought was his real name.

Your lips part to bring it up to Chuuya, but you hesitate because you don’t know if you should. The last thing you want to do is upset Dazai because you let something out that he didn't want anyone to know.

“Well?” Chuuya demands. “What is it?”

“June 19th,” you say, watching as Chuuya blanches. “Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do in four days?” Chuuya hisses, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look at him. “I don’t even know what that bastard would want.”

You’re just as lost, grimacing as you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Dazai never really… wants for anything.”

You stare ahead listlessly, leaning against the elevator wall as the two of you head down to the first floor. Dazai likes playing video games, but he gets bored of them quickly. His room is stacked with games he’s played once and then tossed to the side. He likes crab, but you’re not going to get him canned crab for his birthday. He likes suicide, and you’re pretty sure a new edition of that wretched book of his came out, but you also don’t want to get him that for, well, obvious reasons.

“Maybe we can get him a pet crab?” Chuuya frowns.

“He’ll kill it,” you dismiss, “and then he’ll spend months whining over it. And blaming us.”

“Fair enough.”

The elevator door slides open as the two of you reach the bottom floor, and you watch as the subordinates meandering about incline their heads toward the two of you as you pass by. You only absently wave them off, mind racing as you try to figure out what to do for Dazai’s birthday. Crab, suicide, video games—what else could Dazai possibly like?

You think the only other thing is-

Oh. Oh. You have an idea.

A smile spreads across your face. “Chuuya,” you say, relieved, “I have the best idea-”

“There you guys are,” Dazai’s familiar voice rings from the right, and immediately, Chuuya gives you a sharp, panicked look and you shut your mouth, stiffening. “I was…”

Dazai trails off, and you briefly shut your eyes, because wow, that was entirely unsubtle. Dazai’s smile is more strained now and the shine in his dark eye fades, the palpable excitement withers away in a matter of seconds.

Fuck.

“I see,” Dazai says, voice cool and withdrawn. “You guys are busy. It wasn’t important anyway.”

“Dazai,” you call after him, taking a few steps, but the boy has already whirled around, stalking off the way he came. He ignores your call of his name. “Shit.”

“He totally took that the wrong way,” Chuuya says, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“How astute, Chuuya,” you say dryly, chest tight as Dazai disappears around the corner.

“You know, for someone who brags about not needing anyone, he’s pretty fucking sensitive,” Chuuya notes.

“Don’t be a fucking asshole, Chuuya,” you snap at him, but the redhead only shrugs carelessly in response.

“It’s the truth. Anyway, what was your idea?” 

Even with the weight of Dazai clearly being upset heavy on your chest, the reminder of your idea for his birthday still causes a sly smile to spread across your lips.

“You’re gonna love this.”

Not only was Dazai upset, but he was upset enough that he hasn’t come back to your apartment in three and a half days. You figure he must be back at his shipping container, or maybe staying with those other friends of his, but you feel lonely without him. It’s weird not coming back to your apartment to find him lounging on your couch eating your favorite snacks; it’s different when he has missions and can’t be here, right now? He’s choosing to not be here, and that makes you feel gross and uncomfortable.

You feel bad, and no matter how many times Chuuya tells you to look on the bright side—that you guys can plan his birthday without him constantly hovering, figuring out what the two of you are doing—it just makes you feel worse. 

You’re sitting in your apartment waiting for Chuuya when the elevator bings, signaling someone coming up to your apartment—and considering there’s only two people who the front desk let up without your explicit permission, and one of them is still dealing with issues at one of the ports, which flooded from all of the rain the past few days, there’s only one person who it can be.

Your eyes widen as your head snaps up, looking to the elevator as the doors slide open, revealing Dazai fumbling with something in his jacket as he steps out. He doesn’t even notice you until you rise to your feet, and when he does, he’s instantly guarded. 

“You’re supposed to be on a mission,” he accuses, voice low.

You’re a bit hurt that Dazai only showed up to your apartment because he thought you wouldn’t be here but you mask it with a tilt of your head and a curious expression.

“I am on a mission,” you say, and it’s not a lie—the mission is finalizing the plans for Dazai’s birthday, step two starts in four hours and you need to confirm things with Chuuya before it begins. What awful timing, you realize mournfully, because you do want to smooth things out with Dazai but right now you can’t afford to. “It’s one I can do at home.”

Dazai makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, gaze focusing on the folders laid out in front of you. Closed, luckily, you’d been skimming through one but you got bored while waiting for Chuuya and decided to scroll on your phone.

“I only came to pick up my other jacket,” Dazai finally says, voice still cold and distant—you hate it.

Your eyes track down to Dazai’s coat, noticing the blood that’s dripping from it onto your wood floor.

You cringe, but then extend an olive branch by asking, “Want me to throw it in the wash?”

Dazai hesitates, a reluctant expression crossing his face but he nods, slipping it off his shoulders and padding over to you slowly, handing it to you carefully so as to not get the blood on your couch. Your fingers brush his as he does and your throat spasms a bit.

Dazai draws back quickly, but then he looks down at the files in front of you, and then back to you and asks, “… Want help with that?”

Shit.

This is Dazai’s olive branch, and you have to reject it. Because then he’ll realize this is no mission, and all of the plans for his birthday will go to waste.

“Nah,” you say easily. “It’s fine. It’s quick, where were you heading out to?”

Dazai looks a little put out by your rejection, but he doesn’t look too bothered, so he probably took your lie as truth.

“Bar Lupin.”

You roll your eyes.

Dazai gives you a dirty look.

“I don’t know why you get so jealous about them,” Dazai says pettily, obviously trying to get a retaliatory dig in for whatever wound he thinks he received the other day. Your eye twitches at the accusation. “I knew Odasaku before you.”

You pause at that.

Does Oda know Dazai’s real name? You’re hit with a wave of vicious jealousy, and faced once again with the back and forth you’ve been dealing with the past three days—do you really know Dazai? He’s always hid a lot from you, you knew that, but to realize that you only know him by an alias… You don’t understand it—is it by choice? Does he just no longer want to associate with that name? If that’s the case, then you don’t even want to ask and make him uncomfortable. 

But what if it’s not? What if Dazai Osamu is just a fake persona he’s built to hide his real self? You doubt he’s a spy, Mori would obviously know but… if it was Mori that forced him to take on a new name and identity? If he wants to let people in but can’t? You remember all of the times when you ask him things and he stares at you as if he wants to answer but doesn’t know how.

“You shouldn’t think too much, your small brain will implode.”

“Fuck you.”

Drawn from your thoughts, you glare at Dazai, who only gives you a simpering smile in return, eye regaining that little bit of shine it’d lost when he ran into you and Chuuya that day. Then he hesitates again and you raise your eyebrows.

“I’ll call things off with Odasaku and Ango? … You picked out that movie last week, we never watched it. We can watch it after you finish up?” His voice is quiet, uncertain and you feel like a cunt, because you have no way of saying no without being a cunt. 

You’d already told him that the mission wouldn’t take long, so you can’t use that as an excuse. You think maybe you should just call off tonight with Chuuya, meet at his apartment later on to try to get things for dawn, when everything is to take place. It would be risky, you don’t know if you can pull off such an elaborate scheme with such little preparation and Dazai, of all people, as the target, but you think you’d rather risk that then say no to him right now. 

Your lips part to agree, mind already racing trying to figure out how to get all the folders out of here before his nosy ass can peak at one of them, but you’re interrupted by your elevator binging. Again.

Oh, fuck.

Dazai stills as his gaze cuts backward, eye sharp as the elevator doors slide open and reveal an irritated Chuuya, soaked up to the waist and covered in mud.

“Fucking hell,” Chuuya seethes. “I’m never helping out at the ports again. They’re fucking incompetent, I-”

Chuuya pauses when he sees Dazai. Dazai doesn’t budge. For a split second, not a single one of you dares to move. You can see the quick cogs within Dazai’s mind turning as he pieces together an answer—why you didn’t accept his help, why you took so long to respond. Dread piles in your stomach as you try to figure out what to say only to come up empty-handed. For someone known for a quick tongue and sharp brain, you always somehow find them failing you when faced with conflict with Dazai. 

Finally, Dazai breaks the silence with a cool smile and a mirthful look in his eye, glancing back at you.

“That’s why you wanted me out of here. Okay.” He leaves no room for questions, doesn’t even bother to go into his bedroom to grab his other jacket before stalking forward and entering the elevator Chuuya just came out of, not even acknowledging his partner before smacking the button to the first floor.

“Dazai!” you call after him, taking a few steps toward the elevator but he only turns his chin as the doors slide shut. You shout after him angrily, “And you say I’m the jealous one!” but you doubt he even heard it.

“That bastard has the worst fucking timing ever,” Chuuya says as soon as he’s gone, unperturbed.

You give Chuuya a withering look, wanting to curl up on your couch and die. So you do that. The weight on your chest that had only just finally started to relieve itself from you returns with a vengeance, and you suddenly feel like you want to cry, unsure of how everything has gone so wrong the past few days when you just want to do something nice for him. You tuck your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, placing your chin on top of them.

“Relax,” Chuuya says, tossing himself onto the couch next to you; you don’t even have it in you to be annoyed by the water and mud, shoulders slumping as he tosses an arm around you and lets you lean into him. “It’ll be fine. Blockhead won’t even know what hit him tomorrow. C’mon, let’s get this finished so we’re ready to go.”

“… You want us to… kidnap the Demon Prodigy?”

Your subordinates stare, expressions pale and aghast as they share looks with one another. You stand resolute, head held high, and Chuuya raises his eyebrows next to you. Your eye twitches at the moniker that follows Dazai everywhere.

“That’s what we said, yes,” you say, frowning. “Was I unclear?”

“No, hime-” You roll your eyes at yet another one of Mori’s ghastly titles.

He must find it quite amusing, pleased with himself every time he watches you turn green with disgust when he insists on using the term. Even worse, it seems he’s somehow managed to coax your subordinates into using the shitty moniker too. The old man must really enjoy pissing you off, he’s certainly very skilled at it. 

Your lip curls up in irritation when your subordinate continues.

“It’s just-what if-”

“You will not be punished for targeting an executive,” you say dismissively. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“We fear that the Demon Prodigy will… draw his gun when threatened,” the man continues, grimacing as if trying to choose his words carefully. You don’t recognize him—you think you should probably get to know your subordinates better, you’ve left most dealings with them to your partner, Itou… who you also have to get in contact with for this plan to work. You wince, realizing you still have much more to do within the next few hours. “How should we proceed if he does?” 

“Dazai probably will.” You stress his name, giving the man a withering look. To his credit, he winces and looks away. “But he will also be drunk, and slower, taken off guard, so you will… Well, I suppose you wouldn’t have the advantage over even a drunk and surprised Dazai, but there are more of you, so there’s that.”

“Way to inspire confidence,” Chuuya mutters dryly.

You shrug, “I’m not going to delude them before sending them out. They should be prepared to take a bullet or two. Hopefully nonlethal—you have bullet proof vests.”

“You’re fucked up,” Chuuya snorts, before turning his attention to the dozen or so gathered subordinates. “There will be minimal risk, and remember, nobody is to know about this. Nobody. Not even the other executives, or the Boss.”

“Especially not the Boss,” you add. “For the next day and a half, you’re relieved of duties. Go back to your families, or get shit-faced drunk, but don’t come back to headquarters. Under any circumstances. Clear?” 

The men exchange looks with one another, uncertain. “And if he draws his gun?” the man prods again. 

You share a look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye. “He’s not to be injured,” you finally say, voice firm, not leaving any room for doubt. “Under any circumstances. Inject him with this, you’ll be fine.”

You pull from your pocket a sedative that you’d pocketed from Mori’s office before, dangling it in front of them, waiting for one of them to reach out and take it. When they do, you lean back on your heels and look at them.

“This has to be successful,” you tell them, finally starting to feel the pinpricks of anxiety run through your chest the closer it gets to go-time. Dazai is so mad at you right now, and if this fails, it’ll make things ten times worse. Failure isn’t an option—it never is, but especially not now. “I won’t accept anything less.”

“Yes ma’am,” one of your subordinates murmurs and the rest echo, half of them look as if they’re marching off to their death and you absently make yourself a note to give them a big bonus this month. “Can we at least know why we’re kidnapping the De-Executive Dazai?” 

You smile. 

“It’s his birthday gift.”

Dazai is in a bad mood.

Oda watches curiously as the boy downs his seventh (eighth?) drink, wondering if he should tell him to slow down. From the corner of his eye, he sees Ango cringing, lips parted as if to speak but then reconsidering as he shakes his head and takes a sip of his own alcohol, looking thoroughly concerned. Dazai hasn’t said a word since he showed up two hours ago in a foul mood, and every time Oda opens his mouth to ask, Ango gives him the sharpest look and Oda instantly shuts his mouth.

“I think the slug is dating-” Dazai finally speaks, voice rough, right hand clenched around his glass of whiskey. It’s as if he can’t even bring himself to say the words and Oda’s eyes narrow as he studies him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “I think the slug is dating… her.”

Her. He must mean you. You’re pretty much the only ‘her’ that Dazai ever refers to—goes on about you nonstop whenever he gets a few drinks in him.

“That’s nice,” Oda says without thinking, until he sees the horrified look cast his way by Ango. “That’s awful.”

“It is awful,” Dazai agrees with a hiss. “It’s awful. I hate it. It’s disgusting.”

Oh, Oda realizes, a bit more amused, grateful that Dazai is too busy glaring into his drink to see the smile that curls to the corner of his lips. Oda had suspected that Dazai has a crush on you just from the way he talks about you—going from long winded rants of how agonizing you are to live with (as if he doesn’t actively choose to live with you) to wistful recounts admiring your missions (although those quickly shift into rants, as if Dazai catches himself yearning and has to make up for it by acting like it never happened). 

Oda and Ango realized that Dazai was obsessed with you months ago—back before the Dragon’s Head Conflict even ended, not long after you showed up, actually, when he first started talking about you. Oda assumed that it was a kiddie crush that he’d grow out of, but here he is a year later, just as infatuated—if not more so.

Cute.

“What-” Ango begins only for his voice to waver, glaring at Oda when he sees the smile on the man’s lips. He sighs, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose before retrying. “What makes you think they’re dating?” 

“The other day I went looking for them and I found them together, and I was gonna ask them to go to the arcade with me, but as soon as they saw me, they got all stiff and uncomfortable like they didn’t want me there.” 

Dazai almost sounds hurt by it—words strung out a bit long, lips curved down. It’s not often that Oda gets to see him act like the sixteen (seventeen now? Oda realizes he doesn’t even know the boy’s age and makes a note to ask) year old that he is, and while it’s unfortunate that this one is stemmed by him feeling rejected by his friends, he also can’t help but smile at it. Which Ango catches from the appalled look that the other man gives him.

Oda smothers the smile again instantly.

“That doesn’t mean that they’re dating,” Ango begins, trying to be reasonable, but is cut off when Dazai tosses him a sharp glare.

“And then,” Dazai continues, “I went home before because I thought she was going to be on a mission, but she was there working on it, and I offered to help her with it so she could finish faster, but she said no. And I didn’t think anything of it, but then I said I was going to reschedule with you guys for another day so we could watch a movie, and she didn’t respond at first, and I thought that was weird, and then guess what? The slug showed up. She was blowing me off to hang out with him.”

Wow, Oda thinks to himself. That’s a lot to break down. 

Home. Oda is careful this time to not let his lips quirk up into a smile but it’s impossible to hide the fond look in his eyes as he looks down at a sulking Dazai, who has slumped over the bar top, absently playing with the spherical ice in his drink. Oda has never heard Dazai refer to anything as home before. His shipping container had always just been the shipping container, and up until, well, today, your apartment had always just been your apartment. Ango catches the wording too from the way his eyes widen a bit.

And then on top of that, Dazai? Offering to help someone with work? Oda thinks there’s a better chance of fire raining from the sky. Oda is realizing that this really is more than a kiddie crush—not that Dazai would probably ever acknowledge that. Oda wonders if he should help him get there. 

“That doesn’t mean they’re dating,” Oda finally says, taking a sip of his drink and ignoring the way Ango gives him a side eye, focusing instead on how Dazai turns his head to the side to look at Oda. If Oda didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy is pouting. “They might be planning something for you, don’t want you around for it. You had that mission recently, didn’t you? The one everyone said would fail?”

Oda realizes, a bit too late, that if that is the case, he just ruined the surprise and silently apologies for it. But Dazai doesn’t seem to take him seriously anyway, rolling his eye as he returns to bouncing the ice in the glass.

“Yeah, right,” he says dryly. “No one does anything like that for me.”

Oda purses his lips, not responding, and Ango sighs as he looks away. Oda tries to figure out what to say, testing some words on his tongue but they all feel wrong.

Finally, he chooses to just be blunt. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

The noise Ango lets out is all but a whimper, he buries his face in his hands as if to disappear. Dazai’s gaze cuts to the side, head turning slowly as he focuses on Oda.

“What?”

Oda thinks maybe he should stop talking, but he doesn’t, naturally. “Y’know—you could just tell her how you feel,” Oda repeats, seeing the way Ango is shaking his head frantically but he continues anyway. “Telling her would save you from doing this once a week.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Dazai says icily, taking a tone that he rarely uses with Oda as he pushes himself off of the barstool and turns to leave. “I’ve had too much to drink. I’m heading out for the night.”

Dazai doesn’t wait for either one of them to say goodbye as he all but storms out of the bar. Oda sighs, taking a sip of his own drink.

“That could have gone better.”

Ango slaps the back of his head hard.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Alright, it’s time.”

You watch the live CCTV cameras from the sleek black car you and Chuuya are huddled in. Your partner, Itou, sits in the front seat, rubbing his temples as he spares you guys a short look. You raise your eyebrows at him but he only shakes his head.

“I don’t know what goes through your head sometimes,” he tells you, tired. “I want no part in this beyond this right here.”

“You’re no fun,” you say, squinting at him, “and we still need you to get the footage from the headquarters.”

Itou sighs so heavily that you think he might be trying to expel his lungs from his body. He glares at you from the corner of his eye. “Nothing beyond that. You’re insane for this. You’re going to get us all thrown in the torture chambers.”

“Relax, don’t be so serious. It makes you ugly. You’ll be fine,” you complain, focusing back down on Chuuya’s laptop, straightening as Dazai finally comes into view on the screen. 

You and Chuuya exchange an excited look with one another, a smile twitching onto your lips as you wait for the scene to unfold. You pointedly ignore the noise Itou makes when he notices how thrilled the two of you are at the prospect of kidnapping Dazai—but Itou doesn’t get it, he doesn’t know Dazai. Dazai will love this, and he’ll love it even more when you get your hands on the footage of Mori’s and Kouyou’s reactions to the kidnapping.

You’ve got your subordinates disguised impeccably as members of a low-rung gang that’s been trying to make moves into the northern wards of Yokohama. You had a meeting with them a few days ago to determine whether they’d be worth absorbing or if Mori should just send Dazai and Chuuya to deal with them. You decided on the latter, and the two of them are supposed to go in and exterminate them next weekend.

You figured they would be the perfect cover to pose as Dazai’s “kidnappers.” They’ve been aggressive and violent in Port Mafia territory, making increasingly larger steps into the Naka Ward. You were honestly curious to see how far they’ll try to go, but you doubt Mori will let it get any farther than he has already anyway, so you thought you might as well get some use out of them to stage a realistic-looking kidnapping.

You think Mori will probably assume this was intentional at first when he gets the report. He’ll call you and Chuuya, the two of you will act bitter and angry as if you’re not on speaking terms with Dazai currently—which, you suppose it’s for the best that he stormed away from the two of you that day in headquarters, because it’ll make it seem legit—you’ll hang up and tell him that you’re busy for the night, tell him not to bother you again. 

When Mori realizes that neither you or Chuuya know what’s going on, he’ll start to get suspicious. He’ll seek out the tapes and see Dazai drunk and lost in thought wandering home, see the way he genuinely struggles against his “captors” before being knocked out—none of the casual arrogance he usually has when getting himself captured by the enemy—and then? Then, you don’t know how Mori will react. You assume that he’ll call you and Chuuya again, get the two of you on it, but by that point, your phones will be off.

You’re giddy as you, again, focus back on the screen, watching as Dazai meanders down the street. His movements are slow and unsteady, and your giddiness fades when you see the downcast expression on his face. It’s hard to tell from the footage, but he’s clearly bothered about something. You wonder if he’s that pissed about what happened earlier, or if something else happened with his other friends—he’s usually at Bar Lupin for at least another two hours.

“Okay,” Chuuya says into his earpiece. “Begin stage one of the operation.”

“He looks kind of upset, doesn’t he?” you murmur when Chuuya takes his fingers off the button on the earpiece.

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

You ignore the curious, knowing look that Itou gives you through the rearview mirror and instead tunnel your vision onto the laptop screen… although you find you don’t really want to look at that either. You grimace as your subordinates finally make their move—and it’s testament to how lost in his own thoughts he is because Dazai hardly notices what’s happening until they’re on him.

He goes for his gun instantly, but your subordinate—Kirishima, you learned his name was—is quick to disarm him, knocking the gun out of his hands and reaching for his arm. Dazai is still swift on his feet, nimble even with a dubious amount of alcohol in him. He’s able to worm out of Kirishima’s grip, darting backward. The expression on his face is lethal, gaze cold as he tries to assess his situation, and you watch as the realization that he might be in trouble finally hits.

Just as Kirishima is about to motion for two of the others to go for him again. Dazai slips his phone out of his pocket and dials a number.

“Fuck!” Chuuya spits. “If he calls the Boss-”

But Dazai evidently did not call the Boss, which would have been the smartest decision on his part considering Mori would have gotten one of Verlaine’s special ops units to him within a max of three minutes, because after a second, your phone starts ringing.

Oh.

You stare at it, heart lodged in your throat, unsure of what to do.

“Shit,” Chuuya says, just as caught off guard. “I didn’t think he’d call you. You can’t pick up.”

You shoot Chuuya an accusatory look. “I have to pick up,” you hiss. “He called me when he actually thought he was in trouble. I can’t just ignore him, that’s fucked up.”

“We staged the kidnapping, it’s already fucked up,” Chuuya snaps right back, “and he can read your ass like a book. If you pick up, that bastard will figure out it’s us.”

“Chuuya,” you bristle, ready to ignore him and reach for your phone but he’s quicker than you, arm darting forward to grab your phone before throwing it out the window. You stare at him horrified, “Chuuya!”

You think you might throw up when you watch Dazai take one last glance at his phone before an unreadable expression crosses his face. He elbows one of them hard in the gut to get away, but Kirishima is on him with the sedative before he can make a run for it. Dazai grimaces when he feels the pinprick in his neck, and you finally look away when he slumps over onto the ground.

“Don’t start feeling bad now,” Chuuya says, glaring at you. “What did you think would happen?” 

“I don’t feel bad,” you lie, and when Chuuya gives you a doubtful look, you sigh and say, “He just looked so…”

Human. 

He looked surprised, uncertain—it’s rare for Dazai Osamu to be caught off guard by anything. You think in the year or so that you’ve known him, you’ve only ever seen him genuinely thrown off like this once, and it was when the Colonel’s operation against the Bishop’s Staff went haywire during the Dragon’s Head Conflict and you got caught in the crossfire, captured by the enemy.

You’ve always been of the belief that Dazai is one of the most human people you’ve ever met. You’ve fought people over it, you’ve fought him over it. The issue is that he’s also ridiculously intelligent, likes to portray himself as inhuman, be it to intimidate his subordinates or enemies or to fulfill whatever fucked up image he has of himself, you don’t know, but he’s good at it. It’s only when he’s put into situations like this, where he’s got no shot of keeping up his mask, surprised and trying to push away the rising panic when he realizes that there’s no way to think, talk or fight his way out of a situation, that you really see his humanity. It’s stark compared to his usual demeanor, almost palpable.

You sit there simmering in your own thoughts until Kirishima knocks hard on the window to the car. Dazai looks small in his arms—he’s tall, but thin and lanky because he doesn’t eat properly no matter how much Chuuya belittles him for it and you try to get him to eat. His frame is small, and it’s especially apparent without his coat to create the illusion of a larger stature, when his face is lax, visible eye slid shut as he lays limp and unconscious in his arms.

You push open the door and Kirishima bends down to shuffle Dazai into the car with you. His body slumps against you, head falling onto your shoulder and you push your lip out a bit as you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

“The sedatives?” Chuuya asks, leaning around you to focus on Kirishima.

Kirishima lifts the empty syringe, glancing at Chuuya before focusing on you. “Are we free to go, hime?”

You scowl at the nickname but you nod, more focused on shifting Dazai into a comfortable position. “Go get drunk or go to your families, I don’t care. Don’t come back to headquarters ‘til Monday, but be there early, we’ve got a mission.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kirishima replies, inclining his head to you before shutting the car door and leaving.

As soon as the door shuts, you sigh and let Dazai’s body fall over, head resting in your lap. He looks so completely at peace that you almost forget that it’s because he’s been drugged. He never sleeps well, even now that he’s staying at your place—you hear him wandering around at night, restless, and the few nights he does sleep, he seems to be plagued with nightmares. You rest your hand on his hair and absently brush your fingers through his damp locks before turning to look at Chuuya, who’s watching you with an expression nothing short of judgmental.

“What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “How long do you think the sedative will last?” 

“It’s a pretty high dosage,” you say with a frown, looking down at Dazai. “But Dazai’s got some mutant metabolism. Remember when he walked off a whole ass horse tranquilizer during Dragon’s Head. I give it like four hours max.”

“We need to get moving then,” Chuuya sighs, and you nod.

You lean over the center console and give Itou a sweet smile, careful to not jostle Dazai around too much.

“I’ll drive you there, but then I’m gone,” Itou sighs, giving you one last warning look before he puts the car in drive. “Don’t involve me in this any further.”

“Thank you, Itou,” you coo, sharing one last look with Chuuya before letting out a sigh and turning your attention back down to Dazai, gaze lingering and a soft smile on your face.

Chuuya makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

You ignore it.

The beach house the two of you have usurped for the weekend is nicer than you could’ve imagined. You don’t know how Itou found it for the two of you, maybe a friend of his—you’ve found that he has friends everywhere, it’s been quite handy for when you have to deal with politics—or maybe he killed someone for it, you really can’t be sure with him. It’s a neat little place south of Higashikoiso, a little over an hour out of Yokohama—the house is near a cliff overlooking the sea, with an easy path down toward the beach.

There are only three bedrooms though, which is unfortunate considering you and Chuuya plan to coerce Dazai’s other friends into showing up. You might not be the fondest of them for petty reasons, but you think Dazai would like that, so you’ll bite your tongue and suffer through it. Either way, three or four people are going to have to share rooms depending on the set up and you’re fully intent on not being one of them; you already have your argument that you’re the only girl in the house and you think it will be solid enough, unless Dazai decides to be stubborn. 

“This is kind of fucked up,” you note while setting the scene.

Dazai is still unconscious, it’s only been an hour and a half so you should have some time before he wakes up, but you want to get this done as quickly as possible, because you don’t want him to wake up while you and Chuuya are halfway finished to setting up the room to make it look like a ransom scene.

“This is definitely fucked up,” you correct, but you’re smiling as you finish up typing the ropes around Dazai’s wrists, sitting him up in a rickety wooden chair.

You and Chuuya had dragged him down to the basement—Itou had luckily had some interrogation tools in the trunk of his car, and was not inclined to ask any questions when you asked for them, passing them over to you with the most concerned expression you’d ever seen on the nineteen-year-old’s face.

The basement looks like any average torture chamber—stone walls, damp and dingy, so it’s easy for you and Chuuya to transform it into an acceptable backdrop for your picture. You adjust Dazai in the seat again, fingers ghosting over his neck from where his head is falling forward, hoping he’s not too uncomfortable.

“This is your idea,” Chuuya shoots back, tilting his head to the side with a frown as he examines the scene. “He’s not roughed up enough. We’ve gotta do something, did you bring makeup with you?”

“No,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck before an idea pops in your head.

You slink over to Chuuya and grab the knife that he carries at his side, ignoring the perturbed look on his face as he instantly takes a step away. Making your way back over to Dazai, you grimace as you cut the palm of your hand, smearing some blood on Dazai’s face and shirt to make it seem as if he’s been roughed up. You readjust the ropes, tighten them a little more and make sure some of your blood drips down onto the floor above where Dazai’s face is hanging before you take a step back to admire your handiwork before turning to your accomplice.

“... Do you have the burner phone?” you ask Chuuya, wrapping your hand with cloth, figuring you’ll just bandage it up later. 

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Take the picture,” you tell him, stepping out of the way to hover over his shoulder, watching as Chuuya squints his eyes and tries to angle it properly so Dazai looks as in bad shape as possible. 

When he’s finally satisfied, he looks to you. Your lips curve up, “I’ll read off the number of that friend of his, you type it in. This’ll get them here for sure.”

As you do that, Chuuya starts snickering, clearly as entertained by this whole situation as you are. “You’re fucking psychotic for this, y’know?” he says, typing out the message to be attached with the image before pressing send and tossing the phone away.

“You helped me,” you accuse, but you're grinning, giddy again as you grab a towel to wipe the blood off of Dazai, pulling off the ropes and forcing Chuuya to help him back to the couch where he can be comfortable.

“Yeah, but it was your idea, you crazy bitch,” Chuuya tells you again with another snort. “What do we do now?”

“Wait.”

Everything happens at once.

Sakaguchi Ango and Oda Sakunosuke get to the beach house much sooner than you thought they would, and Dazai starts stirring an hour earlier than you expected—mutant metabolism, you think again. Luckily, it all happens at around the same time, so you get to see all of their reactions at once.

Neither Sakaguchi nor Oda have made a move into the house, probably trying to figure out the best course of action. Dazai still hasn’t woken up, curled up on the couch while you and Chuuya play cards at the table in front of him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. You’re winning, of course, and Chuuya is becoming increasingly more frustrated from the way he keeps slamming his cards down onto the coffee table.

“They’re about to come in,” Chuuya says, giving you a withering look as tosses his cards across the table—another losing hand. You give him a smug smile and Chuuya bares his teeth at you. “Come here.”

You sigh as you shuffle over around the table so that he can put his hand on your shoulder, ready to activate the Tainted Sorrow in case Sakaguchi and Oda come in guns blazing. On the couch, Dazai starts to shift, a low groan escaping his lips, and your eyes draw back to him, focusing on his face and the way his brows are furrowed and his lips are turned down.

“Here they are,” Chuuya hums, lips quirking up into a sharp smile. “Ready?”

“Yup,” you agree, popping the ‘p’ as you lean back on your hands and stare at the door. “How long do you think it’ll take them to actually open the door?”

“I give it five more seconds,” Chuuya snorts, and you shiver when you feel the familiar sensation of the Tainted Sorrow spreading across your body, an impenetrable barrier to protect you from whatever may come your way.

Just as Chuuya predicts, five seconds later, the front door is kicked open. You frown, hoping that they didn’t break it off of the hinges, because you don't want to hear Itou bitching about it later on. Oda Sakunosuke comes in first, gun steady and finger on the trigger, but the man is cautious and tilts his head to the side when his eyes fall upon you and Chuuya.

“What is it?” Sakaguchi asks from behind the other man, taking a step into the beach house to follow Oda’s gaze to you and Chuuya. “I-what?”

“Sakaguchi,” you say, lifting your hand to wag your fingers; maybe you’re a bit petty when you don’t acknowledge Oda. “Long time no see. I was grateful for your help when dealing with Nishiki and his cronies.”

“I, ah, hime-” You sigh at the moniker, eyes fluttering shut. “What is… going on? We got a picture and a…”

Sakaguchi trails off when he sees Dazai stirring on the couch, and you turn your attention toward him. You watch as he finally lifts his arm to rub his eyes, sluggish and slow. After a split second passes, you notice him stiffen, as if remembering what happened, and his eyes shoot open, cold and sharp.

You smile. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you coo. “Took you long enough.”

The icy mask slips away into genuine confusion, his brows furrow and his lips part. Next to you, Chuuya snorts, “Now, that’s a fucking sight. I almost want to take a picture.”

“What…” Dazai begins, then notices Oda and Sakaguchi still standing near the front door, blinking a few times. “What is going on?”

You’re sure that must’ve been the most painful question for Dazai Osamu to ask—admitting he has no idea what’s happening. Chuuya snickers and Dazai shoots him a contemptuous look, diluted by the fact that he still looks half out of it from the sedative.

“Yes,” Sakaguchi asks dryly, “what is going on?”

You smile proudly and then say, “We kidnapped you. Seemed pretty realistic, didn’t it? Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

Dazai blinks, you can see him trying to force his brain to start moving faster so he can put together the puzzle pieces you’ve handed him. His gaze calculating and lips tight. “You… set up the kidnapping?”

Oda then says: “See. I told you they were planning something.”

“Planning a kidnapping,” Sakaguchi sighs, tired. “Did you guess that too, Oda?”

“Well, no.”

Hardly listening to Oda and Sakaguchi’s bickering in the background, you keep your attention on Dazai, who’s watching you with an unreadable expression on his face. You waver for a second, wondering if he’s mad at the two of you—you’d figured it could be an issue, that he might be put off by being kept in the dark about this. He really does hate not knowing things. 

“Why?” Dazai asks quietly, and you note how Oda and Sakaguchi share a look with one another before quieting down, waiting for your response.

“I’m glad you asked!” you say brightly. “It’s your birthday present!” 

You relish in the way the room goes quiet. Dazai’s dark eye widens, taken off guard for the second time in a matter of a few minutes. You’re even more gleeful when you see how Oda’s expression shifts into one of surprise, how Sakaguchi draws back, stunned. At least your fears of Oda and Sakaguchi knowing more about Dazai than you go unfounded.

“Yeah, shitty Dazai, say thank you,” Chuuya goads, a smug smile on his lips.

Dazai doesn’t respond, staring at the two of you with yet another indecipherable look, an odd shine to his dark eye. You feel a bit exposed under his stare, wondering what he could be thinking.

“How did you know?” Dazai finally asks, and oh, you realize that’s not the question he’s asking. Dazai knows that there’s only one way the two of you figured out his birthday—his file in Mori’s office. What he wants to know is which of you got hands on it.

“It was a grand plot,” you say, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you look up at him. “Chuuya kept Mori distracted while I ransacked his office looking for your file… part of your gift is going to be the recording of Chuuya trying to distract him. It was quite funny.”

“Hah?!” Chuuya demands, whirling on you. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

You ignore Chuuya, keeping your gaze trained on Dazai instead, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Is he angry at you? Upset? It’s impossible to tell from the heavy gaze he has laid on you, thousands of conflicting emotions swirling behind the black of his eye. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, chewing the inside of your cheek as you wait—god, only one person evokes this type of nervousness in you and you swear he enjoys it.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally lights up, flinging his arms out to his side, a wide, borderline facetious smile painting his face as he says, “So, I get an entire day to order you guys around to do my bidding.”

“Hey!” Chuuya shouts, equally incensed by Dazai’s words as he is by yours, head snapping to look at him. “That’s not the fucking gift, bastard.”

“What’s the plan then?” Oda asks curiously, and then adds, “... I’m glad you brought us here… as unconventional as the method may have been.”

You notice Dazai gives Oda and then you a curious look, but before he can ask, Chuuya is leaping to his feet, talking quickly as he waves his hands around, making subtle digs to get a rise out of Dazai, but Dazai is more focused on you.

You push yourself to your own feet, trying to ignore Dazai’s lidded stare and focus on what Chuuya is saying but it’s hard, especially when you see Dazai standing from the corner of your eye. He’s still a bit unsteady, movement slow and sluggish, and you’re sure that’s the excuse he has for when he meanders a few steps over to you, dropping his chin on your shoulder. You don’t dare to turn your face to the side to look at him, his lips brush your ear as he murmurs:

“Talk later?”

“... ‘course.”

Luckily, later doesn’t come for a long while. Chuuya was insistent on going out to the beach—you think he was more eager to see Dazai wear the ugly Hawaiian shirt that the two of you had brought along for him more than anything else, but he quickly found interest in the large waves coming in from the sea, running back to the beach house to seek out the boards that you’d found in the basement.

Dazai doesn’t go in the water, but you think he’s having a good time considering there’s a shine in his eyes that’s rarely there. Right now, he’s sitting in the sand in front of Oda and Sakaguchi; the former listening to Dazai ramble on about whatever he’s talking about, the latter tapping away on his computer and occasionally nodding along.

You spend most of your time watching Chuuya cheat at surfing, using his ability to keep him on top of the surfboard as he seeks out the biggest waves. You’re standing in the water yourself, no further than knee-deep because you don’t want to get your clothes and hair wet. You’re kind of annoyed that Dazai’s been spending all of his time with Oda and Sakaguchi when you and Chuuya were the ones who did all of the work, and again, you can’t help but wonder if he might be mad at you. He didn’t seem to be on the walk down to the beach but you can honestly never know with him.

You drag your gaze from where Chuuya is hooting and hollering as he catches another big wave, rolling your eyes when you see the red emanating around his feet and the surfboard, so you can look back at Dazai. He’s stopped talking, listening to whatever Oda is saying instead as he stares at you with a contemplative expression. You feel distinctly seen beneath his stare, lost as to what he might be thinking. He doesn’t even notice that you caught him looking, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

You shake your head when you hear Chuuya coming toward you again, turning your attention back onto him.

“Did you see that one?” Chuuya demands, exhilarated, board tucked under his arm as he brushes his hair out of his face. “Did you?”

“I did,” you say dryly. “It would’ve been much more impressive if you hadn’t been cheating with the Tainted Sorrow.”

Chuuya looks scorned. “I don’t see you getting out there to try,” he scowls, lifting his chin. “You’re more preoccupied with staring longingly at shitty Dazai.”

Your face heats up, you kick the water at him and make sure it gets in his face. “I am not,” you hiss. “Don’t be annoying, Chuuya.”

“I give it another ten seconds before you look back at him again,” Chuuya croons, a wide smile on his face that you have half a mind to slap right off.

To make it worse, you do feel an itch to look back at him now. Your eye twitches as you force yourself to keep looking forward at Chuuya just to make a point, but an odd feeling starts to stir in your gut when you see the way Chuuya’s gaze keeps darting behind you, looking increasingly more pleased with himself.

Finally, you give him an accusatory look before turning your head over your shoulder sharply to where Dazai had been with Oda and Sakaguchi only to find-

That he’s not there?

You hardly have enough time to register what you’re looking at before you see a rush of movement from the corner of your eye.

No-

All you hear is Chuuya’s wild laughter and the sound of the ocean waves reverberating through your skull as Dazai tackles you back into the water hard. The water cushions your fall as your back finally hits the sand. You lift your hand to press your palm against Dazai’s face, pushing him away from you, lungs burning and decidedly soaked as you push yourself out of the water, gasping for air.

“Dazai!” you shout, throwing yourself at him with every intent to throttle him. 

Dazai tries to dodge, but is too busy wheezing over laughter to actually do so. He lets out a dramatic cry when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and successfully knock him into the water face down. He flails dramatically, arms and legs kicking as you hold him down beneath the water.

When you finally drag him back up above the surface, he inhales a lungful of air before giving you an indignant look. “You can’t do that,” Dazai shouts, pointing at you. “It’s my birthday.”

“I’ll do it again,” you shout right back, hair sticking in your eyes and clothes clinging to your skin from the seawater. “I wanted to go into town after this.”

Dazai looks just as messy—the cheap Hawaiian shirt you and Chuuya had got him is drenched, and the colors are bleeding into his bandages, making the previously pristine whites become a colorful swirl of oranges, blues and pinks. He looks like a shitty attempt at a watercolor painting. The bandages around his eye look especially uncomfortable from the way his visible eye keeps twitching and immediately your anger fizzles away into amusement.

You share a look with Chuuya that Dazai instantly catches, looking suspicious and alarmed.

“Chuuya, go get the camera.”

Dazai doesn’t even wait for another word. He instantly turns on his heel to bolt back to the beach house, but you’re chasing after him in an instant.

“Chuuya, go!” you yell again as you lunge forward, fingers curling around Dazai’s ankles to make him faceplant back into the water.

You scramble forward to straddle his waist to keep him in place but he worms out of your hold, trying to make another break for it but fails because you’re still clinging to his leg, dragging him back down with you. Distantly, you think you should’ve gone for the camera while Chuuya kept Dazai in place.

“Chuuya’s right,” you spit out. The two of you are out of the water now, you can feel the sand in your shirt and grating against your skin as you roll around with him trying to keep him still. “You really are like a slimy, slippery fish.”

“You can’t do this,” Dazai screeches. “It’s my birthday. It’s my birthday!”

“I got it!” Chuuya shouts from over by the chairs, racing back over to the two of you. 

“Took you long enough,” you yell right back at him, realizing that you’re going to have to sacrifice your own dignity to get Dazai in this picture, otherwise he’s going to try to run away again. 

Chuuya can hardly hold the camera straight through his snorting, and you’re sure you probably look equally as embarrassing as Dazai. There’s sand on your face, in your mouth, in your hair, in places where sand definitely shouldn’t be, but at least you don’t look like a kaleidoscope. Dazai lets out a pitiful noise when he realizes there’s no escape, trapped between your arms. He tries to hide his face in your neck, probably for plausible deniability that it’s an imposter trying to make him look bad, rather than it actually being him himself.

“Say cheese, mackerel,” Chuuya mocks.

“Fuck you,” Dazai complains.

But you can feel the smile twitching on his lips against your skin.

Oda and Sakaguchi set up a fire later that night. 

Well, by Oda and Sakaguchi, you mean Oda while Sakaguchi sat there and played dictator, telling him how to make a campfire that Oda clearly already knew how to make from the way he seemed to be hardly listening to the man.

Dazai and Chuuya are off trying to figure out how to use sparklers, which you think is a bad idea. You think the two are more likely to set each other on fire than actually use them properly, which is why you’re staying far away, tapping away on your phone near the campfire, relaxing under the sea breeze.

Itou: everything going ok?

You almost roll your eyes before responding with.

You: Yes. Why?

Itou: just curious :p

You: Could’ve stayed if you were curious. We offered.

Itou: yeah, maybe if u wanted to find me dead in a ditch. ur boy hates my guts.

You’re grateful that no one is around to see how you let out an embarrassed puff of air at how Itou refers to Dazai, instantly clicking out of his messages to see what other messages you have. Before you can, you feel a presence hovering above you and look up, raising your eyebrows.

Oda Sakunosuke stands next to you, studying you curiously, and you look to the side and then back toward him, unsure of what he wants.

“Yes?” you ask slowly. Sakaguchi is still sitting closer to the house, scowling as he bats away bugs.

“This is nice. What you did for Dazai,” Oda says simply. “I haven’t seen him this happy in… well, ever.”

A bit embarrassed, you shrug. “It’s whatever,” you say awkwardly. “Just happy it all worked out.”

“I don’t think Dazai’s ever had someone do something like this for him before,” Oda admits. He’s not looking at you anymore, fond gaze trained behind you to where you can hear Dazai and Chuuya arguing about how to use the sparklers. “He never told Ango or I his birthday… or anything personal about himself, really. I’m grateful that you brought us along.”

You wish you could sink into the ground and die, knowing that if it was up to you, you never would have invited either of them but forced yourself to for Dazai’s sake. Again, you shrug, and say, “Was for Dazai. Thought he would like it.”

“Well, I’m grateful anyway,” Oda says dismissively, looking back down at you. “You should stop by the curry place where I take Dazai every once and a while. The kids I brought in stay there, Sakura is the only girl, I’m sure she’d like having another girl around to talk to.”

You blanch. “I don’t-uh-I don’t know if that would be the best idea, I’m not exactly… a good influence for kids.”

Oda shrugs. “Maybe not conventionally, but you’re tough. Work ten times as hard as any of the others in the upper ranks of the Mafia to keep your position. It’s impressive. If Sakura was even half as strong as you are when she grows up, I’d be proud of her.”

Your lips part to speak but no words leave them. You think, maybe, that this is the first time anyone has ever acknowledged this. Your position has never been as secure as anyone else’s—you think maybe that it’s part of the reason why Mori is so insistent on people using that stupid fucking title, as much as you hate it.

Your own subordinates respect you, the rest of the upper echelon who know of your contributions do, but everyone else? Hierarchy is absolute and the Boss’s orders are paramount, but when subordinates see a chance to push themselves higher up the ladder, it’s like sharks with blood in the water. Without a powerful ability like Chuuya’s, or a mind and presence like Dazai’s, as a girl, you’re on the lowest rung, the first one they’re circling to try to get ahead.

You prevent gang wars, keep the government off the Mafia’s ass, but that’s all behind the scenes—none of the lower ranked mafiosos see any of that. They see Dazai and Chuuya bringing down entire organizations overnight. Ace bringing in billions of yen. Kouyou’s perfect record of assassinations. Hirotsu leading the Black Lizards. Akutagawa and his ability. All they ever seen in you is-

All they see in you is a seventeen-year-old girl who happens to be favored by the Boss.

Although you don’t necessarily care for Oda’s presence, even if only for petty reasons, you do appreciate his words. Your shoulders slump and you want to reply, say thank you at the very least, but nothing comes out. You think he notices, and being the infuriatingly kind person he is, he gives you an out. Oda Sakunosuke pats your head like you’re a dog. You give him a side-eye and cringe away from his hand, but he’s unperturbed. 

“I’m glad he has you,” Oda tells you, before wandering back over to Ango, leaving you there flustered and caught off guard.

Your gaze draws back to where Dazai has finally got his sparkler working, and for a second, you’re entranced. You can hardly drag your eyes from the bright gleam and soft smile on Dazai’s lips as he eyes follow the bright pink and gold sparks flying around as he waves the sparkler around in front of him. It’s childish, almost, innocent in a way that Dazai Osamu never gets to act.

You have to force yourself to look away from him, turning your attention back to your phone to go back to what you were doing before Oda interrupted you.

Several texts from Kouyou and Mori demanding you to pick up your phone, one concerned one from Hirotsu—you’ll have to apologize to him later—and several from an unknown number that you don’t recognize. Akutagawa? Dazai’s subordinate? You’re going to have to have a serious talk with your subordinates later about giving out your number. You click back to your message thread with Itou, pointedly ignoring the last message as you type.

You: How the hell did Akutagawa Ryuunosuke get my number?

Itou: pretty sure he threatened a couple of our subordinates, wounded one of them. i have to deal with it tomorrow. have dazai train his dog before letting him wander around unleashed.

You roll your eyes and then tilt your head back to shout over your shoulder, “Dazai, train your fucking subordinates properly.”

The bickering from where Dazai and Chuuya were arguing behind you halts, and you hear the two of them approach you.

“What happened?” Chuuya asks curiously, peeking over your shoulder at your phone. You promptly close it before he can catch sight of the other message that Itou had sent about Dazai.

Dazai comes to hover next to you, waiting for you to explain, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “Akutagawa injured one of my men and threatened others trying to get my number when he heard you were missing. Get him under control.”

Dazai’s visible eye twitches. “Untrained mutt,” he spits out. “I’ll deal with him.”

You share a short look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye, wondering if you’d just condemned Akutagawa to Dazai’s violent wrath, but you’re distracted when your phone buzzes again.

Itou: check ur email.

You straighten in your seat, immediately flicking out of your messages app to your email to find one from Itou with a video file attached.

“No way,” you breathe out, excited, not having expected Itou to get his hands on it so quickly. You turn to look at Dazai, a wide smile on your face; you miss the way the irritation on his instantly fades, visible eye widening and lips parting at the sight of your smile. You also miss, in your excitement, Chuuya’s grunt of disgust. “Dazai, you wanna see your real present?”

Curious, Dazai peers over your shoulder to see the email you got. “What is that?” 

“Watch and see,” you croon, clicking on the video to show the surveillance tape from headquarters.

Instantly, Dazai seems to realize what it is, eye lighting up. “No way,” he says, half sitting on top of you in your beach chair, ignoring your irritated hiss.

“Get your bony ass off of me, Dazai,” you snap at him, but Dazai ignores you, settling down as he snatches your phone to watch the video. 

Chuuya joins him, crowding in on your other side to lean over his shoulder to watch the video. Rolling your eyes, and unable to see the video on your phone, you instead lean back into the chair and watch their reactions to it instead.

Chuuya looks amused, a sharp grin on his face as his eyes remain pinned on the video, and Dazai looks delighted, he cackles and shifts to lean forward, making you grimace when he ends up digging more into your thigh to push himself up.

“Look at his face,” Dazai screeches. “He really thinks it was real. Ane-san looks like she’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Chuuya looks back at you, smiling but there’s a hesitant look in his eyes. “We’re going to be in so much trouble when we get back,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Yeah, you agree silently, more focused on the bright shine in Dazai’s eyes and the wide, genuine smile on his lips. He’s so giddy that he’s almost vibrating in your lap, and when he finally looks back at you, he looks at you as if you’ve given him the world. Worth it, though.

Despite ardently arguing why you should be the one who doesn’t have to share a room and succeeding—forcing Oda and Sakaguchi (who didn’t seem to mind) and Chuuya and Dazai (much to their distress) to share a room instead—you find that you can’t sleep at night anyway. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to wander out of the house, making your way to the path leading up to the clifftop—everyone called an early night, the excitement of the day, and the lack of sleep, leaving everyone exhausted before the clock hit nine-thirty.

The seabreeze is cool against your skin, the moonlight’s illumination the only guide you have as you make your way up to the cliff’s edge. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your sweats as you drag your feet against the dirt path.

You don’t notice someone sitting up there at the edge until they turn their head to the side to look at you, startled by your arrival.

“Dazai,” you say quietly, standing there awkwardly for a moment. You haven’t spoken to him alone yet, you’d meant to earlier but then Chuuya got his hands on wine before bed and that plan went out the window.

Dazai sighs whimsically when he catches sight of you. “So, hime forces me to share a room with the slug only to not even use her own room. She’s so greedy,” he whines, lashes fluttering as he looks up at you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you tell him, making your way over to sit with him, legs dangling off the edge, swinging absently. Your thigh is pressed against the side of his, feet occasionally bumping into one another, when you rest your hands against the ground to lean back on them, your thumb brushes his. “You wanted to talk.”

Dazai lets out an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat, and you watch as his gaze turns down to his lap, an unreadable expression on his face. He’s pretty beneath the glow of the moonlight, peaceful in a way you hardly ever see him. His expression is free of the numerous masks he wears to protect himself, eyes dark but warm and full of various emotions as he chooses his words carefully.

“Hime read my file,” Dazai finally says, voice soft, almost hesitant. You catch the way his jaw tightens and untightens, the corner of his lips tightening and quivering; a subtle tell to his nerves, one that most people wouldn’t catch, but you do.

“I did,” you agree. Your own heart races in your chest as you wait for his reaction; you don’t think that he’s angry, you think you’d be able to tell if he were angry by now, but you can’t help the anxiety plaguing you.

“So, you saw,” Dazai hums, but there’s a bit of a wobble to his tone. He pointedly doesn’t look at you now, staring ahead out toward the sky and distant sea. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“No. I figure you’ll tell me if you want. If not, it’s okay.”

It’s decidedly not okay, but you don’t want to pressure Dazai into telling you. You want Dazai to open up to you, but you don’t want to force him to, so you force yourself to be content with the fact that he’s at least acknowledging this, instead of pretending it didn’t happen.

“I can’t,” Dazai says. 

His throat bobs beneath his bandages, dark eye uncertain as he stares down to the turbulent sea. You think a storm must be coming, the waves have become rocky, whitecaps staining the horizon, crashing into the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Dazai shifts, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

“By choice?” you ask after a few moments. “Or is someone—” Mori “—forcing you to?”

“... Both,” Dazai responds after a few moments. “I…”

Dazai doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say, voice wavering. After a few minutes of silence between the two of you, he continues.

“I don’t have good memories associated with that name,” Dazai finally says, and you don’t dare to speak, hardly even dare to breathe because you don’t want to ruin whatever spurred this decision of his to crack himself open to you, afraid that if you make the wrong move, he’ll withdraw again. “... Sometimes, I miss it though.”

“That’s normal, I think,” you tell him after a moment, looking to the side to focus on him, watching the way his eyes lower at your words. “You have… better ones as… Osamu?” 

It’s your first time referring to Dazai by his first name, and from the way he inhales sharply, he recognizes it as well. There’s something distinctly vulnerable in his expression as he turns his face to you.

“I have you,” Dazai says quietly, and it’s so instant that it catches you off guard, lips parting. As if catching his own lapse in control, he blinks and then rushes to add, “And Odasaku. Ango. The slug.”

You smile a bit to yourself. “Yeah,” you agree. “You do.”

Dazai looks as if he wants to say something, his lips are parted and his gaze is uncertain. You give him a questioning look, wondering what could possibly be running through his head right now, but then he speaks.

“Shuji,” he says so softly that you barely hear him. “My name was Shuji.”

Your eyes shoot open at the admission, Dazai’s goes just as wide, as if he hadn’t actually meant to say it out loud. You open your mouth to say something but Dazai doesn’t even give you the chance to.

“You can’t use it ever, okay?” he says, voice tinged with a type of panic you’ve never heard in the boy before, dark eye filled with desperation. “Never. Not when we’re with people. Not when we’re alone. Not ever. You can’t.”

You don’t think Dazai has ever begged anyone for anything in his life, but he’s begging you now… a part of you can’t help but wonder if it’s for his sake, or yours.

“Can I say it once? Right now?” you ask quietly, swallowing thickly.

Dazai looks unsure and hesitant, but he finally nods. “Then you have to forget it, okay? You can’t ever let anybody know it. Nobody can ever know it. And nobody can know that you know, okay? No one, especially Mori.”

You don’t really like the sound of that, your gut tugging uncomfortably at the stress on Mori’s name, but you don’t want to press anymore than you have, so you agree.

With the winds howling around the cliffs to drown out your voice, and only Dazai and the stars to bear witness, you shift to face him. You reach up to cup Dazai’s cheek, fingers brushing against the bandages on the right side of his face, watching as he inhales sharply at your sudden touch. Before you can lose your nerve, you lean in to ghost your lips against his cheek. 

“Happy birthday, Shuji,” you whisper softly, pulling back to sit next to him. Your face is on fire, and Dazai doesn’t react beyond a shaky breath and his fists tightening in his lap.

Finally, instead of responding, he reaches out to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your smile is soft, and you can feel Dazai’s fingers trembling, body uncharacteristically lax as he rests next to you.

Your free hand brushes a stray rock at your side and you turn to look at it curiously, noting the jagged edge and then getting an idea. Dazai frowns when you pull your hand from his and shift away, giving you a questioning look, but then you shift to your knees, grabbing the rock and etching your first initial into the flat rock that the two of you are sitting on. Dazai watches you carefully and when you hold it out to him, he hesitates before taking it from you.

He doesn’t do anything for a second, staring down at your initial with the jagged edge of the rock resting against the ground next to it. Finally, he takes in a steady breath before carving a ‘+ S’ right next to yours. You chew on the inside of your cheek and your eyes are a bit misty as your hand falls to trace the letters.

After a few moments, you let out another breath and settle down next to him again, a bit closer than you were before, thigh pressed firmly against his and shoulders brushing. You reach for his hand again, intertwining your fingers with his, looking up to the vast sky above.

Your lips part to speak, but the words catch in your throat, fingers tightening around his for the sparest second. He gives you a curious look and you don’t dare to look at him as you finally force the words from your lips.

“The moon… it’s pretty beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” you say quietly, throat tight as you stare up at the sky, the glittering stars and the full moon glowing above. 

You can feel Dazai’s gaze on you as he responds. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I think if I died tonight… I would die happy.”

Three years later on the early morning of June 19th, Dazai Osamu sits on the cliff’s edge in the same spot he did with you all of those years before, watching the sun break over the horizon. His fingers trace over the two engraved letters next to him, and not for the first time in the past two years he’s spent underground, he yearns. 

He yearns for you so bad that it makes his chest hurt, his stomach turns in on itself; he yearns so desperately that it’s hard for him to breathe without you, the thought of you weighing so heavily on his mind that he thinks the pressure of it might kill him. As he’s gotten closer to finally being able to leave the underground and join the Armed Detective Agency, he finds that he thinks more and more of you.

He wonders what you’re doing—if you’re thinking of him, if you hate him, if you’ve forgotten all about him. He can almost imagine you sitting here with him, shoulders brushing, thigh pressed to his, fingers intertwined.  He doesn’t know how long he’s spent sitting in that spot, fantasizing that you were there with him, longing for days with you and Chuuya and Odasaku and Ango that are long gone.

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, his phone rings—only one person would be calling him right about now, so he lets it get to the final ring before picking up.

“Fukuzawa-san is ready for you,” Ango says as soon as Dazai picks up the phone, waiting no time for pleasantries.. “Make your way over to the Armed Detective Agency when you can… Happy birthday, Dazai.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, hanging up the phone and letting out a soft breath. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and his eyes linger on the engraved initials, worn with time but still clearly visible, for only a few seconds longer. He pushes himself up to his feet and walks back down toward the beach house with the thoughts of you still clouding his head.

Yeah, Dazai thinks a bit dryly, chest heavy and aching as he looks back at where the two of you once sat three years ago. Happy birthday.

fun facts!

the inspiration for this fic came from the summer vacation bungo mayoi cards with dazai, oda and ango LOLLLL

the inspiration for the "dazai osamu not being dazai's real name" comes from the fact that irl!dazai was a pen name—his real name was tsushima shuji.

i'm gonna drop some pm!reader universe lore here too. in the pm!reader universe, i decided to go with the popular theory that dazai was the previous boss's son/grandson, which is why his word held so much weight when he vouched for mori. when everything calmed down after the death of the previous boss and after most of the old regime of loyalists had been disposed of, mori had shuji change his name to dazai osamu, to shred any connection he might have had to the previously reigning mafia family, just in case more loyalists popped up. in the present pm!reader universe (from 16-22), only kouyou and hirotsu know who dazai really is.

[harunayuuka2060]

Vil and Jack: ...

MC and Leona: *are obviously close to each other*

Vil: Jack, is Leona an acquaintance of MC?

Jack: I think they're more than acquaintances. According to Ruggie-senpai, they're ex-lovers.

Vil: "Ex-lovers"? *doubtful expression* They seem to get along really well.

Jack: Yeah, but Ruggie-senpai said not to overthink about it.

Vil: ...

Crowley: Do you have any other questions before we end this dorm leader meeting?

Leona: None. I want to get out of here asap.

Vil: Wait. I have a question for you, Leona.

Leona: What?

Vil: Is it true that MC, the new student, is your ex?

Leona: ...

Leona: *frowns* Who told you?

Vil: It's not important who it was. You only need to confirm it.

Leona: Yes. So what?

Vil: I noticed no animosity between you two, so I’m curious why you’re letting them stay in that rundown place.

Riddle: Actually, I have the same question.

Leona: It's none of your business. Right, Crowley?

Crowley: Y-Yes, of course! *clears throat* MC values their privacy and we should respect that.

Azul: ...

Azul: *smirks*

Idia: Azul, I know what you're thinking.

Azul: Hm?

Kalim: Uh, who is this MC we're talking about?

Jade: I haven't had the opportunity to meet this student myself.

Azul: Goodness, Jade. Didn't I instruct you to get all the information of every student enrolled in NRC?

Jade: My apologies.

Azul: *sigh* This won't do.

Jade: What are you going to do?

Azul: I will befriend them, of course.

Azul: Riddle mentioned that Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade were able to stay at their place without any trouble.

Azul: I'm confident it won't be a problem for me either if I try to approach them.

Jade: Ah, so you will attempt to exploit their kindness.

Jade: How twisted of you, Azul.

Azul: I consider myself to be strategic, Jade.

Leona: The other dorm leaders found out we used to be lovers.

Leona: And they seemed to be really interested in us.

MC: One can hardly fault them. It’s quite surprising to think that romance could be a part of you, Leona. *chuckles*

Leona: Excuse me? You were the one who fell in love with me at first sight.

MC: And I believe it was mutual. Was it not?

Leona: ...

Leona: Not going to deny that.

Leona: Anyway, I need you to be careful.

MC: With whom?

Leona: ...

Leona: Azul Ashengrotto.

MC: Hm. *smiles*

MC: I actually plan to have a bit of fun with him.

Leona: *disappointed frown*

Leona: Is it because I’m just your ex now that you no longer value my opinion?

MC: Hardly. I have always appreciated your advice, Leona.

Leona: ...

Leona: Hmph. Do whatever you like.

MC: *chuckles*

[ayyy-pee]

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Masterlist

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Story Summary: Following his mothers passing, Nanami inherits his family's rundown bakery. With the bakery on its last leg, Nanami reluctantly takes on the task of trying to save what his family has worked to keep for decades, but he can't do it alone.

Genre: Bakery/Coffee Shop AU

Warnings: Workaholic meanie Nanami, employee x boss relationship, but also enemies to lovers, death, grief/mourning, profanity, jealousy, fluff, angst, Nanami owns a bakery, parental loss, Nanami is bad at feelings, I don’t know if I’ll do smut for this one but sexual tension, mutual pining, Nanami is sort of an asshole here

Art by: Ilameys + (Unknown artist (right pic). I'd love to credit the artist so if you know who it is, please let me know!)

Chapter 2 - Wienerbrød

Chapter Summary: You try to bake something new!

You kick your shoes off as you enter your apartment. With your phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder, you groan in irritation as you storm into your living room.

“I’m telling you, Shoko. This guy is such a fucking asshole. Shut me down the second I asked him a simple question,” you’re ranting as you flop down onto your couch. “He’s got to be the most pessimistic person I’ve ever met. He did nothing but pick apart the entire bakery and tell me how shitty it was, tried to establish some strange dominance thing in the kitchen after offering me the job… the kitchen,” you stress dramatically, wavering your arms as if Shoko can see you. “My domain! Can you believe him? He doesn’t give a shit about the actual bakery. He’s a total businessman type. Stiff, boring as hell and a dick. I don’t know why I said yes to the position. I’m going to hate my life.”

You exhale sharply once you’ve finished your tirade. On the other end of the line, you hear your friend inhale deeply. You didn’t have to ask to know she was sucking on a cigarette, likely almost finished with it and prepping her second, maybe third. After a short beat of silence, you hear her exhale. “Hmm, is he hot at least?”

“Extremely,” you admit through gritted teeth, rubbing away the tension quickly forming between your brows. “That’s the worst part.”

You hate to think it, you loathe to admit it, but Nanami was so very fucking attractive, like stupid hot and it pissed you off! Those thick arms practically bulging through his dress shirt, those veins that exposed themselves and ran enticingly along his forearms when he rolled his sleeves up. His chiseled features, those sharp cheekbones, even his frown was attractive. And god, you didn’t even want to think about his waist. 

Anyone with eyes could see Nanami Kento was an insanely beautiful man, modelesque even. But it only served to piss you off more. His constant gloomy attitude was so off-putting, it almost took away from his beauty, like a rain cloud threatening to cover a blue sky.

“Anyway,” you sigh, putting a stop to your own thoughts as you stare up at the ceiling.  “That’s beside the point, Shoko. He’s an asshole, but it’s obvious he needs help to get his bakery up and running. I think it’s family owned. He told me that he grew up in the bakery. Seemed miserable about it, though.”

“Interesting,” Shoko manages, though she sounds rather disinterested. “Well if he had to pick anyone, he definitely hired the best person for the job. You’re annoyingly positive.”

“Okay, rude.”

“I just mean you’ll balance his negativity well. Just try not to let him walk all over you. You’ve worked with plenty of dickheads before. What’s one more?”

You hum, your mind already accepting your fate. “I guess you’re right.”

“You know I am. The guy clearly needs help and you love this kind of thing - taking something old, miserable and rundown and making it loveable again.”

You hum again, listening as Shoko blows out another breath of smoke. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll do the same for the bakery, too.”

“Right. Wait– what?”

“I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” She says, voice light with humor. The line goes dead and you roll your eyes at your friends comments as you let the day's events wash over you. Nanami said he wanted to sample some of your desserts on Monday and see some new recipes. You can do that.

The moment you’d stepped into the bakery’s kitchen, your mind raced with possibilities. You felt at home there. The kitchen felt like it had been loved, like it was properly used and cared for, albeit old and a little rundown. That was okay. It gave the kitchen personality and you loved that. You wanted to continue giving the kitchen the love it deserved.

Nanami told you he’d grown up in that kitchen, but he truly seemed to hate even being in the building. You tried to picture a chubby little blonde boy with his arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face standing in the kitchen covered in flour and icing. Adorable, but definitely not the man you’d met today. You wondered how it came to be that he now owned this bakery when he seemed to despise it.

And you wondered if there was a way to get him to learn to love it again.

You shake your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t your job to turn his frown upside down, so to speak. It was your job to make sure the bakery was successful as it’s Head Baker and that’s what you intended to do.

- - - - - -

The weekend came and went just as quickly and now you find yourself standing in the kitchen of the bakery with Nanami as the sun barely begins to rise over the city. You pile your notebooks onto the large metal table in the center of the room. Nanami reaches over, taking the notebook sitting atop the stack.

���Are these your recipes?” He asks, flipping through the pages.

“Yep. These are some pastries I created on a whim. I was thinking we could go through and select what you like, maybe tweak some so that they fit more of the vibe you’re going for with the bakery. Or are there any pastries you’d like to keep from the previous owner?” 

Nanami’s dark eyes shoot up from the notebook to look at you. You hold his gaze, trying to find anything behind those eyes aside from the clear hatred he holds for this bakery, but you don’t. It’s frustrating.

“No,” is all he says.

“Okay…well, we can start from scratch then. Let me know what you see that you may like.”

Nanami replies with something between a grunt and a hum. “I’ll review a few of these and will follow up. If you want to get comfortable and organize the kitchen to your liking, go ahead. Please try and have a sample pastry ready within the next few hours.”

He turns to go into his office without so much as a look back.

You sigh, trying to get used to this silence you were sure you’d be working in everyday whether Mr. Nanami was there or not. You couldn’t wait to establish a menu so you could bring staff on. At least then you wouldn’t feel so alone.

You wander through the kitchen with a notepad, looking through all of the smallwares and jotting down what you see in case you need to place an order. There seems to be many of the supplies you need here already and in good condition - spatulas, mixing bowls, flour sifters, icing tips. The bakeware also seems to be well supplied with an array of bread pans, muffin tins and cake pans. This place was fully stocked as far as you could tell. 

You shuffle over to where three mixer appliances sit on a counter against the wall, setting your notepad down to inspect them. They’re a little older, but they turn on and mix just fine. You’d bet they mixed better than some of the newer models. You decide you’ll keep them.

As you lean one of the mixers over to check its condition, you find a small booklet lying underneath the stand. You pick it up, gently setting the mixer back down before you open it to inspect it. It’s a tiny black leatherbound journal with very faded gold lettering in a language you definitely don’t know.

And you? Well, you’re nosey as hell, so you carefully peel back the cover, taking in the elegant writing etched onto the first page.

To my baby boy

There’s some strange writing scrawled beneath this in what looks like English letters. You can’t really tell, but it seems to be some message in whatever language this is. You turn a couple of pages and let your eyes roam over what’s written within. The rest of the pages you can read fairly easily as they’re in English. You can see immediately that these are recipes. The booklet is full of pastry dishes, both sweet and savory. They appear to be foreign pastries and you feel your heart race with excitement as you imagine making them because while you were adventurous with your baking, you’re positive you haven’t tried to make any of these. 

And Nanami did want to sample your baking, so why not give him something he’s not going to see in your portfolio?

Eagerly, you begin moving through the rest of the kitchen equipment, taking out what you need to begin.

- - - - - -

The kitchen is full with the smell of fresh dough baking. The quiet hum of the ovens working calms you as you sift through the recipe in the booklet you’d found earlier. You decided to make one of your original creations while also trying your hand at this new mystery pastry in case Mr. Nanami liked both…or one…or none. Shit, you didn’t want to imagine him not liking either.

You stare down at the ingredients already in the mixing machines.

“Alright. So, water, 2 large eggs, a teaspoon of salt, unsalted butter, active dry yeast…” You read through the remaining list of ingredients until you reach the end. “And now…flour?” You squint down at the notebook, the words scribbled messily on the paper, time having faded the ink. You can’t really make out the measurements written out. It looks like 2 ½ cups. You’ll try it and hey, if it doesn’t work, you’ll simply adjust the recipe to find the right mix. Easy.

Just as you’re sorting through the measuring cups, Nanami emerges from his office with your journals, mouth set in its usual hard line as he makes his way to you. He sets the books down, and you swear you see him inhale the sweet scent of the pastries currently baking in the oven before softly exhaling. You open your mouth to say something before quickly shutting it because he’s back to business in about .02 seconds. You really can’t read this guy, so you don’t try to. You redirect your focus back on to your task.

“These look good,” he tells you, his finger tapping on the book stacked on top. “I placed a post-it note on the recipes I think may work for the soft opening, but I’d like for you to make a sample of them beforehand. Maybe just a few a day.”

You nod, acknowledging his request but far too focused on scooping your guesstimate of flour. Nanami eyes you carefully, brown eyes staring as you carefully run your finger over the top of the flour. The excess falls carelessly onto the table and just before you pour it in, Nanami speaks, his voice halting your movements.

“What are you making now?”

“Hmm?” You ask, glancing over at him. “Oh, something called…” you peer down at the booklet, “Wee-ner-brod?” You’re one hundred percent positive you butchered that pronunciation, but how do you even pronounce ‘wienerbrød’? 

Clearly Nanami knows because he surprisingly lets out an amused chuckle before he asks, “Wienerbrød?” With what you assume is perfect pronunciation. And you’re not sure why, but the sound of his deep baritone laugh makes your stomach twist in a strangely pleasant way.

“Yes! That!” You point to Nanami with your free finger. “I’m making…” you stumble your way through the pronunciation again and get another small laugh from Mr. Nanami which makes your own lips curl up in a smile.

“I didn’t know you knew how to make Danish pastries.”

“I don’t, but you don’t learn without trying.”

“True. What step are you on now?” Nanami asks curiously, coming up to stand next to you. This close to him, you can truly see just how large he is. Not to mention, he smells incredible. You ignore the way the mix of the aroma of baked goods and his cologne almost makes your eyes want to roll back. You’d never smelled something so tantalizing before.

Nanami calls your name and you clear your throat, trying to re-focus.

“Oh, um…well I’ve added mostly everything and now I need to incorporate the flour - about 2 ½ cups.”

“Your calculation is off.” He affirms gently, eyeing the measuring cup in your hand.

You snort, “Are you suddenly an expert in Danish baking or something?”

“I can throw a few things together.” He says and you peek over to see him rolling the sleeves of his very nice (and probably very expensive) shirt up to his elbows. Your eyes roam over, drinking in the sight of those thick veins that you couldn’t get out of your head over the weekend protruding from his forearms, the way his muscles flex with the slightest movement and you wonder for a moment what it would be like to grab onto those arms while he –

“As I was saying,” Nanami’s quiet voice interrupts your reverie. “2 ½ cups is close, but you actually need 2 ¾ cups for this recipe.” He reaches in front of you to grab a ¾ measuring cup and again, you’re assaulted with the scent of his cologne. Your mind erupts with thoughts of nothing appropriate for an employee to be thinking about their boss, but you can’t help it!

You blame it on that damn smile of his and that laugh. It’s thrown you off of your game.

Nanami takes the measuring cup you’re holding and replaces it with another. “You also need to use your hands to mix this.”

You might faint.

“Is that…” you lick your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Is that completely necessary?”

Nanami slowly adds small amounts of flour into the mixer bowl while kneading with his other hand. “It’s time consuming, of course, but it allows for more control over the dough. You can feel the dough's texture…if it’s too dry or if it’s too wet. From there you can determine if more water or more flour is needed.” You watch as his brows furrow in concentration, a little surprised by his knowledge around dough. Though it shouldn’t be surprising given that he grew up in this very same bakery. Of course he’d know.

And once again, your stomach does somersaults.

Damnit, he was definitely going to need to stay out of the kitchen if you were going to stay employed here.

As Nanami continues working through the recipe, you chat idly about general things. He tells you a bit about his time as a businessman, but doesn’t elaborate on what exactly led him to own a bakery. And you tell him a bit about yourself, trying to keep the conversation light as this was the most you’d both interacted since your interview and you’re surprised by how well it’s going. You don’t want to ruin it by poking and prodding.

As the conversation goes on, you watch him very carefully as he works the dough, ignoring the way your heart races watching him do the very thing you do almost daily.

“The end result should be somewhat sticky,” he states.

And oh god, something was getting sticky alright…and it lay between your legs. Your eyes are glued to the bulging muscles of Nanami’s forearms working the flour into a thick doughy substance between his large, thick fingers. Your gaze moves up his stupidly sexy arms, to his biceps straining against his shirt and you imagine him flexing so hard, it rips to shreds, falling in tatters to the floor. The cartoonish image almost makes you want to laugh. And you would have if your eyes hadn’t continued their journey, higher to his tight shoulders moving in circles as he presses his palms into the dough. Higher to the tension in his jaw, the muscles rippling as he grits his teeth with focus. The kitchen suddenly feels unbearably hot and you’re not sure if it’s the ovens running causing the temperature to rise or the view in front of you.

Nanami had never mentioned he knew how to bake. But why would he? It was your job to know. You also never thought to ask after the sour note your interview ended on despite you still being offered the position. You could not stand him upon first meeting and now here you were practically drooling into this batter over how incredibly sexy he was when he was baking.

Nanami slowly pours flour in again as he kneads the dough with expert precision. The way he grips it in his hands, the way his fingers deftly sprinkle flour into the mix. You wonder what else those big hands can do.

The oven timer dings and you snap out of your lewd thoughts, pretty sure sweat is forming on your forehead from your fantasies. You spin around quickly to slide on oven mitts before you pull the pans from the oven. You’d chosen to make miniature fruit tarts with a vanilla pastry cream. A simple recipe, but absolutely to die for. Setting the tray down, you return to Nanami’s side just as he finishes kneading the dough.

And you try to hide the frown pulling at the corner of your lips when you realize you’d lost your perfect view.

He moves to the sink to wash the remaining dough from his hands, returning with plastic wrap to cover the mixing bowl. “I hope you weren’t planning on completing that today,” He says before turning to head toward the walk-in refrigerator. When he emerges, you shoot him a questioning look.

“I was going to let the dough rise for a few hours while I worked on some other things.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but shakes his head. “For this dough, you need to do a long rise for the best result. Overnight is best.”

“Okay, you’re the expert Danish pastry baker apparently,” you tease, earning you another small chuckle from him and you feel your face heat up at the sound.

What is with you today?

“How did you come up with the idea to make Wienerbrød anyway?” He questions suddenly. “Just seems a bit random given what recipes you’d given me to review.”

“Oh!” You rush back over to the mixers excitedly and grab the booklet, holding it up for Nanami to see, a wide grin on your face. “I found this under one of the mixers. It has some strange language I can’t read in the front of it…I’m assuming it’s Danish? But some delicious sounding recipes from what I could understand when I skimmed through. I decided this would be a good idea to take myself out of my comfort zone to try something new.”

Nanami takes a step forward, squinting hard at the little journal in your hands. Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly and he snatches the book from your hold. He opens it to the first page, where the foreign message is scrawled down before he snaps the book shut, his lips pursing in displeasure.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs in clear irritation. “Next time you find something that is very clearly a personal belonging, please bring it to me before you take it upon yourself to poke through something that isn’t yours,” he snaps, his voice clipped.

The shift in tone takes you aback.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Mr. Nanami. It just seemed to belong to someone who knew their way around baking so I–”

“I didn’t ask for the reasoning behind your nosiness,” he cuts you off and you feel your own irritation begin to slowly rise. “Is this a habit of yours? Digging through people’s belongings and taking things that aren’t yours?”

You scoff, folding your arms across your chest defensively. “If you’d let me finish, I’m trying to apologize –”

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to show up here, bake and leave. Not spend your time digging through someone else’s belongings.”

You inhale sharply, trying to gather your thoughts. This conversation has taken an unpleasant turn and the last thing you want to do is have a blow up with your boss. You feel like you’ve actually made progress with him today and this feels like a setback waiting to happen.

“Again, Mr. Nanami, that wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to try something new. I had no idea this book…” you wave your hand in his direction. “...would be such a sore spot for you.”

At this, Nanami seems to bristle. “My sore spot,” he stresses the words, “is nosey employees who don’t just do the job I asked them to do. I asked you to make a sample pastry –”

“And I did,” you cut him off, gesturing to your tarts cooling on the table. “And I had enough time to try my hand at something new, which is why I wanted to try something new and present it to you.”

You sigh when Nanami meets your response with silence.

“What’s the issue here? You had no problem with helping me make this until you saw that book,” you say, pointing at the small black journal he holds. Your gazes lock in an intense staredown and even as Nanami annoys you, you can’t help but find his frustratingly pretty brown eyes completely mesmerizing. 

Ugh, stop.

“The issue,” Nanami stresses, “is you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Excuse me? It’s just a recipe book. Why are you so upset about it? Is it yours or something?”

“Again, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Mr. Nanami, with all due…respect,” you grit out the last word because he was really starting to piss you off, “if we’re going to be working together as closely as we are, there needs to be some trust here. It’s just a recipe book. I apologize for overstepping, but you can tell me why referencing this book to make Weenerbrod is such a big deal.”

You could swear you see the ghost of a smile on his lips just before he rolls his eyes, correcting your pronunciation of the pastry again, just as he turns his back to you. “You are my employee, I am your employer and that’s it. My helping you to bake a simple bread does not make us friends. Please complete the sample pastries I requested of you and we can reconvene once they’re finished. End of discussion.”

Nanami heads to his office without another word, slamming the door behind him.

You can only watch him disappear from your sight, seething. Left standing in the kitchen alone after yet another faceoff with your new boss, you’re suddenly reminded of your earlier conversation with Shoko.

Just try not to let him walk all over you. You’ve worked with plenty of dickheads before. What’s one more?

You resist going after Nanami and giving him a piece of your mind, instead following his instructions to finish your samples. You won’t push him. Clearly that little book meant something to him and he had no intention of sharing. And he was right. It wasn’t your business to know…

…But you can’t help feeling upset that the light mood of earlier is now gone.

You sigh, ignoring the pit in your stomach as your anger begins to subside. Instead, you move to the walk in refrigerator, gathering the ingredients to make the vanilla cream for your tarts.

Your mind is still racing with the conversation that just took place even as you mix your ingredients and pack the cream into the icing decorating bags. You realize for the first time since meeting Nanami that he wasn’t only this stoic tyrant that enjoys barking orders. He was someone with interests, someone with depth, someone who clearly enjoyed the art of baking the same way you do. You saw the look in his eyes as he guided you through making this pastry. And while you’ve barely known Nanami, you’re familiar with the look on someone’s face when they’ve participated in their passion. He looked…happy. Clearly, there’s more to Nanami than you know.

More to him than what he was willing to show you. For now. 

You’re annoyingly positive.

Shoko’s words make you roll your eyes as they echo in her head. Because you know she’s right.

[thefallennightmare]

One Night-one

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: lots of smut, swearing, angst, fluff.

Summary: One night. That's what Noah and Reader agreed to. No questions, no second thoughts, and no regrets. But will one night be enough to fill the hunger they both craved?

Authors Note: so, this was originally going to be a one-shot, but it got to be really long. I decided to make it into a two, maybe three-parter. If anyone wants to be tagged in part two, let me know!

The loud bass echoed off the black peeling walls as Britt dragged me along through the dark hallways of the club, the heels of my shoes not wanting to move. This was a bad idea, right? There was no way we were allowed to come back here let alone walk the back hallways. We were going to get caught and thrown out and I yet again let that be known to my best friend.

“Britt, are you sure we’re allowed to be back here? The security guard barley let us through,” I sighed.

The blonde in front of me let out her own sigh before turning to face me, her grip on my hand faltering.

“I already told you, Y/N. They invited us tonight.”

Immediately I shook my head. “No, they invited you not me.”

My best friend rolled her eyes. “They won’t care that you tagged along. Maybe I can convince Nick to tattoo you as well.”

I snorted. “I doubt your friend would be willing to tattoo someone who tagged along.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Y/N,” Britt pinched her eyes. “For once in your life, stop worrying about the rules and let go. Have some fun.”

The mischievous light behind her eyes called to the dark side of me, one that I rarely let out afraid of the consequences but when her bottom lip pouted in a frown, I let out a deep breath and nodded.

With a squeal, Britt grasped my hand and began dragging me down the hallway once again.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked.

“Nick told me to meet him in the green room.”

I raised a brow. “And why can't he tattoo you in his shop?”

Earlier today, Britt had called me asking if I would tag along with her to get a tattoo and I agreed. But that was only because I thought we were going to a shop, not a rundown building.

We turned a corner and came to a halt in front of a door, muffled voices sounded on the other end of it. There were atleast three different voices, but I wasn’t able to hear what they were saying.

“Nick has been tattooing me for years but he doesn’t have his own shop because he’s on the road a lot,” Britt informed me.

“Doing?” I pressed.

“Geez, what’s with the twenty questions?” Britt chuckled.

I shrugged. “If I’m going to get murdered, I’d like to know who is murdering me.”

“Look,” she grabbed both of my hands and gave them a light squeeze. “I know the last few months haven’t been exactly easy for you.”

My feet shifted uncomfortably with her words and my heart rate quicken as I felt the all too familiar rush of anger course through me.

Britt continued. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you sit home in your apartment and rot away all because Jacob broke your heart?”

“He didn’t break my heart,” I stated through gritted teeth.

The voices behind the door had quieted, almost to silence as Britt spoke again.

“Jacob was an asshole who cheated on you, multiple times. I said it from the start I never trusted him.”

“I know,” I nodded. “I should have listened to you. If I had, I wouldn’t have wasted two years on that prick.”

With a final squeeze of our hands, Britt dropped them before motioning to the door behind her. “You need this night out more than I do. For me, it’s just another tattoo but for you? It’s a way to spread your wings and fly into someone else’s embrace.”

A loud, thunderous, laugh erupted from my chest and I hand to clutch my stomach as the muscles constricted from how hard I was laughing. Britt simply looked at me amused.

“Yeah, I know. It wasn’t my best advice, but it’s what I could come up with on the fly,” she waved me off.

Suddenly the door behind Britt opened and both of us locked us with a pair of dark, almost hazel eyes. The intense gaze stared at us underneath the brim of his hat and I wondered if he could hear how loud my heart was pounding against my chest as fear filled me. Had they had caught us? Were we about to be thrown out?

“I thought I heard you,” the man broke out into a smile before wrapping his arms around Britt.

He had long hair that was pulled back into a low bun underneath the hat and the tattoo’s that peaked from underneath the material of his shirt gave me a slight idea who this was.

“Hey Nick, sorry I’m late. Someone was dragging their feet,” Britt said after pulling away from the hug and motioned towards me. “This is Y/N.”

The man, Nick, gave me a warm smile in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

I returned the smile. “You too.”

“Alright, I’m almost set up. Come on in,” Nick motioned for us to follow.

While Britt followed eagerly, I hung back aways, nerves still wrecking throughout my body.

“How much time do we have until you guys go on?” Britt asked.

When she noticed I was still hanging out in the hallway, she yanked me inside before shutting the door behind us.

“Stop being weird,” she mouthed to me.

The only response I gave her was my middle finger.

“We just finished soundcheck so we’ve got a few hours,” Nick said.

He sat on a long leather couch fidgeting with his tattoo gun and finished filling up little cups of bright colored ink. Britt was already covered in tattoos so I couldn’t help but wonder where and what she was getting. I, on the other hand, had a few tattoos scattered over my body.

“Soundcheck?” I questioned, still confused on who this guy was and where we were exactly.

Nick nodded with a small smile. “We’re playing here tonight.”

It was then that I noticed two other men standing in the far corner of the room, chatting amongst themselves but when their eyes landed on us, their conversations stopped.

“Hey, Britt. Nick said you were stopping by tonight.”

A man with a slight accent and long hair stepped forward and gave Britt a quick hug.

“Yea. He had some free time tonight to squeeze me in so I had to take it. You guys are always so busy with either touring or recording, I barely get time to see my cousin anymore.”

Touring? Recording? Cousin?

Three years of friendship and I realized maybe I hadn’t known my best friend as well as I thought I did.

“Nick’s your cousin?” I asked.

Britt nodded. “Yeah but since he lives in Virginia, I don’t get to see him as much.”

Another guy approached Britt and gave her a hug, one she accepted with a slight blush to her cheeks. I didn’t miss the way her breath hitched as the two of them pulled away and their eyes locked. I couldn’t stop the smug smile that pulled at the corner of my lips.

“Uh, Y/N, this is Jolly.”

Britt pointed to the man that had the accent, and I gave a small wave.

“And this is Nick,” Britt pointed to the other man, the blush now a deep crimson.

I quirked a brow. “Two Nicks?”

The latter Nick chuckled. “You can call me Folio.”

“And Mr. antisocial over there is Noah,” Britt rolled her eyes and pointed to the couch behind me.

For the first time since walking in the room, I noticed the man sitting deep into the cushions behind me and my breath caught in my throat. My heart was beating rapidly, and I felt sweat gather in my palms.

This man was gorgeous, the skin underneath his blank tank top drowning in a sea of colorful tattoos and his dark hair falling into his eyes as he leaned forward on the couch. His hands were clasped together as his eyes were trained hard on the floor beneath his feet. With every deep breath he took, the silver chain around his neck dangled and I was hit with the thought of how it would look dangling over me while this man loomed above me, dark eyes staring deep into mine.

I squeezed my thighs together, hoping that thought wouldn’t return tonight.

Realizing someone was talking to him, the man finally tore his gaze away from the floor and it fell onto Britt for a moment before shifting to me, drinking me in. I suddenly felt hot underneath it and shifted on my feet when I noticed a small fire behind them as his brown eyes locked with mine.

“Noah, this is Y/N.” Britt introduced us.

God, even his name was breathtaking.

Noah’s eyes grazed over every inch of my body from my feet to my eyes where he held my gaze for a few beats. He gave us a tight smile before focusing his gaze back on the floor.

“You’ll have to ignore him,” Jolly said coming up alongside me. “He found out yesterday that an ex of his cheated on him when they were together so he’s a bit upset.”

Trust me, I understand how he’s feeling.

Jolly began leading me to the couch across from Noah but before I could sit, I motioned to the door. Britt, however, was two steps ahead of me and gave me a light push down onto the couch then sat next to me.

“And you’ll have to excuse Y/N. She doesn’t get out of the house much since her break up so she seems to forget how to socialize.”

I glared at Britt. “Fuck you.”

The guys gave a slight chuckle and Nick turned motioned for Britt to roll up the bottom of her pants, exposing the only patch of space on her inner left leg.

As much as I loved Britt, sometimes she could be a bit much in letting people know too much about my social life. She claimed it was all from the heart but sometimes, like right now, I didn’t need four strangers to know about my personal life especially since I had no plans on seeing any of them after tonight.

“So, what time do you guys play tonight?” Britt asked over the sound of the tattoo gun.

I watched as Nick concentrated on the small design he had placed on Britt’s leg.

“We go on around nine. You two planning on staying?”

“Hell yeah,” Britt exclaimed.

My eyes snapped up to hers. “We are?”

“I haven't seen a Bad Omens show since before these guys blew up,” Britt explained.

Suddenly it all clicked into place. The building we were in, the line of people that were standing in front of said building as we drove past, and four tattooed guys hanging out in the green room. These guys were in a band, one I’ve never heard of before, but clearly they were popular. Hence the large group of people waiting outside.

“Come on, Y/N. It’s not like you have anything else planned tonight,” Britt continued with a slight wince on her face as Nick passed over a sensitive part of skin.

My lips parted to protest but when I realized she was right, I leaned back into the couch with a sigh. “Just because you’re almost always right doesn’t mean you have to throw it in my face.”

“So,” she began. “I think you need something to help you get over Jacob.”

Thankfully, Britt’s voice was hushed but even with the loud noise from the tattoo gun, I worried if the guys could hear.

“What are you thinking?” I raised a brow.

She had many ideas all the time, majority never worked out how she said. But that never stopped her from trying.

“Well they always say, in order to get over someone it’s best to get under someone new.”

I scoffed a chuckle. “Who the fuck says that?”

Britt shrugged. “Everyone.”

When both Nick’s agreed with nods, I groaned. “That is not happening.”

“Just think about it.”

Britt patted my thigh before she started up a conversation with Folio, who was sitting on the couch next to her, on her other side. I kept my attention on my phone, scrolling aimlessly through my social media, to pass the time. But every so often I would feel this intense burning on my face, almost as if someone was watching me. At first, I did my best to ignore it until I finally glanced up from my phone to the man across from me. A quiet breath fell from my lips when I realized Noah was the cause for the burning stare on my face.

He held my gaze for a long beat before it fell to my parted lips then back to my eyes. That silent action said so much and it made my body shiver with desire.

Jesus, get a hold of yourself. You’re doing that thing where you overthink everything and it’s only going to end up bad. Like it always does.

“What the hell Y/N?”

Reluctantly, I broke eye contact with Noah and noticed Britt was glaring down at my phone. With a quick glance, I noticed that my text conversation with Jacob was up with a new text from him on full display.

I miss you so much, baby. Why don’t you come over tonight and we can talk about things?

I pulled my phone to my chest hoping that Britt wasn’t able to read any other messages from Jacob.

“Please tell me you’re not texting that asshole?!” Britt seethed while trying to sit up straight until Nick grasped tightly on her ankle, her forgetting for a second that she was getting tattooed.

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

She gasped. “You are! What the fuck. Did you not learn anything from this breakup?”

With a quick glance around the room, I noticed that all the guys were watching the two of us with curious eyes. Even Nick glanced up from the almost finished tattoo on Britt’s leg.

“Can we maybe not talk about this in front of?” I motioned to the guys.

Britt shook her head. “No, you’re not blowing this off.”

I grit my teeth together. “I’m not. I don’t want to talk about Jacob right now.”

“But you have no problem texting him?”

“I wasn’t texting him. He’s been nonstop texting me,” I informed.

The look of anger that crossed Britt’s features was enough to make me sink further into the couch. She motioned for Nick to stop for a moment; he did and turned off the gun before setting it onto the table that he had been sitting on.

“Did you forget what he did?” Britt asked.

“No-.”

“He cheated on you, Y/N. Multiple times,” she deadpanned, interrupting me.

My cheeks flushed at being scolded by Britt in front of the guys, especially Noah. I barley knew him but knowing that he was listening and watching intently only made me now sink completely into the couch. I pinched my eyes shut while letting out a shaky breath. As if realizing that I was on the verge of breaking down once again because of Jacob, Britt placed a gentle hand on my knee.

“I’m not trying to be a bitch but I refuse to sit by and let him hurt you all over again. You don’t deserve that.”

“I know,” I muttered. “It’s a never-ending cycle with him.”

“Give me your phone,” Britt extended her hand towards me.

I looked at her warily.

“I’m not going to look at your nudes, Y/N. Give me your phone,” she repeated with a bit more force in her voice.

While my face heated with embarrassment, I noticed out of the corner of my eye Noah shift in his spot on the couch across from us.

“I don’t have any nudes on there,” I stated with a slight waver to my voice.

I did, loads of them. I never sent them to anyone though, I simply liked the way I looked.

With the way Britt gave me a sideway smirk, I knew she didn’t believe a word I said.

When Britt had my phone, I watched as she scowled at Jacob’s contact before blocking him then deleting his number for an extra precaution. She handed my phone back with a proud smile.

“All done.”

The sound of the tattoo machine whirred up again, Nick continuing on with his piece.

“You blocked him?” I asked.

Britt nodded. “As you said, it’s always the same game between the two of you. Jacob cheats on you, you two break up. He comes crawling back saying it was a mistake so you take him back.”

“I don’t need the reminder,” I grumbled while crossing my arms over my chest.

With a quick flick of my gaze, my eyes locked with Noah’s briefly before he averted his down to his phone.

“That doesn’t seem healthy,” Jolly said.

Britt shook her head. “Because it’s not. Y/N wasted two years of her life with this douchebag. His dick is the only one she’s ever had.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” I groaned burying my face in my hands.

Not before I noticed the way Noah’s shoulders tensed at Britt’s words.

“Do you have to lay out all of my dirty laundry?” I seethed towards her.

Britt always said what was on her mind, no matter who was around or if the situation was appropriate for it. Often, I praised her for it. Just not when I was on the receiving end of it. But before Britt could respond, Nick spoke up saying that her tattoo was finished.

Silence fell in the room for a long moment and not wanting to look at anyone, I kept my gaze fixed on my hands in my lap. Embarrassment filled me and in this moment, I wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl in bed. I barley knew these guys and even if Britt had, she had no right saying all those things about my personal life in front of them.

Folio must have been able to feel the sudden tension between Britt and I because he motioned towards her.

“Want to grab something to eat?”

Britt went to nod but gave me a sideways glance. Even if I was angry at her, I could tell that she wanted to spend some alone time with him so I waved her off, muttering I would be fine until she got back. Before I could even tell her to bring me back something to drink, her and Folio were already out the door.

“Leave it to Britt to say what’s on her mind,” Nick said once he finished packing up his tattoo machine.

I couldn’t stop the light chuckle that fell from my lips. “I guess you understand her just as much as I do.”

Jolly sat up from the couch with a long sigh and patted Nick on the shoulder. “Bryan wants to get some pictures of us for Instagram.”

Nick nodded before looking at Noah. “Want to tag along?”

I had been sitting in this room for over an hour and not once did Noah mutter a single word or even sound.

“No, I’m good. Tell Bryan he can get some before we go on.”

His voice. Fuck even his voice sounded like heaven.

Jolly looked from Noah to me then back to him. “Is it alright if Y/N hangs out here?”

“If not, I’m sure I can find Britt and crash her date,” I said, not wanting to impose on Noah.

Jolly and Nick snickered at the mention of Britt and Folio’s date.

Noah shook his head. “You can stay.”

The way he said it was as if he had some underlining meaning behind it but I didn’t dare think too much of it. My skin was tingling with an unknown sensation and I ran my hands over my thighs to stop the sweat from gathering there.

With the door to the room shut, the two of us were alone and for the first time in a long time, I felt nervous in front of a man. I barley knew Noah, only the fact that he was in a band, and I should fear him. Scared that I was alone in a room with him. But no, all I felt was nerves because the tension between us was slowly building and attaching itself inside my veins.

“Your boyfriend sounds like a real ass.”

My eyes darted over to Noah, his soft voice breaking the long few moments of silence.

“Ex.” I corrected.

The corner of his lip curled up. “Is what Britt said true?”

I shook my head not sure what he was curious about.

“About?”

My voice came out a bit wavered but Noah made no sign he heard.

“Your ex was the only one?” He asked.

Heat spread over the skin of my face, and I bit on the inside of my cheek. With my silence, Noah gave a curt nod almost displeased with my answer.

“Maybe Britt was right. I need someone to help get over him,” I muttered to myself when I thought about it.

Jacob was the only man I had ever been with, kissed and had sex with. He was all I’d known and who knows, I could miss out on someone great; relationship wise or even a one-night stand because I was too hung up on Jacob. It would be stupid of me not to spread my wings and explore my other options, right?

Maybe even the one sitting in front of me?

I quickly shook that thought from my mind. There was no way Noah would be interested in that or me.

He hummed in response to my words.

“What? You think it’s stupid.”

“I never said that,” Noah said.

My eyes almost buldged out of my head but I held back, not wanting to get my hopes up with whatever he meant to say.

“So you agree with me,” I said after a moment.

He shrugged. “Britt has said some weird shit the last few years since I’ve been around her but that doesn’t mean she’s not wrong about her advice.”

“You know from experience?” I asked, a pang of jealousy stabbing my heart.

I had no reason to be jealous if Noah and Britt hooked up but it still bothered me.

Noah let out a soft laugh, and my stomach fluttered with butterflies at the sound.

“No. Folio’s liked her for a while now, I wouldn’t do that to him. Plus, she’s not my type,” he finished with a shrug.

I licked my lips. “What is your type?”

His eyes flicked up from the floor to my face where he kept it there, silence falling between us. I shifted in my seat with the intensity of Noah’s stare and ran my hands over my thighs.

“Do I make you nervous?” He asked.

When my brows furrowed with confusion, Noah motioned to my hands that kept rubbing against my thighs so I abruptly stopped.

“No,” I lied.

His response was another hum before he leaned back against the couch, arms sprawled along the top of it. My mouth salivated at the sight of the muscles in his arms tensing with each of his movements. I drank in from afar all of his tattoos that covered almost every inch of skin.

“I’ll do it.”

I snapped away from internally drooling over Noah and shook my head with confusion. “Do what?”

Noah’s lips parted but before he could speak my phone buzzed and when I saw the unknown name appear on the screen, I answered the call with raised brows. The only problem was that the speaker on my phone was broken which made it difficult to hear conversations so I had to answer each call on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, what the fuck! Why can’t I call you?”

I froze for a moment. “Jacob?”

“What’s going on with your phone?”

Jacob’s voice was loud with anger that I nearly dropped it in slight feer. While he never raised a hand to me our entire relationship, he was still mentally and emotionally abusive. I looked over at Noah from under my lashes and noticed he was watching me intently.

“Y/N!”

I snapped my attention back to my phone. “What do you want? Why are you calling me?”

“I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour and when my call didn’t go through, I got worried so I borrowed my roommates phone.”

“I’m fine, Jacob. You didn’t need to call,” I said with an exhausted tone.

“Let me come over. We can watch a movie or fuck.”

I blinked at his outright boldness and watched as Noah’s shoulders stiffened.

“I, uh,” I licked my dry lips as I stuttered. “I’m not home.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

Noah must not have like the tone in Jacob’s voice because he raised a finger towards me and hooked it towards him, beckoning me over to him. I cocked my head to the side before shaking my head.

“Y/N, come here.” Noah said, not exactly in a hushed tone.

“Who are you with? Are you cheating on me?”

Anger filled me at his accusation. Unlike him, I was faithful when we were together. But it didn’t matter because we weren’t together anymore. Something I reminded him of yet again.

“You were the one that cheated. Many times. And every single time, I took you back like a fucking idiot,” I snapped.

“I don’t like this attitude, Y/N. You were never this mouthy. Although, I remember how great you were with that mouth in other ways.”

Internally, I cringed at his words. Now that I wasn’t dating him and the blinders were off, I noticed how vulgar and disgusting he was. Noah must have agreed with me because the scowl on his lips made me shift in my seat.

“You’re disgusting,” I said.

“There was a point that you didn’t think that. If I recall, you loved how disgusting I was.”

The word disgusting sounded just like that as if fell from his lips. But now, the anger I felt for him suddenly made me feel bold and the words lashed out before I even could stop them.

“Oh please. If I loved it so much, wouldn’t you think I would have orgasmed even once?”

While Jacob was stunned, silence coming from his end of the phone, Noah, on the other hand, watched me with an amused expression. His brown eyes were bright until something dark filled them. Before I could comprehend what was going on, Noah was on his feet with a swift movement and I squealed as he lifted me from the couch onto his lap.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I stared down at him.

He was looking up at me though his long lashes while his hands gripped my hips. His warm breath fanned over the crook of my neck and my eyes fluttered shut, a quiet breath leaving my lips.

“You faked it?”

Jacob’s voice brought be back to our phone conversation, and I was ready to end it, not wanting anything to impede whatever Noah was doing.

“Keep talking to him,” Noah muttered into my neck.

I gave him a wild look. “What?”

“I believe he asked you a question,” he responded motioning to my phone.

“Y/N?”

“Uh,” I blinked while tearing my gaze away from Noah’s dark eyes. “Yeah, I did.”

“Even the weekend we stayed at that hotel?”

I sucked in a breath when I felt Noah’s finger trace over the front of my jeans.

“What are you doing?” I managed through shaky breaths.

“If it’s alright with you, I want to make you cum while you’re on the phone with him.”

Noah’s voice was husky, laced with lust, and whatever reservations I had about if he actually offered himself up earlier vanished when he made quick work of the button on my jeans. The thought of coming undone from another man while on the phone with Jacob made a fire burn low in my belly.

“Do you want that?” Noah asked as he lifted my chin.

“Did you fake it every time?”

Both of them asked their questions at the same time but my answer was towards Noah���s question.

“Yes,” I breathed as my eyes locked with Noah’s.

The sound of a zipper echoed in the room and when finger glided over the sheer fabric of my panties, I nearly dropped my head to his shoulder. He motioned to my phone urging me to continue talking to Jacob.

“Jacob, why are you calling me?” I asked.

“I miss you, baby.”

I wanted to groan in disgust but what came out instead was a groan of ecstasy. Noah moved my panties to the side while slipping a finger through my folds. He teased the slick length for a few strokes before settling on my clit, rubbing in slow circles.

“Don’t call me that,” I said.

Jacob sighed into the phone. “You used to love when I called you that.”

“I also loved it when you didn’t cheat on me,” I shot back.

Noah hummed into the skin of my throat. “Who would ever cheat on you?”

“Who was that? Are you with someone else?”

I felt Noah’s body shake with laughter underneath me at the jealous tone coming from Jacob.

“Why does it matter? We’re not together anymore.”

I bit my lip when a finger slid into me with ease from how wet I was and when Noah began pumping a finger in and out in fast strokes, my eyes fluttered close.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned.

“Did he ever make you this wet? I can feel you clenching on my finger, angel.” Noah’s teeth grazed over the skin over my exposed collarbone.

Angel.

I nearly came on his pet name for me alone. Hearing fall from his lips was heaven enough for me. Forget an orgasm, I would have been fine with that.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

I ground my hips hard into his hand from his authoritative tone and quickly shook my head.

“Never this wet,” I moaned.

“Y/N, who are you with? I’ll fucking kill him.”

The phone dropped from my hand onto the couch next to us when Noah’s thumb pressed hard onto the swollen nub of my clit while his finger continued to pump in and out of my core. The base of my spine tingled as my orgasm built. It was getting heavy with each stroke and I let my head fall back, lips parting.

“Are you going to cum?” Noah asked in a low voice.

I nodded, unable to talk, and when I felt his hard cock press into me, I almost whined.

“You want this cock, huh?”

I nodded without thinking.

Noah left a few bites along my neck and the edge of my orgasm had crested, ready to push me over the edge.

“If you’re a good girl and cum for me, maybe I’ll give you my cock.”

“Oh fuck,” my body shuddered as the start of my orgasm rocked through me.

“Y/N, where the fuck are-.”

Noah quickly ended the call before tossing my phone over to the other couch.

“He doesn’t get to hear you fall apart. It’s only for me,” Noah said.

“‘m so close, Noah.”

His name falling from my lips was exactly what I needed to finally let go, my orgasm making me yell out in pleasure riding it out against his hand.

As I came down and vision cleared, I saw Noah pull his fingers from me; the emptiness making me frown. However, when he brought his finger to his lips, tongue licking my arousal from it, I thought I would cum again just at the sight.

“Fuck, angel, you taste so good. I can’t wait to taste you for the rest of the night while I’m on stage.”

I sighed in content. “Thank you.”

“Y/N,” he tipped my chin up. “You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to help you forget that asshole for a moment.”

“Hmm, can I keep you around for the rest of the night?” I asked, joking slightly.

Noah’s face turned serious but before I could worry if I crossed the line, he shrugged. “I’ll do it if only you agree.”

Still on his lap and jeans undone, I shifted on his hard cock.

“What, spend one night with me?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he looked at the clock on the wall behind me. “It’s just after eight. Our set starts at nine and will end at 10:30. After that, we can continue where we left this. Then by 7 in the morning, we can part ways. Just one night to forget our problems.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, mewling over his words, while his hands slid underneath my shirt and grazed over the skin of my back.

“Why would you do that for me?” I wondered.

Noah spoke just above a whisper. “You’re not the only one that needs to forget someone.”

I then remembered that Jolly had mentioned earlier that Noah had found out today that he was cheated on in a previous relationship.

“So,” I spoke slowly. “One night of sex then by the morning we say goodbye?”

Something flashed over Noah’s brown eyes but it was gone before I could decipher what it was.

“No questions, no regrets, and no second thoughts. What do you say?”

Before I could give him my answer, the door to the room opened, and I quickly scrambled off of his lap to fix myself.

[acewoo]

＊ Bad Decisions

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Reader

Summary: Both you and Geto are in the student council and have been paired together to work on an important event plan. Although things started off rocky you somehow find yourself quite literally underneath him.

Content: NSFW, fluff, AFAB, slight enemies to lovers, teasing, praising, degrading, dom Geto, unprotected sex, fingering, sexual tension, slight mentions of depression and abandonment, flirting, smut.

Word count: 7.1k

a/n: this took wayyyyyy longer than I thought it would take lol. Anyways I tried shortening this a bit so if some pieces seemed rush I apologize :v

Suguru Geto is a student council member, a star student, an amazing athlete, and your worst nightmare. Similar to Geto you were on the student council which consisted of 12 members. The student council was looked up to by the rest of the school, and heavily respected. There wasn't anyone who was a considerably bad person to be a part of it- except for Suguru Geto.

“Hey Y/N how are you doing?” your eyes dart up to see Geto’s soft pure smile. How nice of him to check up on you. He was polite and anyone else in the room wouldn't see the act as sinister. There had been a few times people had mistaken you for being close friends because of how friendly you were with each other. But, they don’t see him like you do. You respond to his gesture by giving an annoyed pout and then smiling. “I’m well Geto, just a bit annoyed.” he raises an eyebrow keeping his pleasant demeanor. “Oh? And why might that be?” you could hear the mockery in his voice. Nevertheless, you stood your ground. “Just some social issues with someone, you know how it is.” He nodded, giving a small chuckle. “Yes, I do… Well, I hope you can sort things out then Y/N since you're already going through so much.” you just nod without giving any verbal reply. He started to head out of the classroom but, before fully leaving he looked back at you. “And see you later.”

What an insufferable bastard. You pack up your belongings not wanting to even acknowledge the last comment he made. The student council meeting was later today, which you weren't exactly thrilled to attend because of a certain someone. Your dislike for him has always been this way though. Since freshman year everything about him pissed you off. Was he smart, sure but a total asshole. He’d come off so polite and kind. You could see right through it though. His politeness. Just a way to mask his mockery and selfish intent. It was obvious he thought less of most people, it was obvious he’d be kind only to further progress himself. You swore to that, but couldn’t tell anyone how you saw through because, well how could others believe you? So, you kept silent harboring your disliking to him.

Similar to yourself, Geto saw right through you. He knew you hated him. He saw the way it looked like you were holding back punching him every time he spoke. He saw the way you would so sweetly decline any event that he’d be an important piece too. Most importantly he saw the way you saw him, and it amused him. Geto indeed finds many of his peers to be lesser or monkey-like, but not you. You were interesting. Sure you might not have been the first one to see through him but, you were the first to play the same game as him, with him. Even if it wasn’t fully by choice. The fact you both were in the student council this year too was like a blessing from god himself. Giving him the perfect opportunity to mess with you as much as he wanted. And if you or anyone else questioned it. Well, he was just trying to get closer with a fellow student council member!

The meeting was nothing special, mostly. It was more or less the casual rundown and discussions. Until it wasn’t. See near the end of the meeting, the club advisor- your principal. Had asked that Geto and you stay after everyone left because she needed to discuss something with the two of you. Your immediate thought is, why him?

“Thank you, guys, for staying, I have something I’d like to have your help with.” She paused as she leaned forward in her chair. Suguru had the same demeanor as usual. You did too, well mostly, you were slightly anxious but it was manageable your knee was bobbing up and down making small tapping noises anytime your heel touched the floor. “See, our school will be hosting this event on the 31st and we need help with planning it… it’ll have many scouts here and important people attending. With this I’ve selected the two of you to plan and coordinate the event.” the smile that was painted on your face drops.

“With all due respect Ma’am I’m thankful for this opportunity but… Wouldn’t it be more beneficial if all twelve members of the student council helped with this event rather than two?” You said trying to stay polite. She nodded before responding. “Sadly not, considering the time we have it simply would be too hard to try to plan an event with that many people involved. Alongside that based on previous events hosted by the student council, it tends to be you or Mr. Geto who takes the lead on these projects, it’d be best.” You weren’t sure how to exactly argue against that. Before you could get another point in anyways Geto speaks up. “I think it’s a lovely opportunity, ma’am, Y/N and I would be honored to plan this event together.” both heads turned to you and you hesitantly nodded. “Agreed… We’ll start working right away Ma’am.” They both smile and the two of you are dismissed.

Once you guys got decently far from the meeting room you pulled Geto to the side and snapped. “Are you serious?! ‘Y/N and I would be honored’ Why the hell would I ever want to work with you!” Geto was slightly shocked by your outburst but, he chuckled, he fucking chuckled. He then shrugged and replied. “I’m sorry Y/N I don’t understand what you're trying to say. Did I do something wrong?” he didn’t even try to hide the enjoyment in his voice. He loved seeing you get so upset. It was a rare sight, like finding diamonds in the dirt. Of course, he had to appreciate this moment the most he could. Your jaw was tightened as you spat out. “Look, I don’t know what bullshit you're planning to do for this or with me but, I want none of it. If I’m working with you I am not going to deal with your-” he sighed and waved off your concerns. “Don’t worry yourself with that Princess, I'm not planning anything.” You were about to comment on his sudden use of a pet name but he beat you to it, handing you his phone. “We’re going to need to stay in touch.” You give him your number and quickly leave, not wanting to be in his presence any longer.

That evening you were in your room laying in bed petting your cat and doing basically nothing. Your parents were out on business and wouldn't be here for two weeks. so, the whole house was yours. As you were lying in bed you received a text from an unknown number.

+810203271224

Wyd?

You paused and remembered you had given Geto your number.

You

Doesn't concern you

What do you want Geto

+810203271224

Was js checking up

But by that answer, I suppose ur not busy

You don’t respond by figuring out what to type. As you started to type out a come back he sent another message.

+810203271224

Can I come over

To work on the event planning

You

I mean we don’t need to do it today

+810203271224

But ur not busy

And I'm not busy

Working now would be for both our benefit

And really you couldn't disagree with him. So you agree. Now it was just a wait-and-see game for when he would arrive. With that time you tried to tidy up a bit so your room wasn’t a complete mess.

Knock Knock Knock. You open the door not looking through it since you knew it was Geto. He shut the door behind him and slipped off his shoes. “Your place is nice” His voice was, well how would you describe it? He was Geto but something sounded softer? Just, something was different. You sit down on the couch and look over in his direction. His hair was down, and it was long. In full honesty he’d never have his hair down in school; always having it in some kind of bun. His hair down framed his face perfectly. You must have been staring because Geto spoke again. “You're acting like you’ve never seen me before Y/N” “I just never saw you with your hair down that’s all” you spoke embarrassed as he sat on the other side of the couch. “It’s nice,” you mumble, not sure if you're speaking to him or yourself. He turned to you “That gets a compliment from you? I need to start wearing my hair down more than.” you rolled your eyes before opening your laptop. “Yeah yeah, forget it, we need to start working on this, the sooner we finish the better.”

Working with Geto was weirdly pleasant. He gave good input, he was easy-going, and overall a productive person. Right now he was typing away on the laptop trying to budget. You wait by watching him type away. His hands were nice- not that it mattered. Why were you even paying attention to that, hell why were you not completely hating his presence right now? You get up to get some water. The cold water traveling down your throat helped you regain some sense of logic. Suguru Geto is not a nice guy. Remember that. He comes off nice, and just because you're not in school, it doesn’t change anything. Remember he’s just doing this to get something from you. Geto Suguru is not your friend.

It’s 11 pm now and Geto finally leaves. He’s slipping his shoes on as he’s talking to you. “Later, Y/N have a good night.” and just like that he was gone. That was good. Now you can finally go to sleep, after all you have school tomorrow so, it’s better not to waste the night.

“I just don’t get it,” Gojo groaned over the phone. Suguru and Satoru told each other everything, so of course, after Geto came back from his little session with you he told Gojo all about it. Gojo didn’t get Geto’s fascination with you “Get what?” “Your obsession with her I mean she had a nice ass but-” Suguru cut him off before he could finish. “She’s fun to mess with. Most people don’t know how to see me but, in her case, she saw right through me. On top of that, she hasn’t done anything about it other than make a few comments. I suppose I just want to see how far I could push her.” In response, Satoru rolls his eyes. “I get it you have a crush on a nerd girl good for you man.” Geto scoffs “Not a crush, and you know it Satoru.” Satoru doesn’t respond and they quickly change the topic. Both of them blabbering on till early morning.

the next day

You were in class utterly bored, who wouldn’t be? Your teacher was on some lecture about ecosystems' energy flow or something of that sort. Thankfully, this was your last class so you could finally relax a bit. You were looking forward to it. Keyword, were. Until a notification showed up on your phone.

Geto 🖕

What class u in?

You were utterly bored, so you gave in.

You

AP bio y

Geto 🖕

Wanna skip:v

You

Yeah no

Geto 🖕

It’s the last period ur gonna be fine

Besides ur such a goody two shoes no teacher will care if ur gone for a period

You contemplated. And knew you were going to regret your decision.

You

Wya?

Geto 🖕

Meet me outside

And so you did. It wasn’t hard to leave even with your stuff. Teachers don’t ask questions, especially for students like you. “You actually did it. I'm shocked, I didn't think you had it in you.” Geto was leaning up against the side of the building. Two others next to him, which you recognized instantly. To his left, a man just as tall as himself stood with white fluffy hair and circular sunglasses. Satoru Gojo, you didn’t have anything against him but he had a certain reputation… Popular varsity basketball player, of course, but that wasn’t the only thing he played, to say the least. A bit farther strayed from the group was Shoko, the most tolerable out of the three. She was one of the few openly queer people at your school and was much more laid back than most. You had talked to her a few times since she was also on the council but, outside that you didn’t talk much. “Suguru, you didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone else,” Gojo spoke, making you completely forget about the first comment made by Geto. Shoko then interjected herself “Hey I don’t mind having another girl along.” Gojo scoffed but didn't speak further.

“So like what now Geto,” you say less than amused, already regretting your choice. “We’re just going to walk around the city, maybe do some shopping.” they were already walking off, with you and Shoko in the back. Shopping didn’t sound bad but, you didn’t have any money on you. You flushed in embarrassment and told the group. “Oh, I’ll sit this one out. I don't have any money on me so…” Gojo was about to say something but Geto spoke first. “Don’t bother I’ll pay for you Y/N”

Now most people, such as Gojo, would be confused about why Geto offered to pay, especially since you weren’t exactly close to one another. But, to Geto, it was a perfect idea. Geto knew you would protest and spout on with nonsense about how you’d never let a guy like him pay for you. He also knew you would eventually give in. That’s just how you were. As you eventually did give in, Gojo whispered to Geto. “Not a crush my ass- why else are you inviting her out with us” Geto cut Gojo off waving off his concern. “Satoru I’ve told you before why, it’s just like that, nothing more,” Gojo spoke under his breath before the group started conversing with one another. You didn’t speak much. Only speaking when spoken to. By now you guys had decided to head to the mall and it wasn’t exactly the worst scenario to be in. Were you with the man you couldn’t stand, yes, but was he also paying for whatever you wanted, and have not terrible

friends (well Shoko, maybe not Gojo) to hang out with? Also yes.

“So, Y/N you and Suguru” You and Shoko had decided to get some food while the two boys went to do something. And now Shoko was curious about you more specifically your relationship with Suguru so, of course, it was her first idea for a conversation starter. “It’s nothing, he’s just an asshole.” Shoko hums “So, why accept his invitation in the first place?” you hum leaning back in your seat. “Well, yes I don’t like him. I do have to deal with him because of his involvement in the student council. Sure I’d like to avoid him as much as possible but, hell I’m bored and he didn’t have any clear ill intent other than irritating the shit out of me.” Shoko laughs and you take a bite out of your food. “Geez you sure are like him Y/N” You point your food at her and yell at her in a lighthearted manner. “Don’t you ever compare me to that man. I don't even know where you’d get that idea from Shoko.” Your response just made Shoko laugh more. “Hey, don’t take offense to it, I don’t mean it in a bad way, it's just the way the two of you excuse things.” Shoko paused “Look just forget I said anything” and you do. You knew Shoko meant no harm and you didn’t take offense to it. (well maybe some.) It wasn’t long before Gojo and Geto came back.

“Heyyy looks like you’re having fun Shoko, talk about anything interesting?” Geto laughs putting his hand on Satoru’s shoulder. “Now Satoru, it’s not very polite to ask a lady about her private affairs.” Gojo scoffs, making some comment to Geto you can’t make out. It doesn’t matter anyway you and Shoko were done eating so, it was perfect timing. Plus you didn’t want to talk with her any longer anyway (Well more that you don't want to talk about Geto any longer.) It had been a while since you’d been to this mall so a flood of memories had come back to you. It was nice. Geto interrupted your train of thought though when he tapped you on your shoulder. “Any stores you want to go to?” you thought about it. Your first thought was to go get anything you needed but, at the moment you were well off. So, you figure a clothing store wouldn’t hurt. “M’ not sure… I mean a clothing store would be nice. Nothing fancy I mean just-” Geto nods and guides you guys through the mall. Gojo was complaining to Shoko since he’s been demoted (You now walk where Gojo was previously.) Shoko got him to shut up by telling him some random gossip.

Visvim Focused was the store Geto took you to. Not by any means low-end. Did you know Geto was well off? Yeah a bit, he didn’t clearly show it off like Gojo did, wearing designer brands any day of the week. But, you’d notice the small things. Like the watch, he was wearing it back at your place. But, that’s beside the point. You began browsing through the lines of clothes trying to figure out what you’d want to try on. Having difficulty deciding Shoko chimes in. “You lost?” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just don’t think any of this will look good on me yah know.” Shoko hummed as she looked through with you, she gave you a few picks you were hesitant about but tried out of politeness. While you started to go through them together Gojo and Geto were doing their own thing. (Gojo forced Geto to watch him try on 100 different outfits.) While you were trying on a certain dress and as you were about to step out the two boys had finished up and made their way over to Shoko. You stepped out unaware they had come over and the first thing you see well hear is Gojo doing a dog whistle. Your face flushes and you mumble to Shoko. “I don’t know Sho I don’t wear stuff like this yah know…” Shoko wraps her arm around you “Awe come on Y/N you look great wouldn’t you agree Suguru.” Your eyes darted to Geto, slightly nervous mainly because you were sure that he’d make some comment to try to upset you. What he did though rather surprised you. “I think you should get it, it looks nice on you.” He had a soft smile. It felt weird. You went back into the dressing room and took a breather. “It looks nice on you.” he was always nice to you but this was different. It didn’t have anything laced in it. That’s what was probably pissing you off the most. This whole trip he’s just been nice.

You’ve been staring at the dress for an hour now with only one question in mind. Why? He spent over 137.000 yen on you and didn’t even hint at an alternative motive. It pissed you off. Like a lot. Suguru Geto the person you had labeled to be the worst fucking asshole on the planet, was being nice, to you. The person who would constantly take any chance he got to get under your skin, was just treating you like a friend. You wanted to scream, so you did. In your pillow. As you were busy doing that a text hand came through your phone.

Geto 🖕

Not today but

When would you want to meet to work on the planning again

?

He waited for a response tapping his finger against the armrest of the couch he sat on. “What’s got you all antsy Suguru?” Shoko asked as she took a drag from her cigar. “It’s nothing Shoko.” Shoko laughed “That’s what's got you like this, Nothing? Here I thought you were a good liar.” Leaning back she continued. “Ooo let me guess it Y/N, come on it’s gotta be. What’s up with you guys anyways?” Geto laughed and similar to you waved off her interest, the only difference was Geto found her asking much more amusing than you had. “It’s nothing that you're thinking about, it’s just fun to mess with her. She’s such an interesting girl I can’t help but poke fun. You know how I am.” Shoko and Geto stayed talking to one another for a while. In that time you finally realize you had gotten a text. After your small childish fit (thirty minutes) you rolled over to open your phone. And low and behold the first notification on your screen was none other than those texts.

You

We can do Wednesday

Tmr I'm busy working on finals

Geto 🖕

Cool

See u then

He had responded almost instantly but then had gone silent. Not feeling like thinking about him any longer, you decided to head to bed and worry about dealing with him on Wednesday. You had gotten the dress Geto got you off your bed and put it in the very back of the closet. To not be seen by anyone. You didn’t want to see it, seeing it made you more confused than you were.

The next day went by fairly fast with nothing eventful happening at school. And when you got home you made yourself some instant ramen and began to study. It wasn’t anything special just like the rest of the day, it was calm. After studying you lay in bed scrolling through your phone. A notification had rung up from Shoko whom you gave your number to the other day.

Shoko

Hey hey

You

Ello Sho

Anything u need?

Shoko

Nothing of that sort

Js wanted to see how you are 😉

You

I’m good

Hbu?

Shoko

I’m good

You guys went back and forth for around an hour before you stopped texting back because you needed to sleep. Shoko was easy to talk to, and enjoyable to talk to (unlike Geto.) And this routine had gone on for the next week. You and Shoko had grown close. As for Geto, you guys met up that one time but, since then you both have been busy. Well by busy you magically kept having things popping up for you (excuses) so you couldn’t see Geto. And for that week Geto didn’t push too much. For that week… Once the two-week mark hit he hadn’t exactly been as easygoing as the previous week.

On this particular day, Geto had pulled you aside after a student council meeting. “Look Y/N, I was fine with this little cat-and-mouse game for a bit. But, it's over, and stop with the excuses.” While Geto found it amusing that you'd tried to ignore him for a bit, he also couldn’t pinpoint why you were doing this. He’s well aware you didn’t like him but, the first few meetings the two of you had went pretty smoothly which is why he was confused about what had changed. (Not that he was worried or anything but, the game would get boring if it kept going this way.) You stood there for a minute not saying anything. You then mumble, “We can meet tonight.” Geto was sure he was seeing you wrong because you looked like you had blush on your face? No, it was probably you getting upset at him, that's all.

After he left you went straight home and slammed your door, you were pissed. Not at him, well at him, it was complicated. See you were upset because you had come to a realization that was weirdly painful to admit, Geto was just as human as you. And yeah you knew that but you didn’t know that. And the craziest part of this, you were spiraling over one comment he made. One scene. It pissed you off, he pissed you off.

Around a week ago

“Yes, I think it’d be better if we did this setup for the music rather than that…” Working with Geto was going as smoothly as the last few times. It was nice, it was nice he wasn’t giving you trouble. At this rate, you guys would only need to meet maybe one more time before you were finished planning. Which was good, you were almost done dealing with the devil. You guys continued to work. Geto asked a question that wasn’t about event planning. “Hey Y/N you know every time we’ve worked at your place, and every time your parents aren’t here, why is that?” you answered, you're not sure why you did but you did. “Oh, they just travel for work a lot. It’s been like that since I was young.” Unintentionally the last part of your statement came off conflicted. And you were about to make some comment to not open up that vulnerability but, Geto spoke before you. “That must be hard.” your head darted to his face trying to analyze for the deeper, malice reason behind his words. But, you couldn’t find anything of that sort. Geto was still typing away but, you swear you could see some kind of fragility in his eyes, something you’d never see in someone who isn’t another person. And that’s what made you choke up, Geto wasn’t the devil, he might not be the most purest of people, but fuck at the end of the day he was human, just like you.

And that’s how you're in the predicament you're in now, you're utterly conflicted. It was easy to blow off Geto and dislike him when he didn’t display his humanity. Now though you couldn’t do that all week you’ve been hung up on that fact. In no way did it mean you like Geto, you still dislike him. Just your rude thoughts about him feel slightly cruel now.

Geto 🖕

My place tn?

You

Sure just give me address

The pit in your stomach grew, god why did you care so much, it was one comment. It was funny because Geto doesn’t remember that situation at all. Or at least in the way you viewed it. He was still trying to piece together why you were acting the way you were acting. He didn’t remember making you uncomfortable in fact, he was going out of his way not to because he wanted to see what would happen. But, this reaction was not at all what he was expecting. Thinking about it just left him more confused so he focused on something else for the time being before you came over.

Ding Dong Geto opened the door with the soft smile that usually plastered his face. “Ah Y/N glad you came, wasn’t sure if you were” he joked as you walked inside. His place was nice, surprisingly clean. After a few minutes of viewing the place Geto offered some drinks for the both of you and the two of you got started. You were both a lot more quiet than usual. And you couldn’t help but keep looking over at Geto. You hadn’t even realized you were scotting closer to him until you felt your body slightly touching his. As soon as you realized you had jumped back he laughed. “Get lost in the moment princess?” your face turned red and you replied back. “Oh hush it’s warmer on your side so, I was probably moving there because of that.” he chuckled again before asking in a more playful manner. “Is that so? Are you saying you're cold?” you nod hesitantly not sure where he was going with this. Knowing that tone though definitely nothing good. He got up and went off to another room, once he came back he had a blanket in hand. He sat next to you placing the blanket over the two of you.

You tried to nudge back, but there wasn’t much room for you to go and you groaned. “Geto do you have to be so close there’s a whole couch-” “The blanket wouldn’t reach across the couch” you wanted to protest but, gave up shutting your mouth. You guys continued to work and were able to finish up the planning completely. You stretch out in joy now that you finished you could head home. “Woooo finally done!” you then yawned, as you had realized the time. “Wow we went on for a while, didn't we, already 1 am.” Geto said as he got off the couch grabbing a beer and offered you one. “Oh, I’m not a fan- thanks though” he nods and you clean up ready to go back to your place. The only problem is all the train stations were closed, and your house wasn’t exactly walking distance. You bite your lip trying to figure out what to do. You're knocked out of your thought process though, when there was a tap on your shoulder. “If you need, you can stay here since it's already late.” Fuck, why’d he have to offer that. You in no way wanted to stay with Geto, but at the same time walking home this late at night didn’t seem pleasant either. You groan, slipping your shoes off. “You know what I’ll take that beer-” and he smiles, handing you the other bottle.

So, maybe you guys got carried away (you did). After Geto offered you one you had another… And another… After that he stopped you but, it didn’t mean you didn’t feel the effects of the alcohol. You just wanted to have one to be able to loosen up a bit, but then you figured fuck it you didn’t want to remember any of this. “Thought you didn’t like beer?” he joked, his hair was pretty, it always was when it was let down. You weren’t even aware you had begun to softly stroke it till he faked coughed. “There's a spare room across from mine… You can sleep there here I’ll show you.” Your face flushed as he helped you up. His place wasn’t huge, but it was nice. When you entered the room he was about to speak but you spoke before. “What will happen after this?” he turned around giving you a confused look. You bit your tongue, “After the event is finished what will happen. Are things just… Going back to how they were me hating you and you periodically teasing me..?” Your throat was dry, you weren’t sure why you were saying this, frankly you didn’t care. Geto was confused because he didn’t expect someone like you to get this emotional out of the blue, of course being under the influence lets people speak their mind much more freely. “Is that what you want to happen?” you bit your lip sitting on the bed. Your eyes darted down to the floor shifting focus constantly. “I don’t know what I want… But, I don’t hate you, and I don’t want to act like I do. Once this ends after tonight… I don’t want to act like I hate another person…” You let out a long sigh before hesitating. “I don’t want to lose you Suguru” For the first time you had said his name, not his last name not his full name, his actual first name. In such a gloomy way, it was like his name was something special to you; maybe it was. Even though you were in no way the first person to use his name, or the first girl to stay at his place, or anything of that sort. You were the first time he felt something, he didn’t think he could. Your voice was soft and raw, the complete opposite of how you came off to you. Something about seeing you in such a weirdly vulnerable state made Suguru Geto go silent. There was no teasing comment, no malice there wasn't any of that. He shook it off ‘you’re drunk, you don’t know what you're saying’ he thought.

“Goodnight Y/N” the door shuts.

You’re awoke to soft rays of sun resting onto your face. Your eyes feel heavy as you turn off the bed. Before you fully get up, memories of last night flood your mind. You were so stupid. You didn’t even want to get out of bed, you laid back down. Maybe the mattress would let you fully sink in, be consumed by it and never have to see the light of day again. You wanted that. Sadly you couldn’t sink into the sheets and never come back, life doesn’t work like that. You get up with an army of thoughts weighing you down as you grab the door handle to leave the room. You take a deep breath swallowing the lump that had stilled in your throat and opened the door. You marched out to the living room and the smell of bacon? Your eyes darted in the kitchen and Suguru had stood there, cooking what was in fact bacon, along with eggs. “Sleeping beauty finally awakes.” he says in a playful tone, it was friendly though. You don’t move towards him but your mouth begins to slip open. “I’m sorry about last night… I- my mind gets all fucked when I drink.” you speak guilty dying on what Geto would say luckily you wouldn’t have to wait long. “It’s alright you didn’t do anything wrong.” you bite your lip “Yeah But-” he turns around placing down the spatula he was using. Walking over to you he looks down at you, his hand gently cupping your face. “Y/N it’s okay I won’t judge you or see you any different for something you said drunk.” Some alcohol must've been left in your system because you tug his head down. You fucking kiss him.

His head dipped down pushing further connecting your mouths more than before. He didn’t pull away. It didn’t take long for his tongue to slip inside you, it was welcomed joyfully. Pulling back you regain your breath Suguru didn’t wait long though before pushing you against the wall. He softly let out a whimper and he kissed you again. Your lips were vibrating against one another, it felt warm, and he felt safe. While he was intense and rough there was also a gentleness to his touch; it was intimate in a way that wasn’t just lust. His knee slipped between your thighs applying an ever-so-slight amount of pressure. You craved more. Still interlinked as you try pushing more pressure onto yourself, Suguru’s leg quickly drops through ashe chuckles. “Oh come on Y/N why try to rush this?” his voice was like velvet the way he whispered in your ear sent butterflies not only to your stomach…

You whimper whining to him “Come on Sugu’ please-” Geto’s face was buried in your neck humming. “Using nicknames now princess? You must really want this then.” his hair was down which was causing strands of hair to tickle your chin. His hands traveled down your waist as he continued to speak. “Tell me… how wet are you for me?” his hand was already dipping into your pants. His middle finger hooks your underwear. He doesn't move any further though and looks at you. “Before I go any further, do you want to do this Princess? I'm not sure if I'll be able to hold myself back if you say yes though…” you whine biting on your bottom lip, fuck you were hot. “Please Suguru-” and that was all the confirmation he needed.

His fingers slip inside your underwear and start toying with your clit ever, his middle finger rubbed ever so slightly against your entrance driving you crazy. Your jaw was shaking as you tried so hard not to make a loud noise. Suguru obviously took notice, he pressed his thumb into your cunt causing you to moan out of shock. “I won't allow you to purposely stay quiet Y/N.” his thumb moved out and was replaced by his middle finger and ring finger stuffing themselves deep into your dripping sex. Once they rested deep in you he started to make a scissoring motion stretching out your walls.

He barely even started and you were a mess, heavy breathing with flushed cheeks, God you were beautiful like this. He wondered how much more pretty you get when you are ruined. A third finger entered inside you and you chocked up a moan. “Sugu- too much-“ he laughed softly. “Too much? We’ve haven’t even started yet… and if you can’t take this how are you going to handle my dick inside you?” He didn’t sound sympathetic in the slightest, he was enjoying your suffering. If it was any other situation you would’ve cursed him out but, for right now you kept your mouth shut.

His digits started thrusting in and out of you, his pace started off slow but quickly grew in pace. At the same time his free hand was slipping down your pants while firmly holding a grip on you. By now your own hands were grasping onto his shoulders, your nails crinkling his shirt. “Loosen up, you're so tight it feels like you’re going to snap my fingers.” Suguru spoke as he continued to thrust inside you. You moaned softly panting as Geto felt his pants painfully tighten. He couldn’t wait much longer but seeing you like this made him desperate to savor the moment. Usually when he fucks people he tries to get down decently fast, taking too long to get to him fucking someone’s brains out usually leads to him being ever so greatly uninterested. You though, he wanted to see how much he could push you, he wanted to break you and see how much of a mess your perfect little self could become.

It didn’t take long to make you cum over his fingers, your walls clenching and your breath shaky. “F-fuck” you moan out gripping harder on Geto’s shoulders. Your head pressed on his chest and his fingers sliding out of you. He takes fingers and presses them against your mouth. “Suck” it wasn’t a request, it was an order. And so you obliged opening your mouth and sucking his digits clean of your very own fluid. When he removes his fingers from your mouth he replaces them with his mouth and tongue. You feel him groan against you and you feel his erection grind on your unclothed pussy.

He couldn’t wait much longer, he needed to feel inside you god he had fantasied moments like this. Yet when it was so close to becoming reality he felt absolutely insane. He unbuckled his belt and you help him, pull down his pants and through his boxers your could really get an idea of his size. He was big. When it sprung free that idea was really put to light and god, it was mesmerizing. He laugh before guiding you to be perched against the counter. His fingers trace down your spine as he lifts up your shirt. Suguru admires the beauty of your bare body whispering “God you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for Princess” you didn’t have time to pick away on what he meant by that, right now you were focused on feeling him inside you. Which didn’t take long as you could feel him already pressing his tip being covered in your wet content. “G-God…” He was trying so hard to control himself and not shove his whole length in one go.

Slowly his cock entered your clit until he bottomed out. When he did you both let out a soft groan. His pace started of slow and shallow, he was trying to not completely get lost in you’d. But feeling how tight you were around him, god he couldn’t help but go faster. Maybe a bit too fast as you were letting out hiccuped moans. “Sugu- p-please slow down” god you sounded fucking ruined, he loved it. He thrusted into you one more time before he started to slow down, he was getting close. “Fuck bout’ to cum p-princess” he was about to pull out but, you stop him. “Don’t… please- need it inside.” And who was he to deny you…

“God I love you Y/N… so fucking perfect” and you couldn’t help but whimper back to him “I love you too.”

[flippinpancakes64]

Hi! So, this is my first ask ever (kinda nervous ngl), but could you please write for the cullens with a succubus reader who is their mate? Maybe they're more like a Jennifer's body succubus? Thank you! (I'm obsessed with your writing btw)

The Cullens with a Succubus! Mate

Omg I remember the first time I did an ask I was like 12 and I was so worried I almost threw up. And then I got diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder so

Anyway it’s been like four or five years since I’ve seen Jennifer’s body but I think I remember enough to do what you wanted.

For anyone who needs a rundown, a succubus is a female demon who visits men while they sleep to engage in sexual activity. Either during or after this, they kill the men by taking their energy or by eating them. The male form is an incubus, but mostly the same premise.

And thank you so much for the kind words! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

Uhm he’s a little scared

He knows that you won’t hurt him

You have no reason to there’s nothing to gain from killing a vampire, it’s not like you can eat him and he doesn’t have any energy to offput

Doesn’t mean he isn’t a little freaked out

But after he gets over the initial terror he is intrigued

He’s never met a demon before

He’s a scholarly fellow as well, he wants to know everything about you

He is gonna have to ask that you find another way of feeding

He sees your hunting ritual as cheating so yall will need to figure that out

Alice:

Yes sign her up

She loves you

She is so entranced

She thinks you are so beautiful, and she thinks your feeding us is symbolic

And of course she’s not scared of you

She’s not gonna go with you when you feed

But she’s also not gonna ask you to change

She knows that that’s what you need to do, and at the end of the day you come back to her and those guys end up dead so

Jasper:

He’s met a succubus before

He used to think Maria was a succubus tbh

He is a little uneasy

But he gets over himself

Again he thinks it’s so cool that you’re so different

Obv he won’t join you for your hunting

That’s just dangerous for him since he’s trying to not drink human blood

And he doesn’t try to change you at all

Yk that twitter post that’s like “my bitch can do what she wants cause im scared of her”

That’s him

Rosalie:

Yes

100 times yes

She is a man hater (except for Emmett and Carlisle and sometimes Jasper and maybe Edward)

She’s a big fan of your work

And yes she wants to join you

She’s abstained long enough to not really feel the urge to drink from the men you kill

And she doesn’t care about the sexual aspect

She’s the one you come home to so ❤️

She might even have a couple of suggestions for you

“That dude there bumped into me on the street and didn’t apologize let’s go for him next

Emmett:

Yes one million times

We already know he has a thing for powerful women

This is right up his alley

And he isn’t concerned about you killing men, he’s already dead

And if you would have killed him while he was alive he would have died a very happy man

He might go with you sometimes just to laugh at the guy

And he doesn’t care about the sexual aspect either

Again, more of the “you come home with me so it doesn’t matter”

Esme:

She’s very curious

She’s never met a demon, nor did she ever think she would

She isn’t judgmental at first when you tell her about how you eat men

But then she learns about what you do to them beforehand

And yeah she views it as cheating

She’ll ask if you have to do that first, or if you can just eat them

If you can’t change then she will not date you sorry

But she will be your friend

Carlisle:

He has definitely met a succubus before

So he knows what he’s getting into

He views it as more of a necessity

Like he knows how you won’t/can’t change and he wouldn’t ask that of you

He’s very accepting

He won’t go with you tho

What you do in your free time is up to you

Leave him out of the ritual killing please

Vampire! Bella:

She’s a little weirded out

I mean she just learned about vampires and werewolves not too long ago and now there’s other stuff?

She’s over learning

But she thinks it’s super cool

She thinks it’s a bit weird that you have to have sex with them first

So you’re gonna have to explain that it’s not something you can control, it just literally doesn’t work if you don’t

So she understands

I think she’d go with you once or twice just to see what it’s about

But it won’t be a habit of hers

Overall she thinks you’re pretty cool

[morganbritton132]

oh boi I love your fun silly Eddie Munson Tik Toks but I have to say I am obsessed with your headcanon of Steve getting disowned and going to live with Eddie and Wayne. Do you have any thoughts on how Steve and Wayne would get along? I feel like they would have gotten grumpy over the same things (i.e Eddie's bullshit lol) and really would have bonded over it.

Anyways, getting to read the tik tok saga has been one of the highlights of my year, thanks so much for all of your posts! Hope you have a wonderful 2023!

Boy do I have thoughts but they are disjointed.

Eddie showed up at the trailer one day with a Hawkins High varsity basketball duffel bag thrown over his shoulder and the Harrington boy in tow and said, “Steve’s staying with us now.”

Wayne – no questions asked, no questions needed – said, “Yep.” And that was that.

Steve had been over a lot prior to being kicked out but moving in brought about a tense amount of awkwardness until Eddie declared at dinner one night that Steve was his boyfriend. Wayne, who has had eyes this entire time and kind of figured that, just nods along and says, “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.” The awkwardness faded after that.

Steve and Wayne are opposite ends of the same person. They have a lot in common. They just have to get through the generation gap and class differences, and the easiest way to do that is through their love of Eddie. They both love Eddie so much and see the best in him, and they both are fiercely protective of him. They are a united front when Eddie is doing something stupid. He kind of hates it, kinda loves it.

Early on, Steve tries to pay rent, but Wayne just tells him to save the money and work on getting himself a new car since his parents kept the beemer. Eddie gives Wayne a look like he just said the worst possible thing, but Steve is just like, “Nah, it’s alright. I want to contribute.”

Wayne gives back most of the rent money when Steve starts college.

Steve is an early riser so he’s often awake when Wayne gets off work with breakfast already made. Eddie’s a chronic insomniac so sometimes he’s awake. When he’s not, Wayne and Steve typically eat in silence or sometimes Wayne will ask about a game that was on the night before.

Wayne gets the rundown of Steve’s head trauma through experience and then copes. He witnesses Steve have a seizure, realizes that’s why he’s been in no hurry to replace his car, and starts driving the kid to work in the morning. He witnesses a migraine, buys blackout curtains. Learns that Steve will someone leave the house in a foggy state, buys bells for the door to alert someone. Eddie was already talking about getting a service animal at this time and Wayne was mentally trying to work their finances in order to afford it when Steve says no.

Corroded Coffins’ popularity starts to take off while Eddie and Steve are still living with Wayne. Eddie is away more often touring or recording music, so it’s just Wayne and Steve in the trailer. They know how to live with each other by this point, but the time together brings them closer. Wayne is a major player in getting Steve to go to college.

I love that headcanon that Wayne and Eddie are from the south. Sometimes they’ll use some explicitly southern phrases and Steve picks up some of those expressions while Eddie is away on tour. Eddie thinks it’s hilarious.

Not related to Wayne but when Steve’s mom tries to pay Eddie off, she shows up at his little table in the woods like she’s going to make a drug deal. He uses half the money to take Steve on a trip and gives the rest to Wayne because Eddie, at this point in his life, does not have a bank account.

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[kivino]

CLOSER || SLASHER!SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X M!READER

my masterlist

ao3 link to this fic

Word counter – ~2.9k

Tags/Warnings – very much dead dove do not eat, dealing with dark topics, stalking, unhealthy obsession, kidnapping.

Summary – You hear various dark rumors from your colleagues and you don’t believe them, until there is one particular ghost looking you right in the eye.

A/n – Fair warning, I am not trying to romanticize all those things. Requested by the anon from this post. Not proofread, so i'm very sorry if there are any mistakes.

At first, you didn’t believe all the rumors about ghosts, ghouls, and serial killers scouring every corner of the town in the dark, scratching the brick walls and howling in the tight alleyways. Your coworkers who usually talked about that kind of stuff appeared like gossiping teenagers exchanging something they heard or saw. Whispering on their breaks over lunch, or in those hours when business in the little coffee shop you worked in was slow. 

You thought their talks about some boogeyman hunting on the streets for new victims each night were silly at their best, and just distracting at their worst. You, coincidentally, were also usually the one working night shifts, taking over them after your female coworkers kept complaining about some creep waiting around until the end of the shift and scaring the crap out of them. 

So, how could you not help your colleagues out in a dire situation like this? Those shifts paid more anyway, and you needed all the money you could get. And, to be completely honest, you enjoyed the night. The lack of annoying customers, who’d scream at you for getting their order wrong, not smiling or some other stupid bullshit (whatever it takes to get that glossy paper with the words “20% off”, right?) died down by the night, so it was a breeze. Of course, you’d have to clean up and prep so much stuff for the morning shift, but then again, it was better money. So you could do with stacking some cups and taking out the trash and so on. After closing, you’d walk out a bit tired, but still enjoying the fresh night air, that would knock out any insistent worry straight out of your mind. 

And oh, what a fool you were for that. 

Ghost wanted to laugh, really. It was very amusing to him when you’d bravely head out into the dark, back to your shitty rundown apartment complex, listening to your music in your silly little headphones and not paying enough attention. Not a fucking thought inside this handsome head sometimes. Just perfect. Ghost knew he liked you for a reason. Which, of course, your appearance wasn’t solely why he felt drawn to you like you were a damn magnet. 

At first, he didn’t even notice you. Out and about, searching for any potential victims. Which became harder and harder each time he got bored and finished off the last one – their names fading from his memory as soon as the ringing from their strained, ear-splitting screams died down to a complete silence. They were borderline shrieks of wild, trapped animals that rang in his mind endlessly, day and night, echoes waking him from his restless dreams and lulling him back to sleep. Eyes snapped from figure to figure – searching, looking like a hound dog for something, someone that could satiate his hunger for blood. 

Followed a potentially interesting target to a small, cozy-looking establishment. Tried to look around more, still not completely set on the decision to commit to them. But then he laid his eyes on you and felt that familiar buzz under his skin, the pleasant vibrations that spurred him on like a prized stallion during a race. His blood felt scorching hot in his own body, anticipation for the desired thrill of the hunt already boiling in his veins.  That’s who he needed.

The huge man would follow you home with light, silent footsteps, uncharacteristic for his burly form. He would observe you from the dark corners of the forest, from between trees bunched together in thick, impenetrable layers. Ghost would come in during different times of the day, but wouldn’t ask for you, in fear of drawing too much attention – your coworkers looked like the types to run their mouths for fun, so he figured they would snitch on him to you. And that would just spoil all the fun, wouldn’t it? But then Ghost started feeling something he never thought he would. The more his eyes went over your form, over and over, like fingers picking at a bloody scab, or a tongue grazing gums where the tooth is missing, the more Ghost felt that ache poke needles through his skin, then change and transform into unfamiliar shapes and forms. Prickling on his insides, thorns gashing and bleeding his heart dry, his mind reeling at the mere sight of you in this stupid uniform, or just going about your business, and not knowing what kind of predator was following close behind in the shadows.

He craved more than your blood, your skin, and your smell on his knife, pooling between his fingers and onto the dirty floor of the basement. Etching scarlet lines into your sole being, slicing, cutting, and handling you like he would a piece of precious wood for his woodcarving projects. Ghost’s mind would go rampant with various images of you being with him. Not a victim, but a companion. A worthy one at that. The one Ghost deserves, with your presences intertwining until you two could not be separated from one another, grown together so deeply that you’d find parts of yourselves in each other wherever you’d look.

The only wish Ghost had was to be consumed by you wholly. And to consume you was a natural outcome of that. You’ll come around eventually. One way or another.

The images of his previous trophies resurfaced like thin, melting ice from fresh lake water. Each and every single one of them was an animal. In their life and their death. Scared but swift rabbits. Talkative crows that liked shiny things. Rabid hyenas that bared their teeth at him in a taunting grin. Gorgeous pheasants with their gentle coos. All of them so different, yet same in their dullness and lack of something Ghost was searching for in his prey.

You though, you were special. That’s why Ghost didn’t want to kill you, oh no. He wanted to keep you. All to himself. Lock you up like a wild bird in a golden, intricate cage and hear you sing lullabies and arias for him, and only him. Not for your stupid friends. Not for your idiot classmates. And not for your lazy ass coworkers. Only for him. 

So naturally if he wanted this songbird to be his, he had to get to work. Simon was a man of his words and actions, but Ghost preferred to act, rather than talk. First things first – he had to prepare a “cage”. One where you won’t escape from. One that will keep you safe from any harm. But not from him. He’d never harm you, in a million years. Ghost had to rearrange a room in the basement for that. And while it took some time and care, his feelings only grew stronger, when he would move and carry around so much stuff he had piling up in that dusty room. Then he had to know your schedule by heart, to know when and where he’ll be able to finally get his hands on the beloved songbird. It turned out to be pretty easy, Ghost got it down in a week and everything was working out perfectly. Finally, he had to catch you. Which, he was working on right now.

He waited until the perfect moment came to strike, like a hunter he was. One chance, that’s all it is going to take. And you’ll be his. His gut stirred with anticipation and excitement, that familiar buzz intensifying with each second, he waited to finally start his pursuit while hiding in the darkness. If it was anyone else but you the chase would’ve been lethal. For you, he had to contain his strength. Balling his fists together, beaten and bloody under the rough fabric of his gloves, he could easily snap a neck or break some fingers with the sheer power contained inside of his body, trained and adapted into the perfect shape for his…line of work and “hobbies”. For your sake, Ghost will have to use less force, for once in a long time. You’re only worthy while you’re alive.

The whole shift you felt like something was wrong. That sudden gut feeling, along with impending doom and anxiety that ate away at you was overtaking slowly but surely. Every second ticking away on the digital clock near the register only stretched that unusual, weird feeling like something (you weren’t sure what) was going to happen to you. You even felt a bit of cold sweat pop up right on your forehead, and the worst thing is, you couldn’t even point out what exactly threw you off your usual rhythm. So, all you had left to do was try to pretend like there wasn’t a whole hurricane of worry and panic bubbling inside of you.

You felt like you could snap any minute now from how tense you were. Intuition wasn’t your best suit, but you could not ignore a gut feeling so strong that you felt like vomiting up your lunch each time you were left in silence, alone with your thoughts, that spun around a variety of outcomes where you ended up dead on the side of the road because you didn’t listen to that gnawing dread curled inside your gut.

And you should’ve, really.

Maybe then you wouldn’t have been in the position that you’re in right now. Your chest and throat hurt, cold air burning with every shallow and quick inhale, as you ran, as fast as you could, blood pulsing in your ears with increasing pressure. You were pretty sure your heart was about to jump out of your chest. If it wasn’t for your headphones running out of battery and you having to walk back without any music you wouldn’t have heard the quiet, rapidly approaching footsteps. You couldn’t see your pursuer, too focused on the road, or lack thereof in front of you.

Why did you think dipping into the dark grove at the first opportunity to lose the person who was following you was a good idea? Your feet stumbled over the thick roots that webbed the fresh, wet ground, moonlight barely managed to pierce through the thick layer of leaves overhead and it seemed like any animal in your close vicinity disappeared, with how eerily quiet everything was, safe for your heaving and wheezing, that easily gave away your position.

You’re scared, oh, you’re so fucking scared you could feel the way hairs all over your body stand up from the terror, unknown follower sparkling fear so primal your thoughts are reduced to barely a semblance of your usual self.

You could hear the crunch of the leaves under your shoes, vines, and branches smacking you, as you ram through them in your attempt to get away, to save yourself from whatever wild beast was chasing you, whose heavy breath you could almost feel on the nape of your neck. You were pretty sure your face got smacked by another thorny vine, this time delivering a harsh, stinging cut that made you wince. You didn’t slow down, however, adrenaline made you push yourself to surprising lengths, that you didn’t think were possible in a normal, safe environment. The cut felt warm. You were pretty sure it started bleeding.

That is until your foot slips and you feel everything going upside down, crashing onto you, sharp pain digging into your sides, as you tumble down. And from water in your nose, eyes, and airway, you can give a wild guess that you fell into some kind of creek. If it’s true, then your clothes and your backpack are most likely busted. You try to get up, but your hands slide over slick, wet rocks on the bottom of the stream, making you slip back into the water and sending you into a whole coughing fit, bitter water resting on your tongue like a layer of algae. You yank your foot from under some rock, desperately trying to listen to the footsteps that at the moment were as loud as hell’s bells for you, stumbling to your feet, and through the thick darkness, you see that the path ahead will only be uphill. The ground is wet and muddy, but you don’t care, hands and nails digging into it, crawling upwards as fast as you can. You feel yourself grow cold when you hear a quiet slide and feel a hand grab you by your leg.

And then you start kicking, screaming, howling until a bitter burn on your throat makes you cough, spreading the sharp pain with every collapse of your chest. Fingers digging into the fresh mud and leaves, raking through them, earth sticking to the underside of your nails, as you try to grapple onto something, anything, to hold onto and save yourself from the iron hold on your ankle. Your heart is beating so fast you can hear it pumping the blood through every single artery and vein, and you’re sure that animalistic fear is being spread through your body along with it.

“Sing for me, boy. Nobody will hear you.” The man’s voice, devoid of emotions, littered with deep sighs and grunts of exertion rumbled from above you, as he dragged you down from the insignificant height you managed to climb.

“Fuck off! Let go of me!” You scream, your body contorted into a bizarre shape as you turn your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the man and correct the aim of your kicks. Your neck was weeping in pain and strain, along with every other muscle in your body. Fear scorched your insides. This was it for you, truly. Nobody will find your body in this stupid fucking forest and you’re just going to become the food for local fauna. Beautiful.

You expected anything – harsh blows to the back of your head, being drowned inside this shallow creek, stabbed to death, until you paint the water red, getting your head bashed in, or even shot like a rabid, stray dog who had no one to care for it. Instead, you’re getting your hands and legs tied together, and the man throws you over his shoulder, despite your attempts to scratch or punch him. You scream and cry, burning your throat raw, kicking and writing in the hold of the unknown person. Chanting harsh insults, and trying to kick or punch didn’t work either, but you didn’t care. You weren’t about to find out more about the local serial killer. However, no matter your intentions, you could not see where you were going, dark earth being the only thing in front of your eyes. Your thoughts and presence float far away from here, as the man brings you somewhere, jabbing a needle with something that makes you light-headed and sleepy.

When you finally wake up you’re changed from your dirt-stained, wet clothes, with your body aching like no tomorrow and the cut on your face dressed. The room has barely any light in it, and you feel the warm covers enveloping you, reminding you of home until you turn your head and see…something. Someone. His presence is enough to send shivers through your body.

He’s sitting by the bed you’re tucked into. Skull mask. Large, looming figure. Dark eyes gleaming right at you. You feel your face contorting into an angry scowl when you look at him and try to get out of bed. He doesn’t move. You get yanked back, and promptly turn your head again, feeling the muscles in your back and neck ache. Your hand is cuffed to the radiator. You feel a rough lump in your throat rise and drowsiness floating away. It doesn’t quite sink in yet, but you could feel the anxiety forming once again in the pit of your stomach and that lump rising as if you’re about to vomit whatever was left of your insides.

You hear the man get up from his chair with a quiet shuffle and the squeak of the chair legs on the floorboards. You flinch back, your back pressing into the warm metal of the radiator, almost burning the skin through your clothes. The bed dips down under the weight of the man. He’s not taking away his eyes from you, even for a second. It makes you want to crawl under the blanket that is now resting at your feet, just to hide from the piercing, heated gaze that you want to avoid at any cost.

You close your eyes, trying to calm down and think about anything else, but what surrounded you. Which proved impossible the moment you felt a rough, calloused hand shift from its position on the bed and rest on the side of your face. Warm, scorching fingers stroking your cheek gently, like that same hand wasn’t just dragging you through water and muck in the shallow forest creek.

Ghost felt…Good. Despite the bad first impression, he was sure that he was on the right track. Your skin felt divine, your beautiful eyes made him want to keep you here forever and never let go. And the way you looked while sleeping made him want to abandon observing altogether and crawl into the bed with you, caging in a tight, bone-crushing embrace that would show you just how much he craves you. But for you, it would probably be too fast, too shocking. For now, just being able to look at you and touch you was enough.

Maybe, if Ghost had a little more bravery he would whisper:

“You’re mine, songbird. Forever”

But for now, it’ll do. You’ll come around. One way or another.

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request/comment!

[evilgaygothgf]

I Know What I Said

Quackity x reader (any pronouns)

Please send in requests!! I’m aching in my bones for things to write please please please

“I’m not looking for anything right now.”

The words repeated in your mind day and night, gripping and tugging at your heart. You’ve wanted to admit your feeling to Alex for the past few months after coming to terms that they wouldn’t just go away on their own. You’ve know him for over a year now, and the feelings only keep growing stronger. “The worst he can say is no,” is what your friends kept telling you, but he’s already said the worst thing in your opinion.

“I’m not looking for anything right now.”

You thought you’d bring up the topic of dating in general to him and try to gauge his feelings before admitting your own first. Kind of just beat around the bush. You thought maybe he’d just come out and admit he had a crush on you and then you could easily slip in how you felt about him too. Or maybe he’d pull the old “well my friend has a crush on their close friend they’ve known for a while but he just doesn’t know how to confess without ruining their friendship” and you could respond with “well he’ll never know unless he confesses, right?” and then he’d confess his feelings and turn out to be the “friend” who wanted to confess the whole time. Just like in movies and fanfics, right? Right? Wrong.

When you brought up the topic he went into a full rundown of how he just doesn’t see himself dating anyone anytime soon because he’s just so busy with his career right now and blah blah blah. As soon as he started talking you had just tuned it all out. His voice was drowned out by the voice in your head telling you to pull it together and choke down the icky feeling in your chest. The unrequited feeling. The only part of his entire response you heard loud and clear was the part you keep hearing play over and over in your head.

“I’m not looking for anything right now.”

Well shit. What do you do now? Respond with a chuckle and a “haha yeah me either”? Cut him off and tell him that he’s wrong and that you’re what he should be looking for? Admit your feeling regardless? Your thoughts were cut off by him asking you the question right back. “Sorry I feel like I really went on for a while. I didn’t mean to unload all that on you. Anyway, what’s your opinion on dating stuff?”

He asked the question so simply like he had no idea why you had asked him in the first place. “Umm,” you started, “well I mean yeah I guess I can see where you’re coming from. I guess I’d feel the same way if I was in your shoes. I don’t know. I guess for me dating is just like something I’m ready for now in my life. Im kind of tired of being single honestly, but hey, you know at least I’ve got you around, right?”

Alex grinned at the end of your last sentence. “Yeah, of course! I’ll always be here as your best friend so you don’t have to feel like a loner,” he chuckled. “But hey, you know if you’re trying to look for someone I’ll be the best wingman to ever walk this earth. And if anyone starts giving you shit or mistreating you, send em to me.” He turned from you and started throwing punches at the air and you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter. Alex was such an amazing friend to you and you started to wonder if wanting him as more than a friend was too much to ask in the first place. You were already lucky enough to have him care for you on a friendship level. The words still plagued your mind regardless.

“I’m not looking for anything right now.”

It’s been over a month since that happened and you continued to hang out with Alex like normal. You tried so hard to push your feelings for him down and appreciate the friend you had in him. The two of you had been hanging out all day and at the end of the night, he offered to drive you back home. The car ride to your place was more quiet than usual; void of loud music and laughter. It had been a long and eventful day and you were both exhausted from all you had done that day.

Alex pulled the car up to the front of your place and you reached to the floorboard of the car to grab your things and tell him goodnight before getting out. Before you could unbuckle your seatbelt, Alex’s voice broke the silence.

“Hey. I just…can I tell you something?”

“Uh yeah sure,” you responded as you placed your hands back in your lap and turned your body to better face him in the car.

He looked down from your face to his cup from the fast food restaurant you both ate at earlier as he played with the straw. “I lied. I lied to you and I’m sorry.”

You were too confused to respond as your mind raked through all of the things he could’ve possibly lied to you about.

He started up again, “I know I..well when we talked before…fuck like I didn’t mean to really say-“

“Alex spit it out. You’re making me nervous,” you said in a half speaking and half laughing voice trying to cover up the waver in your voice. Your fingers were already toying with each other as you tried to ease your nerves for whatever was to come.

“y/n I know this is gonna be awkward and I’m so sorry but I should’ve said it then and I’ve been making myself sick trying to think of a time to tell you this.” He brushed the pieces of hair back that were falling over his eyes as he finally looked back up to you. “I know I told you before that I wasn’t really looking for anything but the truth is that I’ve actually been falling for you. So hard. And before you interrupt and ask me why I said what I did, shit, I don’t know. I just..I just freaked out because I wasn’t expecting you to just ask me that out of nowhere.”

“Alex, Im sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“No please don’t apologize I should’ve just owned up to it and told you then because I really and I mean really wish I had. It’s been gnawing at me so bad that I didn’t take the opportunity to tell you. You honestly make me kinda nervous ever since I realized I wanted something more than friends with you.” His eyes dropped from yours again and went back to playing with the plastic straw.

“I make you nervous?” You could help but grin as you said it. You couldn’t believe he actually admitted to being nervous around you.

“Yeah yeah yeah go ahead and make fun of me, whatever, I knew I should’ve left that part out,” he scoffed as he rolled his eyes and sat back into his seat.

“No I’m glad you told me. I think it’s cute.”

“Oh so you think I’m cute?” He sat up straighter in his chair and smirked. “So you like me?”

You rolled your eyes at his sudden comeback in confidence after all the nervous toying with his straw he was just doing moments ago. He always ate up any little compliment you’d given him and you hated to admit you loved it.

“Yeah honestly I’ve had feelings for you for a while, and if you must know, I was actually trying to confess to you back when I asked your opinions on dating but wouldn’t you know, someone cough cough shut me down before I could. Mr. I’m not looking for anything right now.” You said the last part with finger quotes as you playfully rubbed what he said into his face.

He reached up and lightly smacked your finger quotes out of the air while trying to make an obviously forced angry face. “You should’ve just said it anyway. We could’ve been going on a date today and not just hanging out as friends. And then I could’ve kissed you goodnight when I dropped you off,” he wiggled his eyebrows as he said the last sentence.

Your face already started heating up. You knew exactly how a lot of your days spent together could’ve gone if you two had already been dating by this point. You practically thought about it every time you hung out together and every time you laid your head down on your pillow at night.

This time, you were the one to break the silence. “I mean, we still could,” you said quietly in the darkness of his car. “Only if you want to I mean I know we both just now told each other how we feel but I’m okay with-“

Your rambling was cut off with his lips shutting you up. It was just a peck, but as he pulled his head away you instinctively reached up to pull him back in. It was just a series of small closed-mouth kisses, but it was more than you could’ve imagined receiving from him just 15 minutes ago.

You pulled away from the kiss but kept your face close to his as your eyes scanned his. “I can’t believe you lied to me,” you whispered through a smile in the darkness.

“I’ll make it up to you, baby, don’t worry,” he whispered back as he closed the distance between the two of you again.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

YEAH YANDERE XMEN LET'S GOOO

Anyways, I will look forward for any of your yan!x-men works. And I kinda hope for platonic mentor Scott Summers or Gambit(even if I don't see Gambit as a yandere it would be interesting to read about it)

𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐒…

!!! GN reader, dual-wielding yandere mentors, strict Scott, power abuse, manipulation, stalker Remy, no respect of privacy, the slightest bit of infantilism, I’m probably forgetting a lot cuz I’m really bad at warnings, pretty mild.

*Clutches my head like I’m taking psychic damage* AHHHHHHHH, THE VOICES!!! THE VOICES!!!! THEY’RE GIVING ME IDEAS!!!!

First off, you basically predicted one of my WIPs. Something about Scott’s base character just screams platonic yandere to me, and I probably couldn’t write a non-yandere fic about him if I tried. So!! Because I’ve already got a little something cooking with solo Scott, lemme give you the best of both worlds of your asks; yandere mentor Scott and Remy.

A dynamic like this would be completely uncoordinated. Their mentoring styles are polar opposites, and it doesn’t help that they can’t see eye to eye with each other on most things. So expect this to be a tug of war between what is essentially a strict dad and chill uncle. Scott will get done lecturing you about staying out late (he doesn’t want you dozing off and getting lazy during missions, that’s all!!), only for Remy to whisk you away on a late night patrol (with ice cream as a treat!!).

To fully understand what you’re dealing with here, let’s do a quick rundown on both of them on an individual level.

Scott: Overbearing as fuck. He might start off as harsh and borderline brutal, constantly singling you out and critiquing everything you do. Should anyone raise concerns over this, he’d be genuinely confused. He’s not treating you differently from the other X-Men!! You just need a little more tough love, that’s all!! He sees your potential and wants to bring it out of you so you’re ready for anything and everything!!

It would probably take a near-death experience on your end for him to finally soften up on you. He’s still strict as hell, don’t get me wrong, but at least he’s more encouraging than berating!! But now he keeps you glued to his side during missions. And doesn’t let you go on missions he’s not on. And only allows you to train with him. And starts getting more involved with your personal life. And basically keeps you on a tight leash with everything.

He definitely abuses his authority as field commander to get you to behave. Don’t wanna listen to him? Fine, you’re sitting out for the next couple of missions. What’s this? You think it’s unfair? If you won’t listen to him now, then what good are you in the field, huh? He’s only doing this to make you a better team player!! Now go to your room and think about what you’ve done.

Remy: Extremely hands off. The word “mentor” is used loosely when describing him, as he really doesn’t see himself as such. All he does is makes sure you don’t die on missions, gives you profound life lessons, then goes on to contradict that life lesson with some reckless move (text book example of a do as I say, not as I do kind of teacher). His laidback nature makes it easy to confide in him, and he’s always happy to lend an ear to his petit!

Meanwhile, his yandere side kind of runs counter to this. Yes, he’s extremely lax with you, but only because he knows where you are 24/7. There are trackers in all of your clothes so he can check in on you periodically. Not because he doesn’t trust you!! He really doesn’t give a shit what you’re up to as long as you’re not doing drugs or whatever. There’s just this nagging fear in the back of his mind that you could be in danger, and he wants to make sure he can save you in time. He also has a habit of snooping through your things; again, not because he doesn’t trust you, he’s just curious and has no sense of privacy when it comes to you (and also because he likes to leave behind little trinkets for you to find later).

While I don’t see very many situations where he resorts to this, it’s best to keep in mind that Remy’s a master manipulator. If you’re up to something he doesn’t particularly like — maybe you have a crush on someone he doesn’t deem worthy… which is just about everyone — he’ll easily talk you out of it, playing whatever card he feels necessary. There may be the slightest bit of infantilism (“you’re too young for mushy romance, petit!”), but nothing too heavy handed; he mostly does it to tease.

Okay, with that out of the way, let’s get back to their dynamic.

As said before, they don’t really work in tandem with each other. They just kinda coexist as your two mentors that constantly butt heads with each other. Scott sees Remy as a bad influence on you, and Remy basically does everything in his power to spite Scott. What’s this? Did mean ol’ Cyke lock you in your room? Good thing Gambit’s next lesson is to teach you how to pick locks (but that does not mean you can sneak out and do your own thing. Stay where Gambit can see you, damnit). It pisses Scott off to no end and Remy thinks it’s hilarious.

Now, there’s a very slim chance that they come to some sort of understanding. Sure, Scott has a stick up his ass and Remy is a bit reckless, but they at least share a common goal of keeping you safe. This is when they start (begrudgingly) working together, with Remy turning a blind eye whenever Scott oversteps his leadership role while Scott checks in with Remy for your current location. They’re absolutely not best buds with this setup, but they’ll at least tolerate each other for your own good.

They’re kinda like your divorced parents in this set up.

But, again, the chances of this happening are very slim. Scott will do everything in his power to keep you away from Remy’s influence, and Remy doesn’t trust Scott enough to agree to “sharing.” It would probably take a dire situation for them to work together. Just as a one time thing; it wouldn’t be permanent.

Overall, I love this dynamic. It helped me visualize a yandere Gambit better (despite him being my favorite, I wasn’t sure if I could hit him with my yanderefication beam), and of course I’m gonna write the X-Men’s resident yan-dad. I wanna write more so bad.

[ddlcbrainrot]

What do you think the girls would do in college? And how do you think they would look like?

well @heartbeatbookclub had a similar ask a while back and honestly i kind if agree with most things he mentioned. im gonna give a quick rundown of my headcanons but they are probably pretty similar lol

monika sweetheart im sorry but you are NOT having a good college experience. She definitely chooses a really demanding major like law and then surprise! the academically challenging major is academically challenging! who would have thought. she has been used to understand the meterial first try in highschool so now that she doesnt? ohhhh boy :). it definitely doesn't help that she went to college immediately after highschool. anyway what does she do? i have no idea. id like to think she takes a break and recollects herself, but lets be honest, monika is the type of person to keep at it until she like genuinely cant take it anymore. on the bright side, im sure the others would be a great help to her during this time

sayori does not go to college immediately after highschool, and that helps her a LOT. during her gap year, she focuses more on her mental health as well as figuring out what she wants to do in the future. and i think that leads her into some kind of elementary school work. maybe during her gap year she started babysitting around the neighborhood to make some money (and also so she wouldnt be sitting in her house all day) and she figures out how much she loves working with children

yuri i think would go to college right after highschool, but not because she feels like she needs to prove herself like Monika, its more of a "uhm i guess the next step is college" type of thing. i dont think college would be as bad for yuri as highschool. i actually think that this is the time she get a bit more comfortable and confident in herself. as far as majors go, she studies something literature-writting related. she probably has a draft for a book somewhere that she refuses to mention to anyone (at first). after college she probably ends up working at some sort of library whike she maybe does some writing on the side

natsuki is NOT going to college. i just cant see her putting herself through 4-5 years of more school. idk maybe she thinks about going to culinary school? but like, in my experience most culinary schools are super expensive. plus she thinks experience is way more valuable than any sort of class. so yeah she immediately goes into working. she starts off low, maybe she finds a job helping out in some local bakery for minimum wage. the best case scenario for her is to get to the point she can open her own bakery, but if we are being realistic, opening your own business is like.. a very big risk. so idk how possible it is

(in a perfect world they all open a book café/bakery together)

Here's a quick sketch of em :

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 3 Transcript

00:00 John: Heyyy there, I’m,uh, I’m, uh, back in your ears! Heh. Uh, thanks for inviting me in. Um, I-I just wanted to add a chunk on before this Q and A just to give you an update on all things Gloria Scott. Uh, thanks so much for the kind words, first off. Uh I-I-I did warn about its angst. Um, and I appreciate i-it’s not always a fun ride when, when those kinds of things happen. Um. But hey! I’m glad you all enjoyed it. Um, glad the masterful sound design was appreciated.

00:32 John: Uhm, yeah I thought I’d, I’d check in now and give you a rundown of it all. Post match interview sort of stuff. Uh, Lionel did recover from the stroke. He is out of hospital, but he will be going back to Australia. Um. He’s-he's obviously cooperating with the government, um, down there. It’s not an easy situation, but he’s handling it with remarkable grace and dignity. Um. Victor is, as well. Can’t quite get the read on things with him at the moment. He’s obviously very, very torn. Uh, we solved the case for him, but, y’know, yeah. H-he’s in a much worse place then he was before. Um. *pause* Such is life. Uh, such is a very complicated life, I should say. He’s helping his dad, with the inquiries. Uh, m-my gut says there’ll be prison time. *sucks teeth* Um, y’know, c-cooperation and evidence and the, yeah, t-the mitigating circumstances might be helpful to Lionel and all, but, uh… *deep breath* ultimately lives were lost. He was complicit. Y’know this is the world we live in.

01:49 John: *sucks teeth* Victor has paused the job search, but uh I-I do believe he’ll be coming back to the UK once, y’know, whatever happens, happens. But, uh, yeah. Tough stuff. Um, glad you all enjoyed Mariana joining in on the adventure. Um, don’t know if she enjoyed it all that much. So far she’s watched corpses get pulled out of the canal and now she’s watched an elderly stroke victim get extradited for murder. So, uh, y’know. *chuckles lightly* Welcome to the world of true crime, Ametxazurra!

02:23 John:Um, Sherlock asked me to apologize, also, actually. Um, yes, to apologize that he wasn’t technically correct in his solving of the case. Um, uh, Hunter did reveal the actual truth. I, I told him people wouldn’t really mind. He got me to apologize anyway, so, uh, yeah. There you go. Um, so he’s been a right mopey bastard, as you can imagine. *clears throat* So, to cheer him up, I carted him off to…an indoor theme park! Heh, yeah, you heard that right. Theme park. But indoors. Well, theme park’s a bit strong to be honest. I-I-It’s like an arcade with an indoor roller coaster. But yeah! Y’know! Uhm, back to Camden, but for a much more enjoyable experience.

03:05 John: These questions were asked, um, before The Gloria Scott episode aired. T-two that I ask Sherlock right at the end are eerily prescient. Um, that’s the right word, I think? Uh, I hope. Welp, you’ll see what I mean. Enjoy!

03:19-3:49 *Intro Music*

03:47 *Arcade Sounds Fade In, we can hear Sherlock exerting himself*

03:50 John: Yoooo, wassup guys! Welcome to the John Watson channel where we talk all things John Watson all the time! Ehh, that’s my impression of a youtuber or real podcaster, hope you enjoyed it. Ah, right, Sherlock, tell the members where we are.

04:01 Sherlock: Indoor theme park! Augh! *through gritted teeth* You little alien bastard! Get back here!

04:09 John: Sherlock is doing some whack-a-mole, ah, or they’re aliens in this place, not moles. Could be alien moles. Who knows. Ah, it’s an indoor theme park in *in a very exaggerated North London accent (genuinely he sounds like an ass here)* North London. That’s North London, sorry. Bit excited. Had about a kilogram of sugar. Haha, I’m looking at all sorts here. Arcade machines, carousels, basketball hoop game thingy, air hockey, bumper cars -dodge’ems, call’em what you will-, and an indoor roller coaster! Hahahaa! It’s wild stuff. Okay, let’s get to some questions over a casual game of air hockey.

04:40 *Audio Cut, sounds of air hockey being played*

04:41 Sherlock: Have that! *puck hit sound* And that!

04:44 John: ‘Have that and that’? What are you, a musketeer? Hahahaaaa! *sound of a puck entering the goal* First point Watson! Heyheyheeeey, ahhhh. And now for the first question. Uh, Tonkster aka Resetoaster asks, “To John and Sherlock, if you go to Subway -the fast food I should clarify- what do you usually order?”

05:03 Sherlock: *with exertion* You’re *sound of the puck being hit* distracting me! Ah!

05:06 John: Ah, you wouldn’t be saying that if you were winning.

05:07 Sherlock: I’m not winning *puck hit sound* precisely because of it.

05:11 John: Alright, fine. I’ll answer. Uh, I like the turkey club. Is that-Ow! That hit my finger. *hisses in pain*- I think there’s a turkey one. Um, I like that one on plain-ish bread. I don’t think their fancy breads are all that good. Uh, and then I’ll have a southwest sauce- Wham! Haha! *sound of puck entering goal*

05:23 Sherlock: Oh, bugger.

05:26 John: Subway order?

05:26 Sherlock: Never been.

05:27 John: Great.

05:27 *audio cuts. Sounds of automatic rifle fire going off*

05:29 John: Reloading. Cover me!

05:29 Sherlock: Covering.

05:30 John: Incoming at your two o’clock.

05:31 Sherlock: On it!

05:32 *sounds of two loud gunshots*

05:33 John: Yesss, Sherlock. Right, through the lobby. Okay, let’s see how this goes. Bellaxbear01 asks “If you guys want another pet, what animal would it be? Another dog, another cat, or maybe a fish?”

05:47 Sherlock: I like fish. *sound of gunshots* Very much. Reloading.

05:50 John: *pleased* Oh, hahah! I like fish too!

05:52 Sherlock: Really?

05:53 John: Yeah! Tropical?

05:54 Sherlock: Tropical or temperate.

05:56 John: Well that’s good to know. Yeah, worth maybe one day looking into that? Oo! Getting shot at here. Uh, Amelie5 asks “Do you have a favorite case you’ve solved so far?

06:05 *sounds of a big gun being fired*

06:07 Sherlock: A good question at bloody last. Die you bastards! *big boom*

06:12 John: Oh wowhaowhaooow! *sounds of I guess dirt falling, maybe bodies???* *with a smile in his voice* Oh, you made him blow up! Ha! Ahh, I know the feeling. Poor sod.

06:18 Sherlock: I rather enjoyed the Red Headed League.

06:22 John: Yep, that was a good’un. -Oh, duck down! That’s a machine gun.- Did you like the Red Headed League because of the case or because it proved me wrong about it being boring?

06:27 Sherlock: Mmm, both.

06:28 John: Great, well-oh I’m dead. *sound of man yelling, presumably John’s character dying in the game* Balls.

06:31 *audio cut. Ambient arcade sounds with something fizzing at the forefront*

06:34 John: What is that?

06:35 Sherlock: *struggling to speak* opp ing andy.

06:37 John: Opping Andy?

06:38 Sherlock: *still struggling to speak, but clearly annoyed* Op-opping. Andy.

06:41 John: Ohhhh, popping candy. Right. Well, RangerPip asks any specific reason you started smoking a pipe?

06:49 Sherlock: *unintellible gargling and consonant sounds*

06:54 John: Right, well, if you understood that RangerPip, well done you, haheh. *pause* *in a considering tone* Hunnh. He may or may not be choking.

07:03 *audio cut, loud music and bumper car sounds*

07:04 John: Ah!

07:04 Sherlock: Ahahaha!

07:05 John: Hahahah, left! Left! Left!

07:08 Both: Ah! *sound of impact*

07:09 John: Oh my god, my ribs! Argh, right! Let’s get up some more speed and smash into these kids-uh, I mean! These, um, big burly blokes.

07:17 Sherlock: Here we go.

07:20 John: Yesss, Sherlock, we are at some speed now, baby! Hahahah, right! Question from Raylein, “Does Archie get human food? And if he does, who feeds it to him?”

07:30 John: Ah yeah I do feed him, I-

07:30 Sherlock: Yes.

07:33 John: Wait.

07:34 Sherlock: What?

07:35 John: You’re feeding him as well?

07:36 Sherlock: I am, yes!

07:38 John: Well, that explains a lot. Uh, yeah Raylein, I don’t really like animal products going to waste so I just, um, I chuck him all sorts. Ope, here we go. Come here you little shits.

07:44 Sherlock: Ahhhhhhhh!

07:45 John: *sound of impact* Ah hahah!

07:48 *audio cut, it’s much quieter now, but they’re still at the arcade*

07:49 John: *remorsefully* I just didn’t think they’d cry and tell their mums is all.

07:51 Sherlock: That’s what children do. *accusingly* You told me to smash into them.

07:55 John: I did not say that.

07:57 Sherlock: Can I get the SD card out of your microphone and check?

08:00 John: No.

08:01 Sherlock: See.

08:02 John: Andrew says, “Question for Sherlock: Do you have any piercings? And, if you don’t, do you want any? And, if you do, which ones do you want?”

08:10 Sherlock: *sucks in a deep breath* Ear piercing. I haven’t used it for some time.

08:14 John: Why not?

08:15 Sherlock: Was that asked in the Discord?

08:17 John: What?

08:18 Sherlock: That. Just then.  The ‘Why not?’

08:21 John: …No.

08:22 Sherlock: *takes a breath* Well then. I needn’t answer it. This is a time for members.

08:26 John: Right. Great. Lovely. Ok, MushPit says “Your deductive skills, was it talent you were born with or a skill that you developed and perfected over time?”

08:34 Sherlock: I assume MushPit is asking me, not you?

08:37 John: Ah ha ha, very funny.

08:40 Sherlock: My senses have always been, um-

08:43 John: Overcalibrated?

08:44 Sherlock: Yes, quite. Sooo, I’ve always observed a lot. When I found it difficult to tune out of my surroundings, I decided to analyze them. Then it became rather addictive. Yes, it became a skill, but I feel it much stronger then a skill. It feels like a byproduct of my very existence. I cannot unlearn it. IIII cannot wind it down or soften it. It occupies me as much as I do it. I fear that I  cannot stop it. Even if it kills me. Even if it drains everything from me and I can never truly find it to know myself, to know my surroundings without the necessity…uh, no, the-the requisite to my very self. To t-try to understand everything-

09:33 John: The rollercoaster’s ready.

09:34 Sherlock: Oh.

09:35 John: Uh, we- we can finish if you want? Uh, y’know we can go on it later?

09:40 *audio cut, we can hear the roller coaster going and John and Sherlock on it. John keeps saying ‘Woohoo! Wheee!’ and Sherlock is saying joyfully ‘Bloody fantastic! Absolutely bloody fantastic!’ Both of them also keep laughing in between their exclamations*

09:48 *audio cut. We’re outside. London traffic can be heard.*

09:53 John: Oh that was good! Wasn’t it?

09:54 Sherlock: *pleased* Superb.

09:56 John: Not a bad idea, is it? A theme park, indoors? I mean we were a little old for it, but hey, y’know, there’s no age limit on enjoyment! Well, I mean you can’t go jumping into a soft play or anything like that, but yeah. Yeah. Now we are walking near Chalk Farm. Not actually a farm of chalk, of course. It’s just a nice place between Bellsides Park and the Northern end of Camden town. How’s that q and a session for you, mate?

10:16 Sherlock: Is that question on the Discord?

10:17 John: Right, ok. This is not a thing. You can still have normal chats with me inbetween members questions.

10:25 Sherlock: Noted.

10:26 John: Well it’s a question for me now anyway. Um, has your mother finally listened to the podcast? And if yes, what does she think of it? Uh, yes, has she listened? She has! She didn’t like the sound of my bomb. That makes two of us, there. Eheh. Uh, and she sent me further messages about Mariana. And! She will occasionally point out when I’ve been rude to people on the show. *clicks tongue* She also asked me if the Austrian man’s face was okay, so she has at least, definitely finished one adventure. And, no. His face is not. Ok. Mum. Uhh, so- hunh, this is weird.

10:59 Sherlock: What’s that?

11:01 John: Two questions here, next to each other. Uh, I-I’m not making this up. First one, Ramt or-or Ramtonk, “t-the flowers on my orchids are gone, but the plants themselves are thriving. Uhh, they’re watered as they should be and get optimal sunlight. Will the flowers ever come back?”

11:19 Sherlock: *pleasantly surprised* Hhha!

11:20 John: Right? Yeah and the second one from Batonks the Graveyard Ghost says, “Question for John, do you have any funny memories from your childhood that you’d like to share with us?”

11:30 Sherlock: Yes, that is quite remarkable.

11:32 John: Well! I’ll let the adventure of The Gloria Scott answer those questions! So, ah, everybody, thanks so much for these. I hope you enjoyed the answers. Sorry it’s been so short, but I’ve just noticed that that’s our bus!! We’re gonna miss it! Go! Go! Go!

11:46 Sherlock: *frustrated sigh* For goodness sake!

11:47-12:17 *Outro Music Plays*

[rookfeatherrambles]

Apparently the commission from @dcartcorner about my unnamed cozy fantasy Jmart AU is at like 400 notes of people just screaming about how much they want it so! Introducing: (It still doesn't have a name yet), the cozy (ish) fantasy au!

Jon is an archmage in training at the Magnus Institute of Arcana, (I gotta think of a better name) where he is apprenticed under Elias Bouchard, the actual Archmage of London. That's an important figure who keeps the balance of magic (and more)

Being close to the Archmage, Jon is learning some pretty incredible magic. But when he accidentally discovers Elias harnessing power from ancient, Eldritch and forbidden gods, Jon realizes that the magic he's been taught to use is furthering some kind of ritual to bring those terrifying creatures into their world and he's been helping all along without realizing it.

With knowledge that could throw London into chaos, Jon seals the knowledge away somewhere safe and then curses himself to become a cat, permanently, and flees the Institute for the city streets as a stray.

It was supposed to be permanently, anyway.

Meanwhile, Martin's moved away from his very overbearing and at the same time distant family. Heir to the powerful magic of the Lukas/Blackwood bloodline, Martin throws away all his prestige for the quiet of a cafe somewhere in the city and a modest life as a Hearthmage. It's a rundown place he's bought to make his own, but he's up to the task of fixing it up.

After a few months of living there, established and settled, he starts noticing that some of his fruits and vegetables are being eaten by a mysterious animal. After many stakeouts, he finally catches the culprit in the act. It's a scrawny black cat with green eyes and a crooked tail, and it has a fondness for tomatoes! Try as he might though, Martin cannot catch the cat. And then, one day, Martin opens the door to start the day and there it is. Sitting outside the door as if its an impatient customer. And there is a tomato in its mouth! Martin's tomato.

He is too stunned to speak, and just watches the cat saunter into the cafe, cool as you please and hop up on a chair to eat it's breakfast.

This is how the war of the veggie patch ends. With a tomato, some warm cream, and some cautious chin scritches.

[creature-wizard]

Quick rundown on my actual positions re: the Law of Assumption & reality shifting right now:

I think the practices associated with the Law of Assumption can provide a very real psychological benefit, and I think many practitioners have successfully used it to overcome problems stemming from anxiety, poor self-image, etc.

I am broadly in favor of people using these practices, insofar as they don't exacerbate other mental issues and insecurities, or create other problems. (Needing other people to feel jealous of you to feel good about yourself is inherently unhealthy. Revision is just lying to yourself or others. Everyone Is You Pushed Out is both dehumanizing and victim-blaming.)

I don't think "reality shifting" actually moves people into parallel universes or whatever. I think the manifestation type version works the same way I think the Law of Assumption works. I think the "travel to my favorite fictional world and meet my blorbos" version essentially works by inducing a kind of deep, intense dream state.

I also think confirmation bias leads people to interpret random coincidences and things that probably would've happened anyway as cases of successful manifestation.

I think many cases of successful manifestation can also be explained by the frequency illusion in action. I think they technically count as successes from a psychological standpoint, since it would mean practitioners have successfully trained their brains to hone in on things they want.

I genuinely don't care if you believe that a metaphysical element might be involved. That's fine with me. I draw the line at telling people that they can absolutely, 100% manifest anything at all if they just Do It Right, and at telling people that they are 100% responsible for literally everything that happens to them. There is no context in which claims like these do not lead to psychological and physical harm.

Maybe there are individual cases where Law of Assumption practitioners experienced an extraordinary healing of some kind. I have my own reasons to think that in some rare instances, these things actually do happen. But I also know that there is no reason to think that LOA practices were specifically responsible for it, and I also know that statistically speaking, faith healing kills.

I think a lot of people in this community are lying, because that's just human nature/the nature of the Internet. There's always people who lie.

I also can't rule out psychosis for some people, either.

I have learned from researching and studying scams, cults, and hoaxes that when someone refuses to provide solid evidence to back up their extraordinary claims, it's because they're lying, and that those who play the victim or vilify people when asked for solid evidence want to take advantage of others in some way.

I have also learned that all scammers, cultists/cult leaders, and hoaxters will try to make you think they're the Very Special Exception to this rule. They are not. They never are.

I think the practice of Living In The End is a potential incentive to make false claims. If you're living as if it's already fulfilled, it would only make sense to write a "success story," right?

People who claim they changed the color of their eyes might also not be aware that your eye color can look different under different lighting.

Use the void state or don't, I don't care. I don't think it's harmful. I think it might be beneficial for some. I just don't think it's going to enable you manifest new parents overnight or resurrect the dead or whatever. Again, I think the LOA's benefits are primarily psychological.

I think Neville Goddard was a liar. His ideas didn't come from Kabbalah, they came from Phineas Quimby. They don't derive from Jewish mysticism; they're a close relative of Prosperity Gospel.

I think "Edward Art" is yet another content farm channel.

Spiritual abuse dolled up as self-empowerment is still spiritual abuse. "But we're helping people!" Cool motive, still abuse.

If you're more upset by people calling out the toxic bullshit going on in the Law of Assumption community than you are by the toxic bullshit going on in the Law of Assumption community, you need to fix your heart.

For anyone reading this: If you are leaving or questioning the Law of Assumption and need help, please see this post.

[eccentricgrace]

allies or enemies || BatFamily

summary: a brief history of jason's experience with panic attacks over the years.

tags: hurt/comfort, panic attacks, bruce wayne's c+ parenting, jason's death & resurrection

wc: 11,043

cross-posted on ao3 under the same name!

twelve

The manor was nicer than his crappy rundown apartment.

Smoke had laid a thick film on the walls, the plaster was cracking and falling further apart with every gust of wind. He covered the faults with posters, the ones they sold at the corner store for cheap— all off-brand copies of movie or album covers, the stars’ faces photoshopped to hell and back.

He had slept on a mattress set on the floor, no sheets, just the one blanket he kept from Mama, torn and tattered and loved.

“Do you live here?” Batman had asked him, as if his little hole-in-the-wall residence was something to be disgusted by. As if Jason didn’t have it a million times better than he had a few months before.

He memorized every spot of mold, every place the floor creaked, every sound and smell, like the back of his hand. It was familiar. It was warmer than outside, and it was home.

Was.

Objectively, the manor was better. The food was good and never ran out (but he kept a stash, just in case), the bed was always warm and he never woke up with a sore neck, and there was never mold or dust or anything. Alfred was really good about that.

It was so safe here, and he did his best to keep it that way. He scrubbed the dishes, he kept his room tidy, he made sure he studied, came home with A grades— but despite it all, he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He felt like he was walking on eggshells all the time, thinking, Well, if it’s going to get bad, might as well be done with it, and he’s being stupid, but he knew that.

So really, in hindsight, it made sense what led them here.

“You spend a lot of time in the library,” Bruce noted.

Which was true. He liked the library. It was quiet— he could hear exactly when someone was walking down the outside hallway. He liked the smell of books, he liked the big red chair next to the fireplace because it was the most comfortable one…

He liked that Bruce didn’t seem to care if he moved the books around. He kept a very close eye every time he would shift something out of place, and every time Bruce hadn’t even blinked.

Yes. He liked the library. He didn't like that Bruce was mentioning it. In his experience, there was always an ulterior motive for that kind of questioning, always an angle.

Kid, you know those sandwiches at the end of Mora Street? I’ll spot you a deal with the owner if you just…

Hiya Scrawny, just turn the other cheek, why don'tcha? I know how much you love a bargain…

Hey, Todd’s boy, right? Listen, I know you’ve been askin’ around for some of the good stuff for ya’ mom…

Jason felt an uncomfortable ripple in his stomach. He fiddled with the book pages carefully. “I like to read.”

Bruce nodded easily. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Are there specific books you’d like?”

Something’s wrong, a voice in his head warned him. His skin felt buzzy. He quickly flashed his eyes over Bruce, trying to pin something down that made sense.

Jason had never asked for anything before. He’d made sure to take everything in small doses and without complaint from the second he stepped foot on the property. He hadn’t even hinted that he wanted anything more, because really, he didn’t need anything— so what was Bruce even asking for, anyway?

Kindness requires a price, Jason. Are you willing to pay?

“No,” Jason said quickly, and he immediately knew he sounded like an asshole. The bout of dread he received from the realization made him nauseous. “The ones you have are fine, alright?”

Bruce’s eyebrows tick up momentarily, and even the slight movement had every hair on Jason’s arms stand up.

“Alright,” Bruce said simply.

Alright what?

“I mean—“ Jason sat up in the library chair. It was too big for him. Everything was too big for him, here. “I just mean, I’m fine. You can leave me alone, you know? I can take care of myself.”

That’s what he meant to say, but that’s not how it was supposed to come out of his mouth. Everything he said sounded like an insult, and he felt like a damn idiot.

His internal struggle must have shown on his face, because Bruce’s expression does a weird twisting thing.

“Okay,” Bruce lifted his hands, and before he could even parse the action, Jason launched back in his seat like he’d already been hit.

It went very quiet.

Jason tilted his head and peeked one eye open. Bruce was still there. His hands still lifted, but held open, unthreatening. Slate blue eyes were calculative, calm, toned with a familiar sympathy.

Jason’s cheeks still burned, but not for the reason he had thought it would. Embarrassment flooded through him and he felt hot and itchy. He shut the book on his lap, scowling.

“Stop looking at me like that!” He snapped. “What, you’ve never seen someone flinch before? It’s not a big deal!”

It was like he had been possessed. He’s yelling at Bruce, but it’s not him. Jason’s in his head begging, ‘What are you doing?! Stop talking!’ and some other, angrier kid has taken over his mouth.

“I know, Jason,” Bruce said placidly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“Stop saying sorry,” Jason said, his breath running far from reach, his vision going blurry. “I don’t want a sorry, or pity, or— or your stupid books!”

An out of body experience followed, in which Jason watched with horror as he threw the book on the ground. What the fuck.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“What’s wrong with me?” Jason asked out loud, his face red and hot, his chest heaving.

He stared shock-shelled at the cover of The Giver, on the floor, splayed open. He’d never thrown a book before in his life. His hands were tingly and numb, he couldn't think straight, and he was having a tantrum, throwing books like a baby.

“Jason,” Bruce tried. “Calm down, chum. Take a breath.”

And now Bruce was using the victim-voice. He’d really done it now, hadn’t he?

He was perfectly fine ten minutes ago. How could he have gone from fine to pissed off in such a short amount of time, over nothing? It didn’t make sense, and he had to make it make sense, because he was suddenly terrified and he didn’t know why.

“I can’t calm down,” Jason snapped instead, baring his teeth like a dog. “I’m— I don’t know what's wrong with me, I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” Bruce said calmly, his hands held out in front of him. “I know, Jason. Look at me— I’m going to sit down, and I’m going to close my eyes.”

Jason clenched his fists, hard enough to feel his fingernails dig into the meat of his palms. His face screwed up in confusion as he watched Bruce do exactly what he said.

The man shut his eyes and slowly eased himself down to the floor, sitting cross-legged. His hands lay limp and relaxed over his knees.

Bruce cleared his throat. “I’m going to breathe in and out, now. I’ll be counting as I do so.”

“What the hell’re you doing?” Jason rasped, the back of his throat feeling dry. His chest hurt from every beat of his heart, like the damn thing was made of something inhumanly heavy.

“Breathing,” Bruce answered, because he was kind of a dick. He inhaled deeply. “One, two, three…”

Jason blinked a couple of times, just until his eyes were less blurry. He watched Bruce hold his breath for a solid five seconds.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” Bruce finished, breathing out. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“This is stupid,” Jason said stuffily, tentatively creeping down to join him on the floor. “You already know how to breathe.”

Bruce didn’t answer, except for starting to count again to three. Held for five. Out for seven.

“Shouldn’t you be mad?” Jason pressed, because his hands were still shaking, and even he was pissed at himself for acting out. “I threw your crap, you should be kicking me out.”

His heart stilted, waiting for Bruce to open his eyes, to calmly declare that Jason was right, that he would need to pack his things—

“One, two, three…”

Jason liked living in the manor. He really, truly did. He didn’t want to leave.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

Jason quietly folded his hands in his lap, ducking his head down. He breathed in time with Bruce’s counting, if for nothing else, to cure the complete loss he was at for what to do.

They sat there together for a length of time that Jason couldn’t even count. It was like the numbers slipped away when they were so short, measured out in such small increments.

All he knew was that at some point, the ache in his chest faded, the numbness in his fingers evaporating away. He felt the weight of his shoulders drop, and exhaustion swam over him like the ripples of an ocean.

Bruce’s rhythmic counting suddenly stopped, and Jason’s head lifted. Bruce was looking at him again, but there wasn’t any threat in his eyes. Jason’s not sure there ever really was.

“I’m not mad at you, Jason,” Bruce said softly. “And you’re not being kicked out.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered weakly, letting his gaze fall to his hands.

“Are you okay?”

Jason let the question linger, frowning as he tried to come up with an honest answer.

“I don’t know what happened,” Jason answered after a moment. His eyebrows furrowed and he picked at the dead skin on his cuticles. “I haven’t been like this. Not since— well, not in a long time. It’s embarrassing.”

“That’s alright,” Bruce assured calmly, his voice low, a steady baritone that never wavered. “I understand, Jason.”

“I don’t,” Jason laughed breathlessly. “I’ve seen stuff that was worth a freak-out, this wasn’t one of them. It’s stupid.”

Bruce grunted. “It’s more normal than you’d think. Millions of people experience panic attacks everyday. Me included.”

The frustrated retort evaporated in his throat before it could even build steam. Jason tilted his head. “You?”

“You know about my parents,” Bruce supplied, and didn’t say any further.

Jason opened his mouth, and closed it. It wasn’t like he needed to confirm, and it seemed insensitive bringing up the fact that everyone knew about Bruce Wayne’s parents. For some reason, he’s only clicking into place now what it really meant, seeing Bruce in this light, in this moment.

He imagined a smaller Bruce, so young that he was still wide-eyed, bright, shiny— like the kids Jason saw when they first moved to the Row. Just like any other poster child of innocence and willful ignorance. He imagined the tragedy being something more than just a headline article.

…He thought of himself at the same age, still wide-eyed, less shiny, holding his Mama’s hand as delicately as he could. Trying to feel a phantom warmth. Trying to imagine a steady, quiet thrumming against his thumb where her pulse lay.

He thought of the first time he couldn’t catch his breath, and the hatred he spewed at the coroner who covered his Mama’s tired face, and the way adrenaline kicked him out the door the moment social services were mentioned. The first freak-out, and certainly not the last.

He wondered if that was Bruce’s first, too.

“Hm,” Bruce said finally. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, his knee clicking twice in the way it always did. He cleared his throat. “I have a sudden craving for Alfred’s cocoa. Would you like to join me, or would you rather finish your book? I did interrupt your reading session.”

Remembering the book, he looked over at the floor, seeing the tossed thing still sprawled out. Ears red with his own disappointment, he picked it up and smoothed it out, the pages folding back in properly. He gently brushed imaginary lint from the cover with the back of his hand, like the action itself would prove his sincerity to the object.

“I can finish it later,” Jason mumbled, setting the book down on the side table. “Where is Alfred, anyway?”

Bruce hummed. “In my experience, he’s always around somewhere.”

fourteen

This had to be the worst part of being a Wayne.

Two years, and he still was treated like he was some half-formed member of the family. He ate breakfast at their table, he had his own room, his own goddamn legal paperwork, but still— at these galas, he was reduced to nothing more than another one of B’s charity cases.

It wasn’t even like he was in a shared boat, either. Dick had been adopted too, also an orphan, not built from money, and he was still so much better at this. He always knew what to say, always knew how to smile just right, how to charm everyone in a million-mile radius— he wore the Wayne reputation like he was made for it.

Jason was always being teased by stuffy pearl-wearers about the perfect shoes he had to fill. (If only they knew that the shoes were actually pointy and green and stupid-looking, but they didn’t, obviously.)

Jason was not good at being perfect. Not like Dick.

Jason was smaller, and he smiled nervously, and blushed like a tomato when the elderly ladies teased him for being “cute”, and he stuttered over his words to try and say the right kind of things. God forbid he let his street accent slip (which inevitably happens every time) and then they look at him with some twisted-up form of pity.

“Thank the lord he found you,” they would say, clutching their hearts, batting their eyelashes. “All alone on those dangerous, filthy streets…”

Sometimes he literally cannot believe the audacity of privileged rich people.

So yeah, he hated galas.

For this one, he had stayed relatively glued to Bruce’s side, trying not to avoid eye contact with people and trying to seem like he wasn’t wildly uncomfortable. His hands were clasped in front of him, fingers interlocked, because if he let them limp at his sides he was worried they would fidget themselves onto holding Bruce’s sleeve.

Then Bruce had been pulled away by a group of men in suits about fundraising, or something. Jason gave him a desperate expression before he left, his eyes wildly flitting around to the crowds of vultures, and Bruce had responded nonverbally, pressing his lips into a firm line. Be back soon. Bruce subtly nodded once. You’ll be okay.

Jason exhaled through his nose and watched Bruce leave with a massive fake grin for his new audience.

He stayed closer to the walls, the perimeter of the room, where an exit was close if he needed to make his own disappearance. He took a glass of sparkling juice from a passing tray and held it in hands, just for the sake of holding something.

“Mister Wayne! I was hoping to run into you!”

Jason blinked as a younger man in a tweed suit pushed forward, smiling brightly at him. The guy looked like he was in his younger twenties maybe. Scrawny. Jason opened his mouth to tell him that Bruce wasn’t here, and then realized with belated dread that–

“I’ve always wanted a chance to talk to the younger ward of Mr. Wayne,” the man explained, eyes bright. He held a drink from the bar, and sipped at it periodically.

“Well, you found me,” Jason put on his best fake smile. “I’m not really that interesting though. You’d have better luck talking with Dick, probably.”

“I quite disagree, sir!” The man, still grinning like this was the best day of his life (weird), shook his head. “You’re an inspiration to me.”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows, awkward smile still plastered on his face. “Oh. Okay.”

He’s been told that a lot of times, but all of them were when he was in a different suit. At night. With his face covered by a domino. And the people who said it to him were kids. So, it was different. It certainly made a hell of a lot more since when he was Robin.

“See, I grew up right next to Park Row,” the man continued. “It’s just great to see someone make it out of there, you know? Us Alley kids have to stick together.”

There were a lot of things running through his head, but the first and most loud one being that this guy definitely did not grow up in The Alley. It was glaringly obvious, from the way he spoke to the way he walked, and for some reason his false claim made Jason’s skin crawl.

Even if he didn’t live there anymore, he was very protective of his turf. On patrol, he made a conscious effort to add more routes through there, and fought needlessly tooth and nail when B had asked why. The Alley was broken, and dangerous, and violent, but it was also just… home. In a way he couldn’t describe.

“Where did you live?” Jason asked, interrupting his lengthy tangent about “the horrors” of the Alley. “What sector?”

“Well, East End. But I always grew up hearing stories–”

Jason choked, coughing loudly into his fist. “That’s not Crime Alley, that’s literally across the bridge.”

“So?”

“So?” Jason huffed in disbelief. “You can’t call yourself an Alley kid if you aren’t one. That’s an earned title, it's got a culture to it. It’s not that hard to understand.”

“I think that’s very prejudiced of you,” the guy raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. His smile had long faded into something equally forced. “I grew up with hardships, too. My father could hardly afford to pay for my college, my parents almost divorced because of it.”

Jason laughed. Tossed his head back, hand on his stomach, and laughed. He can hardly breathe. He’s in a state of shock. It isn’t funny, but fuck, isn’t it? Imagining a childhood where the hardest thing Jason had to deal with was almosts.

“Are you serious?” He managed to say between bursts of laughter.

The guy’s smile faded completely, and he glared. “It isn’t funny at all. Is this the respect that you’re taught to show other people?”

“I’m sorry,” Jason tried, because he knew he had to keep it together. Even if it was a totally reasonable reaction, this would definitely be frowned-upon as a Wayne. This wasn’t what Dick would do in this situation. He tried to smother his laughter in his sleeve.

“I’m serious,” the man insisted, looking disgusted, now. “Is this really how your mother raised you? She would be very disappointed, I suspect. I know mine would be.”

And just like that, nothing was funny anymore. Like he was doused in ice water. A chill ran down his spine.

“Hey, don’t fucking talk about my mom,” Jason spat out, sticking a finger in his face. “You don’t get to fucking talk about my mom.”

“Fine,” the man raised his hands, scowling. “I’ll be leaving you alone. I have more than enough content to write my article on. I’ll have to change my premise though, since I wasn’t accounting for such a disrespectful young man.”

He stormed off, leaving Jason in a shell shocked state of adrenaline. He couldn’t comprehend what the hell had just happened. He hadn’t clocked that the asshole he was talking to had been a reporter, and he’d just– he didn’t even know what he’d done, just that he’d been so offended in such a short amount of time that he’d blacked out and said something that definitely shouldn’t be in the press.

Fuck, B was going to be so upset.

Jason swallowed thickly and stared at the drink fizzing in his hands. The constant eyes on him were starting to get to him now, and he felt nausea that sunk deep in his bones. He had to make a quick escape. He could argue with B later.

By the time he had snuck into the kitchen, away from the crowds and the noise, his lungs were tight in his chest and his heart was beating like he’d been dosed with some of Crane’s toxin. He rubbed at his eyes with his palms, and sniffled when they came back wet with tears.

Is this really how your mother raised you?

God, no. That was the problem, wasn’t it? That’s why everyone was always so upset by him. He was raised to snarl back at those who bite and to look out for the ones who couldn’t. Who to take a punch from, and who to hit back. He knew where to get the cheapest drugs and which buildings to avoid on each street. He knew he could survive on an empty stomach and a thin blanket.

None of this shit translated to the cushy high-life of the Gotham upper class. He didn’t know how to adapt properly. None of it fit right. He didn’t fit right.

She would be very disappointed, I suspect.

He hoped she wouldn’t be. He sniffled some more, let the hot tears burn their way down his cheeks, and he missed his mom.

For a while, it was just the two of them. All they had was each other. Even with all the shit they went through, he knew when the cold was too sharp at night, and they snuggled together for warmth– he was able to bury his face into her stomach, and she would just hold him. “Cry as long as you need, baby,” she would say, and “I’m so sorry.”

His chest heaved with a sob, and buried his face in his hands. He was gasping in air faster than he could taste it, and his lungs wouldn’t stop burning, and it all just ached.

He hated Gotham. He hated stupid posh reporters who lived in the stupid East End. He hated himself for not thinking enough before he said stupid shit. He hated himself for stealing a car tire that got himself in this stupid position to begin with.

“Master Jason,” a familiar voice said gently behind him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone in the kitchens at this time. Is everything alright, my dear?”

Jason turned around while messily wiping tears and snot off his face. He made an incoherent sound, and then stumbled forward, digging his face right into Alfred’s chest. His arms wrapped around on their own accord, holding him like he would disappear.

There was something about the old man that just made Jason feel like he could be anyone he needed to be, and Alfred still would take care of him like he mattered more than anything else.

“There was a reporter,” Jason hiccuped out, failing to catch his breath. “I didn’t realize, like an idiot, and I said stupid stuff because he really pissed me off.”

“Bother,” Alfred murmured, rubbing circles across Jason’s back. “Did you catch this particular reporter’s name?”

Jason shook his head, guilt pressing at his insides and squeezing them inwards. He held onto Alfred tighter.

“No harm done. Master Bruce has said far more unruly things in his youth, no doubt, and I’ve dealt with them all the same. You mustn't worry.” Alfred pulled away and led him to sit down at the counter. He pulled his handkerchief out and started to dab at the tears. “I’d like you to take some deep breaths for me.”

Jason nodded, breathing in bursts of air through his nose and shakily stuttering them out through his mouth. His lip wobbled, so he bit down on it. “Can—”

“I’ll do the counting, yes.” Alfred gently wiped away the snot from his nose. “One, two, three.”

Jason breathed in, and then held his breath. His chest hiccuped, trying to take in more air, but he held steady until Alfred began counting to seven.

“I feel like a dumb little kid every time I have to do this,” Jason complained miserably.

“I understand that you’re rather bright,” Alfred corrected, raising an eyebrow. “And there is nothing wrong with youthfulness, Master Jason.”

“I guess not,” Jason said, and then breathed in to repeat the process. He held his breath. Breathed out.

The door slid open, and Alfred seemed to grow in size with the way that he had shielded Jason from view. For an old British butler, it was honestly impressive. He couldn’t be luckier to have Alfred on his side.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted. “You seem to have lost your ward again. I distinctly remember suggesting you keep him by your side at these galas.”

Bruce shrunk, looking almost as miserable as Jason. “Jack Drake wanted to speak with me about — well, it doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have left him. Is he alright?”

“A reporter found him,” Alfred said, displeasure permeating every word.

“I’m fine,” Jason spoke up, poking his head out from the side. His eyes are still red, his nose still sniffling, but his lungs reasonably more calm. “I had another freak-out, but Alfred helped.”

“Jason,” Bruce said, his shoulders dropping with relief. “I’m sorry. The reporters aren’t supposed to approach you without me there.”

“And you know how they just love following the rules,” Jason scoffed, kicking his feet.

“I’ll take care of it,” Bruce said, his eyes cold in determination like they were before patrol.

“Master Jason revealed that he may have said some things not suited for media presence,” Alfred said, carefully tucking his now dirty handkerchief into his pocket. He arched an eyebrow at Bruce.

Bruce blinked, and then understanding dawned on his face. He nodded seriously, lips pressed in a firm line. “Hm. Well, I suppose I’ll have to do something about that.”

Bruce Wayne’s definition of ‘doing something about that’ was apparently to publicly declare that he had slept with a member of the Justice League, therefore causing a media frenzy so big that Wayne Tower was flooded with paparazzi for the next four weeks. He never revealed who it was, and nobody had noticed how an entire publication website had been discreetly shut down under their noses.

Even with all his embarrassment, Jason had to admit it was funny.

sixteen

For all his expectations, Sheila Haywood turned out to be everything that his mother wasn’t.

She was tall, she had a healthy weight on her, she had blonde hair that curled at her shoulders. Her nails were well-manicured and her makeup was done with a steady hand, if the straight lines over her eyelids had anything to say about it. Her face was sharp angles and narrowed eyes, serious, firm. There was no love when she looked at him.

“What do we do with him?” She said, as if she were talking about a dead possum on the side of the road.

Robin’s domino cracked, his boots yanked off. His hair limp and matted with sweat and blood. Jason had to be the biggest idiot in the whole wide world for playing right into her hands.

“Something I’ve wanted to do for years,” Joker’s mouth stretched into an awful grin, his teeth crooked and stained with blood. “But unfortunately, you’ve outstayed your welcome. And outlived your use!”

Sheila jerked her head up, her eyes widening. “What?”

The Joker let out a long-lived cackle, his head tossed back as two of his lackeys went to tie her in rope. She fought back, gasping in shock.

“You can’t do this! I helped you! I gave you Robin,” she screeched, kicking uselessly in the air.

“Ah, yes, yes,” Joker giggled maliciously. “You were so helpful! I couldn’t have done it without you! Is that what you wanted to hear? Now tape the bitch’s mouth shut. I don’t want her spoiling my fun.”

Jason struggled against his own restraints, his wrists and ankles burning against the rope. “Batman’s gonna find you, Joker. When he does, you’re done for.”

“Nice try, baby birdie!” Joker let out another stream of lucid giggles. “He’s off across town, miles and miles away. Played right into my little trap. There’s nobody coming to help you, now. Not even your mommy! Aww, how sad...”

“Fuck you!” Jason squirmed.

Joker laughed, and laughed, and then sighed leisurely, his eyes going cold. “Clear out.”

His goons immediately vacate, leaving him and Sheila alone with Joker.

“I’ve thought long and hard about how I’d do this,” Joker smiled, adjusting his gloves. He picked up a crowbar that one of his lackeys had left. “So many good options! Pits of acid, a good dose of gas so we can all laugh together about how funny this all is, or maybe just a big ol’ shove into the Gotham River…”

Jason glared at him, not saying a word back.

“Then I figured, the more personal the better, right?” Joker leaned down, getting real close to his face. He smelt like cigarette smoke and blood and something distinctly bitter, like corroded batteries, like rotten fruit. “After all, it’s not everyday someone gets to kill Batman’s favourite toy.”

Giggles spiraled through the air, turning to roaring peals of shrieking laughter.

The first slash of the crowbar hurt the most. The cold metal slamming into his ribs, his muscles jumping, his fists clenching, his teeth scraping against each other as he flinched. The Joker kept hollering, but Jason refused to scream.

After that, the hits didn’t stop coming. His ears rang, he could hear the blood rushing. Adrenaline was the only thing willing him to stay conscious. B will get here eventually. He had to.

Another hit sent him spinning to the floor. His head hit the concrete.

“Wow…” Joker said mildly. “That looked like it really hurt.”

One. The crowbar whacked against his ribs again.

Two. His knee snapped.

Three. His collarbone cracked.

Jason collapsed to the floor again, grunting with pain, breathing like his airways had been reduced to that of a coffee straw. He was in bad shape, and he knew it– and Joker knew it, too.

“Woah, now, hang on,” Joker trailed off. He smacked the crowbar against the palm of his hand, grinning. “That looked like it hurt a lot more, so let’s try and clear this up. Okay, pumpkin?”

Jason could take a hit. He was born to take a hit. He just needed to hold on until B got his ass over here. He stared at the ceiling of the warehouse while his vision swam in circles.

“What hurts more? A, or B?” Joker began. Two blows against his chest. Another rib cracked.

“Forehand?” The crowbar knocked hard against his stomach. “Or backhand?” A strike across his face, his nose dislodging out of place.

He let out a keening groan before swallowing it down. He exhaled stiffly through his nose, shuddering in pain as the Joker broke into sadistic cackles. He mumbled under his breath, something entirely inarticulate even to himself. His head hurt.

Joker leaned in again, mimicking his choked out gasps and grunts. He chortled, grabbing him by a fistful of hair and lifting his head off the floor. “A little louder, lambchop. I think you may have a collapsed lung. That always impedes the oratory.”

Jason gathered all the blood in his mouth to one side and spit at the fucker’s face. His head immediately was slammed back into the concrete.

“Now, that was rude,” Joker said distantly, heavily annoyed. His voice sounded underwater. “The first boy blunder had some manners.”

Jason grinned back at him, unabashedly proud. Blood in his broken teeth, his eyes swollen so bad that Joker is all blurry in his view.

“I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps,” Joker sniffed, crossing his arms. Then his face split apart with gleefully bared teeth. “…Nah, I’m just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar.”

Joker stomped his foot onto Jason’s cheek, kicking him farther into the blood-splattered floor as he laughed.

He couldn’t help himself, he was starting to doubt. How long did B have to take before it doesn’t matter anymore?

Not that he’d ever admit it, but Joker was right. He had a collapsed lung. Definitely an even longer list of other shit that will definitely kill him if they aren’t solved like, yesterday. Dr. Thompson will probably kill him herself when she finds out. He didn’t even want to think of the disappointed expression on Alfred’s face when B dragged him back home covered in blood, bruises, and broken bones.

As Joker kept hitting him, his mind drifted away and drowned in the sounds of faded laughter, the scrape of metal against concrete, his own blood pumping in his ears. He suddenly really missed Dick, wondered what his reaction would be when he got home from his mission in space and saw his little brother all banged up like this.

He wanted to imagine that he’d take him to get milkshakes, and would guilt B into paying for it. And Jason would laugh and make fun of Dick for getting bubblegum, because it was too sweet and he knew it, and then Dick would shrug and still offer to share.

With every wheezy breath, Jason wanted to believe that he would make it, that he’d beat the odds and come out swinging like the proud streetrat he was. (But he wouldn’t. He knew a lost battle when he saw one.)

Joker sighed heavily, tossing the crowbar off to the side. He straightened the sleeves of his coat. “Okay, kiddo. I gotta go. It’s been fun though, right? Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you. I’m just guessing, since you’ve been awful quiet…”

Jason stayed crumpled on the floor, his head forward and blood dripping down from his hair. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, the air rattling through his chest.

“Anyways,” Joker sang. He pointed at him meaningfully. “Be a good boy. Finish your homework and be in bed by nine…”

He just had to keep fighting, didn’t he? A few more minutes. Come on B. Don’t let me down.

“And hey.” Joker smiled sharply. “Tell the big man I said hello.”

The door slammed, the echo of his laughter reverberating through the metal walls.

Jason opened his eyes and weakly rolled over, fitting his feet through the circle of his arms. His head pounded, every bone in his body ached and bruised. He grunted with pain and stood up, stumbling from the vertigo.

His mother— Sheila was still tied up, duct tape over her mouth and her eyes distant as she stared at the spot where Joker had been. She was trembling, exhibiting all the classic signs of a victim in shock.

Jason unsteadily swayed towards her, lifting his arms with a great deal of effort to tug the duct tape off. He swallowed another bout of blood and bile.

“Sheila,” he rasped. “We have to go, okay?”

Sheila looked at him like he was already dead. Like she was seeing a ghost. She wordlessly shook her head, her lips pale but surrounded by an angry red marking from the ripped tape. “I’m gonna die,” she spluttered.

Jason shivered, a ripple of pain shooting up his spine. “No, you’re not gonna die. Calm down. Take a breath with me, alright? You have to calm down.”

“No, no, no…”

“Mom,” Jason said desperately. “Please. Please, just breathe. I’m gonna look for a way out of here. Batman will save us, okay? He’s on his way.”

I hope.

Sheila breathed in shakily, and Jason took that as his cue to step away. He tripped, hitting the floor with a painful slam. He shuddered once, and then crawled across the floor with his bound arms.

He just had to reach the door. Then they were free. He could do it. Blood made a trail as he bodily dragged himself forward, and he’s almost there, he’s almost done it, even when everything hurt and screamed at him to stop.

“There’s a bomb,” Sheila suddenly said, her voice ringing in distant panic. “In the warehouse. Joker told me it was to get rid of evidence.”

Jason’s heart stopped, and he frantically searched the warehouse. His ears tuning in the muffled beeping, his eyes landing on a box with poorly concealed wires off the top and a timer on it.

The light left his eyes.

It was a rigged game from the start. There was no way to make it out alive.

“I’m going to die,” Sheila repeated again, sobbing. “I told you. I told you!”

He had every reason to hate this woman. After everything he had done to find her, after keeping his heart open from where grief had sealed it shut, and it ended like this. He had been betrayed, threatened, and served to Joker on a silver platter by her.

Jason swallowed thickly. He kept his voice calm. “You aren’t going to die. I promise. Okay? I promise, I’m going to save you.”

But it was his fault, really. He just wanted his Mama back, but Sheila wasn’t her. She was just a scared civilian, manipulated by the Joker like so many others had been, and Jason…

Jason had a responsibility to take care of scared civilians, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what the ‘R’ on his chest stood for?

“I want you to breathe with me,” Jason said, his voice shaking. “Breath in for three seconds, hold for five, and then let it out real slow. That’s how– that’s how my dad taught me to do it. Okay?”

There’s ten seconds on the clock.

“Okay,” Sheila said shakily.

“One, two, three.” Jason stood up and shakily made his way to the bomb. If he shielded her, then…

Sheila gasped for air, then held it.

“You’re gonna be okay, Mom,” Jason promised her. Six seconds left. His eyes set on the timer with a stony acceptance. “One… Two… Three…”

“Four…”

“Five…”

Robin hugged the bomb.

Sheila exhaled with a scream.

seventeen: an interlude

Nobody had ever taught him how to return from the dead properly.

All he knew was that he woke up very much alive. There wasn’t air to breathe, and the box he’d been trapped in, the coffin, was damp and layered in satin. He was suffocating to death. Instincts kicked in. He broke through the box with his fist, punching upwards as hard as he could manage, and then the dirt started to pour.

There wasn’t time to think. For the next two minutes, all he’d known was desperation; blue lips and clawing hands. Dirt and blood were caked underneath his fingernails when he finally managed to haul himself out of the hole. He’s catching his breath, sucking in greedy gulps of oxygen like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it, choking on rain and mud, and he’s so confused.

He looked down at his clothes, he was wearing something expensive, a black and white suit and tie that was actively being waterlogged. His limbs are heavy, his mouth tasted thick of wax. He was hungry. Supposedly an indeterminate amount of time underground will do that to you.

Maybe he was a zombie, except instead of brains, he was hungry for cucumber sandwiches, for whatever reason. Maybe he was a ghost. Maybe he dreamt the whole thing up, and this is just a really weird coma nightmare.

Fuck, all he remembered last was pain. Awful, torturous amounts of pain. The smell of burnt skin, blood sticky in his hair, and laughter, so much fucking laughter. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He couldn’t place where it was from, or why, but he wanted it to stop.

He walked until grass turned to concrete. He walked over a bridge, and through a city, stumbling along the way in a mindless trance. He shivered from the cold, he ignored everyone in his path, and when he blinked, he found himself at the entrance of a hospital.

The hospital asked him who he was.

He said he didn’t know.

The hospital asked him why he had several broken ribs and bones that hadn’t healed properly.

He said he didn’t know.

The hospital asked him if he was feeling alright.

He said he was scared.

He’s set up in a room and the clipboard said his name was “John Doe”, which he knew wasn’t correct and made his head hurt when he tried to fix it. They gave him so many drugs that he slept for what seemed like weeks, and when he woke up there’s someone else in his room.

The hospital said she knew him.

He didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t say anything, actually. His mouth didn’t feel like it was working right, like it had still been full of dirt and mud, and his head was buzzing like he was still underneath the ground, waiting for that last gasp of nonexistent oxygen before he died again.

He gripped his arms with a white-clawed grip, his nails digging into the skin. He tried very hard not to throw up.

“My name is Talia,” she greeted, her arms crossed in front of her. “Do you remember anything?”

Laughter. It’s crawling up the walls and crawling down my throat and it’s hitting me in the chest over, and over, and over again.

“No,” he answered, forcing the words out.

“I see.” She cleared her throat and stood up from her chair, tossing her long brown hair off her shoulder. “We shall have to do something about that.”

His eyes lifted to hers, and his jaw shook from how hard he was clenching his teeth. “You can fix me?”

Talia’s green eyes glinted at him like knives. “When I am done with you Jason, you will be able to fix yourself.”

nineteen

“Fuck, did he leave? Shit. He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight! Intel said he’d be in Tricorner.”

“Well, obviously, he fuckin’ wasn’t, because the goddamn Joker broke outta Arkham again. Use your brain, numbnuts,” the other spat back. “Hood said to be on guard, so I bet it was in his plan, anyways.”

“Hood fucking hates Batman, doesn’t he? He’s always doin’ all these extra steps to avoid his ass, I dunno what the hell he’s thinkin’.”

“That’s because it’s not your job to know! Our job is to shuddup and do what we’re told, not to sit around with our thumbs up our asses wonderin’ what the big guy’s plannin’.”

Redhood shoved open the door, and all the voices went quiet. They wisely didn’t say a damned thing about how he was trembling, how his heavy breath could be heard through his helmet.

“Wise,” Redhood said, jutting his head towards the last one of his asshole lackeys who spoke. “More of you should take his advice.”

“Mr. Hood,” one of them said hesitantly. “What the hell happened out there?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Hood growled out. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair.

He took his gloves off, his hands shaking bad, and flexed his knuckles, stretching out the sore muscles of his fingers. Blood dripped down to the floor and on the desk in front of him.

“They said the Joker’s—”

Hood shuddered, and instantly turned around with a gun, cocked and aimed right at the man’s head. He grit his teeth. “Do you think it’s wise to keep speaking?”

The man gulped. “N-No, sir.”

Hood clicked the safety back on and put the gun back on his thigh. He continued to scowl underneath the helmet. “Fan-fuckin’-tastic. You’re not as dumb as I thought.”

Someone else spoke up, nervous. “Do you want some water, sir?”

Redhood stood up, and everyone went still again. Silent. Waiting for a pin to drop, waiting for the grenade to go off. He exhaled stiffly through his nose. “Everyone go home.”

They didn’t wait for another order, all scurrying off in different directions like rats. Redhood stood alone in a warehouse, blueprints and firearms scattered across tables, a hellish empty home of his own devising. He exhaled and clicked his helmet off, setting it in front of him.

“You don’t understand,” Bruce told him. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood.”

Jason’s stomach turned, twisted, tensed. He swallowed back bile and cradled his injured hand to his chest. Maybe he didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t even want to. There was still the little kid in him waiting for Batman to show up in time, to take down the Joker, to make the hurt stop, to bring him home safe again—

“I can’t.” Bruce’s voice was cold. “I’m sorry.”

Jason ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, tasting blood from where Batman had beaten his face in. His whole plan had gone belly-up. He was getting tired. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this.

He had the Joker right under his hands— could’ve squeezed the life out of him all by himself– and Bruce had been right there, gun in hand—

“If you don’t kill this psychotic piece of filth, I will,” he had promised, digging the muzzle into Joker’s temple. “If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to kill me.”

He had always asked Bruce for so little. Now he had been begging. Please do something. If you’re going to kill me again, at least do it right this time. Make it last.

It had been easier when he didn’t ask for things. Easier to avoid betrayal.

But he had to admit he was getting tired of exploding buildings, and even more tired of counting to three.

twenty

“Ok, Hood.” Oracle’s voice rang succinct and clear through his earpiece. “Spoiler and Orphan have wrapped up the robbery on your turf. They’re heading towards Little Italy for a carjacking, I’ve put them on their own channel.”

“Sure,” Jason stretched his hands above his head, his spine giving a satisfying crack. He groaned and twisted side to side. “So, where do you want me?”

“Perfect timing. I’ve just received a signal from Nightwing, he’s near your area. Looks like he could use some help.”

“Send it my way,” Jason said, shoving on his helmet. He kicked the stand off his motorcycle and started towards the east border of the Alley, where O had sent a geographical beacon.

“Patching you in,” Oracle said, and the comm beeped.

“Hey, Dickwing,” Jason greeted. “Heard you were getting your ass kicked.”

A series of gunshots layered over Dick’s response. “Little Wing! Oh yeah, I’m great. This is my favourite way to spend a Friday night.”

Jason snorted. “It’s Tuesday.”

“… Is it? Oh shit, I totally missed an appointment with Thompkins. She’s going to kick my ass.”

“Yeah, you’re fucked,” Jason confirmed.

“No chatter on the comms,” Oracle cut in. “Hood, take your next left. Shortcut. Nightwing, maybe start with explaining why you need an assist.”

“Right! Yeah.” Dick coughed. “Got caught in a blast. There's some gang war going on down here; Joker’s men fighting with Black Mask’s.”

Oracle paused for a moment. Jason was so caught off guard that he missed his shortcut.

“I’m calling in Batman,” Oracle said finally. “Hood, take your next exit, I’m redirecting you to—“

“I’ll be fine,” Jason cut in sharply. “It’s just some shitty henchmen, alright? I’m more surprised there’s a fuckin’ gang war going on and I didn’t hear about it ‘til now.”

“I think it was spontaneous,” Nightwing explained. “Seemed like one of them got in the way of the other’s operation by accident, and the retaliation turned into this whole mess.”

“Fuckin’ idiots.”

“Right,” Oracle sighed. “Okay. Nightwing, do you need an evac?”

“No, I’m fine,” Dick confirmed. “Little banged up, but nothing is broken. I need some help tying the loose ends, they have some pretty heavy artillery and I’m pinned down in the middle.”

“I’ll work my way from the outside,” Jason grunted. “O, can I have the schematics of the building?”

“Sending them now.”

“Received. I’m on my way.”

“Thanks, Hood.”

Jason hopped off his motorcycle, the sounds of gunfire loud now that he was right next to them. The entire outside of the warehouse was wrecked, bullet holes leading chaotic trails up and down the concrete. He could place exactly where explosives had been carelessly thrown around by bits of shrapnel and old mortar.

He unholstered his own pistols, keeping them at his sides, and grappled up the nearest wall of the warehouse. He looked in through a gap in the roof. There were several guys on either side, all of which were armed to the teeth with bulletproof vests and autos. Great.

“Wing, where’re you at?” Jason scanned through the inside with the X-Ray visor of his helmet. “Wave.”

He caught a body crouched behind big shipping containers, waving. Right in the center of the warehouse.

“Jesus, you really like getting yourself wedged in the middle of all the shit, don’t you?”

“Right in the crack,” Nightwing agreed dryly.

“If I toss a smoke grenade, can you sneak up to the rafters?” Hood asked, fiddling with the pouches on his belt.

“Yes,” he agreed immediately. “Great idea, Little Wing. I used my last one earlier.”

Hood gave an noncommittal grunt, and pulled the pin on a smoke grenade from his belt. “Heads up.”

He tossed the thing towards the center, and smoke billowed out. Some of the men started shouting, equal parts alarm and confusion— everyone thinking the other side threw it. A blurry figure tumbled through the smoke and disappeared in the upper shadows.

“Nice,” Dick grinned. “I’ll go for Joker’s gang, you go for Roman’s?”

“Whatever,” he replied, trying to feel indifferent about the relief that threatened to bloom in his chest. It’s not that he couldn’t take on Joker’s goons, he just fuckin’ hated doing it. And Dickie knew that, no thanks to his goddamned bleeding heart.

Jason moved, dropping down behind the offending criminals. He took them out two at a time, and made quick word of it: knocking AKs out of hands and shooting rubber bullets at kneecaps, close-range.

If there was one thing Blackmask never got right, it was competent henchman. Even if he hadn’t gotten personally trained by Talia’s hired teachers, these assholes were only as good as their trigger finger— and Jason was great at breaking those.

Based off of the easy jabs and carefree laughs coming from Dick’s comms, he wasn’t having trouble either.

“Gunshot reports are being called in,” Oracle informed. “What’s the progress?”

“Give us ten minutes,” Nightwing’s reply called back. “This should wrap up pretty quick.”

“Heard,” and then a beep signifying Oracle muting herself.

“Hood,” Wing said suddenly. “We’ve got a problem. They don’t care about me kicking their ass anymore, they’re trying to run away. I think they know something we don’t.”

Jason swore loudly. It could just be simple when Joker was involved. He knocked out more of the incoming henchman and then bit out his reply. “Is this a gas-mask situation, or a get-the-fuck-outta-Dodge situation?”

Honestly, it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t like messing with toxin, too much room for accidents, and he really wasn’t the biggest fan of being inside explosions either, believe it or not. It was almost as if he had massive undealt-with trauma around the idea of getting blown to smithereens. Almost.

“Not sure yet,” Dick sighed. “Interrogating now. Yes, you, I’m interrogating you— what are you running from?

A loud, incoherent response that was fuzzy over the comms.

“How long?” Nightwing’s voice dropped, going serious. Something in Hood’s stomach dropped.

Another response that he couldn’t hear, followed by Nightwing swearing loudly. “Hood, evac now.”

Jason’s stomach twisted, his throat tight. He jumped up the storage containers, leaving the remainder of Blackmask’s men to ditch. “Where is it?”

A body tackled him and they both went flying out the window, glass splintering everywhere, and then a cacophonic boom rattled the ground. Waves of heat rushed over them both, and it was too familiar, it was too fucking familiar.

Jason scrambled away, and he can smell burning flesh, he can smell burning rubber, smoke is in his eyes, his mouth, his throat. He tugged away at his helmet, tossing it to the floor carelessly as he gasped for the air that’d been knocked out of him.

“Shit,” Nightwing heaved. “Wing, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he wheezed out, shutting his eyes tight. Fire licked at his face, he can hear cackling in the back of his head like a goddamn earworm.

There’s someone talking to him, to both of them, a quick voice rattling off in both of their ears and asking questions. Jason ripped the comm out of his ringing ears, but it didn’t stop the laughter. Nothing stopped the laughter.

“We’re alive,” Dick said, finger pressed to his earpiece. “We need fire rescue, EMT, and body recovery. Hood needs support, I’m signing off early. If B asks where we are, lie.”

“I don’t need any fucking support,” Jason spat out. “Fuck off, Dick.”

His vision was spinning. He searched around blindly to get his helmet, because he needed to fucking leave, now.

“Hood, hold on,” Dick said, catching up to him. He’s clutching his side with one hand, his muscles tensing from pain. Jason scowled at him. “C’mon, let’s go take a breather somewhere. You pick the spot.”

“I don’t need a breather!” Jason seethed. He finally found his helmet, a crack in one of the visor’s eyes, and picked it up with one hand. “Go to the cave, you’re hurt. And fuck off, you’re gonna get blood on me.”

Dick ignored him, following him like goddamn stink on shit. “I’ll leave you alone if you can promise me honestly that you’re not having a freak-out right now.”

‘Freak-out.’ Like he was thirteen years old again and Dick just learned about the panic attacks, the first time he slept over at his apartment. The undertone of worry, the hesitation to hold out his arms, the smell of burnt cocoa on the stovetop in his best attempt to comfort.

And as much as it pissed him off, he wished so badly that it could be like that again. But he didn’t know how to be that little brother anymore. As far as he could tell, that kid died with an ‘R’ on his beaten chest, and was buried in the ground.

He never did figure out where that left the two of them— or where that left him.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Jason said, shoving him away. Green in his eyes, smoke in his throat. He pressed onwards, getting back on his motorcycle. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

He left Dick behind, and when his eyes were burning, he ignored it. He knew it wasn’t because of the smoke.

twenty-two

“Listen, old man,” Jason sighed. “You want to help, I get it. But I really can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a while. You know, in case you forgot.”

He wasn’t even sure why Bruce was so determined to follow him all the way out here. The Prince of Gotham was rarely seen slumming it in Crime Alley, unless there was some kind of press event. Which there definitely wasn’t.

Apparently Bruce was convinced that Jason needed some kind of “spotting” on funds, or rent, or something. It all just seemed like too little, too late. He had his own apartment, he paid for it himself, with good and honest crime-lord money.

“Alfred told me to intervene. I’m not saying you need to live in the manor,” Bruce argued. “Even though we have more than enough space—“

“Okay, yeah. I’m not fuckin’ living in the manor. I’m not twelve anymore, Bruce.”

“—Tim told me about the state of your apartment,” Bruce continued, conceding a very tired look. “He said it was worse than your brother’s.”

Jason turned into the next alley, the one behind the Monarch— the quickest shortcut to his so-called trash heap of an apartment. If you asked him, it was actually very distinguished. He even had a black couch to mask the blood stains.

“Oh, we’re trusting the kid’s judgement?” Jason walked backwards, screwing his face up for Bruce to see. “Have you seen Timmy’s room lately? That shit should be marked as a BSL-4.”

Bruce wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes trained ahead. “Jason—“

Jason scoffed. “No, I’m serious. Have you been in there with a Geiger-Müller counter yet? I’ve got some concerns.”

“Jason.”

“Jesus, what?” Jason finally turned around to face in front of him.

The exit to the alley is totally blocked off. One mugger, gun drawn, held out like it was his first time holding any kind of weapon.

“Don’t fucking move,” the man said lowly, his voice shaking.

A laugh threatened its way right up Jason’s throat, a boisterous, almost manic kind-of-thing. His mouth fell open, and he just stared, for a moment. Taking it all in.

The dumb-fuck that just cornered the Red Hood and Batman— The Boogeyman, The Dark Knight, Literal Fucking Shadow of Gotham— with intent to mug. And he had no idea what he was doing.

“Oh, this night has just gotten so much better,” Jason muttered, a smile stretching its way across his face.

“Empty—“ The man shook and stuttered, the muzzle waving all over the place from his trembling hands. Jason almost felt bad for the poor bastard. “Empty your pockets! Now, damn it. Right now.”

Well, he knew Bruce didn’t have shit— but Jason was actively carrying two pistols and three knives. They were, after all, in Park Row. Home sweet home, right?

Ah, but they were civilians, so Jason couldn’t reveal that just yet. Had to keep up some kind of illusion, supposedly, but Jason really just wanted to be an asshole. Forgive him, it wasn’t so often that he got to have fun outside of the mask.

“Have you ever even shot that thing before?” Jason jutted his chin out, amused. “You look nervous, buddy.”

“I have,” Dumb-fuck blurted defensively. “I’ve fired it loads of times. I’ve— this clip is full, too, so don’t fuck around!”

“Sorry, what’s full?” Jason repeated, taking a step closer. He was full of an undeniable glee, watching this idiot squirm. “You know, other than your fuckin’ ego.”

Bruce stayed silent behind him, and he could picture how he looked just from the muscle memory of having done it so many times before. Here they were, back at it again after such a long time. Him doing the distracting of some guilty schmuck, Bats doing the intimidating; a silent, lurking mass of shadow that stood like a shield behind him.

He sure as hell wasn’t Robin anymore, but Jason was an annoying little shit long before he put on the colours. Everything be damned if he didn’t keep it after the green and yellow was ripped away. (He almost felt like something was clicking back into its old, childish place. The two of them facing off a threat together, again.)

“The clip,” Dumb-fuck insisted. His finger twitched around the trigger, but didn’t pull. He made an expertly dramatic move of pointing the pistol right at Jason’s face, but he’s shaking so much that it would be a goddamn miracle if he actually landed a shot anywhere.

“Right, yeah. That’s called a mag, babygirl,” Jason grinned, his teeth sharp as a wolf’s. “Listen, I’ll give you a choice here, because you’ve really made my night with this whole mugger-schtick.”

Dumb-fuck swallowed audibly, his eyes wide. He shifted around uncomfortably on his feet.

“Run off now, and we’ll let you go,” Jason offered. “Or, I can take another step forward and show you exactly how that pistol works. I’ll give you three seconds to think about it, alright? One… Two…”

Dumb-fuck’s eyes flit around wildly between Jason and the street. He suddenly shoved the pistol down his pants, and took off sprinting around cars, nearly getting himself killed in the process.

Jason laughed loudly, tossing his head back. He rubbed at his eyes in disbelief, turning back to Bruce. “Can you fuckin’ believe that? Holy shit. Didn’t even have—“

His voice disappeared as he actually caught sight of Bruce.

Or, what… should have been Bruce.

Right now, he was looking more at a ghost.

Bruce hadn’t been hidden. He stood directly in the harsh light of the moon. His face gaunt, the blood drained and leaving him as pale as a cadaver. His eyes wide, trained on the same spot, and full of an emotion that Jason had never ever imagined to see on him.

The pieces click fast. The alley, the gun, the haunted tone of B’s voice last time he’d said his name.

He… had no idea how to handle this.

Jason awkwardly stood there, not knowing what to do with his hands, not sure if he should step closer or step away.

“Hey,” Jason tried. “Bruce, where are you right now?”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a firm line. A shudder of anguish visibly passed over his face, his eyes shutting, his chin tilting down. “Here,” he said gruffly.

Liar.

“Sure,” Jason conceded, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. We’re here. That asshole is gone. It’s just us, alright? Come on, you know that.”

Bruce swallowed thickly, his eyes never leaving the broken concrete of the alleyway’s ground. He nodded, twitched for a moment, his lip curling. Then he turned his head and gagged.

“Shit,” Jason said quickly, and made a move towards him, like that would do fucking anything.

Bruce exhaled stiffly through his nose, bending over to rest his weight on his knees. He breathed out shakily through his mouth.

“Okay,” Jason hovered his hands over B’s shoulders, unsure if touching him would make it worse, god forbid. “Let’s— er. Let’s get to my apartment? We’re a minute away. The fresh air will do you good.”

Hopefully. Fresh air wasn’t really a commodity in Gotham, anyways, but Jason was shit out of luck if he didn’t try something.

“I’m just fine, Jason,” Bruce said hoarsely. His eyes flitting around the alleyway, looking towards both exits like he was about to bolt but couldn’t decide in which direction. “Go home, we’ll speak later.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Jason scoffed. “We’re walking together. Both of us, right now. Keep up.”

Jason grabbed him by the collar and started walking, depending solely on Bruce’s stumbling next to him to set the pace. After he was sure that Bruce wouldn’t fuckin’, escape, or something, he let go of him. Bruce kept following.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce spoke up. Still pale as a ghost.

Jason led him up the stairs of his apartment complex. “The fuck are you sorry for? You didn’t even do anything.”

“That’s why I’m apologizing,” Bruce said dryly.

Jason scoffed and shoved the keys into the door, turning it open. He tumbled in and instinctively set a saucepan on the stovetop.

Bruce had never seen his apartment. Jason tried to look at it now how he was probably seeing it— the crappily-installed bookshelves with borrowed books from the Manor’s library, Roy’s clothes scattered in odd places, stains on the walls where smoke had been and odd cracks filled in with spackling. It was all just familiar in a way that made his chest hurt.

He poured milk and vanilla into the saucepan and started it on a low heat, and Bruce stood uselessly in the doorway. Jason huffed. “Stop lurking. Sit down somewhere. I don’t give a shit where.”

Bruce uncomfortably moved further into the apartment. He sat down on Jason’s taped up black couch with perfect posture and worrying hands. His detective eyes wandered around the place, and Jason hated every second of it.

“Tim was wrong,” he said finally. “Your apartment isn’t as bad as Dick’s.”

Jason opened his mouth, and then closed it. He furrowed his eyebrows and stirred at the saucepan mixture. He wordlessly measured cocoa powder from the cabinets and dumped in chocolate chips.

He could see how Bruce was breathing. The rhythm of how his chest would rise and fall were always the same, always in sync with the same pattern. Fuck, Jason knew it well. He probably wouldn’t ever forget, because he did it too, every night.

“He could have killed you,” Bruce mumbled coarsely.

“He really couldn’t’ve,” Jason said back easily. Stirring the saucepan. Avoiding eye contact. “His safety was on.”

“Jason.”

Jason sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

“You don’t,” Bruce argued tiredly. “You couldn’t possibly. He had a gun on you, and I couldn’t move. I could have lost you.”

Again.

“I could have lost you, just like I lost them,” Bruce shook.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Jason said, glaring at the stove, “but you have to be easier on yourself.”

Jason turned the burner off and grabbed two mugs down from the cabinet. “Yeah, we could have died. But we almost die every night, B. Plus, the circumstances weren’t exactly on your side.”

“It doesn’t matter. I—”

Jason sent him a nasty look, jutting his chin out. “Do you force me to go patrol when Joker breaks out of Arkham?”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course not. But that’s—”

“It is the same,” Jason interrupted. He poured the cocoa mixture into both mugs and walked into the living room, setting both on the coffee table. “Now stop fuckin’ arguing and drink your damn cocoa, or I’ll call Alfred.”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment, his shoulders dropping, the fight drained out of him. His eyes were so gentle, and for a moment Jason almost didn’t recognize the expression, and then he realized with a start that it was just… love.

Despite everything.

“Jason,” Bruce began again.

“Don’t,” Jason said, his voice rough. A lump in his throat. “I know.”

Bruce’s eyes twinkled at the edges, his mouth turning up at the corners.

“You make good cocoa.”

[theauthorunicorn]

Imagine | Nanami Kento

a painful rundown of your life with Nanami

notes: jjk shibuya arc is so painful to watch. I have read this arc but damn, it being animated hurts so much. anyway enjoy this heartbreak. reblogs, comment and likes are appreciated!

based on ariana grande's imagine.

Nanami Kento x Reader

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

Nobody knew how you knew each other. Kento always gives off this stoic vibe while you're the life of the party. All of your friends, especially Satoru, tease how both of you are like polar opposites but still attract each other. Maybe he was the one made for you after all, and Nanami Kento is your other half.

You spend most of your time together, either cooking or lounging in his kitchen, telling him stories that he has probably heard before. You and your theatric movements are trying to describe what happened, and he is just humming and listening to everything.

"And that's it, Ken; that's what happened to the book that I was just reading, but," you pouted, "I really wish you could read it so that we can talk about it."

"I don't need to read it now; you've told me the whole plot anyway."

You sighed, "Oh, I saw a good book at the bookstore earlier; we could buy two of it so you can read it together with me."

He hums in agreement.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

Kento was everything for you. When both of you first kissed, you knew that he was perfect for you. He doesn't need to tell you that it was perfect for him as well, because the way he kissed back was the answer you're looking for. You always loved how you two were in sync; he's either in the bathtub bathing his worries away or you, with no make-up, casually applying some skin care. It's like a routine.

"I love how my face fits so well in your neck, darling," he mumbled as he hugged you after he took his bath. "Hmm, me too, Ken; I love it."

Many nights were spent sleeping on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. Nobody knows this side of Nanami Kento, only you. He puts his guard down and acts like a regular man with no worries about tomorrow.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

"Hey Kento," you say, walking backwards to face him through the halls of Jujutsu High, "can you tell me all your secrets?"

His eyebrows knitted with your question, "What secrets, love?"

"I don't know," you shrugged, "that's why I'm asking."

He held your hands somehow, asking without a word to walk with him, "Sure. If you tell me yours as well."

You laughed as you gripped his hand tighter. "And all of the creep shit too, okay?"

"What creep shit?"

"The creep shits! So, I know it's true, Ken."

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

Kento will always treasure his moments with you; with one click of his phone camera, a moment with you is forever captured. He planned to print all the photos and make an album out of them. He thought about letting your future lineage know what kind of woman you are today. Young, vibrant, beautiful, and perfect. He wants to keep you forever until the end.

"Eh?! Why do you have these nasty pictures and videos of me?" Pouting as you scroll in his phone gallery, "I'm deleting this."

He snatched his phone. "No, you can't."

"What are you that obsessed with me?"

"Probably."

"Are you making a movie about me?"

"Maybe."

"Then, just make sure that you will name me in the credits as the lead actress." You smiled.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

You reminisce about all of the days you spent with Kento. Every day of your life with him is played in your head like the lyrics of your favorite song.

You waved him goodbye, a kiss was planted on his lips, and a mumbled I love you was exchanged on the street of Shibuya on October 31, 2018.

"Be careful, Y/N. I'll see you later. I love you always and forever." He smiled.

"You too, my love." You answered, "I'll see you later." You didn't finish your sentence as a gore, painful premonition flashed in your eyes. If you were to ask someone to describe your cursed technique, you'd never be proud of it. You can see flashes of the future—an oracle of a definite future with no power to reverse it.

"I'll see you later or in another lifetime, Kento. I will scour the whole world to be with you," you promised him.

Again.