#he did kill himself right after so maybe he is sticking to his word

[benispunk]

Safety Net

logan howlett x reader

Logan experiences a rage episode.

A/N: hello everyone!!!! am I back??? well...I guess we can kinda say that? So, life hasn't been good, like, at all, and a whileeee ago I saw a post about mental health and Logan and I saw the "rage episodes" part and I cannot find this post anymore which is killing me ughhhh but ANYWAY, this is my rendition of a rage episode. this was very therapeutic to write because of the things I went through recently and over the past few years as I have witnessed someone in my family have a rage episode like the one depicted in this fic. I really hope I do not offend anyone with this??? cause this is based on personal memory and also I've done a lot of research on it and as I said, I felt lots of different emotions while writing this....anyway...I hope you have a good time?? reading this or like...you didn't choke on your tears or whatever. my exams are ALMOST over which means....more fics soon?? see you!!

Masterlist

Logan never thought he’d make it this far.

He wasn’t the type for relationships—not real ones, not the kind that lasted. The ones he’d had before were brief, messy, and built on things that never stuck. But Y/N was different. She didn’t just put up with him; she understood him in ways that no one ever had. And somehow, despite everything, she was still here.

He didn’t say it much—not in words, anyway—but he cared about her. More than he should. More than he knew how to handle. He’d show it in other ways instead. Walking her home when she worked late. Holding her a little tighter in his sleep when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Memorizing the way she took her coffee, the songs she hummed under her breath, the way her nose scrunched up when she was thinking.

She saw through all of it.

"You’re not as grumpy as you think you are," she’d teased him once, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his forearm.

He’d just snorted, shaking his head. "You sure about that?"

"Mhm. You just pretend to be."

And maybe she was right. Maybe, with her, he didn’t feel the need to pretend so much.

Which is why, one night, tangled up together in her apartment, she had said something that stuck with him.

"I was thinking… maybe one day, we could live together."

It wasn’t a question, not really. Just an idea, something she had tossed out so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But Logan had frozen for just a second too long, and she must have noticed because she quickly added, "Not now, obviously. Just, you know… one day. If you’d want that."

He forced himself to relax, to keep his voice even. "Yeah… someday."

That had been enough for her. She had smiled, kissed him, and let it go.

But he didn’t.

It stayed with him, gnawed at him from the inside out. Someday. What did that even mean? A month? A year? What if she asked again? What if she expected something from him?

What if he said yes and fucked everything up?

At first, he managed to push the thought aside.

Days passed, and nothing changed. They still met up when they could, still spent nights tangled in each other’s arms, still fell into that easy rhythm that had become so natural.

But then, the idea started sticking.

It crept up in quiet moments—when he was alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling. When Y/N texted him goodnight, and he imagined what it would be like if she was just… there.

And that’s when it started. The overthinking. The doubts. The realization of everything that could go wrong.

Logan had never had anything that lasted. Not a home. Not a real future. Not someone who stayed. And if he let himself believe—even for a second—that this could work, that he could have something good, then he’d just be setting himself up for the inevitable.

Because eventually, he would hurt her.

Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But he knew himself. He knew what he was.

His nightmares alone were enough proof of that.

The thought of waking up next to her after one of those nights—claws unsheathed, sheets shredded, breath ragged—made his stomach twist. What if he lashed out? What if she got caught in it?

What if one of his rage episodes got out of hand?

No.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So when months later she asked about it again—actually asked—he hesitated.

They were sitting on her couch, her legs thrown over his lap, a movie playing in the background. It was the kind of easy, quiet moment that usually put him at ease. But this time, he could feel her looking at him, like she was weighing her words before speaking.

"You never really answered me before," she said finally. "Do you actually want us to live together?"

Logan’s jaw tightened. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, like she was scared of his answer.

He should have told her the truth. That it had been eating him alive for months. That he wanted to say yes, but his fear screamed louder than anything else.

Instead, he said, "I just need some time to think about it."

Y/N’s expression didn’t change. She just nodded slowly, studying him in that way that made his skin itch.

"Okay," she said, like she didn’t believe him.

And then she squeezed his hand. Just briefly. A small, warm reassurance.

But to Logan, it didn’t change anything.

He could only see what he thought was disappointment behind her understanding. He convinced himself she was just trying to be strong about it, pretending it didn’t hurt her when really, she was just waiting for him to figure himself out.

The guilt settled in his chest, heavy and suffocating.

That’s how it started.

The beginning is always subtle. He stayed out later, made excuses when she asked to meet up. His texts became shorter, more infrequent. He spent more time alone in his apartment, staring at the walls, trapped inside his own head.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Logan convinced himself it was nothing. He was just thinking. That’s all.

But the thoughts never stopped.

Every time Y/N messaged him, guilt curled in his stomach like a sickness. He’d stare at his phone for minutes at a time, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before locking the screen and tossing it onto the couch.

He didn’t want to ignore her. But if he answered, he’d have to talk, and if he talked, she’d hear it in his voice—how torn he was, how he could barely keep himself together. And he couldn’t let that happen.

So he let the distance grow.

He told himself it was for her own good. That he was doing her a favor.

That lie worked for about a week.

Then came the restlessness.

The apartment, always too small, started feeling like a cage. Logan found himself pacing the length of it, muscles coiled so tight they ached. He tried training to burn it off—push-ups until his arms gave out, running until he couldn't feel his legs—but it didn’t help.

The frustration built like pressure under his skin, like a ticking bomb he couldn’t disarm.

And worst of all, he felt it creeping up—an old, familiar feeling, something he’d kept at bay for months.

The anger.

It started small. A twitch in his fingers. A tightness in his jaw. A heat in his chest that never fully went away.

The second week, it got worse.

His hands trembled when he wasn’t paying attention. His breathing came too fast, too shallow, like something was crawling under his skin. He felt his temper snap quicker, his patience wear thinner.

And then, one morning, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized himself.

Dark circles burned under his eyes. His face was drawn, sharp, his shoulders tense. He looked haunted.

It was getting bad. Too bad.

He needed to see Y/N.

The thought hit him like a slap. His first instinct was to shove it down, bury it under everything else, but it wouldn’t leave.

He missed her. But worse than that—he needed her.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he showed up, and she looked at him the way he looked at himself?

What if she finally saw him for what he really was?

A monster. A wreck. A lost cause.

The fear made his blood run cold.

The first punch isn’t planned.

One second, he’s gripping the sink, breath ragged, jaw locked so tight it aches. The next, his fist slams into the mirror with a force that shatters it instantly.

Glass rains down like ice. Tiny shards bite into his knuckles, but he barely feels it.

His chest heaves. His heartbeat pounds against his ribs. He stares at his own fractured reflection—his face split into a dozen broken pieces, each one warped, wrong.

It’s not enough.

The rage claws higher, burning his veins, crushing his ribs. He steps back, breathing sharp and uneven. He moves away from the bathroom, into his small living room. And then he snaps.

The lamp goes flying first. It crashes against the far wall, exploding into pieces. The chair follows. He barely registers the sound it makes as it shatters.

His claws threaten to unsheathe, but he fights it—barely.

Instead, he tears through the apartment with nothing but his hands.

The table gets overturned. Books get ripped from shelves. His dresser—too heavy, too solid—takes three violent attempts before it topples over with a thunderous crack.

Still, it’s not enough.

He needs to break something. To hurt something. To feel it.

His breathing is ragged, his vision tunneling. His hands tangle in his own hair, yanking, as if he could pull himself out of his own skin.

The storm inside him is suffocating.

It doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left standing.

And then, silence.

His shoulders tremble. His hands curl into fists at his sides, still shaking.

He looks around, blinking through the haze, and finally sees it—

The wreckage.

His apartment is destroyed.

He stares, breath coming too fast, too shallow. His head is spinning. His chest aches.

What have I done?

The thought slams into him, knocking the air from his lungs.

He wants to scream. To punch something again. To disappear.

And then—

A soft knock.

His stomach drops.

He goes rigid, pulse hammering in his ears. He barely has time to process before her voice follows—gentle, uncertain.

"Logan?"

No. No, no, no.

She can’t be here. Not now. Not when the air still vibrates with rage. Not when his body still hums with it.

He staggers back, breath shaking, trying to make sense of anything.

She knocks again. "I know you’re here."

Panic surges through him.

He grips the edge of the still standing counter, heart hammering. Think. Think.

But his mind is blank.

She can’t see this. She can’t see him.

But she’s already here.

And it’s too late.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. If he stays completely still, maybe she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll assume he’s out and walk away.

But then—

His phone rings.

The sound shatters the silence like a gunshot.

His stomach drops.

Shit.

His body jolts into motion, eyes darting wildly through the wreckage. Where the hell is it? He moves without thinking, shoving aside broken furniture, tossing clothes and debris out of the way. His hands are unsteady, frantic, as he digs through the mess.

The ringing continues.

Come on, come on—

His fingers finally close around the device, and he scrambles to turn it off, but—

The damage is done.

Outside, Y/N goes silent.

A few seconds pass, then—

"...Logan?" Her voice is softer now. Knowing.

His chest tightens.

He grips the phone so hard it creaks in his hand. His breathing is too loud, his pulse a hammer against his skull.

She knows.

"Logan, open the door."

No. No, no, she can’t.

"You can’t come in," he blurts out, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, tries to steady himself, but it’s useless. His hands are still shaking. His entire body is.

"Please." Her voice is so gentle it cuts through him like a blade.

"Just—just go home, alright?" He forces the words out, presses his back against the door like he can physically hold her out. "I’m fine."

He knows how it sounds. Knows she doesn’t believe it.

"Logan…"

There’s something in her tone—something aching—that makes his stomach twist.

"You’re not fine," she says, quiet but firm. "Please. Just let me in."

He squeezes his eyes shut. His head is spinning.

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t see this.

But she is.

And deep down, he knows. She’s the better option. She always has been. And with a sharp breath, his fingers fumble with the lock.

The second it clicks, the door opens.

And Y/N steps inside.

The air was thick with dust and the sharp scent of splintered wood.

The apartment—once messy in a charming, lived-in way—was destroyed. Furniture overturned, glass shattered across the floor.

In the middle of it all stood Logan. Frozen. Shaking. Like an animal cornered after ripping itself apart.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her heart ached so violently in her chest it almost knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t hesitate.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, she made her way to him. Her hands reached out—gentle, slow—like approaching something fragile.

“Logan,” she breathed.

He flinched at her voice. His hands, bloody and trembling, curled into fists at his sides, as if trying to hold himself together. He wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

But Y/N wasn't afraid. Not of him. Never of him.

She checked his hands first, ghosting her fingers over his knuckles, over shallow cuts that were already starting to heal. It didn’t matter—they could have hurt. She still touched him with the same care she would have used on something broken beyond repair.

“Come here,” she whispered, finding a chair that hadn’t been completely wrecked. She kicked aside some debris, made enough space, then turned back to him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe.

So she went to him and she led him by the hand—gently, so gently—until he sat down with a heavy, defeated thud.

Y/N disappeared into the kitchen for a second, somehow finding a clean cloth and wetting it with cold water. When she came back, Logan hadn't moved. His eyes were empty, far away, like he wasn’t really there.

Kneeling in front of him, she pressed the damp cloth to his face, wiping away the blood, the dirt, the sweat.

He flinched again at first—then, slowly, surrendered to her touch. His head bowed forward, his whole body trembling under her hands. Tears fell down his cheeks. Silent. Endless. He didn’t even seem to notice them.

Y/N caught every tear with the cloth, and when that wasn’t enough, with the soft brush of her thumb against his skin. She kissed the corner of his mouth so lightly he barely felt it, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, over and over again. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Logan let out a breath that sounded like it hurt to release. His shoulders collapsed inward, and for a moment, he leaned into her, desperate and broken. But even then, even shattered, a part of him tried to pull away. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

“You shouldn’t be,” he rasped, voice thick with guilt and misery.

Y/N’s heart twisted, but she didn’t loosen her hold. She shook her head and pressed her forehead gently to his. Her hands threaded through his hair, slow and steady, grounding him.

"I’ll always be here," she whispered.

And that—That broke him all over again.

Logan choked on a sob, rough and ugly, and Y/N gathered him close. She guided him toward the bedroom, somehow navigating the wreckage without letting go of him, like if she let go, he might fall apart completely.

They reached the bed—half wrecked but still standing—and she urged him to sit.

He obeyed, dazed and exhausted.

She climbed behind him, pulling him against her chest, holding him the way you would hold someone drowning. Her hands never stopped moving—through his hair, over his face, down his chest—silent promises written into every touch.

Logan tried to speak—tried to tell her he was sorry, that he was dangerous, that he should be alone—but the words tangled in his throat.

Instead, he cried.

For everything he was.

For everything he wasn’t.

For everything he was terrified to lose.

And she listened. Patient. Endless.

Her tears fell into his hair as she presses soft kisses there and whispered, “I’ve got you, Logan. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in days—maybe longer—he believed her.

He stayed there, trembling in her arms, every breath a struggle. He was exhausted—but he couldn’t close his eyes. Couldn’t let himself fall into sleep, not yet. Not when every part of him screamed that he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

Y/N must have sensed it—the way he was still locked in the fight, even as his body sagged against her. Because after a long moment, she leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers brushing through his hair again, slow and soothing.

"Logan," she said softly, "let’s go to my place, okay?"

Her voice was a balm, warm and certain, like she was offering him a lifeline he didn’t think he deserved.

"We’ll come back here when you're ready," she promised. "We'll clean up together. But right now, you need a place that feels safe."

Safe.

The word hit him like a punch.

Logan stiffened, guilt flaring so hard it made his stomach churn. He shook his head, tearing away from her touch even though it hurt to do it.

"I can’t," he rasped, his voice cracking. "I’ll... I'll just wreck that too."

Y/N’s chest squeezed painfully. Logan’s fists curled again, self-hatred bleeding out of every line of his body.

"I could—" he swallowed hard, his throat burning, "I could hurt you."

He didn’t say again. But it was there, unspoken.

He was a monster. A ticking bomb. Someone who could tear everything good apart without even meaning to.

But Y/N. She just reached for him again, steady and unwavering, like a lighthouse cutting through the storm.

"You won’t," she said, firm but gentle. "You won't because you're not alone. Because you don’t have to fight this alone anymore."

She squeezed his hand, grounding him back into her.

"And even if you still don’t believe it," she whispered, "even if you push me away, even if you try to shut me out... I’m not leaving you, Logan. Not now. Not ever."

Logan’s breathing hitched. He shook his head again, broken. "You don’t get it," he choked out. "I’m not... I'm not worth it. You should walk away. You should've walked away the second you saw—" He gestured weakly at the wreckage, at the wreck of himself.

But Y/N only moved closer. Closer until he couldn't look anywhere without seeing her. Feeling her.

"I saw you," she said, voice thick with emotion. "Not the mess. You."

That shattered something deep in him. Not in a violent way. In a way that stripped him down to the raw truth beneath all the pain: He needed her. He wanted her. He loved her more than he even knew how to say.

And she loved him right back, with a kind of love so fierce it scared him more than anything else in the world. But it also saved him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Logan reached for her again. His hand fisted in the back of her shirt like he was terrified she might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And when she leaned into him, wrapping him up in her arms again, he buried his face in her neck, letting himself finally, finally fall into her.

Maybe he didn’t deserve her. Maybe he never would.

But she was here. And for tonight, at least, that was enough.

She kept her arms around him for a long moment, just breathing with him. When she finally pulled back, it was only to cup his face in both hands, her thumb brushing gently across his cheek.

"Stay here," she whispered. "Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back."

Logan didn’t argue. Couldn’t. He just nodded faintly, like a man barely clinging to the surface.

Y/N kissed his forehead so softly it made his chest ache, then she stood up, stepping carefully over the wreckage as she made her way back into the main room. He watched her go, guilt gnawing at him.

In the living room, Y/N moved quickly but carefully. She picked up the sharp shards of the broken mirror first, wrapping them in a towel before tossing them safely into the trash. She pushed splintered wood and broken glass out of the pathways, clearing a narrow, safe space from the bedroom to the front door. She closed the shattered shutters as best she could, dimming the room so that when Logan would come back here later, it wouldn't feel so raw. So exposed.

She worked with quiet determination, her heart breaking a little more every time she caught sight of the destruction. Not because she cared about the mess, but because she could feel how much pain Logan must've been in to cause it.

When she was satisfied that nothing dangerous remained, she made her way back to the bedroom.

Logan was still sitting exactly where she left him, on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped and hands loosely clenched in his lap.

Y/N’s heart squeezed.

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she moved around the room, finding a worn duffel bag tucked under the bed. She gently packed what she could: clothes that weren’t destroyed, a couple of small things she knew mattered to him.

In the bathroom, it was harder—cracked tiles, broken shelves—but she found his toothbrush, some of his toiletries, a couple of personal items, and tucked them into the bag too.

The whole time, Logan stayed silent, waiting on the edge of the bed.

It felt unreal. Like he wasn’t sure any of this was happening. Like any second now, she’d realize who he really was and walk out that door forever.

But she didn’t. She zipped the bag closed, slinging it over her shoulder and when she turned to him, her expression was still soft. Still his.

"Alright," she said gently. "Let’s go."

Logan hesitated, his body locked between guilt and the pull of her voice. But then she held out her hand to him and after a long, trembling second, Logan reached out and took it.

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his, like a promise.

She led him out of the bedroom, guiding him carefully around the worst of the wreckage she’d cleared, never letting go of his hand. Out the door. Out of the prison his fear had made.

The walk to Y/N’s apartment was quiet.

She kept a steady hand on Logan the whole time, whether it was gripping his hand, brushing his arm, or gently guiding him through doors and up steps.

Logan didn’t speak. He felt hollowed out and brittle, like if she let go of him even for a second, he might just blow away with the night wind.

When they finally reached her door, she unlocked it quickly, ushering him inside with a tenderness that made his throat ache.

The apartment smelled like her. Warm. Safe.

Home.

She kicked off her shoes by the entrance but didn’t ask him to do the same. Instead, she led him straight to the couch, easing him down carefully like he might break if she moved him too fast.

"Stay right here," she said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'll be back in a second."

He nodded numbly, watching her flit around the small space. She pulled out a fresh blanket, fluffed a pillow behind him, checked the thermostat to make sure the place was warm enough. Every move was made with him in mind—with the kind of care he didn’t think he deserved.

And maybe he didn't. Maybe he was fooling himself to think he could have this. Have her.

As she moved into her bedroom to grab some extra clothes he could borrow, Logan’s eyes wandered without meaning to.

Her apartment was small but filled with life—books, photos, cozy little touches everywhere. He caught sight of something pinned to the fridge and frowned. He pushed himself up a little and squinted.

It was a photo. Worn and creased from being touched so often.

It was him. Him and her.

A candid photo from some random night he barely remembered, probably taken when they'd gone out for drinks with some of her friends. In it, he was looking off to the side, a rare, unguarded smile on his face. And she was laughing, leaning into him like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there. Someone had drawn a little heart under the picture.

Logan's chest tightened so hard it hurt. He hadn't even known she had that picture.

Y/N came back just then, carrying some sweatpants and a soft hoodie, but paused when she saw him up, looking at the fridge.

"Logan?" she said gently, setting the clothes down.

He shook his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Trying to breathe past the crushing guilt and the unbearable love that wrapped around him like chains. He sat back down on the couch.

"I..." he started hoarsely. He dragged a hand down his face, then gritted out, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees in front of him, cupping his face in her hands again, forcing him to look at her.

"Listen to me," she whispered, voice trembling but sure. "You’re not a monster. You’re not broken beyond saving. You are good, Logan. And you don’t have to do this alone anymore."

He squeezed his eyes shut, a broken sound escaping him—part sob, part plea.

"I could hurt you," he rasped. "I could—"

"You won't," she said fiercely. "I trust you. I know you."

Her thumbs brushed away the tears he didn't even realize were falling again.

For a long, trembling moment, Logan didn’t move. Didn't even breathe.

And then, like a man surrendering a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place, he leaned into her touch. Collapsed against her.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe he wasn't beyond saving.

Not as long as she was here. Not as long as she was holding him like this.

Logan’s body was heavy against hers, all tense lines and shuddering breaths. For a moment, he let himself rest there, forehead pressed to her shoulder, letting her hands ground him—gentle strokes along his back, soothing circles at the nape of his neck.

But then, as always, the guilt clawed its way back up his throat.

He shifted, starting to pull away.

"I—I should go," he muttered roughly, not even knowing where he thought he could go in this state. "I’ll just—I’ll sleep on the floor. Or— or the couch."

Y/N immediately tightened her hold.

"What are you talking about..." she said, firm but gentle, her hands sliding up to cradle his face again. "You're not going anywhere."

He shook his head, a pained sound escaping him, "You don’t—You shouldn't have to—" His voice cracked under the weight of it. "Look at me, Y/N."

"I am," she whispered, her thumb stroking just beneath his eye, brushing away a tear. "And all I see is the man I love."

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing ragged.

She didn’t let him turn away. Didn’t let him fall back into that pit.

"You're staying right here," she said again, softer this time, like a promise. "With me."

For a second, he was frozen.

Then Y/N pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering there.

"Come on," she murmured against his skin. "Let’s get you comfortable, alright?"

He nodded weakly, too exhausted to resist anymore.

She helped him out of his ruined jacket, guiding him with slow, careful movements like he was made of glass. He let her pull the sleeves down his arms, let her tug the hoodie over his head. Every touch was tender, every glance full of nothing but care and patience.

She handed him the fresh sweatpants and shirt she'd found earlier, giving him the dignity of changing in the bathroom if he wanted— but he just stood there, trembling, needing her near.

So she stayed. Helping him change, steadying his shaking hands when they fumbled with the fabric.

Once he was in clean clothes, Y/N led him to her bed.

The second he sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight, he seemed to lose what little strength he had left. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders heaving with silent breaths.

Y/N knelt down again in front of him, brushing her fingers through his hair with infinite gentleness.

"You’re safe now," she whispered. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Logan swallowed hard, blinking back another wave of tears. He was so fucking tired. Of fighting. Of hurting.

Tired of believing he didn’t deserve this.

Slowly—so slowly—he lifted his head.

And she was there. Still there. Still looking at him like he was worth staying for.

"I’ll stay," he rasped, voice breaking.

Her smile trembled, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Good," she breathed, wiping another tear from his cheek. "That's all I want."

She climbed into bed beside him, pulling the blankets over them, never once letting go of his hand.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Logan let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

XXX

feel free to comment if you want a part 2 or any other request!!

[fantasticfourthwingimagines]

Complicated Pairing - Garrick Tavis x RiorsonSister!Reader Summary - You're finally reunited with your brother and your long term crush after years of separation, and one of the first things Garrick does is catch you hooking up with a fellow cadet. You've finally given up on him, so why is everyone insisting he's jealous? Word Count - 3.8k Warnings - Language, but that's it!

“Gotta admit, Gamlyn. That was fun.” You said, tugging your clothes back into place the best you could in the cramped closet. 

Ridoc grinned at you. “Anytime you want a repeat sweetheart, you let me know.” 

You threw him a smirk, still catching your breath. “I might take you up on that.” And you might. It had been nice having a release after all the adrenaline from the fight you two had sparring on assessment day. While you didn’t know him that well, you had a nice feeling about Ridoc. He was in your squad and seemed like a good person. “Now we should get back -”

The door flew open, causing you to stumble into Ridoc’s arms who thankfully caught you. The light blinded you both for a minute before a large figure blocked it out, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Shit. Well at least it wasn’t Xaden or Ridoc might not be alive right now. 

“Damn it Garrick, you scared the shit out of me!” You said, stepping out of Ridoc’s arms to shove him out of the way. 

Garrick’s hand clamped on your hip, hot and possessive, and the jolt it sent through you made you hate yourself a little. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked - voice low, lethal - but his gaze wasn’t brotherly. It was territorial, and he was looking over your shoulder at Ridoc who you guessed was probably about to shit his pants. 

“Woah, calm down, we were just . . . Blowing off some steam.” You said, shrugging your shoulders and trying to get Garrick’s attention on you by tapping his . . . Ridiculously toned chest. 

It worked, but you weren’t a fan of the result. In all the years that you’d known Garrick, you’d never seen him look so angry at you. “Oh? Do you think Xaden would be fine knowing I’d found you in a closet with him?” He snapped, his eyes dark and sharp. 

Now it was your turn to be upset. “Why the hell would I tell him anything about this?” You asked in disbelief. It’s not like you wanted Ridoc dead. 

“Uh, why am I getting the feeling you two know each other?” Ridoc spoke up behind you. 

“I’m pretty much her brother-” Garrick started, looking at Ridoc like he was about to rip his head off. 

That one cuts deeper than you care to admit. You bite it down with the same blade you’ve been using for years to carve him out of your heart. You took a step back so his hand fell off you and at his side instead. “No. He’s my brother’s best friend.” You snapped. Who was he to come around and judge you for your decisions anyway? “And someone who has no right to try and make choices for me.” 

His gaze shot back to you. “I’m your section leader-”

Was he trying to pull rank?! On you?! Now?! Fury must have shone through your eyes, but Garrick didn’t back down. “Who has no say in who I have sex with!” You’d spent years pining after him, dreaming about what it would be like to have his attention, and now, as soon as you stop hoping, he shows up acting like he still gets a say?

His eyes flashed with pure shock for a moment before a fire blazed in them, and he leaned down, invading your space. “Maybe not, but I’m sure your brother would love to know what you’re doing with a squadmate in his Wing.” He added as if you needed the clarification. 

“Riorson is your brother?!” 

That’s it. You were going to kill Garrick Tavis. You turned back to give Ridoc a sheepish smile. “Did I not mention that?” 

Garrick let out a snort, and you turned around to find the asshole looking pleased with himself. 

Gods you’d never been so pissed at him. “You know, section leader?” You spat the words like they tasted foul. “You can go fuck right off, and hope and pray to Dunne that I don’t stick spiders in your bed again like Bodhi dared me to when I was thirteen. Or maybe I’ll let Ridoc do a full report after our next closet rendezvous. I’m sure you’d love that.” You shoot him a certain finger, and turned on your heel, throwing over your shoulder, “And go ahead - report me. I’m sure Xaden would love to hear about his baby sister’s sex life from you.” You added, calling his bluff. 

Garrick didn’t say anything. His jaw ticked, like he was chewing on words he wanted to hurl after you, but they never came.

Good. Let him choke on them.  

“You know, now that I’m looking at you, the two of you kinda look alike.” 

Surprised, you turned to look at an appraising Ridoc who had fallen into step beside you. “Wait - you’re not - you’re not running for the hills based on what you found out?” 

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Should I be?” 

You blinked. That . . . wasn’t a reaction you were used to. Most people either ran or kissed your ass the second they connected you to Xaden. Ridoc? He didn’t even flinch. You were sure as soon as anyone in your squad found out who you were that they’d want nothing to do with you. Mostly because, you weren’t afraid to admit, your brother was in fact fucking terrifying the majority of the time. “I - I guess not. I just assumed you would be.” 

Ridoc slung his arm around your shoulders. “Listen, I’m not about to let a little thing like your super hot, but totally scary brother get in the way of what I think is the start to a beautiful friendship.” 

Something warm unfurled in your chest - not the kind of heat that came from adrenaline or attraction, but something steadier. Safer. Like you’d found something you didn’t even know you needed. You’d had people your whole life, friends and family you loved, but . . . They’d always been Xaden’s friends first. Ridoc? He felt like a friend just for you. “A beautiful friendship, huh?” 

“I would say friends with benefits, but I don’t think Tavis is going to let you stay single for long.” Ridoc said, raising his eyebrows at you with a smirk. 

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

Ridoc drew the both of you to a stop. “Did you miss the way he was preparing to crush my skull with those enormous, unfairly sexy biceps?”

You rolled your eyes. “He was just being overprotective on Xaden’s behalf.” 

Ridoc stared at you, and you got the distinct impression that he didn’t believe a word you said. He shook his head though, and the two of you started walking again. “Sureeee . . . Whatever you say. Now, how are you in history? Because I’m pretty sure without some help I’m definitely going to fail.” 

If only he knew the real history. “Unfortunately my dear friend-” you wrapped your own arm around his waist, giving him an apologetic smile. “When it comes to history, we are well and truly fucked.”

“Fuck.”

---------------------

You were still irritated at Garrick when it came time for your little meeting with the rest of the marked ones. In fact, you were feeling pretty irritated about everything until you took a step outside and found someone waiting for you. “Liam.” You said, a bright smile forming on your lips at the sight of your fellow blonde cadet. 

“I was sent here to get you out of a foul mood?” He said, raising his eyebrows at you, but his grin made you feel right at home. 

You frowned, proving his point, but quickly wiped it away as you stepped forward to wrap your arms around the boy you considered your second brother. “People are being dumb. I don’t like it.” You murmured into his shoulder. 

Liam laughed, returning your hug for a moment before pulling away. He put his hands on your shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “You know, you might not be surrounded by so many dumb people if you’d gone to the squad you were supposed to.” He said, raising his eyebrows at you. 

Immediately you’re annoyed again. You turn your back on him, letting out a groan. “I’ve already had my lecture from Xaden, I don’t need another one from you.” 

He hurried to catch up with you, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “No lecture. Just reminding you of how we could be kicking ass together.” 

“I got curious about her. She’s supposed to be this weak, fragile thing, yet the first time I saw her she’s practically chopping off Barlowe’s balls.” You shrugged as the two of you approached the other marked ones. “Plus I thought it might help Xaden . . .” Gods you wished he could see that. That your brother could know all you wanted to do was try and make his life a little easier. 

The man in question glanced up as the two of you neared the quiet crowd, and Xaden gave the smallest smile, meant only for you. Garrick was next to him, but you pointedly ignored him, returning your brother’s little smile. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the shift - Garrick’s jaw tightened, eyes tracking you like you were something he couldn’t look away from. 

You pretended not to notice. 

Of course Liam picked up on it, he picked up on everything. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not just upset about Xaden?” He said, nodding pointedly to Garrick. 

You clenched your jaw. 

Liam smirked, shaking his head. “What did he do this time?” 

“You mean besides treating me like a child who’s not old enough to enjoy some male company when the mood strikes her?” You snapped before you could think better of it. 

The smirk on Liam’s face only widened. “Thank gods it’s finally happening.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” You asked, your voice pitched just a little too high. Defensive. 

Liam wiggled his brows. “Just that Garrick is circling like a territorial dragon and you’re pretending you don’t like it.” 

“I don’t,” you said automatically, but the heat in your cheeks said otherwise. 

“Come on, it’s obvious. We’ve all been waiting for it to happen for years.” Liam said, smirking at you. 

Your heart pounded harder in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out why. “What are you talking about?” 

“Garrick finally realizing he’s in love with you.” Liam answered matter of factly. 

If you had been drinking something you would have choked on it. “Liam, what the fuck?” You gasped. 

“Oh come on,” he said, looking at you in disbelief. “It’s so damn obvious. We’ve been taking bets for forever on how long before he noticed your massive crush and realized how perfect you two are for each other.” 

You could feel the heat rushing to your face as your eyes glanced at the man in question for the briefest moment. He was talking to Xaden, and your heart gave its all too familiar lurch at the sight of him. 

His head tilted like he felt your eyes on him. Just for a second. His brows drew together, confused, like he couldn’t quite figure out what you were thinking. Or maybe what he was. 

You looked away, fighting back a sigh. It’d be pointless to deny your crush. You hadn’t known how to be subtle about it when you were younger. Now though? You could hide it. Try to move on from it. Which you definitely wouldn’t be doing if there was a chance that Garrick was into you. “Well that’s never going to happen,” you muttered, forcing your eyes away from Garrick. “I got the message loud and clear when he called me his best friend’s little sister like I wasn’t even standing there.” 

Liam’s smirk never faded. “Want to test that theory?” 

This was ridiculous. There was no way Garrick Tavis had any sort of feelings for you other than being his best friend’s little sister. “You’re wasting your time.” You told him, rolling your eyes. 

“Which means you’ve got nothing to lose.” He grinned. “Unless you’re scared he might actually feel something back.” 

You scowled. “This is ridiculous.” 

“So prove it,” he said, eyes dancing. 

. . . Liam knew you entirely too well. You couldn’t back down from a challenge. “Fine, what pointless thing do you want to do?” 

Liam slung his arm around your shoulders again, tugging you right against his side. “You don’t have to do anything. Just go with it.” He said, turning his attention back to Xaden who had started speaking. 

You’d been on the receiving end of enough Xaden lectures to not feel bad about your lack of attention. He was talking to the rest of the first years, figuring out what he could do to help them. It made you proud to be his sister. Was he harsh? Yes. Was he telling them things they needed to hear? Yes again. 

“Watch his body language.” Liam whispered to you.

You did what he asked, letting yourself look at Garrick as Xaden continued to speak, splitting up the first years between Garrick and Imogen. “Garrick’s the best fighter we have, but Imogen’s right there with him.” 

“Well actually-” Garrick looked over at you, but froze immediately. 

Liam turned his head, letting his lips come so close to your ear that his breath made you shiver. “Jaw and fists,” he murmured. Then, more playfully: “Let’s test a theory.” Before you could ask what he meant, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek. 

You did what Liam said, keeping your eyes locked on Garrick’s body as he took in the sight of you and Liam. Surprise flooded your system as Garrick’s eyes narrowed on Liam’s arm, his jaw clenched. Your eyes traveled down his tense arms to his hands which were now clenched into fists. All signs that Garrick was not happy about what he was seeing. Something low and wild stirred in your stomach. You weren’t sure if it was victory or something more dangerous, but it hit you hard. 

“Yeah, well we’d all be great fighters too if Xaden was our brother, and had been training us since birth.” A cadet snapped near you. 

You turned slowly, leveled him with a glare, and flipped him off without a word. Liam stifled a laugh next to you. Garrick, though? He stepped forward before Xaden could respond, his eyes burning into the cadet. 

“You might want to think before you speak again, cadet,” Garrick said, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s the last person you want as an enemy.”

Your eyes widened in shock and . . . pride. You glanced back up at Xaden who was clearly fighting a smile and Garrick still looked like he would like nothing better than to let Chradh drag the kid around by the foot and grin while he did so. He was hardly one who easily got mad or upset, and you knew you wouldn’t want that look he was giving the cadet thrown in your direction. 

“Do you believe me now?” Liam whispered in your ear again, and you playfully shoved him with your shoulder. 

“He’s just being protective.” You muttered, but even to your own ears the words sounded thin. 

Liam snorted. “Protective? Please. Xaden’s not throwing daggers with his eyes every time I touch you.” He said, subtly nodding in the man’s direction. 

You followed his nod. Garrick’s jaw was tight again. His arms were crossed. His gaze flicked to where Liam still held you, like it physically pained him. 

It was hard for you to deny it. Was Liam actually right? You let out a soft sigh and rested your head against Liam’s shoulder like you’d done thousands of times before. “He still told Ridoc he was like my brother.” You admitted. 

Liam was silent for a couple of moments. “Well, I never said he wasn’t an idiot.” 

You had to fight back a laugh, but the humor died as you looked back to find Garrick’s eyes on you again. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he actually looked . . . Upset. For a moment, guilt twisted in your gut, but then heat bloomed in your chest.

Seriously? He could look at you like that - like you’d just betrayed him - after all his lecturing, all his possessive bullshit? He didn’t get to act like that. Not when he’d made it clear you were just someone to protect. Not when he’d told Ridoc you were like a sister. 

If you wanted to crawl into Liam’s lap or fuck half the damn quadrant, it was your business. Not his. 

You turned your gaze away from him, focusing back on the conversation right at the moment when they were complaining about Violet. You rolled your eyes. “She’s stuck here too, you know.” 

The whole group quieted, turning toward you.

“What?” You heard Imogen say, clearly offended. 

You straightened, lifting your head off Liam’s shoulder. “I said, Violet’s stuck here just like the rest of us. Bleeding the same blood. Going through the same hell we are. Her mother’s a monster, yeah - but Violet’s not her, and shouldn’t we be striving to show the Navarrians that we’re better than they are by not punishing them for the sins of their parents?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. You hated Violet’s mother. Given the chance you’d probably try and kill her too. But Violet was not her mother, just like you and Xaden weren’t Fen. She’s lost a brother, at least she thought she had, and you’d lost a father. Hadn’t everybody already lost enough? 

“What the hell, are you seriously defending her now?” Imogen snapped, her expression twisting like you’d just stabbed her in the back. 

You knew Imogen couldn’t stand her, and you hated pissing off your friend, but you also thought she was wrong. You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s hard not to respect a girl who’s got the guts to put a dagger to some asshole’s balls the first time you see her.” You admitted. 

Imogen couldn’t say anything to that, because she knew you were right. She also wasn’t going to admit it either. 

“I will take care of Sorrengail.” Xaden said, cutting through the tension with a voice like steel. He shot a glance at Imogen, then at you - unmistakably a warning to drop it. 

The conversation ended quickly after that, but before you could leave Xaden called you over to him. “Great, time for another lecture.” You muttered to Liam, who just laughed and gave you a shove toward Xaden and Garrick. 

“Are you still pissed off?” Xaden asked you, not wasting any time, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him and matching his posture, crossing your own arms while you completely ignored the man standing beside him. 

He didn’t answer for a moment, but then let out a sigh. “I was trying to keep you away from this as much as possible.” 

“Well that sure was a dumbass move on your part. Guess Garrick’s bad judgement is contagious.” You glared at both of them, pulse hammering in your ears. “You need to accept that I’m in this. I’m your sister, and I love you. That means I’m not going anywhere.” Finally you turned to Garrick plastering on the fakest smile you could summon. “And you? You can still fuck right off.” You spun on your heel. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted. Try getting your heads out of your asses.” 

It was strangely cathartic to tell off your brother and Garrick, like they hadn’t just taken off two years ago, and the three of you were right back at Riorson house. All you needed was to add Bodhi to the picture. Gods you wished you were back in Aretia instead of this place you had to call home for the next three years. You were almost at the door when a call of your name made you groan. 

“Wait, please!” Garrick called, and you felt his arm grip your wrist way faster than he should have been. 

You glanced back at where Xaden was, measuring the distance. “How the hell did you get over here so fast?” You asked in disbelief. 

Garrick ignored your words. “I don’t like it when you’re mad at me. Especially when I’ve barely gotten to see you the past two years.” 

Irritation leapt up once more, and you yanked your wrist out of his grip. “Well I don’t like being mad at you when I’ve missed you like crazy for the past two years, but when you do dumb shit like act like an overprotective brother-” you spat the word like it was poison, “-you don’t give me much of a choice.” 

Garrick actually flinched like you’d slapped him. His mouth parted slightly, like the word had knocked the air right out of his lungs. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Why not? That’s what you are right? Just another overprotective brother-”

One moment you were facing Garrick, and the next your back hit the wall, his body crowding yours, the heat of him pressing in. His hand landed on your hip, strong and grounding, thumb brushing slow, gentle strokes that sent a wildfire through your veins. Your heart stuttered stupidly at his closeness, but before you could say anything he did. “I am not your brother, and I definitely do not look at you like a sister.” 

Oh fuck it felt so good to be this close to him. You felt crowded in the very best way - absolutely protected and safe. If only that feeling applied to your heart too. “Then tell me, Garrick,” you whispered, voice trembling despite your best efforts. “How do you look at me?” You asked, even though you were terrified of the answer. 

Garrick didn’t answer at first, instead letting his free hand rise to your face, and you closed your eyes as he brushed some escaped hair behind your ears like he’d done a million times before, but somehow this time it felt a million times more intimate. “Fuck, I don’t know.” The words came out raw, almost broken. “It’s like . . . you’ve always been there, and now I can’t look at you without -” He cut himself off. 

Well that . . . Was not the answer you wanted to hear, but it sure woke you up. You opened your eyes and placed your hands on his chest, ignoring how muscular it was and shoving him back from you so you could get past him to the door. “Then you need to figure it the fuck out.” You shoved past him, fury and heartbreak warring in your chest. “And don’t expect me to sit around waiting while you do.” 

You didn’t look back, and the door slammed behind you so hard it rattled the frame.

[clancycatears]

SAY PLEASE (Ghost x F!Reader)

ghost masterlist

you and simon share another night tangled under bedsheets, but this time—he wants more.

cw: MDNI (18+), mildly dubcon, porn with a bit of plot, rivals with benefits, meanie!ghost, harddom!ghost, 141!reader (no ranks or callsigns are mentioned), maybe some military and medical inaccuracies, canon-typical swearing, brat and brat taming, oral sex (f and m receiving), degradation (ghost uses slut one (1) time), pussy pronouns, breathplay, pet names (pet, birdie, dove, dovie), unprotected p in v (wrap it up irl), mating press, breeding kink if you use a magnifying glass, creampie, bit of an abrupt ending.

a/n: hi. um. i have NO idea what i’m doing with this but it came to me in a vision (aka one line of dialogue spurred me). hope i delivered. 🙏

; 3.5k words.

Ghost was never your favorite colleague.

The asshole was always too cocky and full of himself, that it pissed you off every time he quipped at you through communications or stunted you in the middle of your work by getting under your skin. He’d always poke you where you were sore, shoulder past you like you were second-best, and chuckle in your face when he stole a kill over you, or when Price patted him on the back over you. It was insufferable. He was insufferable.

But of course, with his rank and the authority that came with it, he was respected—admired, even. A damn role model to some. You never saw him that way. So what if he could land headshots from hundreds of meters out? You could do the same if he weren’t constantly in your way, always finding some excuse to throw you off. He’s botched missions just like you have, but somehow, his mistakes are overlooked while his efforts get showered in praise. Must be nice, having that bloody rank to fall back on. It made a steam whistle through your ears every time he received an extra drink or two for his efforts, rather than you.

Of course, it came to you after a successful mission that you were trying to be like him to gain praise from your colleagues, and it only irritated you further. Why would you want to be like Ghost? He was an arrogant prick who smirked right at you when he pointed out a minor flaw in your stance or composure. Though still, you still worked extra hard to gain some semblance of recognition.

It made you avoid him whenever you could—only speaking when spoken to, sticking with Soap or Gaz instead of him, and brushing off his attempts to get under your skin. For the most part, it worked. He’d usually just grunt and get back to whatever he was doing, or shoot you a look like you’d personally insulted him before giving a proper order. It was almost like the bastard was finally realizing he was being a bloody prick.

Until a mission went sour.

Ghost was supposed to be covering you, perched atop a dilapidated building just a kilometer or two from your target. He’d been tasked to snipe from afar, keeping you and the rest of the Task Force safe by watching your six. Regardless of your thoughts of him, you knew he had to be deep in concentration to keep you and the others alive, so you didn’t push or snap at him to distract him as he’d done to you. Perhaps you could say you were being polite.

There was a struggle, a bogey attacking you from behind with only a knife. You could’ve sworn you’d shot him down. But from what you could tell by the blood seeping through his side, you’d just barely missed his lung. Separated from the others as they’d rounded a corner without a second glance, you took the man alone.

A shot rang out, though the bullet had barely missed your leg, when the man tackled you to the ground. The crack nearly made you jump right into your assailant’s knife. Sure, it was a tussle, but Ghost was the most skilled sniper you all knew. How the fuck did he miss a shot?

You were left with a gash to your dominant arm and a sloppy gauze wrap around your bleeding, stitched flesh. The second shot dropped your attacker, but the irritation still burned beneath your skin. Your frustration with him seemed to boil over the more your wound stung with every rewrap.

After midnight at the barracks, you barged into his quarters without a single knock or warning, eyes staring him down as he perked up from his desk.

“You could’ve gotten me killed!” you’d snapped, storming up to him and swiping off the papers he’d been scribbling on.

That was, if he hadn’t gripped your forearm to halt the action.

“Don’ be ridiculous,” he’d grumbled, tone annoyingly calm as he released your arm. You didn’t bother trying to mess up his paperwork again, balling your hands into fists instead. “You’re still alive, wasn’ that bad of a gash.”

“You were supposed to watch my six!”

“You’re not the only one I was supposed t'watch, genius.”

Oh, did he just make you angrier when his tone hardened. You could see the visible pinch of his balaclava, his eyebrows knitting together with frustration under the fabric. You went back and forth, arguing like a pair of angry teenagers over a failed class project—both refusing the blame for your diminishing grade.

When he got up to face you directly, his sheer height over you became clear. He towered over you, so much so that you had to crane your head up to keep yelling at him. He crossed his arms, and you mirrored the action. With one small shake of his head and a small snicker of arrogance, you felt your blood boil in your veins.

Your hands were suddenly on him, grasping the hem of his balaclava and shoving it up over the bridge of his nose. You didn’t know what got into you in that moment, the heat pulsating through your head only making you act, but your lips crashed into his.

To your surprise? He returned it, fought with tongue and teeth before tossing you onto his bunk. Stripped bare, condom wrapped regardless of the heat, you fucked each other senseless.

It became a trend after that night. If a mission went sour, you were blowing off steam with one another. You missed the target and got a firm scolding from your Captain? Ghost let you ride him until your anger subsided. As much as the man pissed you off, he was weirdly hot when he was just as angry as you.

Your fourth night together came after yet another mission where Ghost came out on top—snatching a kill you were sure had been yours. The moment Price’s lips twitched up in a smile of approval, you were dragging your rival straight to his quarters and stripping him bare with rushed indignation. He’d had you in a spoon, knee locked under his palm as your hips connected over and over again. “Fuck, Ghost, ngh—“

“Jesus, stop fuckin’ callin’ me that,” his movements stuttered, before he went right back to bucking into you.

“Wh-What—?”

“You call me Simon when I fuck you,” he growls, laving the nape of your neck with his tongue to elicit a shiver out of you. “Understand?”

“Okay, okay—fuck, yes, Si—oh—!”

He’d only fuck you harder the more you groaned his name.

And now, making out like you were both starved as you stumbled into your reserved hotel room was no different.

You’d been assigned on a mission to act as one another’s spouses. Fake wedding bands and all, which were stripped along with your disguises the moment the two of you shuffled through the threshold.

The asshole didn’t defend you the moment your target catcalled you, eyed you up and down before lingering on your chest. Ghost had only chuckled, agreeing that you were quite the looker, and slipping away with the intel you needed. Honestly, he’d likely done that just to piss you off. Though you hated to admit it—he did.

He manhandled you onto the bed, perfectly made duvet wrinkling as you bounced into place. Forcing your legs apart, he ate you out like a man starved—all while you gripped the locks of his tussled blond hair and whispered words of venom that broke into pathetic moans.

“Fuckin’ dress looked raunchy on you,” he purred, lips coated in your release after tonguing an orgasm out of you. “Was waitin’ t'get it off of you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you rasped, voice crisp with bliss as you thrummed with fresh aftershocks.

He chuckles lowly, pushing up and sitting on his heels as he licks his lips clean. His cock dipped low between his legs, the weight alone preventing it from bouncing against his navel. A pearl of pre-cum bloomed from his slit. “Always gotta be so fuckin’ rude. Should fix that.”

You roll your eyes, though the moment they look back to him, his cock is staring back at you, tip centimeters from your lips.

“Put that fuckin’ mouth to better use,” he grunts, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he straddles your upper body, knees pushing underneath your arms.

You don’t have any other option, since you know the prick would shove his way inside anyways, so you open up as he slides the underside of his cock against your tongue. He hisses at the friction, a broken groan following when your lips close.

“See how fuckin’ nice it sounds when you’re quiet?” he purrs, guiding your head along his shaft, slicking himself up with your saliva as he uses your head as a personal fleshlight. “Fuckin’ love this part of the night.”

You growl, throat vibrating along his length as you look to him with narrowed eyes. He responds with a groan, worrying his bottom lip under his top set of teeth. “Keep doin’ that. Feels heavenly.”

Hands finding his thighs, you squeeze the hardened muscle underneath, resorting to suckling his veiny cock, occationally flicking your tongue over his slit to collect every drop of pre-cum that’d bloom. He was quiet for the most part, head tipped back in bliss as you sucked him off.

One harsh suck to his dick had him hissing, yanking your head off of him with a lewd pop—a line of saliva connecting your lips to his mushroomed tip. “Fuck, not gonna cum in y’mouth tonight, pet. Had to lube up.”

He was lightning-fast, pushing himself off of you to slot between your legs, pelvis pressing up against your bottom. On instinct, you lock your calves around his lower back, finally ready to get the irritation fucked out of you until you feel his tip graze your clit, tapping once, twice—

Unwrapped.

“Wait—Si, f-fuck, can’t—”

He breaches, cock pushing through your folds and spearing you open with a single thrust. You squeak, head tipping back against the plush pillows as you hear a satisfied noise rumble through his throat. “Can’t wha’, dovie? Feels good, yeah?”

He pulls back, veins dragging along your gummy walls and eliciting a filthy moan from your lips, before bucking back inside—deeper than the first initial thrust. “Fuck, feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he groans, “Fuckin’ hated using those damn johnnies.”

You whimper, eyes fluttering as he thrusts deeper and deeper with each push and pull of his hips. You claw mindlessly at the bedsheets underneath you, toes curling as his raw cock claimed every crevace of your insides. It felt fucking incredible, especially with a thick wraith like him. “Mhh, fuck, fuck—ah, ah—”

“Yeah?” he coos, hands running up and down the length of your thighs, gaze flicking down to where you both connected as a ring of your needy juices painted the base of his cock. “What a fuckin’ sight. Bloody lovely.”

Every small noise you made caused him to stutter in rhythm before he became more forceful, as if your melodic pleas drove him to push further. You could have sworn you brought a condom, or perhaps Simon had simply refused to use one altogether. This was planned.

"What the—hahhh—fuck are you doing?” you keen, breaking into a moan mid-sentence as he finally bottomed out, balls pressing just against the globes of your buttocks with each rock of his hips. “We shouldn’t—ngh, do this—”

“Been waitin’ to cum inside o’ her,” he huffs, squeezing your thighs before running along them once more. “Claim what’s mine.”

You hiss between bared teeth. “Yours?” you bark, voice strained yet firm, “M’not fuckin’ yours to claim.”

He pistoned into you harder, another broken moan leaving your lips as he leaned down to meet your eyes. His own were deep, glazed with an animalistic glare that screamed Yes, I do. “Y’know you wan’ me to, birdie. Cunny’s huggin’ me like she missed me. Don’ lie. She wants me t’fill her up, don’t she?”

The thought was so nasty. So wrong. Yet the idea of being stuffed fuller than you’ve ever been was clouding your rationality.

Whatever, you could pop a morning-after pill tomorrow.

“You’d have to ask pretty fuckin’ nicely for that, Ghost,” you retort, gasping the moment his hands leave your thighs to hook into the undersides of your knees. He pushed your legs up, folding you in half, propping your heels onto his shoulders.

“Oh, yeah?” he sneers, gripping your hips until the flesh dimpled underneath his fingertips, hips rocking backwards to ease himself out to the tip. You whimper at the loss.

“Y’wanna play that fuckin’ game now, eh?” His form looms over you, breath fanning over your shoulders, leading them to hackle at the contact. “Fuckin’ fine. Pretty please, y’filthy dove.” Slamming back to the hilt, he forces a wail out of your drooling maw.

“With a goddamn cherry on top,” he adds, punctuating each syllable with a rough thrust that made your buttocks sting. His pelvis smacked so violently against your skin that an angry red mark had started to bloom.

Regret surged through you, sharp and sudden, even as pleasure threatened to drown it out. He was brutal—unkind in a way he’d never been before. You wanted to hate it, to recoil, to make him stop. But instead, you clung to it. You craved it.

Filthy dove was right.

Though it still hurt. Buck after buck of his hips marked your flesh with red, burning with every lewd plap that echoed throughout the hotel room. You should’ve never opened your damn mouth, because now, Simon wasn’t holding back one bit.

“Si—Si, shit—I-I can’t—“ you rasp, nails clawing at his biceps desperately, heels weakly digging into his shoulders in an attempt to get him to slow or enervate his thrusts. “M’sorry—M’sorry, please!”

Pathetic.

“Wha’ happened t’that fuckin’ bite in ya?” His lips curled into a wicked grin, his brown voids staring down into your flushed, fucked out face. “Poor lil’ pet, can’t even fake it anymore.”

One of his big, calloused hands reached up to pinch the sensitive dip of your neck, cupping it like a giant necklace. You hiccuped, eyes rolling shut as each pump knocked what little fight you had left in you.

He had you caged in, his form so wide you could hardly even take in the space around you. Even in your peripherals, his shoulders reached to block whatever you could possibly see behind him. Your legs were locked in place, only movable with his help, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go.

“Fuck. Can feel her tryin’ t’rip m’prick off. Cunny knows who she belongs to, don’t she?” he croons, his hand on your hip gliding to the space where you both connected. You gasp as he runs his thumb over your tight, neglected bundle of nerves. “C’mon, cum on m’fuckin’ cock. Be a good slut.”

You squeal, and his fingers press onto your throat harder to cut your voice short. Your lips curl into a pathetic whine, your sanity reduced to a puddle of sweat. “I—mhh, Si—“

“Y’got one more n’you, fuckin’ give it t’me.” Then he finally slows his pace, rocking his hips in tandem with the drag of his thumb. The knot in your stomach wrapped tighter and tighter, and then—

Another swipe, his fingerprint grazing over your clit methodically, and you’re fucking gone, whipping your head back to let out a strangled cry. He groans as your walls flutter, spilling your second orgasm onto his thick length. Your insides are tight, taut with pleasure—and his thrusts only get rougher as your space squeezes, making him really have to force his cock inside of you.

“Thaaa’s it,” he grunts, giving your swollen clit a light smack to force another gasp out of you, before he’s gripping your hips once more. “Gonna cum nice n’ deep in this girl. I asked nicely, didn’ I, pet?”

You mumble incoherently, legs going slack in his grip. Your scrapes have weakened into a feeble hold on his muscle, so overstimulated that you've lost your tongue. “Si—Si, ohGod—please—“

His hips stutter, and you can feel the tip of his cock twitching, hurdling towards release faster than you can stop him. "Don' worry, pet. You'll learn t'like me when it sets," he purrs, tipping your head to the side with his grip on your throat. Then he's leaning down, folding you further until your back nearly snapped, to suckle a deep hickey in your throat. You whimper, breathless and at a loss for words, as he bucks a final time to get as deep as possible inside of you.

Then you feel it—The hot trail of his seed spurting deep in your cavern, painting your walls in his salty mark. Even as he's finishing, he rocks his hips, keeping his nectar plugged nice and deep, heeding his own words. His lips pop off of your pulse point, tongue smoothing over the bruise as his hand slides to cup the side of your neck.

You're reduced to putty, boneless beyond any other time you've slept with this wraith of a man, heart thundering against your chest despite how fucked out and tired you were.

His arms wrap around you, firmly—maybe even possessively, as he breathes through bared teeth. His crooked nose nudged the underside of your jaw, and you willingly tipped your head at the action. You feel him kiss the line of your bone softly, a small noise that bordered between a sigh and a grunt, leaving his lips.

He sat there for what felt like hours, which were instead just a few beats, as he savored filling you up. Once his length softened, he slid out of you. Even after he came so deep inside, there was still a puny dribble that leaked out between your folds.

He sat up on his heels to marvel at the sight, your legs dropping onto the mattress, chest heaving as you struggled to regain the oxygen his pace had ripped from your throat. "Poor lil’ bird, look at ya," he hums, running a hand up your inner thigh, nudging your legs further apart once he gets to your apex.

You groan, body pliant to his touch as he pushed your thighs apart to get a better view of your leaking slit. "Look so fuckin' pretty fulla me. Shoulda let me do this sooner." With no reply on your tongue, you pant pitifully as you let him have his way with you.

Your eyes strain open, vision bleary as you search for him. Your gaze flicks down to his curious head between your legs, heart tight with anticipation. No, no more rounds, please. Instead, his fingers sweep up to your spent cunt, swiping the little bit of his cum that leaked out with his index and middle digits, before pushing it back inside of you. “Fu-uck—S-Simon, sensitive—” you squeaked, knees buckling, unable to close as his shoulders blocked their path.

His whiskey eyes meet yours from underneath his blond lashes, and you swear you can see the tiniest bit of something more shoved beyond the look of lust. You don’t quite question it, but the sight lingers in the corner of your mind.

Even though his cock had left its home, you still felt so full. And fuck, you can feel how much he’d pumped inside of you when he curled his fingers briefly, your thighs twitching with overstimulation. “Okay, okay—mhh, stop—” You groan weakly, walls squeezing feebly around his fingers before he slides them out of you, coated in your combined release.

"Can't waste a drop, can we?" he coos, sitting up and observing your slick over his fingers momentarily, pupils blown with fascination. His figure crawled back over you until you were face-to-face, a smirk plastered on his chapped lips as he brought his hand to your mouth.

You blink up at him, meeting his hungry eyes as he prods your lower lip. "C'mon, get a lil' taste of us, birdie," he murmurs, voice low and commanding.

He stares at you, insistent. You oblige, parting your lips without protest as he sticks his fingers inside, pressing them onto your tongue. You close your lips, groggily swiping your damp mouth over his digits to clean them. The tang of his juices mixed with yours coated your taste buds, fogging your mind with exhaustion as the reality of your act set in.

When he pulls his fingers out, he wipes your saliva over your cheek, a low snicker vibrating through his throat as he smears your flesh with your spittle. He brings his hand down to pat your upper thigh, making you tense and loosen just a second after.

"Next time, pet, you're not makin' me ask," he snarls, eyes casting back down to your sopping cunt, watching as his spend dribbled right back out of you.

© clancycatears 2025. do not copy, steal, translate, or feed my works to ai.

[smoozie]

Big fan of Grian chastising everyone at the very beginning for having too much fun with their powers and not killing each other, only for him to turn around and whisk Scar away on a magic carpet ride

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hii can you pls do a nanami and gojo(separately) make out fic pls??

Okay, let's do this with a little twist...

Getting caught while making out with JJK men

Pairings: Geto x fem!reader; Gojo x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,2k

Warnings: well, it's getting heated babes, not 100% proofread because I wrote this in my work break (again lol)

Geto Suguru

You know how wrong it is. This is not the right time, not the right place to stand in a lonely corner with Geto Suguru’s hands all over you and his lips hanging onto yours like you’re air and he cannot breathe.

“Fuck, we should get going”, you whimper into the lonely hallway.

In fact, getting going is the last thing you want to do right now. Not when Riko is busy saying goodbye to her former life, not when your emotions are all over the place. You hid your feelings towards Suguru for so long, tried to convince yourself over and over that you don’t hold those kinds of feelings towards him. But when he allowed Riko some privacy, when you saw the glimmer in his dark eyes shimmering down at you…

You were lost.

And you lose over and over again with his lips worshipping yours like no one did before, with him pressing you against a nearby wall. Countless nights, you pondered about the way it might feel to get hold like this, to actually feel him this close. But reality? Way too bittersweet, way better than anything you could have ever imagined.

“I don’t want to leave you ever again”, he mumbles against your parted mouth before starting a dangerous dance with both of your tongues intertwined.

That man who pierced through Satoru could be here every time, you need to fulfill this mission, need to concentrate on escorting Riko to Tengen-sama. After all, this might be the only purpose you have here at Jujutsu High: Completing missions after missions, doing as you were told.

No, fuck that.

This right here is what you live for. The sensation of Suguru hollering over you like a shadow, of him holding you like no one did before, putting together all your broken pieces.

“I love you”, you finally hush.

“I think I always did.”

“I feel the same way, (y/n). God, I adore you more than anything else.”

Just when you thought your kiss couldn’t get any deeper, couldn’t make you lose your breath even more, he grabs your chin in order to gain better access of your mouth. Now you’re all yours, whimpering under his touch like a little girl.

Out of instinct, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, allow your fingertips to grab his soft hair for hold.

“Huh, really didn’t expect to find ya here like that. Well, having fun before dying isn’t a crime, ya know.”

Your blood freezes instantly as you pull away and get greeted by the coldest green eyes you’ve ever seen. The man who fought against, Satoru. Without any doubt.

But…You eye him up and down, blood sticking onto his tight shirt without a visible wound.

Where’s Satoru?

“Leave her alone”, Suguru instructs the man seriously while positioning himself in front of you.

“You’re better off protecting ya little girlfriend from me. She’s cute. Maybe I’ll take her on a date when I killed you.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Your heart drops to the floor, Suguru’s widened eyes revealing the urgency of this situation all too urgently. Out of all people who could have caught both of you this vulnerable, why on earth does it have to be him? There is no way Suguru will allow you to stay here while that stranger now knows…

“She’s your weakness, isn’t she? Maybe I can teach you a lesson about how freaking dumb love is.”

“Get Riko and escort her to Tengen-sama as fast as possible, (y/n)”, Suguru speaks out firmly while your eyes make contact.

“I can’t leave you here alone, if he defeated Satoru-“

He doesn’t interrupt you with words. No, instead he pulls you close, presses his puffy lips against yours until you feel like drowning in emotions.

“Get going. I don’t want this to be the last time someone caught us together.”

Gojo Satoru

“Get away from me right now.”

Oh, how desperately you try to sound angry while the truth is, that you want Gojo Satoru as close as possible. Your eyes dart left and right, search for the unpromising opportunity that somebody catches you in this position.

This position.

You, caged between Satoru’s arms in the male dorm you aren’t even allowed in, to be exact.

“C’mon, you don’t want me to get away from you. After teasing me the whole day and giving me that looks, you want me to go? Try better next time, princess”, he teases you while throwing his sunglasses to the ground without thinking twice.

“If we get caught here by a teacher…I can’t afford bad reputation, Satoru! What would my parents think, what if I get grounded, what if-“

“I know something better than using that mouth for hysteric talking”, he purrs with his face drawing closer and closer.

“Please, you aren’t even listening to me!”

A mix of panic, excitement and desire rushes through your veins, makes your eyes widen in sheer horror.

If your parents find out you were caught with a boy while actually, you are supposed to be a good student, you’ll be screwed. Especially when they found out which boy you were making out with…

Even though Gojo Satoru is considered the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of your timeline, your parents seem to hate him to the core.

“I don’t care that he’s your classmate. If you ever get involved with him more than necessary, you will leave this school without a second chance.”

You swallow hard. No, there is absolutely no doubt in the fact that your father made his point very clear.

But Satoru does as well. When he wraps his arms around your waist, he catches you just in time before your wobbly knees give in. No boy ever touched you like that, no other boy ever swept you off your feet like that. The butterflies in your stomach become almost unbearable while you can’t help but stare at his eyes.

Those oh so gorgeous eyes.

“I don’t want to hide my feelings for you any longer. Fuck your parents, fuck their threats. As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

You let out your shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

And then your lips collide with his. Slowly and sweet at first until your very own longing becomes too much. You grab his back, pull him closer, allow him to access your mouth. He tastes like your favorite chewing gum and strawberries, so sweet that you cannot escape. Longingly, you allow him to suck on your bottom lip until a whimper escapes your lips. This is so much better than you ever imagined, so much sweeter than you ever dreamed of. There will never be a boy apart from Satoru who sweeps you off your feet like this, who makes you feel this way.

“Out of all boys, why does it have to be him, (y/n)?”

Your heart drops so suddenly that you feel like dying right on the spot. That low voice you know so well by now, that low voice that means nothing but trouble at the moment.

“S-sir…Yaga-sama I…I”

You fail to find the right words. In fact, all you are able to do is staring at him with glossy eyes and messy hair that reveal oh too painfully what you just did.

You crossed the line you promised your father not to. You came to the boy’s dorms even though you aren’t allowed to. And you got caught by your teacher doing so.

“Why does a nice girl like you waste her time with trash like Gojo?”, he continues.

“C’mon, you don’t have to be this me-“

“Please don’t tell my father!”

You let yourself drop to the floor, your head resting on top of your hands.

“I know it’s not my place to ask for something like that. But if you do…I will have to leave Jujutsu High.”

Thick silence hangs in the air, so quiet that you’re able to hear your tears fall onto the ground. You shouldn’t see Satoru anymore, should end this relationship before it started.

But truth is…you love him. Despite all the differences and your father’s hatred towards him, you love Satoru. You don’t want to leave him and Jujutsu High, you can’t stand the sheer fact of never seeing him again.

Still, it’s Yaga-sama’s job to inform your parents about your behavior, that you were caught in the boy’s dorm. And from there on there is no way out for you, no way to escape this fate.

“What are you talking about, (y/n)?”

Your teary eyes dart towards him immediately while you have to blink a few times in order to process what he just said.

“You caught me in the boy’s dorm with Satoru. It is your responsibility to inform my parents about that”, you reply with shaky voice.

“And risking that you’ll have to leave Jujutsu High? You’re the only useful student of this year and probably the only one who is able to tame this idiot down. I didn’t see anything today.”

“I am not an idiot”, Satoru protests with a sly grin.

“You can call yourself lucky a girl like (y/n) decided to keep up with you. I hope you won’t hurt her, Satoru. Or else, I might tell her father about it.”

And with that, he turns on his heels and walks aways as noiseless as he came, leaving both Satoru and you standing there bamboozled.

“So…what’s the worst your father would do to me?”

“Oh, he’d totally kill you if he found we made out”, you reply instantly.

Nanami Kento

“I might be gone for a few days, darling.”

Gently, he caresses your back the way he knows you adore it while wearing a saddened expression on your face.

“What mission takes a few days? Why aren’t they sending Gojo like they always do?”, you question with a pout.

You weren’t really able to meet up with your boyfriend Kento for what feels like ages. During work here at Jujutsu High, you aim to be professional, to not show each other affection. After all, this is your job and both of you take that very seriously. But now that you haven’t really seen each other after works for weeks, you can’t escape the urge to simply hug him, to feel his warmth and take in his masculine scent.

Kento breathes out audibly while stroking your hair. Truth is, he misses you like crazy. Despite his desperate attempts to stay away from you at Jujutsu High, he finds himself wrapping his arms around you as well.

“This is something serious. I can’t let the students go out on their own”, he mumbles against your forehead before placing a gentle kiss onto it.

Your stomach drops in excitement immediately. After weeks without affection, just a tiny kiss on your forehead seems to be enough to drive you wild.

“I get that. It just frustrates me a little”, you reply.

When your eyes find his, they are clouded by a feeling you know all too well. Time stands still when his grip around you tightens and his gaze drifts towards your lips. Your oh so longing lips that cannot wait to get kissed.

Without hesitation, you close the tiny gap between both of you. Even though you’re standing in the middle of a classroom at Jujutsu High, even though you both agreed on keeping your relationship out of work life.

You simply can’t right now. A swift motion is enough for him to lift you off the ground with ease while pressing your back against the cool wall. A whimper escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it, all senses directed towards him with your eyes closed by the sheer sensation.

“I missed you so much”, he breathes against your lips before continuing his sweet torture.

“Missed you as well…so…much…”

You allow your hungry hands to re-discover the valleys of his muscular back, his broad shoulders, his oh so perfect face. How are you supposed to stay away from a man like him longer than a few hours? Him with his character of gold, body of steel and brain?

“Nanami-sensei, I-…Oh.”

Your eyes dart open immediately and find a utterly surprised Yuji Itadori staring at you with his mouth open.

“Yuji, what are you doing here?”, you mumble while picking on your messy clothes in the most awkward way.

“Why didn’t I know that you two are a thing?”, the pink-haired boy continues, ignoring your lousy attempt to distract.

“Because this is our private life. Why are you here, Itadori-kun?”, Nanami replies in all seriousness.

“But…That’s awesome! You two go so well together! And I always thought that (y/n)-san is totally into you!”

“Watch your words, Itadori.”

“Yuji, can you please just…leave?”, you literally beg.

“Oh yeah, of course.”

“Wait, Itadori”, Nanami instructs the boy just when he’s about to leave the room.

“Don’t you dare to tell Kugisaki about anything you saw today.”

Yuji blinks a few times before nodding and leaving the room with a smile.

“He will totally tell her everything. You know that, right?”, you comment, still trying to catch your breath.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Tags:

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@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part four)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Danny slowed his car down, staring at the black iron gate coming into view; Bats and ivy welded on in an elegant pattern, obviously more thought-out than The Drake's ducks had been. He had to give it to Tim, the kid had been right about how stupid the ducks looked.

Glancing around, Danny found he was completely alone on the dirt road. The gray sky slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher in the distance, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and birds chirped.

If it hadn't been for his experiences at Vlad's place, he would have found the scenery comforting, maybe even inviting. But the knowledge that this was the home of a billionaire, one that went out at night to fight crime like a furry on crack nonetheless, ruined it.

Maybe he should just head back to the motel...

...

Fuck it, when had Phantom ever backed down? That's right! Never! Danny was going to stick to his metaphorical guns and follow through with his admittedly stupid plan.

Taking his foot off the brake; Danny activated his intangibility, shared it with the car, and drove through the gate. (look, what were his powers for if not to make his life convenient? He deserved it after literally dying for them. AND the gate was probably locked. There was no way he could convince someone to let him in at this time in the morning, so...)

Danny kept an eye on his surroundings as he drove, he doubted Bruce Wayne would have ghost vultures working for him, but that doesn't mean Danny wouldn't be prepared if he did.

Eventually, a large building came into view. Its gothic architecture and obvious timely design set it apart from Vlad's modern monstrosity of a castle. Danny could just tell this was a home for a family with old money; the weathered roof and aged water fountain told stories of the people who used to live there. This was a home, not just a house.

Pulling his car over and parking, Danny quickly sent a mental prayer to the home's ancestors. He hoped they could forgive him for what he was about to do.

Grabbing his backup phone and his keys, Danny tossed the car door open and stepped out. Immediately his senses were clouded with grief and anger. It was so strong he almost lost his footing. The house was just drenched in the emotions, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around anything and everything.

Closing his eyes, Danny held his breath so he could focus on blocking the emotions out. (flashes of someone else's memories rushed past his mind; a glimpse of a young boy sitting in a library reading a book. An older man sitting next to him silently. In another flash, the two were now in a dark cave, the light of a computer the only thing illuminating them as the older man draped a blanket across the boy's back. whispered words of sincere promises echoed in his head.)

He had believed Tim, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Ancients, this was worse than when he had to deal with Spectra.

Batman definitely needed therapy.

...

Maybe Jazz should be Robin instead, she'd know how to handle this properly. but Jazz wasn't here right now, she was in Sweden learning all about mental health. Which meant Danny would have to do this himself.

yay.

He had two options; One, he sits down with the man and they have a sincere and very emotional conversation. Or two, he beats it into the guy's head that he needs to stop going out and trying to get himself killed. Based on everything he knows about Batman? It was going to be number two that was going to get results... Well, at least Danny had experience punching things until he got what he wanted. (even if it didn't always work.)

Shaking himself out of his mind, Danny started making his way to the front door. It was past five in the morning, Bruce should be home now. Whether he was sleeping like Danny would assume he usually did, was a different question altogether.

Glancing around the door, Danny found there was a large rope hanging to the left. Vlad had the same thing at his place, it was an old-fashioned doorbell.

shrugging, Danny pulled on the rope and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

After a minute or two, Danny pulled the rope again. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in a nice waistcoat and trousers.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, a British accent completing the look.

Danny blinked for a second before quickly focusing back on his task. "My name's Danny. Bruce is being a dumbass who needs to take a chill pill and take a step back from hospitalizing criminals. Can I come in?"

It was the old man's turn to stare and blink at him. After a minute, the man stepped back and opened the door, his eyebrow raised. "I would like to see how you plan to tell this to Master Bruce. His office is this way, young man."

"May I ask what exactly you're doing here?" the man asked, closing the door behind Danny.

Danny shrugged, "I'm here to beat some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed and no one wants to see what happens when he does."

The butler, because the rich fruitloop would obviously have one, hummed as he nodded his head in agreement. "I see. Maybe this is what he needs then. he won't listen to me, no matter how much I nag him."

Nothing else was said as he guided Danny through the manor, eventually stopping at a fancy dark wooden door. "Master Bruce, you appear to have a visitor." Then He opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

He only had a moment to ponder how he should do this before he entered the room. He should keep his powers hidden, for now at least.

He was greeted with the sight of an exhausted man in a bathrobe sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He was clutching a very worn and loved book in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed. (Danny noted that it was the same book the kid had been reading, The Hero and the Crown... or something like that, Danny hadn't really gotten a good look at the title.)

The butler stepped back, closing the door, and stood next to it to maybe await his new orders. Ones he probably wouldn't get any time soon, if the way Bruce hadn't moved or responded meant anything.

Well, if the old man wanted to see this then who was Danny to stop him?

Stepping forward, Danny leaned over the desk and slapped the back of Bruce's head. The man swiftly turned and stared at him, raising one of his hands to touch his head in shock. Danny heard the butler choke in surprise but ignored him. He could only pray to Clockwork that Bruce didn't kill him for this.

"You are being absolutely idiotic, dude." Danny declared. "Do you think Jason would have wanted you to act like this?" Bruce stood up, his chair slamming into the wall, his eyes burning in anger. "No? Then get your shit together and be the man he would be proud of."

Bruce lunged over the desk, his fist pulled back to hit Danny. It was just like Danny expected, just like Tim had told him, the man was letting his emotions control his actions. Dodging to the side, Danny continued talking, "This going out every night, fighting more and more dangerous and outlandish people all by yourself? It's going to get you killed."

Bruce gave up on trying to punch him, instead, he threw himself forward and body-slammed Danny to the floor. Danny coughed, quickly blocking his face as Bruce took a swing at him. Using the man's blind anger to his advantage, Danny kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him flying into his desk. "Jason's dead. It sucks. and it hurts. It's probably the worst pain you've ever experienced, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Danny glared at the man as he scrambled into a crouch, waiting to see what Bruce did next. "Shut up," the man growled, shoving himself up and away from his desk. He picked up his stapler; he was probably either going to use it as a blunt weapon or throw it at Danny. Widening his stance, Danny got ready to dodge or lunge.

He remembered reading about him, online when he first became Phantom. He remembered reading about Robin and Batman and how they worked together to protect Gotham. How they tirelessly worked day and night to put their rogues away every time they got out again.

He remembered seeing pictures of Batman standing next to little Robin, a proud smile on his face as the police took the criminals away. Pictures of the man helping and protecting Robin whenever the boy couldn't handle whatever mess he had gotten into. There was even a memorable one of Batman scolding an obviously sheepish Robin, a knocked-out Riddler slumped behind him.

He had wished so badly for someone to help him back them, for someone to be his Batman when times got hard. He remembered how devastated he was when it turned out the only person like him was Vlad. Vlad, who had wanted to murder his father and marry his mother. Vlad, who had overshadowed people to gain more wealth and power. Vlad, who hadn't seen how wrong it was to try and clone him.

He remembered the comments and videos from the citizens of Gotham, cheering for their heroes when they succeeded in capturing the rogues. How they still supported them when they failed. It was nothing like Amity's reaction to him.

He remembered how Gothom reacted when Robin was pronounced dead. How the city had cried and raged. He felt it all the way over in Amity, the grief and anger. The whole city had come together to mourn the boy who protected them. Even two years later, Danny could still feel the echoes.

"Jason's dead. He's dead and gone and you're letting yourself get consumed with your grief. but you made a promise Bruce."

Danny knew he had, it was the same promise Danny had made just four years ago.

Bruce's eyes widened and the anger that was surging in his eyes froze for just a moment. His hand loosened around the stapler but didn't let it go. The butler looked concerned, unsure if he should interfere or not.

"You made a promise all those years ago when you first dawned that stupid bat suit. You promised to do everything in your power to help your city. To protect it. Robin made the same promise. When he took up his suit. They both did."

Bruce's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. Danny lowered his body, still ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You made a promise to your son, Bruce. Even if he didn't know it. One that you couldn't keep."

Bruce threw the stapler, making Danny jump to the side to dodge it. His mistake was not keeping an eye on what Bruce did after throwing it. The man quickly rushed up to him, eyes blazing in anger. "You don't know anything!" he cried, his fist slamming into Danny's jaw. Danny staggered back but ducked under the next punch.

"I lost my son! I wasn't there!" Bruce shouted, kicking Danny's legs out from under him. Danny's back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Bruce followed him down, breaking his nose with another punch to the face. "I promised I would protect him and I wasn't there!"

Danny growled, catching Bruce's fist in his hand and sending a punch at the side of Bruce's head. Bruce tried to lean back, Danny's fist clipping his forehead. Bruce grunted, reaching up to grab Danny's fist to keep him from punching him again.

"You couldn't protect him! I get it, it sucks!" Danny shouted back, flashes of Dani's melting form grasping at his shirt in panic pulled to the front of his mind. "It leaves a black hole in the center of your chest! It sucks all the warmth out of you, leaving only the cold bitter knowledge that you couldn't save him!" (that he couldn't save her)

Bruce pulled his fist out of Danny's hand, slamming his elbow down into Danny's chest and twisting Danny's right arm sharply in an attempt to break it. Danny kept talking though, ignoring the pain as he pulled his arm out of Bruce's grasp, "But Jason made a promise! and you're doing nothing to keep it!"

Danny grabbed onto Bruce's bathrobe and flipped them so Bruce was the one on the floor now. Quickly reaching up, Danny grabbed both of Bruce's hands and held them as still as he could. Bruce was strong, but Danny had years of fighting Skulker and the other super-strong ghosts under his belt. "He made that promise knowing that you had made the same one!"

Bruce growled, throwing his head up in an attempt to hit Danny with it. Danny leaned back, accidentally loosening his grip just enough for Bruce to break out of it. Bruce shoved him off of him, making Danny slide back and hit a chair.

Grunting, Danny stood up and lunged at Bruce. Bruce dodged to the side, dropping down to pick the stapler back up. "I can't claim to know what Jason would have wanted," Danny spat, backing up to give himself more space as Bruce stepped toward him. "but I know as someone who made the same promise, I wouldn't have wanted you to change into what you are now!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Danny, "Yeah, and what's that?" he growled.

"A careless, suicidal, moron," Danny growled back.

Bruce froze, stopping in place as he stared at Danny.

Danny took his chance to drive his point home; standing up straight, he raised his hands up in surrender. "He was your son. He looked up to you for protection. For guidance. And sure, maybe you weren't the best dad, and maybe you made mistakes. But you were his dad."

Danny stepped forward, watching as the butler stepped forward to reach out to the man. "and what kind of son would want his dad to kill himself?"

Bruce dropped his stapler, his eyes falling to the ground and catching onto the book he had dropped earlier. It was opened to the front page, written words in messy writing covering it.

"You need to stop, Bruce," Danny said, slowly crouching down and reaching out for the book. Bruce watched him as he stood up, the book still open to the front page in his hands. Jason's writing visible to all of them.

"you couldn't keep your promise to protect him. It sucks and it hurts. but you can keep his promise. The same promise you made all those years ago."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes filling with tears, the butler's hand resting on his shoulder. Danny stepped forward again, holding the book out for Bruce to take.

"You can't protect Gotham if you're dead."

Jason's handwritten note stared up at them, the ink messy and smudged.

'to the best dad in the world and the many adventures we'll go on!'

and Bruce? Bruce crumbled to the floor with a sob, leaving Danny to stand in front of him. Blood running down his face, staining his hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pants, the book still held out with steady hands.

Next

[dwaekkicidal]

The Easy Way vs The Hard Way

˚ʚBang Chan x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: I was thinking about brat taming the other day and I came to the conclusion that Chris has 2 different ways to tame a brat. So I procrastinated on my fics + assignments and wrote this :)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: ~1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, largely based around Daddy kink, creampie (try to pee after sex pls <3), breeding mentions, Chris calls himself Daddy, 'good girl' used #2: kinda hard dom!chris, man handling, spanking

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: sorry not sorry that 'hard' is longer than 'easy' (are u surprised? have you SEEN my content?) and take this off of schedule because I hate letting things sit in my drafts for more than a day 😭 ALSO Sharing is Caring part 2 coming out later this week :3 (along with a Jisung request I got hehe <3)

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

I think he has 2 ways of taming brats depending on what his mood is. So here's a little scenario to picture so that I can explain what I mean!

After a long day for the both of you, you guys indulge each other in a nice hour or 2 of foreplay before he finally fucks you. After you both finish, Chris pulls away to watch his cum drip out of you and you wiggle your hips to tease him. He slaps your ass playfully in response and teases you back by saying something along the lines of “Unless you’re trying to get bred tonight, I suggest you stop shaking your ass at me like that baby.” “As if you would complain about that. For somebody who calls himself ‘Daddy’ and says he ‘DoEsN’t MeAn It LiKe ThAt’, you sure as hell are trying to become one.” He originally laughs, but once he processes that you mocked him he rolls his eyes at you, “Just have to be a little brat? Maybe I didn’t fuck you thoroughly enough.” You scoff, crossing your arms and turning to look at him, “You think you do that anyways?”

So. How does theee Bang Christopher Chan deal with this?

‘Easy’ Way; aka “kill them with kindness”

“You think you do that anyways?”

He simply narrows his eyes at you, placing his hands on his hips, “Yeah?”

You proudly respond with an “Mhm." and stick your chin up.

He chuckles, stepping towards you and raising his hand to rest against your cheek, softly caressing the skin there. “But baby, you were just the one begging me to fuck you. Surely if I ‘never’ fucked you thoroughly enough, you wouldn’t be on your knees begging for my dick to be in you?”

You frown and he laughs in response, not giving you a chance to speak up before he continues. His free hand trails down your stomach and stops at your cunt, where he ghosts his fingers along your folds. You whimper and chew on your bottom lip, looking away from him shyly.

"And... Where did my good girl go? Hm? My pretty baby who listens soo well.” His fingers tease your hole before you’re filled with two of them. “My sweet doll who would never let her Daddy down like this.” His fingers double their efforts and the hand on your cheek slides a thumb into your puffy lips. "The good girl who doesn’t disrespect her Daddy like this… Where is she at?” Your breath suddenly becomes hectic and he can tell you’re getting close.

Between the bittersweet words and the eager movements against your pussy, you slip into another mindset all too easily. He smiles when you finally look at him with glossy eyes and respond in a small voice, "'M right here..." He tilts his head at you expectantly and you squirm in his hold before repeating yourself louder. "I'm right here Daddy.."

"Oh, hi baby. Is my good girl back now?" You nod desperately in response, tightening your hands into fists against his chest as you grip around his fingers. "And is she ready to behave?"

"Yes, Daddy. 'M sorry.."

"Shhh, it’s okay baby. Now be good and cum on my fingers, kay?"

Hard’ Way; aka “fuck around and find out”

“You think you do that anyways?”

His eyebrows furrow and his tongue drags against the inside of his cheek. “Yeah? You’re really gonna do this right now? Right after I was nice enough to let you cum?” You gulp but stand your ground, making a scene to roll your eyes and lean back against the headboard.

He sits there silently, trying to give you another chance to come to your senses to realize that you’re butt ass naked in front of him and at his mercy. When you instead cock your head sideways with a bunch of attitude, he sighs loudly. His hands suddenly grips your ankles and drags you towards him. Then you’re flipped into your stomach and he renters you with no warning.

Your jaw drops and you moan loudly in surprise. His hands take turns slamming down against your ass cheeks over and over, seemingly getting harder with each slap. He sighs contently at the way you cling tightly around him with each smack, and he only stops once your cheeks are beet red and you’re trembling below him.

He hums to himself and taps the flesh, making it burn more and watching as you shake. "Such a pretty thing with such pretty reactions.. If only you were a good plaything and shut that pretty mouth for once."

He watches as your head snaps back towards him for a moment, the angry face and tears running down your face only make him smile at you. You feel his hips drag away from you, painfully slowly, until only the first centimeter or two of his tip are in you. You're taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure when a hand grabs a tight grip of your hair and pulls you backwards, his hips slamming forward at the same time.

A choke leaves you at the suddenness but he wastes no time, using the leverage in your hair to hold you in place as he fucks into you roughly. The aftermath of your previous orgasm sneaks up on you and you feel another one building up in no time. You melt into the sheets at the feeling, shaking as you almost tip over from one of the faster orgasms you've experienced, but Chris proves himself to be faster.

In an instant he's pulling out completely and holding you down preemptively for when you start thrash and whine. He waits until you stop kicking your feet at him, a tell tale sign that the tightness in your stomach finally faded, then he all of the sudden plunges back into you. The slide against your walls is rough, but you can’t deny how well it’s breaking down your resolution.

He uses the hand in your hair to tilt your head up at him when he leans forward to tower over you. It's very uncomfortable but it gives him the advantage as his narrowed eyes bore directly into you. He eventually changes positions, not wanting to actually hurt you like that, and he uses the new one to bring you to another orgasm. One that he, of course, ruins immediately with no hesitation.

This happens multiple times across the next 2 hours, to the point where you lost count of how many orgasms slipped away. It's not until you're sobbing beneath him and no longer kicking at him with each ruined orgasm, that he's flipping you onto your back and leaning down to kiss your tears away.

"Are you done now, love? You ready to be my good girl again?"

Your arms wrap around his neck and your lower lip trembles as you nod. He smiles, petting your hair and cooing at you before returning to his previous pace fucking you.

"There we go..."

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

[klausysworld]

The Feel of Her

Klaus’s gaze seemed to stick to her like glue.

Her hips would dance to the saxophone as she knocked back a glass of whatever before that enchanting voice of hers filled the bar again. 

Klaus was going feral in his seat, just listening to the pure eroticness of the words masked by the song as her cherry lips moved sensually, getting so close to the mic. 

By the end of the song her gloved hands were on at least one man’s chest, stroking up to his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

The Original ached to get closer to the stage and be the next one, but he couldn’t stoop to the average man’s level.

Especially not with Rebekah and Stefan being there to bear witness.

Instead he sent her drinks but it soon became apparent that he wasn’t the only man doing so. She was surely bolloxed by the end of each night, stumbling into different people whilst usually holding onto some gentleman’s arm. 

Her laugh haunted his dreams, reeled him in time after time.

One night, he’d assured Stefan to take Rebekah somewhere new, perhaps a dinner or something. 

That way he was free of judgement.

That’s how he ended up on that same stage, down on both knees whilst she bent down to taste his lips. The crowd cheered and whistled as they always did, somehow always in disbelief that she’d keep doing this, maybe in wonder and hope they could be next. 

Klaus wasn’t as pliant as some of the others before him, he craved so much more of her.

The smoothness of her gloves stroked the stubble of his face, guiding his face away from hers. His teeth latched to her bottom lip, pulling it with him with a groan as she laughed. The drop of blood blurred with the redness of her lipstick before her tongue darted to catch it. 

Klaus could have cum right there.

Her fingers pushed back through his slicked hair, petting him like he was anybody else. 

His eyes fluttered and he felt the warmth of her mouth beside his ear.

“Buy me a drink, handsome.” She purred and for the first time Klaus knew how it felt to be compelled.

Soon enough both her hands were clutching his bicep as he kept her to his side, his other arm outstretched over the bar as he grabbed her glass and his, managing to balance them both whilst he got her over to his booth. 

She raised a brow at the area. 

“I thought you posh blokes preferred to watch.” It was a tease of course but Klaus felt a slight hit of some sort of embarrassment. He had constantly told himself that he was better, more powerful, more controlled, just more than any other being let alone any other man and yet he’d stooped to the behaviour of a commoner to have her. Involuntarily, his eyes did a quick glance, not wanting the others in the upper class to be judging him for his actions.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and a faint hum left her as she reached for his chin, guiding him back to her. 

“They can’t touch you like I can.” She whispered and he shuddered.There was some sort of reassurance she was supposed to be implying but it was all so sexual that it was messing him all up. “Not with their eyes and definitely not with their hands.” Her words were like fire, the heat engulfing him with no chance of escape.

“What of their mouths?” He murmured, his mouth dry as her eyes locked on his. A lop-sided smile pulled at her painted lips as she caressed his face. 

“I’m sure you’ll be able to tell me by the sunrise.” 

Her statement was clear. He was going to have her, she would be his even if only for one night.

Klaus had his mouth back over hers, his skin was burning for her. His body clinging to hers, hands grappling. The fear of judgement was out the window as he pulled her up against him, her thighs on top of his as she rocked herself back and forth over his lap. Her dress was bunched up against her hips, the warmth of her driving him crazy as the friction got more and more delicious. 

He could feel his cock throb, the need to just fuck her against the table, the couch, fucking anywhere, was killing him. His body was humping against hers like a wolf in his rut. Her gloves smoothed back his hair once more as she kissed his ear. 

“You’re such a sweetie.” She whispered to him, her eyes watching him through hooded lids as he trembled beneath her. 

Klaus could only moan, the sound deep and guttural. 

The humiliation couldn’t catch up with the pleasure as he rubbed himself against her quicker, firmer. 

She felt him stutter against her before his breathing stopped, her fingers curled into his gelled hair, lifting his head back so she could kiss his forehead once he’d finished against her underwear. 

“Take me somewhere I can really feel you.” She uttered, her voice so convincing that he couldn’t stop from nodding. 

Klaus had her by the waist, his legs weak like a baby deers as he led her to a car. The driver didn’t ask anything, just knew where to be. If the expensive booth reserved for the elite wasn’t enough confirmation, the personal driver was. 

Barely any words were needed at all.

His pants were undone in no time, her hands all over him. 

Blunt nails dug into the seat below whilst his eyes fluttered and she stroked him slowly like she knew just the pace to tease him with.

As soon as the heat of her mouth was on him he was gone, it was like he had no control of his body at all.

His hips could never stop rolling, seeking her out over and over. 

Her throat welcomed him every time, the wet gulp she made each time forced a whine from his throat until his own throat was raw.

Somehow her eyes had morphed into the image of innocence when he looked at her, the feel of her and the look of her left him no chance.

Those plump lips of hers were dripping with strings of his cum in no time. Klaus only moaned quietly as she licked the taste away with a hum of satisfaction.

Once he managed to get himself out of the car, which was completely steamed up at the back, she practically had to pull him into his home. It was huge, almost royal.

But she didn’t care all that much at that moment in time.

Not whilst they were tugging the clothes off each other before they were both bare, only the neat pearls left around her neck as he rolled her into the sheets of his bed. 

She looked up at him through her lashes when she felt his cock rest against her pussy, she knew he was far too desperate to wait much longer. One slight nod of her head had him bucking up, the thrust sharp and fulfilling as his whole cock plunged into her. 

“Ahh-” She moaned, her legs lifting to wrap around his hips as he groaned loudly. 

Her nails scratched pleasantly down his skin as his body pushed deep into her time after time again. His breath was as heavy as hers as a bead of sweat dropped from his skin to hers. 

Each thrust seemed to end some sort of battle within him until it was thoughtless, just natural. Their bodies slid together so perfectly that he would have begged to just keep her there forever.

Her hands pet his hair, down the back of his neck.

It was as though every individual nerve on his body was screaming for her.

His mouth sucked marks all over her skin, her neck, collarbone, shoulders, breasts, arms. Anywhere he could reach whilst still being able to push into her effortlessly. Her breathless laugh stroked him just the right amount, making him take her a little deeper whilst his hands slid down. Klaus had to pull her hands off his wrists as she moaned, her body getting too sensitive for his thumb on her clit. 

He grunted at the sharp tug to his hair, his body shuddering against hers.

It was far too easy to fall apart with her.

By sunrise she was wrapped up in the bedsheets, pulled to his chest and breathing heavily whilst he dipped his tongue back into her mouth, a groan barely leaving his now sore throat. 

Klaus wished he could have had her every night, for the rest of eternity, but she wasn’t one to stay with one man for too long. 

In the twenties women lived for each night, not forever like Klaus would.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t keep yearning.

[rxzennia]

hibernation/ brumation

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 winter dormancy.

in his five years of being your boss, aventurine hasn’t ever seen you send in a request for leave. but here he is, staring at your application for a month-long vacation.

a month? isn’t that a little too long?

you didn’t even stick a little comment about where you’re going or what’s happening, dammit! he wants to know so bad, but he feels like he’ll either overstep his boundaries or come off as clingy if he asks.

he’ll approve it, of course!

he wants you to not hate your job, and part of being a good boss is letting his subordinates take the leaves they’re entitled to

and you deserve a nice, long break, anyway

but the curiosity is killing him inside. what will you be doing? will you still hang around the IPC?

he really, really wants to barge into your office and wrench an explanation out of you

and also, how dare you try to take leave right into the holidays! rude

he wanted to take you out to dinner! to fancy places! he was prepared to have a schedule full of you!

totally not dates or his attempts to spoil you

he totally isn’t thinking of doing it so that you’ll spoil him in return

he’s found out that you respond to him if he rants at you

and that you get very soft and careful with him if he presses the right buttons

he digs that so much it’s unreal

there’s something about having you, of all people, treat him tenderly

perhaps because he’s seen firsthand what kind of monster hides in your scarf

or… what kind of monster hides beneath your silent, icy exterior

it just hits different when someone like you treat him so gently

and he knows for a fact that you’ll never abuse that power you have

he absolutely loves that. 100%.

“guess who’s here!” aventurine announces as he enters your office without so much as a knock, “hard at work, my favorite secretary?”

“out, please.” you hiss, sparing him barely a glance from your computer, “i’m concentrating.”

since when did your complaints stop him

he saunters over and sits himself on your armrest anyway

your scarf lift him up and set him down on the couch opposite to you

he finds his way back to your chair

you put him on the couch again

he comes back to your armrest

is he a cat obsessed with a particular box (namely, your chair) or something

you give up

“what is it?” you relent, scooting over so he can fit onto your seat, too, albeit barely

this man does not hesitate to invade your personal space

“where are you going for a month, hmm?” he asks with a playful smile, “can’t even tell me?”

oh, so that’s what this is about

but why is he resting his face in his hand and looking at you like he’s trying to flirt?

“hibernation.” you keep typing without giving aventurine much of a reaction, “not exactly, but close. brumation.”

wait. wait, what?

it doesn’t take a genius to know that aventurine is currently flabbergasted. “you… hibernate? like sleep hibernate?” 

“no, i hibernate awake.” you mumble sarcastically, but he catches it even if your words are muffled

“c’mon, i’m just checking!” he throws his hands in the air as if protesting your attitude

“yes, i sleep, for the most part.” you scoot over a little more and lift him up, setting him down in your lap. “but i’ll be awake here and there.”

you rest your head on top of his and continues to work, effectively caging him in

he realizes you’re much more like a snake than he thought

not in an alarming way

you’re coiling around him, but, like, in a friendly danger noodle way

“will you?” he chuckles; maybe his plans aren’t entirely foiled, after all, “for how long?”

you look at him. “a few minutes up to an hour?” 

you’re only getting up for water and/or changing sleeping positions

never mind, his plans to try to spoil you is, in fact, foiled

he pouts. he had the entire thing planned out already! all five days that you’ll be off!

he looks like a kid who’s about to buy the last donut but you beat him to it and buy the donut right in front of his eyes.

“you can visit.” you say, and you see him light up almost immediately. 

though, you don't think there’s much worth visiting, but whatever makes him happy

when aventurine visits you during your well-deserved vacation, he’s pleasantly surprised. you’re sleeping so peacefully, despite the fact that you usually rarely sleep at all.

you’re curled up into half a ball under your blankets and your scarf

and letting out little snores

is this what you look like when you’re asleep? 

so adorable. if only you’d let him see it often…

but he doesn’t know the frequency of your brumation period

as far as he knows, it’s once in five years, but he has no idea if it’s more than five years

you’re not covering your face, either

aeons, he loves seeing your unobscured face

you’re so beautiful under your scarf

especially the patches of scales along your neck, they glitter in white gold under the light

he wishes you wouldn't try to cover them up

during your entire month, he’s going to be in your room whenever he’s free

he will totally try to sleep next to you at night

what? it’s not like you haven’t shared a bed before!

it’s just that you’ve never been asleep by each other's side!

you will cuddle into him if he tries to hold you

and you will get fussy if he tries to get out of the hug

if only you were as honest when you’re awake

aventurine has been trying to catch you in your small conscious windows, but he’s having not much luck with that. though, this isn’t exactly a gamble, so “luck” might not be the right word here.

he’s so busy; he’s drowning in work 

your temporary replacement isn’t very good at their job

or maybe he’s just used to the way you do things and now everything feels wrong

he wants you back already 

because nowadays he barely has an hour to spend with you apart from bedtime

he hates it

what do you mean by he can’t sit next to your sleeping form while he signs papers?

horrible, very horrible

but eventually he does catch you when you’re awake

you’re drowsy and you’re dragging your blankets and your scarf with you around your room

the cutest thing he’s ever seen in a long while

he watches as you clumsily pour yourself some water, spilling some on the table because you can’t line up the jug and the glass properly

and he watches as you sluggishly flop onto your couch after you’ve downed the water

“had enough of the bed?” he asks, sitting down next to you and brushing a few strands of hair away from your face

“hnnnnnngh,” you grumble and turn to face away from him, you just want to go back to sleep

then you remember this is your boss’s voice

and you reluctantly mumble, “it’s too warm…”

do you even know what you’re saying? you’re melting his heart

“oh, that so? it’s too hot over there?” aventurine snickers softly, his hand caressing your face, the cool fabric of his glove making you sigh in delight. “you’re so lovely.”

he recognizes the amount of trust you have in him to let him visit you when you’re sleeping, and it’s doing things to his stomach. you’re so lazy, so barely aware of your surroundings, but you trust him to be around you while you are in this state.

there is an urge, and he acts on it. he nuzzles against your cheek, rubbing your noses together and planting a small kiss on your forehead. he’s been dreaming of holding you like you’re his greatest treasure, but he’s never mustered up the courage to do it. 

maybe someday he will tell you, and then he’ll be allowed to adore you openly the way he’s always wanted to.

“my favorite snake,” he whispers to himself, feeling a shudder of affection throughout his bones, “sleep well. i’ll look forward to taking you out when you rise.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Yandere Kitsune + Child Reader

Imagine the most vain, deceitful, mischievous kitsune 

Infamous for killing hundreds of humans and even more unfortunate children

An actual evil menace 

He has been doing this for a good two centuries 

Already having earned his two tails 

Unfortunately, the wisdom of older age doesn’t seem to disparage him from terrorizing the kingdom’s outer edges

Almost omniscient there's no telling where he is or if he’s in disguise or if he’s been building fake relationships with others to lure them in

It’s scary but not enough to scare off children completely

Which leads to you

A nice life in nobility means you’re sheltered or at least given a nicer tale than most kids

But your family wasn’t without humble beginnings 

So the only real time you do find yourself playing in the great outdoors is then

“Hello, little one!”

He doesn’t bother to hide his fox ears or his flicking tails 

He finds children are easily interested in them

Looking up from the sticks you were playing with, you offer him a smile

He smirks to himself this is going to be too easy

After introducing himself with another fake name he moves along

“Come follow me into the forest, deeper inside we can play house together there!”

“Hmm no.”

“Yay–wait. Did you say ‘no’?”

“Yeah.”

Not entirely...different but different enough

He knows some kids treat their parent’s words as law

so this will take a little more convincing

“Actually I just don’t want to play house right now.”

This is fine

Most children need a little peer pressure to do what he wants

“Fine then. Guess we won’t be able to play together, after all.”

“Okay!”

What?! 

He watches as you skip further away from his direction flapping the sticks

How irritating 

You didn’t do a single thing he wanted you to

He excuses himself to blow off some steam aka drowning some fellow in the river

He tells himself to shake it off 

he still is the best at tricking kids

He proves this by devouring the soul of some other kid with all the same tricks that didn’t work on you

But even with a full stomach, he’s bothered

How dare you?

How could you?

He finds you again maybe not at your vacation home

This time he’s a bit more direct letting his mask slip a little 

“Come with me. Please? I’m so so scared!”

“Then I’ll just get my dad. If you’re so scared.”

“NO! I mean why won’t you? You seem so brave,”

“I don’t want to go in there. I’m wearing my garden shoes. I don’t want these ones ruined too.”

He gets so frustrated 

Going to his lavish shrine where lesser spirits serve him and other mischievous yokai often come to party to complain

“I can’t believe this child is making this so difficult! Sometimes I have such a hard time not just eating them out of spite!”

“Right? But it’s the whole chase that makes it fun!” an especially powerful Chochin raves

“True that and it's more delicious!” a Kappa friend of his toasts 

It isn’t until he listens to a Yuki Ona who really makes him think

“Children bring a warmth like none other. Caring for one is an adventure.”

He remembers that when he starts to watch you again

Finally noticing the quirks that make you the way you are

What foods you like

How you like to be put to bed

It all starts to make sense to him but he still stays

He watches

And he waits

For what he doesn’t know 

He just waits

Sometimes he’ll step away to feed on an adult he comes across or an especially bratty child

Comparing them to you as he picks his teeth

He only really notices when there's a break in your routine

Part 2: Here

[earlgreylatte]

i loved your work with the yandere green lanterns, can you make more im begging girl (its up to you btw) 🙏🏻😍

Give and Take

Men were kind of like animals, you think while starting at Hal and Guy get into each other’s face like deers looking to impale the other with its antlers. But, you know too well that would just lead to a deadlock, so seeing that John isn’t here to break them up, you simply sigh and move to place yourself between the arguing duo.

“—what were you even thinking, bringing her to that shit stain of a sector!?”

“Like anything would happen to her on my watch, so maybe take that stick out of your—!”

You place a hand on either man’s chest, and try to push them away, but both men remain unmovable, “Calm down, there’s no need to shout at each other like this. And for the record, I wanted to go there. A plague hit a planet in that ‘shit stain’ sector pretty hard and it’s kind of my job to fix that, Hal.”

Hal pinches a finger between his brow, “You know it’s not safe right now, and I don’t like the idea of you being outside this sector, much less the other side of the universe—!”

Guy scoffs, “She was with me, a Green Lantern, nobody could have gotten the drop on us. Face it, you’re just mad that I had her keeping me warm for once instead of you.”

Hal’s face tightens with anger for a second before he takes a breath and shoots you a look of exasperation, “Did you really convince Guy to take you out by letting him…was it even worth it?”

“Yes,” you answer without a beat of hesitation, while Guy loudly protests. Letting Guy use your mouth was a small price to pay to save the lives of many.

“You,” Hal begins, a fond quirk of his lips betraying the previous sternness of his demeanour, “are a real vixen sometimes.”

You know you’re not off the hook when you stare into his darkened eyes that trailed down your body in appreciation, acting as if he hadn’t seen you just last week.

But, you’re more than familiar in dealing with the whims of Green Lantern, even if it means toeing the line of their overprotectiveness and your duties. So you simply retract your suit, revealing your bare flesh as Guy lets out a noise of appreciation behind you. Hal exhales, raising a hand to cradle your face, as you nuzzle your cheek against his palm, letting your eyes flutter shut.

“You make it impossible to be mad at you when you act so obedient,” Hal muses, letting his hand trail down to your neck, pressing his thumb against your pulse, “but you know that, don’t you?”

You simply lift his hand off you, and bring it to grip your breast instead, “Let me be good for you then, Hal.”

He audibly stifles a groan as he wraps an arm around your waist to press you against his clothed erection. “Don’t think I’m going to let you off easy, you won’t be leaving bed for the next week after I’m done with you.”

You feel a hand grope your rear, as Guy sandwiches you between him and Hal, “Sure you got it in you, think I see some grey hairs. Maybe let me take the lead, old timer.”

Hal’s grip on you tightens, “I’m going to kill you, Guy.”

Despite his words, he seems more focused on dropping a hand between your legs, as your head falls against his shoulder with a shaky breath.

You have no doubt that even by himself Hal would carry out his promise, so you’re sure adding Guy to the mix will put you through the wringer, but it was a small burden to bare as a Blue Lantern. It was give and take with Green Lanterns, after all.

They get to possess your body, mind, and loyalty, tugging you around like a cherished toy, and you get to do your job. Sometimes.

And, maybe you enjoyed it that way.

‘STOPPPP FIGHTINGGG’ blue lantern reader cracks me up, sometimes…I think I go pretty light on yan content, like reader has to be an enabler or I feel guilty lol…

Masterlist

[thatartsyej]

I’m bored at work rn so imma just drop some hc for Toby LMAOOOO

(This is more based in my au btw lol)

Ticci Toby Headcanons

- Very big guy, like big big. As an adult stands at 6ft 4inches (193.04 cm ) and 185 lbs (83.92 kg)

- Used to be pretty scrawny as a teenager but gained some weight as he got older thanks to Brian and Tim borderline forcing this guy to eat

- Still a skinnier guy but definitely got some weight to him.

- Pretty much one of those guys who doesn’t LOOK like he’d be that strong only for him to be able to actually throw another person if he wanted to LMAOOO

- Dudes arm strength is insane. But when you you’ve been throwing around hatchets and axes since 17 that’s to be expected.

- But no seriously dude could throw you and has definitely thrown people before

- When he first became a proxy though Toby actually struggled a bit with the whole killing thing. Not cause of the morality issue but more so because dude was an anxious mess.

- Toby was ,,,,, a bit awkward to say the least. Was very wary of everyone and everything. Didn’t trust Tim and Brian. Honestly was slightly scared of them

- Would freeze up sometimes during his first missions because he would get so overwhelmed with everything going on.

- Finally put actual effort in to getting better at fighting after Tim told him straight up if he couldn’t take care of missions successfully, the operator would kill him.

- Brian gave him the advice that it’s easier to do it if he just took all his pent up anger out while doing missions.

- Yeaaaa he definitely took that shit to heart bc when the next mission came around? Oh boy

- Safe to say he realized that he isn’t a little kid who couldn’t defend himself anymore. That he is the one people were afraid of now.

- And boooyyy did that feel great

- When it came to actually completing his first mission on his own he was a nervous wreck. Took Brian an hour to calm him down. For the first year or so he had Tim and Brian to fall back on when things got tough, now it was gonna be just him though.

- “What happens I- if I fuck it up?”

“You won’t “

“ but what if I do?”

“Toby just go do the damn job. You’ll be fine”

- He did do good, a little too good actually. Soon Toby would have more successful missions than he did failed ones. And was a lot more confident in himself than before.

- Which made Slender’s interest in him peak. Whether that’s good or bad depends on who you ask.

-Nowadays he usually will stick around whatever area Masky and Hoodie is in but will still go off on his own.

- Hates being away from them for long. They’re kind of the only “positive” father figures he’s had his entire life, but would rather jump into oncoming traffic than admit that.

- Still an anxious person, has just learned how to conceal it very well.

- Personality wise, it can really vary what version of Toby you get depending on what the situation is.

-If you’re a fellow proxy, Toby can be fairly laid back, hyper even. Likes to hang out with Kate and Rouge when they’re around. Will do whatever with the others, he’s just happy to tag along.

- If you’re someone he doesn’t like, he is quite insufferable lol. Will purposely go out of his way to antagonize you and pick on you.

-Will also call you the wrong name on purpose. Sometimes it’s not even close to what your name is, he just thinks it’s the funniest thing ever.

- If you’re a target? R.I.P

- Will not say a word. Nothing at all just stares you down silently.

- He’ll just watch you for a long time before he actually makes his move. Will just ever so slightly move things in your place when you’re not there. Maybe the photo on the wall is slightly crooked, or a favorite item of yours is missing.

- just little things that you might not notice right away, but when you do you think “huh that’s weird”

- then it escalates to windows/doors being slightly ajar, unlocked or even just straight up opened all the way.

- He wants you to be nervous. The more scared you are, the less able you are to think clearly.

- You hear him before you actually see him. The small sound of bones popping and quiet grunts and swear words

-Then you see him

- Whether it’s at the end of your hallway, the corner of your room, or in the woods.

- He stands there for a moment, not moving an inch besides the occasional tic

- At this point there’s nothing you can do. You can’t outrun him and you sure as fuck can’t out power him. You’ll still try and like all the others, fail.

- There is a small blessing tho, and that is that your death will usually be quick.

- Toby is not one for torture. Not very good at keeping people alive long enough for that but better believe he can sure as hell make it hurt

- Definitely enjoys it a lot more than he is willing to admit. Not that he would need to admit it everybody knows

- When he’s not working or hanging out with others, he tries to find anything else to distract himself. He’s actually quite good at drawing, but gets frustrated with it when his tics mess him up

- Will also just go on walks. And not just short lil ones either this man will go missing for HOURS

- Made Tim and Brian panic at first when he started doing that but eventually just accepted he’ll come back at some point.

- Absolutely will smoke weed to chill out as well too. It helps with his nerves and tics. Also helps when he is having manic/ depressive episodes.

- Just does anything to preoccupy himself. He hates doing nothing because then all he has is his thoughts which never leads anywhere good

[levi-4uckerman]

╰┈➤ satoru gojo x reader // like ghosts in the snow

╰┈➤ the one where ur son asks a big question...

Words: 5.3k TWs:: mention of character death, toddler being a toddler, alcohol mentions, reader using her psychic powerz ;3 story timeline here, if ur interested :)

┈➤ next chapper !!!

╰┈➤ previous chapter here ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

✎ reminder that reader has been given the default name 'shiori myoji'!. you have a clairvoyance technique and a two-year old gojo >;3 enjoy!!

Tokyo, Japan- 2014.

You lingered at the edge of the ceremony, half-hidden beneath the steady drumming of rain against your umbrella. At first, you’d been against the idea. A gathering… for Suguru? After all he’d done, the tarnish he’d placed on Tokyo Jujutsu High’s name? But you saw the look on Satoru’s face, the closure he needed. He needed to remember the person that he lost, so that… maybe he could actually grieve Suguru’s death, as the rest of you had years ago. Years before he’d even died.

He stood at the center of the crowd, his tall stature and white hair making him stick out from the rest. You should have left after your first exchange with him, acknowledged him and offered condolences, then be on your way. But now you were here, staring at the small patch of skin where his hand brushed yours, the touch too lingering to be accidental. You looked up at him, and he spoke first. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he chided, his tone missing the playfulness you'd come to expect from Satoru Gojo. 

You flinched, startled, lowering your gaze. He wasn’t even looking in your direction, and yet somehow… he could still feel your gaze. “I wasn’t–,”

“Yes, you were,” his lips twisted into a bitter smile as he tilted his head toward the sky, allowing the rain to slip down his face in tear-like streaks. “You’re trying to figure something out.”

You braced an excuse, taking in a sharp breath–

“Don’t lie,” he clicked his tongue. His voice was quiet beneath the rain, but razor sharp. He turned to you and the weight of his stare made you take a step back. Even with glasses on, even with the rain between you, it was like he was staring through you– into your soul. He craned his head closer to you, the corners of his pink lips turning upward. “This place is depressing. You wanna leave?” 

“...and then Suguru practically threw himself between you and that cursed spirit. Do you know that you would have died if he hadn’t?” You said, admonishing him with a shake of your head as you sipped on your tea. Satoru sat across from you with an amused grin, nursing some kind of half-coffee/half-ice cream beverage topped with ungodly amounts of whipped cream. “Do you even remember how close you were to getting us all killed?” 

Satoru leaned back in his seat, his grin widening. “Chill out, I knew Suguru had my back. You worry too much.” 

You narrowed your eyes at the sorcerer across from you. “I worried because you were stealing from it,” you shot back, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Did you really think it was a good idea to take a cursed item from a spirit mid-fight just to prove a point?” 

He shrugged, obviously unfazed. “It wasn’t just any cursed item. It was a miniature Inugami statue– super rare, extremely cursed, and probably worth a fortune.”

“All for you to use as a paperweight, Satoru? You weren’t going to sell it,” you scoffed. “Admit it was just for bragging rights, and I’ll let it go.” 

“I totally would, if that were the case,” he insisted. “I’ll have you know, it was actually for research.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Suguru was practically pulling his hair out, and I had to activate my technique just to get us out of there alive. Which, by the way, Yaga told us not to do.”

“That’s teamwork for you,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Besides, you saved us, didn’t you? We lived to tell the tale!” 

You shook your head once more, setting your cup down. Recalling the mission, your irritation started to soften. It had been one of the first missions you’d been sent on with Satoru, and you remembered the raw panic of seeing him in action– reckless and brilliant as any star in the sky –always charging headfirst into danger. You hadn’t known how to handle him back then, usually clinging to Suguru to remain grounded. 

You still didn’t really know. 

“Speaaaakingg of your technique,” he sung, his voice shifting into something more focused, interested. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table between you. “You’ve never actually explained it to me.” 

You blinked, startled by his sudden closeness. “Huh?”

“Your technique,” he said, watching you intently. “You’ve been dodging all of my questions about it since high school– I’ve seen it in action like a million times now, but you’ve never told me how it works. And don’t pretend you don’t remember– I’ve been asking for years!” 

You hesitated, his gaze pinning you in place. He wasn’t teasing anymore, and the shift in his demeanor was starting to make you squirm. “I just… didn’t think it was important,” you said finally, quieter now. 

“Not important,” he repeated incredulously. “Shi-chan, you predicted every move that cursed spirit made before it even made them. You’ve utilized your technique to the extent of a first-grade sorcerer– sponsored in part by yours truly, by the way,” he beamed at you, a quick wink following suit. 

“It’s boring, okay?” You spit out defensively, gripping your tea a little tighter. “Messy. Unreliable. It’s… not as useful as you think.” 

“Shiori,” he said softly, abandoning his earlier playfulness. You froze at the uncharacteristic weight in his voice. You looked up into an open, serious expression, like he was trying to draw something out of you. You felt like… an equal. “Tell me.” 

You exhaled slowly and downed the rest of your drink. “It’s… threads,” you began, the words tasting unfamiliar on your tongue. You’ve never tried to explain this before. “Imagine you’ve stepped onto a spider web, right in the middle… staring out into thousands of possible pathways, connected by everything– choices, actions, outcomes. They aren’t all clear. If I focus, I can follow them. Sometimes, the outcomes come to me before anything else– like all of the choices have been made, all of the steps have been taken, and now all we can do is… embrace what comes next. Prepare for it.” 

He didn’t say anything at first, and you worried you hadn’t explained it well enough. The intensity of his gaze made you feel like you’d just stripped yourself bare in front of him. “You see the threads of fate,” he said after a few quiet beats.

You swallowed hard. “I guess. It’s not perfect. It’s overwhelming, usually. I can’t always control the visions that come to me, and sometimes… there’s nothing I can do about them.” 

“And you live with that?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Seeing all of it… every day?” 

“It’s not that different from you, I suppose,” you sighed, meeting his gaze despite the unease twisting in your gut. “You see cursed energy down to an atomic level, right? The flow of it, the flaws in it. You can’t turn it off. You live with it, too.” 

For a long moment, Satoru didn’t say anything. He stared at you, his eyes brighter than you remember them being, with a clarity that was nearly overwhelming. You were worried that he was going to laugh for implying that your techniques could even be compared, but… he didn’t. Instead, his lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “So, that’s why you always look at me like that.” 

You blinked. Huh? “Like what?” 

“Like you knew something that even I didn’t,” he said. “Like you saw something that I couldn’t.” 

Your breath caught, his words settling deep in your chest. You weren’t prepared for them. For years, you’d thought of him as the untouchable one– the person that no one could truly understand. But now, as he stared at you– almost fondly, it felt like… he was saying the same about you. 

“We’re the same,” he continued, his voice a bit softer now. Almost hesitant. “You and me. We see too much. Control too little. And it’s…,” he trailed off, his eyes searching yours. “It’s lonely, isn’t it?” 

You didn’t answer. You felt a blush creeping across your cheeks, and the noise of the cafe faded into the background, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat and the weight of his gaze between you. You didn’t know what to say, but at that moment, it felt like he’d already said enough for both of you. 

Somewhere out west, 2018...

The smell of coffee lingered in your memory, rich and warm, as though you could still taste it. You remembered the way the cafe lights cast a faint golden glow on Satoru’s white hair, the way he’d leaned across the table with that uncharacteristically serious expression. 

“We see too much. Control too little. And it’s… it’s lonely, isn’t it?” 

You exhaled sharply, your eyes adjusting to the brightness of the morning. Natural light fled in through the windows, and you reacquainted yourself with your surroundings. You were dreaming of him again. The memory faded, replaced by the creak of wood and the soft sound of Haruto’s laughter filtering in through the cabin’s thin walls. 

The storm had passed. You could feel the silence it left behind– a fragile, weighty calm pressing down on the trees, the roof, and the snow piled high outside. Your routine waited for you, with very little space to allot for memories of Haruto’s father. 

You rolled out of bed, tugging on a thick robe before padding into the main room. Haruto’s laughter grew louder as you neared the entryway, bright and unrestrained. The kind of pure, innocent joy that made your heart swell and ache all at once. 

“Aya,” you called, your voice carrying over the sound of your son’s delighted squeals. “You didn’t have to start without me.”

Aya stood near the front door, she turned toward you with a wry smile. Her shadow manipulation technique was at work, sending dark tendrils of energy rippling across the snow-covered ground. They were pushing and pulling, heaving snow from your doorstep out into the surrounding forest. Aya’s hands moved fluidly, almost like a conductor guiding an orchestra as shadows stretched beneath her feet.

“Good morning to you, too,” She said, raising an eyebrow. Her tone was teasing but warm. “Someone was eager to get started.”

Your gaze fell to precious Haruto, who stood bundled in his little puffy winter coat, stomping his boots gleefully as the snow shifted in heaps under Aya’s command. “Make a wolf!” He cried, his voice high-pitched with excitement. “Make a wolf again!”

Aya chuckled, and with a flick of her wrist, the shadows twisted and curled, forming a sleek, wolf-like figure that bounded through the snow. Haruto squealed with delight, clapping his mittened hands as the shadow wolf ran a wide circle around him before dissolving back into the earth.

“You’re spoiling him,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile.

Haruto ran toward you, his cheeks pink from the cold and his blue eyes sparkling with joy. “Mama, did you see? Aya made a wolf!”

“I saw,” you said, crouching down to straighten his hat. “Did you say thank you?”

“Thank you, Aya!” Haruto shouted, spinning back toward her before tugging on your hand. “Mama, I wanna play in the snow!”

“After breakfast,” You said firmly, standing and brushing the snow off his coat. “And we’re not going anywhere until Aya finishes clearing the door.”

“Almost done,” Aya said, her voice light as the shadows moved in one final sweep, gathering the last of the snow into a neat pile several feet from the cabin. 

“It’s late. Do you still plan on opening the shop today?” you asked, pouring a cup of coffee. It had never been your drink of choice before moving to the States, but it had grown on you tremendously when Haruto entered toddlerhood. Some days, it felt like the only thing keeping you on your feet.

“Of course!” Aya tsked, as if the answer was obvious. “You’ve got appointments to keep, Madam Myoji.” Her chuckle was warm but laced with dry humor. “And don’t pretend otherwise.”

You nodded at her insistence, never one to take a break. Aya had slipped into this life with you so seamlessly that you sometimes forgot how strange it must have been for her—a former Zenin, once heir to a prominent jujutsu clan, now living in a sleepy American mountain town where her shadows swept driveways instead of fighting curses.

“This is my life now, huh?” you muttered, sipping your coffee. “Selling my technique for spare change. Reading fortunes for a living…” You rolled your eyes.

Haruto giggled from the porch, his mittened hands clapping as a few of Aya’s lingering shadows swirled into shapes—first a bird, then a bear, then a giant, wiggling snake. “Aya, make a dragon!” he shouted, bouncing on his toes.

“A dragon?” Aya exaggerated a gasp and arched her eyebrow at you. “This boy’s got high standards. You sure he’s not a Gojo?”

You groaned, setting your coffee cup down on the counter behind you. “Don’t start, Aya.”

She laughed softly, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes as she approached Haruto, her hands moving in fluid motions as the shadows shifted and expanded, taking on the elegant form of a serpent-like dragon. Haruto squealed with delight, stomping his boots as the dragon coiled and twisted in the snow.

“I spoil you, little one,” Aya said, her voice warm as the dragon dissolved into misty shadows. “But don’t get used to it. I’ve got a shop to run.”

“And we’ve got a living to make,” you muttered, leaning against the doorframe. The words were practical, a reminder to yourself as much as to anyone else. “Haruto, come inside. You can play in the snow after I’ve seen you eat.”

“But the dragon!” Haruto whined, dragging his feet as he shuffled toward you, his cheeks flushed and his nose red from the cold.

“Dragons will still be there after breakfast,” you said, tugging off his hat as he stepped inside. You crouched to unbutton his coat, brushing the snow from his sleeves. “You’re going to turn into a snowman if you stay out any longer.”

An hour and two Haruto tantrums later, you and Aya stepped into her seamstress shop, snow crunching under your boots. Haruto trailed behind you, bundled up like a marshmallow, dragging Snowy across the floor. You flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN with a practiced motion, sighing softly.

The familiar warmth of the shop wrapped around you, the lingering scent of fabric, thread, and lavender from one of Aya’s enchanted sachets. Her strange Zenin shadow magic kept the shop pristine despite the storms that often battered the mountain town. While the rest of the village dug out from under snow drifts, her storefront always remained untouched—an unspoken oddity that no one questioned. 

Clients would show up today, no matter the weather. You knew they would. When the forest loomed as dark and enigmatic as it did here, people sought answers wherever they could find them.

Aya pulled her gloves off with a practiced motion, her shadows flicking the shop's wood stove to life as she said, “Warm up and keep that little one busy while I set up for the day.”

“Good luck,” you muttered, pulling Haruto’s coat off as he squirmed. His attention was already fixed on the bolt of fabric sitting on Aya’s worktable, his small fingers twitching as though itching to touch it. Aya caught him with a pointed look.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, and Haruto immediately darted to the corner where his box of toys waited, forgetting about it quickly— as toddlers do.

Shaking your head, you walked past the racks of handmade garments and stepped through the beaded curtain into your private workspace. The faint clatter of beads behind you felt like crossing into another world, and the cool calm of the room washed over you. A soundproof veil rippled faintly overhead, separating this space from the bustling shop floor.

Myoji Metaphysical.

Your real job. The one that kept your technique sharp while providing enough income to raise a toddler. A balancing act, though you couldn’t help but feel the edges fraying every now and then.

The room was simple—candles lined the shelves, the scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. A small, sturdy table sat in the center, surrounded by two chairs. You lit the candles with a quick flick of a match, dimmed the lights, and exhaled deeply. The room always had a stillness to it, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.

This was how you lived now. Clients came in, you held their hands, maybe drew a few cards, and guided them through the tangled web of fate that stretched before them. You weren’t lying to anyone—your technique worked. Their paths revealed themselves clearly enough when you focused. You could see which thread was strongest, which outcomes loomed closest. Many of the townspeople were so pleased with your readings that they came back, regularly booking appointments for ‘advising’. 

The shop’s structure kept you nearly invisible. All income filtered discreetly under Aya’s business, unlisted, untraceable. A ghost in the system. Just the way you wanted it. 

The faint chime of the front door’s bell echoed through the curtain. Your first client of the day. You sat down at the table, hands moving with muscle memory as you shuffled your cards. The scent of sandalwood mingled with the first faint tendrils of tension that always came with meeting someone else’s threads of fate. 

Aya’s voice carried softly from the main shop. “Special event? Straight down that hall and to the left, dear.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself, and then exhaled. This was your life, and the day was just beginning.

The beaded curtain swayed, and a nervous energy swept into the room. You looked up from your cards to see a woman hesitating in the doorway, her hands clutching the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her scarf and coat were dusted with snow, her face red from the cold, but her wide eyes were what caught your attention: she was frightened.

“Come in,” you said gently, gesturing toward the chair across from you. “It’s warm here. Take a seat.”

She thanked you politely and shuffled forward, her boots scuffing the floor as she sat down. She didn’t let go of her bag, clutching it to her chest as though it might shield her from whatever it was that she feared. You waited, letting her adjust. 

She cleared her throat and spoke quietly. “It’s about my husband,” she said, her voice shaky but determined. “I… I don’t think he’s cheating, but something’s wrong. He’s been sneaking out at night.”

Your expression stayed neutral, though your interest piqued. “What makes you say that?”

“He doesn’t know I’ve noticed,” she continued, glancing at the candles flickering on the shelves. “He waits until he thinks I’m asleep, then he slips out the back door. And he always takes the lantern with him, the one he uses when he’s going into the woods.”

Your fingers paused mid-shuffle. “The woods?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “He won’t tell me where he’s going or why. But he comes back hours later smelling like smoke and… something else. Something I can’t place. And his hands…” She swallowed hard, her voice lowering. “They’re always filthy, like he’s been digging in the dirt.”

Her words lingered in the air, and you felt your own pulse quicken as you stared at her, calculating. The woods were no place for anyone to wander alone, especially at night. The town’s collective silence on what truly lingered in the forest spoke louder than any words could. Whatever superstitions the townsfolk clung to, you knew the truth: cursed energy lingered in those woods, and where there was energy, there was danger.

“And you think he might be…” You trailed off, giving her space to fill in the blank.

She hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper when she spoke again. “I think he might be… dabbling in something. Something occult. He’s always been stubborn, and he doesn’t talk about what he does out there. But I’ve heard stories about those woods. I don’t know what to think.”

You took a deep breath, setting your cards aside. “All right. Let’s take a look.”

She blinked at you, her hands trembling slightly as you extended your own. “Place your hands in mine,” you said, your voice steady despite the tension coiling in your chest. “Let’s see if we can’t get to the bottom of this.” 

She obeyed, her fingers cold as they pressed against yours. You closed your eyes, reaching out with your technique. The threads began to unwind before you, tangling and twisting like a web of possibilities stretching into the unknown. You followed them, searching for clarity, and—

There it was. A figure in the woods, lantern in hand, crouched over something. You saw the faint glow of fire, the smell of smoke thick in the air. He was hunched over a makeshift still, the clink of glass jars faint but unmistakable. Moonshine. He wasn’t calling spirits from the forest—he was brewing something potent and illegal, alone in the dark to avoid prying eyes.

You exhaled sharply, relief flooding your chest as you pulled back from the threads. The woman’s wide-eyed gaze met yours, searching for answers.

“He’s not dabbling in anything occult,” you said carefully, watching her shoulders sag with visible relief. “But he has been sneaking out. He’s… working on something.”

“Working on what?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

You chuckled, unable to help yourself, then gave her the truth. “A still. I believe he’s brewing moonshine in the woods.”

Her face froze, her expression caught between shock and disbelief. “Moonshine?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, folding your hands in your lap. “He’s taking the lantern because he needs the firelight. That’s where the smoke and the dirt are coming from.”

The tension in her face melted into something almost comical, and she let out a shaky laugh. “You mean to tell me he’s been sneaking out to make bootleg liquor?”

“Looks like it,” you said, unable to keep a small smile from creeping onto your face. “If it’s any comfort, he’s not summoning spirits or doing anything dangerous. Not occult spirits, anyway.”

She buried her face in her hands, letting out another laugh—this one tinged with exasperation. “That man is going to give me a heart attack,” she muttered. “I thought he was dragging some eldritch horror into our lives, and it’s just booze. God, I’m going to kill him.”

You chuckled softly, standing as she gathered her bag and made her way to the beaded curtain. “Tell him to be careful,” you said lightly. “Those woods… they’re not safe at night. Perhaps he can… relocate his business elsewhere?”

She barked a laugh, shaking her head as she slipped back into the main shop. “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder. “For the peace of mind, at least.”

The beads clattered softly in her wake, and you sat back down, exhaling deeply. Relief lingered in your chest, though a faint unease tugged at the edges of your thoughts. They have no idea what’s out there. 

Aya’s voice filtered through the curtain, teasing and warm. “She looked happier leaving than when she came in. That’s always a good sign.”

“Let’s hope it lasts,” you murmured, already reaching for your cards again.

The day is slammed full of mundane readings, your head aching just a little by the time you finished up with your last client. After seeing the young man through the front door, you smiled politely through the glass before flipping the OPEN sign back to CLOSED. You breathed a small sigh of relief, letting your shoulders drop with the exhale. 

You were grateful to be loading Haruto into his car seat that evening, starting the short drive up the mountain to your home. Dinner was a simple chicken soup, which everyone thankfully enjoyed, and it felt as if the day had flown by when you were finishing up the last of the dishes, staring out into the snow-covered forest beyond your kitchen window. Aya’s voice carried over from Haruto’s bedroom; she was trying to get him to wind down for bed.

“I wan’ a story!” You heard him protest, stifling a chuckle at his persistence. He’d do anything to stay awake a little longer, even when he’s swaying on his feet. 

“Which would you like me to read tonight, little one?” Aya’s warm voice carried over to you. 

You finished putting away leftovers and tidying the kitchen quickly, stepping into Haruto’s room just as Aya finished the book she’d pulled from the shelf. He was already tucked into bed, Snowy the Rabbit hugged tightly to his chest as he listened intently. You lingered in the doorway, unable to help the smile taking over your lips at the warmth in Aya’s voice. 

“...And the little prince slept soundly,” She read, her tone soft and soothing, “knowing that his mama and papa would always be right outside, fighting off all of the monsters.” 

Haruto clapped his hands excitedly, his laughter bright and bubbly in the cozy room. “Monsters!” he giggled, mimicking the word like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He babbled on about how he’d fight monsters, too, waving Snowy around in his fist like a sword. Eventually, he settled down and his gaze turned thoughtful. 

He looked up at Aya with wide, curious eyes, and you felt a tugging in your chest. Your skin erupted in gooseflesh, and a chill overcame you. My technique. 

“Aya,” your son said, his innocent curiosity making your heart ache. “Do I have a papa?” 

The room stilled. Aya froze, her fingers lingering over the cover of the storybook still sitting in her lap. Slowly, she looked to you in the doorway, straightened as if bracing for impact.

When she finally spoke, her words were measured. Careful. “That’s a big question, Haruto,” she said gently, her voice steady. “I think your mama can answer it better than I can.” 

He was looking at you now, blue eyes sparkling like stars as he waited for your answer. You pushed off the doorframe and approached his bed with your heart thundering in your chest. You knelt beside him, hands trembling as you smoothed a lock of his white hair. 

“Honey,” you started, trying to choose your words carefully. “You do have a papa. But… he’s not here right now. Mommy hasn’t seen him in quite a long time.” 

“Where is he?” He pressed, tilting his head.

You forced a small smile to your lips despite the lump in your throat. “He’s… somewhere very far away, doing something very important. But you don’t have to worry about that, sweet boy. I’m here, and I will always take care of you.” 

Haruto seemed to consider this for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. He looked back at you suddenly, as if he just had a realization. His expression was earnest and concerned as he exclaimed, “But mama! Who’s gonna help you fight all the monsters?” 

The question hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. Even Aya inhaled sharply behind you, her usually neutral expression momentarily shaken. You stared at your son, his innocent concern, unable to speak as his words echoed in your mind. 

“I don’t need anyone else, Haruto,” you nearly whispered, your voice quieter than you’d intended. You cupped his cheek in your hand. “As long as I have you, I’ll be just fine.” 

A soft lie wrapped in love.

As stubborn as his father, your son pouted at your carefully crafted response. He furrowed his little brows and inhaled as if he were going to argue. Your heart squeezed in your chest, bracing for whatever unfiltered truth that might tumble from his lips next. 

Haruto puffed out his tiny chest and sat up in bed. “Don’t worry, mama!” He declared, his voice full of confidence. “I’ll help you fight ‘em!” 

The fierceness in his tone startled you, his resemblance to Satoru so shocking in that moment that you might have started crying if it weren’t for the soft laughter bubbling up from your throat. The sound cracked through the weight of the moment, warming the room like the glow of a candle.

“You will, huh?” You murmured, brushing a hand through his snowy white tresses. “My brave little warrior.”

“Yeah!” He nodded enthusiastically, blue eyes sparkling with familiar determination.

Your throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t from fear or guilt– it was from the sheer, overwhelming love you felt for this tiny boy– the most precious of all of your secrets. He had no idea how much you wished you could keep him safe from all of life’s monsters, real or imagined.

“That’s a big job, little one,” Aya spoke now, closing the story book with a snap. “You’d better rest up if you’re gonna keep up with mama.” 

And finally, he smiled, nodding at the sentiment. He settled back in bed, his eyelids starting to drop as he nestled into his quilt and clutched Snowy close. 

When you stepped out of the room for the night, the weight of the moment finally settled over you, suffocating. Inescapable. You closed the door softly behind you, careful not to disturb Haruto as the ache in your chest intensified. 

The tears that clouded your eyes were hot and stinging, and you blinked them away furiously– trying desperately to keep them at bay. You didn’t cry over Satoru often– not anymore. You’d trained yourself to push those feelings away, ignore them, bury them deep into the recesses of your heart where they couldn’t touch you anymore. 

But tonight, the walls you’d built around them were crumbling. 

“I hope I can be all that he needs,” you whispered, voice trembling. You clasped a hand over your mouth to stifle the sob threatening to escape. “I… I want to be.”

Your knees nearly buckled, and you leaned against the wall. Your hand pressed tightly against your lips as the tears spilled over. Aya’s soft steps stopped beside you, and though she didn’t speak, you felt her steadying hand on your shoulder. 

“You are,” she said, firm but gentle in your ear. “Even when you don’t believe it.”

You shook your head, the words doing little to soothe the guilt gnawing at your insides. “He deserves so much more,” you managed to say between shaky breaths. “More than I can–,” 

“He has you, Shiori,” Aya said, her voice carrying a necessary edge to get you to listen. “That is enough.” 

“I… I knew he would ask eventually,” you said with a shake of your head. “But… So soon? He’s so little.” 

“Little and smart. He’s curious, Shi-chan. Questions like that are only going to come up more as he gets older.” She said evenly. 

“How will I know how to answer them?” You whispered, eyes falling on the cracked door to his bedroom. 

Aya sighed, her fingers brushing over your arm. “You don’t have to have the perfect response right now,” she said. “But you should prepare some of them. He’s a sharp little one.” 

Her words were blunt, but practical. She bore no judgment in her tone, only acknowledgment of the difficult path you’d chosen. You closed your eyes and pressed your back against the wall, letting out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“I respect your decisions,” she continued after a moment, watching you carefully from where she stood next to Haruto’s doorframe. “You’re protecting him the way you know best. However, your little boy is going to need you to be honest with him someday.” 

You nodded shakily, refusing to acknowledge the scalding tears returning to your waterline. “I know.” 

As Aya’s footsteps faded down the hall, you lingered in the quiet she left behind. Your gaze fixed on the door that separated you from your son’s tiny world. “Someday,” you murmured to yourself, clutching the fragile hope that the truth, when it came to light, would be enough.

...

This is Chapter 2 of a multi-chapter fic to be crossposted to AO3. Taglist below as requested. @starlightglimmersworld @mccookiemonster @leilakaro @certainduckanchor @itsbellablue-blog @shokosbunny @megumisthirdog @thegh0stwife @54fangirl @misslovingpearl @idkuluka

[nonexistence1199]

Bungou Stray Dogs headcanons!

Author's note: Late christmas gift for y'all;) My apology for making you wait, my family visited me last night sooooo... yeah, that's it...

Hope you enjoy!

Characters: Dazai, Fyodor, Chuuya, Ranpo, Poe

Dazai Osamu

The most chaotic (also the sweetest) holiday you've ever get, that's for sure

This bastard will make you join the ADA's Christmas party, but if you're not comfortable, then he'll just sneak out with you to go to whatever place you want

Confessing his feelings under the christmas tree, awwww <3

Have a feeling that he won't invite anyone to commit double suicide with him in this day

"Better not let God get angry with me. It would be a shame if He didn't let me die later just because of some bad Christmas prank, don't you agree Belladonna?"

Cuddles cuddles cuddles🥰

Go annoy Chuuya in front of you

"You see? He'll need to improve his height and his awful taste in fashion if he wants to go on a date with someone as gorgeous as yo-"

"SHUT UP MACKEREL!!"

You would likely receive something like a hand-written poem along with a little gift depends on your hobbies

"Ermmmm..... I-I hope you like it, Belladonna.."

"Mhm, of course, love"

Chill guy on the outside, fluster as hell on the inside

He'll stick around you until the next morning (obviously, because he's Dazai)

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Okay so let's pretend that he had a lover....

Go to church with your hand in his

Rarely show his emotions, but who cares?

The type of person to internally scream when he caught a glimpse of your smile

"God she's such a fragile little thing... makes me want to keep her innocence all to myself"

Prays to God that you'll stay with him whatever it takes

Listening to Tchaikovsky at home (I love Tchaikovky's music sm😇)

He'll make sure to kick Nikolai out of his way, just to have more private time with you

You guys would play a duet with each other, in the candle-lit living room (in case you know how to play piano or whatever instruments that get along with cello)

Easily figure out what you like and gifted it to you (he's too smart to miss out your sparkling eyes when you see something you love lol)

Maybe he'll even skip work to spend time with you

"Is it okay, Fedya...?"

"Don't worry, мой дорогой. There is no harm in getting off from work for a while to give you the attention you deserves, don't you think?"

Nakahara Chuuya

Top quality five-star restaurant, not too crowded but not too secluded

Your role in this expensive date? Point out whatever you want, and you'll have it in a second.

Bonus point if his darling is also alcoholic (But he won't let you drink too much. He wouldn't want you damaging your own health, afterall)

"Your total payment was 12,365.04000 yen, sir."

"What? That's not enough. Anything else you wanna buy, darling?"

Hold the door open for you, carry all your shopping bags, wrapping his arm around your waist and held you close because he's such a gentleman oh my god🤭🤭

Turn his cautious mode on when he see a certain bandaged brunette

"Stay away from me and my precious darling, or else I'll explode your damn apartment"

Kick Dazai's ass if he dares to approach you

"Are you fine, darling? Did he do anything to you? Tell me, and I'll kill him right away-"

"No, don't worry Chuu, he didn't do anything"

For a quick sum up: A fancy date with Mr. Fancy hat

Edgar Allan Poe

Travelling in his special novel for Christmas? He would have prepared it for a long time now. Afterall, he's literally simping his lover

Celebrate Christmas in his home, cuddles and he'll whisper all the lovely words in your ear

"I love you, love"

"Aww, me too"

"Will you stay with me? For the rest of my life?"

"I will"

Nothing is better than his flustered face after hearing your response<33

I have a feeling that he would give you some kind of handmade gifts (of course, he made it himself)

He would prefer staying at home with you, but if you want, he'd gladly take you to the place to want to go

Dancing in the living room

Super clingy guy who would cling to you (may even get jelous when Karl stays in your lap for too long...)

Edogawa Ranpo

Prepare to see your wallet getting lighter and lighter in Christmas day...

Drag you to his favorite candy shop (don't worry, you may get bankrupt the next day)

"Only one more candy bag, pretty pleaseeeeeeeee?"

"Pfft, no"

Eating snacks while while watching some movies with you

Childlike behaviors

He would even share his snacks with you... suprise😉?

Shamelessly cling onto you and would whine like a child if you leave him for a second

"Am I your human pillow or what?"

"Yes you are, dummy"

Line dividers by @cafekitsune

[ooooo-mcyt]

So like, that scene in Double Life is insane. I don't have the words to analyze it yet so I'm jut going to describe it how I read it because I'm gnawing on it. I cannot believe I forgot this scene ever happened (or somehow skipped it in my earlier watchthroughs of both povs??)

Scott and Pearl had been really getting along all episode, like, they didn't argue much at all, they laughed together frequently, they worried about each other, on multiple occasions they called themselves a team without flinching. When Pearl wanted to go get her stuff, Scott volunteered to go with her, and actually asked Cleo and Martyn to stay back, and the whole time Scott and Pearl are in the tower and antagonizing the red names they really feel like a team.

And then they die. And they recoup in the bunker.

And Pearl..noticed, while they were being chased, that everyone was after Scott, not her. That they had something against Scott, not her. And.."They weren't going after me that entire time, I just feel like..maybe I should take the bigger team here, y'know? I mean you're a great partner and all, but.."

Scott is. Taken off guard. He sounds hurt, for a moment, and if he wasn't taken by surprise, he wouldn't have let himself sound hurt. "Are you gonna ditch me after this?!" Scott asks, and Pearl sounds almost ashamed as she tells him he deserves it; "Scott, come on, look how big that group is! It's just..look, don't make me feel bad, okay? It's my time to ditch you after the first episode, think of it as karma!"

This launches into maybe the most fascinating argument they've ever had about the breakdown of their relationship in episode one.

Scott snaps that from his perspective, this is all Pearl coming "full circle"! After all, she started the season by abandoning him, and now she's doing it again!

Pearl insists she didn't abandon Scott, that Scott abandoned her, and Pearl can't be blamed for spending the episode with Martyn- Scott spent it with Cleo, they both just went to the first person they found!

Scott points out that he and Cleo actually met the other soulmate pairs, they were looking for their soulmates, they knew Pearl and Martyn were their soulmates from almost as soon as they met up because they'd been looking!

Pearl argues that she and Martyn did look, they made that minigame to find their soulmates!

Scott reminds Pearl that they did that at the very end of the episode, after everyone else was "loved and doved up", after Scott and Cleo had ample time to know noone was looking for them!

And then Pearl changes her argument, she tells Scott that Martyn would have died in the nether without her, and that Cleo would have died too, so Scott should be appreciative, really, that Pearl basically saved Cleo! Which..certainly must not have felt like the most coherent argument to either of them.

It's at that point that Scott seems to give up. "Right." he replies, dully, after a very long moment of silence, before adding, as if on instinct, "Lets get out of here". And Pearl challenges him, "Lets?", because wasn't the whole premise that Pearl wasn't going to stick with him?

As they climb out of the bunker, Pearl seems to feel compelled- and it feels like guilt, to me- to talk again. She tells Scott that this is good for both of them, really, that Pearl's keeping them both alive. It's not..ditching him, it's a tactical split-up. Of course, it's hard to believe that when this argument came second to "I am ditching you and you deserve it". Maybe he's not thinking about it, or maybe he notices how frantic Pearl sounds to come up with something she can believe. Either way he doesn't mention the subtle backtracking.

Pearl asks why Scott is staying with the yellows. Scott replies- and he sounds..tired? For lack of a better word? And almost a little pained?- that he can't kill Cleo, he can't do it. Pearl argues that Scott doesn't have to kill Cleo, but I'm sure she knows that's semantics. Scott tells her that he can't help anyone kill Cleo either.

Pearl repeats that this is a strategic advantage, really. Scott is quiet for a long time. Uncharacteristically quiet when he says "Okay."

Pearl promises not to kill Cleo herself, but.."If I'm with the red team, I can't say I'm not gonna help them- Cleo's still on their yellow life, Scott, come on! They're fine!" Pearl laughs. It doesn't sound like a happy laugh. Scott doesn't reply to her statement directly, instead regaining some composure to tell Pearl that "The moments we got to be together, Pearl, were nice while they lasted", a sentiment Pearl echos.

"Tilly next time", Pearl jokes, laughing. It's too forced, and Scott doesn't give much of a laugh in return either. "I appreciate you." Pearl stops to say before she leaves, and Scott returns with "Tilly death do us part", a play on the pun Pearl made before, the same words Scott would say before blowing himself up to give Pearl the win she deserved more.

GUYS THIS SCENE IMPACTED ME IN A WAY NO OTHER LIFE SERIES SCENE HAS BEFORE THIS SCENE WILL NEVER LEAVE MY HEAD WHAT. This is why we need regular rewatches, people, otherwise we somehow forget incredibly deeply impactful characterization moments for our favorite characters???

[yurislotusgarden]

ʚїɞ Not just a little crush ʚїɞ

ʚїɞ Port mafia!Dazai Osamu x Gn!Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ word count: 1k

ʚїɞ Tw’s: literally nothing, just pure fluff of him being down bad

ʚїɞ This is literally just 1k words of Pmzai being down bad, whipped, even lovesick, for his crush🤷‍♀️

How did he end up like this?

The youngest executive in Port Mafia’s history, The demon Prodigy, one of the most feared people in Yokohama if not the whole of Japan, Dazai Osamu has fallen in love.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't that. That the nice feeling he got whenever he was around you was just because of him standing near, or spending time with a friend, a close one, but denial can go on only for so long.

The brunette at first thought that his crush, as Chuuya had called it when he had caught onto Dazai's more than normally weird behavior, was one-sided. After all, there was no way that someone like you could love him, that just wasn't a possibility in Dazai's mind, yet you decided to go against his calculations once again, you seemed to like doing that and causing him to freak out.

It wasn't too long before he realized that, just maybe, you did at least like him in a romantic way, some acts just couldn't be brushed off as a friend gesture.

One thing he just couldn't brush off, as well as it being the reason he realized his crush may not be one-sided, was him remembering one of the times you cooked him food, even though you were aware how picky he could get with that matter.

///////////////////////////

A figure with brown-haired locks could be seen walking on the deserted sidewalk. Moonlight shone on him as he arrived at his destination, your house.

You always greeted him so sweetly, especially when compared to all the people in his life. Welcomed him like he was a classmate, a friend, a normal person that you both knew he wasn’t. He wasn't treated like a superior, like someone who would kill if the smallest mistake was made around him, and Dazai knew that he liked it from the very start.

Dazai had thought before how would it be if you somehow were in the PM, but to his surprise, he realized he hated, even despised that idea. Something about the concept of someone like you, a person who in his eyes could be an angel for all he cares, being in a dark place full of violence and death like the Port Mafia, was just absolutely not right.

Dazai had arrived at your door, not having to wait long after knocking for the door to be opened by you.

“Dazai?”

You. Oh, the lovely little thing that you were in his eyes. Innocent compared to him, a civilian who somehow met and befriended a feared mafioso without the slightest care in the world.

He had no idea how he managed to get where he was, but he had no regrets.

“Yes, me! Now let me in, it's damn cold!”

///////////////////////////

You disliked crab.

In fact, you disliked most seafood, he was perfectly aware of it, and yet, you did this just for him. 

A crab that could as well look like it was made by a restaurant chef laid in front of him on the table. It looked well-seasoned, the crab’s shell was purely gotten rid of, and the smell wasn’t overwhelming like a lot of food tends to be like to him… you really thought it out carefully. 

“What is this?” It was kind of a stupid question, but he wanted to know your reasons.

“What do you mean? I thought you liked crab?”

“I do-”

“Then shush and eat, you stick.”

What did you just call him? Did he hear it right?

“...’Stick’?” You turned to look at him as he said that, stopping the cleanup you were doing just moments before.

“Yes, have you seen yourself? When was the last time that you ate a proper meal, dear?”

Oh. Goddammit. Don’t get him started on the pet names. He was aware that you used it on people you considered close to you, as long as they agreed, and he’s been lowkey embarrassed ever since you asked for his permission to use them on him, or more like embarrassed on how fast he agreed to that. Dazai didn’t know why he liked it so much, maybe it was because of how no one ever referred to him as such, maybe it was the way you sounded when you addressed him with them, or maybe it was entirely just the fault of your voice but he simply didn’t care anymore.

“I think we both know that you’d rather not know the answer.” His answer caused you to let out a soft sigh, but what he said was kind of true. In truth, he would answer that it was the last time he ate at your place, which on one side wasn’t that long ago, but otherwise, he barely eats anything. You and Chuuya were the only ones getting any kind of nutrition into his body, which he supposed he should be thankful for… not like he’s ever going to voice it out.

“Right. Now eat, I don't need you collapsing on my floor.”

“But I don't wanna!” If any of his subordinates saw him like this, whining because of food, they would be dead on the spot, but he's alone with you, and he’s been over being embarrassed about his behavior with you a long time ago.

You sighed, and he knew that you were about to use the biggest thing you have on the brunet against him, just to get him to eat… Not like that wasn't Dazai’s plan from the start, he's gotta get his fair share of you, doesn't he?

“You eat the most you can and you get cuddles.”

“With you playing with my hair?”

You smiled softly and said, “I'll even add head kisses to the mix.” knowing damn well that it’s gonna win him over.

You knew what you were doing, you had to, and he didn't mind as long as you kept your side of the deal. He's gonna finish that damn plate if it means affection from his favorite person will be solely on him for as long as he wants it.

Hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated