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hansensgirl · 7 months ago

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💸 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (3/3)

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debt.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x naive!fem!reader.

chapter warnings. | NON/DUBCON, SMUT, dark themes, obsession, stalking, mob themes, manipulation, pet names, age gap, innocence kink, abuse of power, corruption kink, power imbalance, smoking (ari), debt, Daddy kink, control kink, jealousy/possessiveness, anxiety/fear, mild foreplay, vaginal sex, rough sex, praise, degradation, dirty talk, rough sex, mild choking, deceit, lying, drinking, creampie, manhandling (a bit), size kink (cock), alluded spying/stalking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~5.6k

author’s note. | series masterlist. after a million years, here’s the final part! i hope you enjoyed this series. please enjoy the final part and don’t forget to reblog. any and all feedback (positive) is welcome. no beta, all mistakes are my own. taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

Time drags by slowly, each minute feeling longer than usual. Perhaps it’s because you don’t do much anymore. You continue with your regular routine, though waking up and going to bed early isn’t necessary.

Ari visits often, taking you on drives along scenic routes you never knew your city had. He sometimes stays with you at home, watching a movie while you feast on snacks. Any time you’re graced with his presence, he comes bearing gifts.

The first present required much convincing for you to accept. It was a set of rings with elegant jewels that cost more than your life. The mob boss placed each one on your fingers and kissed the pads of your digits, his lips so soft that you can still feel them.

You keep the rings locked up in your drawer, buried under items a thief wouldn’t bother searching through. Wearing them makes you feel like someone you aren’t—his girlfriend. No, you’re just his… something, for now.

The day after Ari’s first gift, he arrived on your doorstep with another.

Whenever you see him, he is always put-together. He wears expensive suits, and his hair is perfectly styled yet effortless. He’s considerate, too, always asking about your eating habits and making sure you’re doing more than well while under his care.

The second present was a pair of shoes you had secretly been vying for whenever you got the chance to window-shop downtown. Ari sat you down on your couch and gently lifted your feet, slipping the shoes on as if you were Cinderella, and he was Prince Charming.

His touch remained gentle, although you knew he isn’t always this way with others. Sometimes, you think of what Ari does when he isn’t with you. Does he torture his enemies? Lurk in the shadows? Visit restaurants that are really fronts for more lucrative operations?

You push these ideas out of your mind when you realize they’ll do you no good, as the older man often says. He catches you zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts repeatedly. It’s not as if you’re overthinking about yourself; you just can’t help but worry about the arrangement you’re in.

Unlike the rings, you wear the shoes with pride and a twang of guilt. You’re supposed to be paying Ari back, yet here he is, spoiling you into oblivion. You don’t want to ask him why. You figure it must be mobster gentlemanliness, right?

It’s been one month since the arrangement began, and you find you’re settling into it well. Ari makes sure of this, smoothing over all the wrinkles and ensuring that everything is the way it should be—the way he wants it to be.

You wake up in peace, noting that it’s half an hour later than you usually set your alarm. You even linger in bed, trying to recall your terrifying dream about running from a man who posed as an ally at first. But you never escaped, and now you have to catch your breath. You barely remember what he looked like.

On your bedside table—which is brand new after Ari replaced your old one—is a piece of paper you know you didn’t leave. You grab it and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes once you brace against the backboard.

You recognize the handwriting immediately. It’s Ari’s. You don’t question when he left it, although the older man didn’t visit yesterday. Something about a deal gone wrong made him busy. You told him you didn’t mind just so he would spare you the details.

The truth is that you did mind. You mind a lot, actually. You find yourself thinking about the mob boss almost every second of the day, like he’s some crush you hope you can have all to yourself.

*Princess,

I hope you slept nicely. Don’t tire yourself too much today. I’m taking you out tonight. Please answer the door at around 1:30. It’ll be one of my associates.

*Yours forever, Daddy

You smile as you re-read each word. You appreciate the beauty of his handwriting and the fact he took the time out of his hectic days to leave you a note.

Once the rose-coloured haze disappears, you focus on the contents of the letter. Butterflies fill your stomach, but they taunt and awaken your worries instead of making you lovesick. You haven’t gone out in forever—where will Ari take you?

You get out of bed, and instead of brushing your teeth, you begin to pace along the expanse of your small bedroom. You have nothing nice enough to wear out on the town—nothing to suit your counterpart, at least. You believe you’ll look like an utter fool next to the revered man.

You eventually will yourself to calm down. You eat a delicious breakfast and search through your closet. Nothing.

The morning bleeds into the afternoon, and before you know it, there is a knock on your door. It’s the same pattern Ari used before getting himself a key to your home. You recall the orders he left on the note and rush to open the door.

You’re greeted by the face of Curtis, Ari’s most trusted associate. You’ve seen him from time to time, often staring down the girl in charge of serving the men with drinks and cigars or cigarettes. Whatever vice they want, she offers it up immediately.

Curtis doesn’t say much, and neither do you. He hands you two heavy bags—a paper one filled with boxes and a garment one—and grabs the door handle, shutting it for you. The exchange is weird, but you know Curtis is just doing his job. You can only imagine what Ari would do if he found out one of his employees went against his rules.

The mob boss has told you about his jealous streak, but you would never reveal how flattered you are that he feels that way about you. Though you chalk it up to just being business.

You turn the lock into place and set the bag on the couch, sitting next to it. Another gift! You’re more excited than you’d like to admit. With slightly shaky hands, you reach into the bag and take the tissue paper out.

It’s white with little colourful circles that remind you of confetti cake, Ari’s favourite. You baked it with him one night, and it was delicious. You giggle at the memory of him covered in flour and cake mix.

You’re gentle as you unwrap your gift. The first box is sleek, and you recognize the brand name. You’ve only ever dreamed of affording their cheapest item.

The gasp that leaves you when you take the lid off the box is audible and would make Ari chuckle. Inside is a pair of heels that gleam in the low light of your living room. You take one shoe out gently and inspect the details. They’re a work of art—and they’re all yours.

You feel like a spoiled kid on Christmas morning, squealing and gawking at everything. You close the first box and reach for the next. This one is smaller but heavier. The outside is covered in what feels like suede or velvet.

You pry it open, and your jaw drops. Inside is a beautiful diamond necklace with matching earrings. You’re not sure what the price is, but you know it must be worth a fortune. Your fingers itch to touch the jewels, but you resist the urge.

It’s too much. You can barely breathe.

As if you’re being spied on, your phone rings when you abruptly shut the box. You search for the device briefly, succeeding just at the last few trills. It’s Ari.

You answer the call quickly. His baritone voice comes out of the speaker, sounding just like honey.

“Hey, sweetie,” he greets. You can hear doors shutting on his end, as well as the click of a lighter and the telltale squeak of his chair. “Hi, Daddy,” you sigh almost dreamily.

Ari exhales audibly, and you assume he’s smoking. The thought of his nasty habit makes you wrinkle your nose. “D’you get your gifts, baby?” he asks. “Yes—but I can’t accept them, Daddy, it’s too much,” you protest, glancing back at the boxes. You realize you haven’t opened the garment bag yet.

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when I’m spoiling you, honey,” he chides. You fiddle with the wrinkled fabric of your t-shirt. “And if I’m hearing right, it sounds like you’re telling me ‘no’…”

Your breath hitches. No, that wasn’t your intention. “I’m not—I’m sorry, Daddy. I just– I just don’t know what to do. I’m not used to this,” you express honestly.

You’re determined to never break his rules for the next few months. You’ve already completed one—which he celebrated with a deliciously home-cooked dinner.

The older man shushes you. “I know, baby. You don’t know what to do without Daddy, hm?” he coos. The words make you feel slightly embarrassed, but it’s true. He’s the only one that has helped you cope with your new—albeit temporary—life.

You let Ari claim the following few words. Whenever he uses that title—Daddy—it’s as if he snaps you out of some stupor, and you realize what you’re doing. But when you use it, it feels like second nature.

“Don’t worry,” the older man says, attaching your name to the end of his reassurance to really grab your attention. Ari successfully grounds you. “Just do what I say, baby. Alright? You don’t have to accept the gifts, but you’ll wear them tonight,” he further explains.

“Tonight?” you repeat. “Tonight. When we go out. I have a small get-together planned with a few… friends,” the mob boss clarifies. "You know, honey, this is gonna be our first night out. Are you excited?” Ari asks, his tone a bit more light-hearted.

Admittedly, you’re much less than excited. You’re nervous—scared. But you can’t tell him this. You don’t want to be a bother.

“Y– Yeah. Of course, Daddy,” you tell Ari. You have no idea what you’re going to do. “I’m looking forward to it, baby. I can’t wait to see you all dressed up,” he hums. He picked the dress for you especially, wanting his girl to feel like a princess. “Me too… Where are we going?” you question.

“My place. You’re gonna love it, I promise,” he says. You nod your head, although the mob boss can’t see you. Ari chuckles briefly. “I’ll give you a tour once the guests are gone. They’ll be nice, but don’t talk to anyone when I’m not there, ‘kay?”

You listen to him gladly. You wouldn’t even dare to look at his other mobster friends.

“I gotta go now, baby. Call me if you need anything, alright?” Ari abruptly says, sighing deeply as if frustrated. “Yes, Daddy,” you tell him. He blows you a kiss over the phone and hangs up.

You always knew that this day would come, but you never thought it would arrive so soon. You stand up on shaky legs and read the text message Ari sends. He tells you to be ready by 9:00, and you acquiesce. You just hope that tonight goes smoothly. And quickly.

The clock ticks closer and closer to when Ari said he’d pick you up. He texted you here and there, responses quick and well-rounded. You resist using your abbreviation and onslaught of emojis.

You take your time getting ready, making sure that everything is perfect. The dress fits perfectly and is absolutely gorgeous. You ignored the price tag, knowing it wouldn’t sit well with you on the ride to his home.

You can’t help but admire yourself in the mirror, though. You feel like the movie stars you’ve always admired in their grand pictures with even larger budgets for the wardrobe, establishing them as fashion icons.

Holding your clutch to your chest, your other hand lightly touches the diamond necklace. It’s a harsh contrast to the simplicity and lightness of your gown. The pink tulle is slightly sheer but leaves much to the imagination. You spin around a bit, too, emulating your childhood princesses.

There is a knock at the door. You take a deep breath and open it, greeted by the sight of Ari.

Ari and his handsomeness. Ari and all your fantasies and weaknesses. You smile at him until your cheeks hurt, but even then, you don’t stop. You rush to hug him, squealing as he lifts you off the ground and presses a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re an angel, baby,” he says once he puts you down. You preen under his careful gaze, his kind words. “You look so handsome, Daddy,” you honestly tell him. You admire the ruggedness he keeps despite his current elegance.

He grins, and the car ride to his place is just like this. You sing praises to each other when the awkward silence becomes unbearable. Ari does most of the talking, while his trusted driver keeps the partition rolled up as classical music blares.

The older man tells you all kinds of jokes. You stare out the window whenever he catches you looking at him. His large hands remain on your thighs while yours are crossed in your lap. So far, so good, you think to yourself.

The drive goes by quickly, and soon, you pull up to his lavish mansion. It is on the outskirts of the city, nestled between tall trees resembling a forest. Ari exits the car first so that he can open the door for you.

You thank him and turn around to marvel at his house. It takes your breath away. You've never seen anything like it. Before you can ask Ari a few questions about his home, he drags you towards the entrance, hand on the small of your back at first, until he decides to loop it around your waist and pull you close to him.

“Don't worry, baby. Just be a good girl, 'kay?” Ari husks in your ear, glancing at the associate who opens the for for the two of you. You simply nod your head, words leaving your mouth as you take a peak inside.

So many people. So many eyes—all of them on you.

You gulp thickly. Ari grabs a flute of champagne from a server’s tray, offering yoou one with a telling glace. You shake your head. Even with all the alcohol in the world, you wouldn’t be able to calm down.

Ari’s hold on your waist grows firmer as men approach and speak to him. Sometimes, he strays to your ass, and you end up choking on your spit each time he does so.

You don’t recognize anyone here, except for Curtis and the other associate that had brought you to Ari the day you reckoned your fate. Neither of them spare you a glance, and if they do, you don’t notice it.

You hold onto the mob boss tightly, scared of losing him. You wouldn’t dare speak to anyone if that happened.

“Everything alright, baby?” the older man asks, once again tilting his head down to hear you better. “Yup,” you breathe out shakily, looking around. You notice that Ari doesn’t return to his normal stature, and then he realize your mistake.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you’re quick to say, and he presses his lips together in a line. “It’s okay. Don’t let it happen again,” Ari warns. “Yes, Daddy,” you diligently repeat, and he presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

Someone calls the mob boss’ name. You turn to look at who the voice belongs to, and you’re greeted by the sight of a man with two barely-clothed women hanging off his arms. You can see it in their faces—the unhappiness, the fear.

Ari can sense how tense you are, and he can sense the way Daniel has been dying to push his buttons all night.

“Price,” the mob boss bluntly addresses his colleague. The other man—the one with a goatee and an ego bigger than the entire continent—simply nods. “Levinson. Nice party you’ve got… Even nicer girl, hm?” Arthur smirks.

You can feel the stranger’s eyes on you, drinking in your appearance. You hate that feeling. You meet his gaze and he leers at your brazenly, winking and darting his tongue out to lick his lips, the action too slow for comfort.

Ari clears his throat to interrupt the moment. Daniel directs his eyes to the older man before engaging in some ‘work-related’ chatter, while you choose to focus on the women he practically holds hostage. Aren’t you just like them? Treated with more class and manners, but how long will that last?

You want to leave, but you know you can’t, and that upsets you. You have no autonomy, and for some reason, this finally upsets you after about a month of living in Ari’s precarious arrangement.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be,” he suddenly ends the conversation, snapping you out of your reverie.

Ari drags you away from the watchful, prying eyes of others. You can barely keep up with his pace.

“W– Wait, Daddy!” you call to him, but he doesn’t listen. Ari leads you up a set of stairs, and the amount of bodyguards lessen with each step, until there is no one left except for you two.

“What was that? Hm?” the mob boss questions angrily, pushing you into his personal bedroom. No one else has ever been inside it before—not even his past girlfriends.

“I– I don’t understand,” you stutter, panting as you try to catch your breath. “Really? I saw you gawking at Price,” Ari disproves. You furrow your brows. “I wasn’t! I would never,” you promise, placing your hands on his chest to placate him as best as you can.

Ari doesn’t shrug off your touch, but he does look away from you. “Please, Daddy. You have to believe me,” you continue. Ari looks back to you, and he sighs. “Promise?” he asks.

There isn’t much light in the room, save for the lamps in the corners. But you can still see the darkness of Ari’s eyes, and while it should frighten you, you can feel your panties dampen at the sight.

“Promise, Daddy,” you repeat. For added measure, you press a kiss on his nose, ready to pull away with a smile. But Ari’s hands quickly grab your face, cupping your cheeks and keeping you in place. “Daddy?”

The older man doesn’t say anything. He pulls you close and captures you in a rough kiss. It appears to be passionate, yet it screams ownership. You don’t know the difference—how could you? It feels right, it feels like what you owe the mobster. At least part of your debt, anyway.

When Ari finally pulls away, you can barely breathe. He doesn’t say a thing, and neither do you. Instead, he pushes you towards the bed, and you fall back with an ‘oomph.’

“W– Wait, Daddy–” you start, trying to sit up. Ari shushes you, pushing you back down with a small motion once he climbs on top of you. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he pants, grabbing your body and flipping you onto your stomach. Ari manhandles you with ease.

You nod your head and try to wriggle out of his grasp. It’s all moving too fast for you. “Stay still. Let Daddy make his baby feel good,” he demands, his voice hard enough to will you to listen. You still beneath him.

“Attagirl,” Ari chuckles, pulling the skirt of your dress above your ass. It was already a bit shorter than you’d like, but now everything is exposed to him. The cold air on your ass makes goosebumps rise on your skin. You shiver at the sudden cold.

“Fuck, this ass is perfect,” Ari growls, grabbing a handful of the supple flesh. He lands a sharp smack to your butt, and you gasp at the contact. It stings at first, but as the feeling dies away, you realize that you enjoy it. You grow shy with shame. “I’m gonna ruin you, princess.”

His words seem like a promise, but they sound like a threat.

“Don’t you think we should take it slow, Daddy?” you ask him, voice a pitch higher out of fear. Fear of him? Fear of his answer? “I’ve taken it slow, honey. I’ve been a gentleman,” Ari assures you.

He isn’t wrong, but you’re not sure if you agree with him. It’s only been a month. You haven’t known him that long.

“But this wasn’t a part of the deal,” you protest one final time. You’re quieter this time around, and Ari pauses in his tracks. There is silence for a few moments, until he speaks up. “It is now.”

That is all he says as he grabs at your panties, ripping the fabric off your skin. You gasp at his actions, and the sound turns into a lewd moan when his fingers find your folds.

“You’re soaking, baby. Like a little whore,” he coos, rubbing the pads of his digits up and down your wet skin. You shudder from the pleasure, squeezing your thighs together when Ari touches your clit. “It’s okay. Daddy loves his little slut,” he professes.

Your head spins from the pleasure, the confession, and the turn of events. Your voice catches in your throat when Ari rubs your clit, sending jolts of electricity throughout your body. He pulls sounds from you that you never knew you could make. They’re music to the mob boss’s ears.

Ari chuckles, as if in victory, when you begin to gyrate your hips to meet the movements of his hands on your pussy. He can feel his hard cock straining against his pants, and all he can think about is fucking you. He hasn’t stopped thinking about fucking you since he first saw you—and that wasn’t the day you went begging to him.

“Daddy,” you mewl, sending a rush of blood to Ari’s dick. “I’m here, baby,” he coos, picking up the pace of his fingers. His other hand plays with your ass, groping and lightly slapping the flesh as he brings you closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night.

The older man makes you see stars. You’ve never felt this way before—not during the late, lonely nights under your covers.

The pressure inside you builds, and your pornographic sounds become louder. The squelching of your cunt nearly rivals your moans. “Fuck, you gonna come, honey? Gonna make a mess on Daddy’s hand?” Ari asks, his words coaxing you towards that brink.

You topple over and cry out, dripping hole clenching around nothing. As if your body is a separate entity that belongs to him, you involuntarily nod your head at Ari’s question.

“Shit. That’s it. Such a good girl,” he praises, the words going to straight to your head and making you smile through your pleasure-filled haze. You grip onto the expensive bedsheets and ride out your climax, grinding on Ari’s hand until the nerves of your clit become oversensitive.

Ari, unable to hold back anymore, pulls his fingers away and admires how they glisten with your slick. The sweet scent of your cunt fills the room, and he has the overwhelming urge to make you come apart on his mouth. But that has to wait for now.

The mob boss places his wet digits inside of his mouth, revelling in your taste. He makes a show of it, too, knowing you can see him in the mirrors that are in headboard of his bed. The sight his lewd—enough to make you throb in need and get wetter with want.

There’s a small voice in your head that sounds exactly like you. It tells you that this was never a part of the deal, that Ari shouldn’t be doing this. You find it difficult to listen to its reasoning, too clouded by lust.

You watch as Ari reaches for the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it so harshly that it breaks. In just a few seconds, he tears the fabric from your body. You gasp at the display of strength, not even having the chance to bid farewell to the dress.

Your nipples pebble from the cold air, and they rub against the bedsheets, sending a wave of euphoria through your body. “Daddy… Please,” you whimper, rubbing your thighs together as your desperation for something grows.

“I got ya, baby. Daddy’s here,” Ari shushes you, mildly slurring his words. You barely even register that this is the first time Ari has seen you naked. In fact, he never should be seeing you naked.

Ari marvels at your body, although this isn’t the first time he has done so. You’re just so gorgeous, he can’t help himself.

The mob boss begins to undress himself, not caring open the buttons that fly as the fabric stretches against his toned muscles. The velvet suit—one of Ari’s favourites, which he can always get another of—ends up on the floor. The tendrils of hair fall from the gelled style he originally had, framing is face to make the man look more rugged than usual.

He pulls down the zipper to his pants and frees his hard, thick cock from the confines of his boxers. Ari gives himself a few strokes, letting a few beads of pre-cum drip onto your ass.

You arch your back just a bit, giving the older man better access and a better view of what’s his. Ari slaps his fat tip against your leaky hole, sliding it through your folds as he teases you. When he reaches your sensitive nub, your muscles twitch slightly.

You maintain a steady hold on the sheets, bracing yourself for the intrusion. You’ve had sex before, but it was so long ago and an experience that you gained nothing from. You’re always too busy to properly treat yourself. You can imagine that this’ll feel like your first time—only better.

“You feel that, baby? Hm?” the older man asks, bending over you. One of his strong arms is near your head, used as leverage to hold himself up. “Uh-huh,” you moan, feeling how Ari’s hard cock rubs against your pussy. *He’s so big—just like the rest of him.

“S’all for you, honey. You have no idea what you do to me,” he grunts, sliding his cock back to your hole. Before you can respond, Ari begins to push into your cunt, stretching you out slowly. You breathe through the entirety of the ordeal, moaning at the intrusion and the sheer filth of it all.

When Ari finally bottoms out, his heavy balls are flush against your clit. His dick is deep inside you—you feel so full. You take a few moments to adjust to his thickness, getting up onto your forearms so that you can look at Ari.

You tilt your head upwards and make eye contact with the mob boss. His usually blue eyes are blown out with lust—a dark look to him that you’ve never seen before. Ari leans over you even more, his cock still deep inside your wet pussy.

His dominant hands moves towards your neck, and he wraps his hand around your throat after shifting upwards, almost as if he’s holding your jaw. The action frightens you, but you feel no pressure being put on your airway.

It’s the control. The fact that you’re his, and he can do anything he’d like to you.

Before you can say anything, Ari begins to fuck you. He pushes and pulls his cock in and out of you. The mob boss hits your g-spot with expertise and turns you into a moaning, pathetic mess. Ari watches you intently, never once breaking eye contact as your mouth drops open in pleasure.

Your sounds are pornographic. You don’t have a moment to feel shameful about them, though. The noises that come from his skin slapping against yours is loud. So is the squelching of your sopping cunt.

“Daddy—so deep!” you cry out, going limp in his hold. It’s as if you can feel him in your guts. You babble like a baby, making Ari chuckle. He’s dreamt of this moment for so long, and it’s better than he could ever imagine. “Yeah? Wait ‘til I try that pretty mouth a’ yours,” he whispers in your ear, biting the lobe.

The thought of Ari fucking your face creates a lewd picture in your mind. You’ve never thought about it before, but the way you pussy squeezes his cock tells Ari what you think of the idea. Even if, deep down, you didn’t the mob boss to fuck your face, he would still get what he wants.

“Shit,” you mewl, eyes rolling back into your skull. The older man pummels into your relentlessly, practically abusing your cunt. Ari’s dick is coated in your slick, the smell of it and sweat filling the room. “This cunt’s cryin’ on my cock—you gonna cry, too, princess?”

You don’t really register what Ari is saying, so you just nod your head like the obedient girl you are. “Good girl—always such a good slut for Daddy,” he groans, looking down to admire how your ass ripples when his pelvis slaps against the soft flesh.

You cry out as Ari pumps into you relentlessly. You can feel the euphoria build up, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “‘S so much, Daddy…” you express through your moans, fuelling Ari’s ego. “Yeah? You gonna come all over Daddy’s fat cock, baby?” the mob boss asks.

Nodding your head, you topple over the edge of your climax. Your sounds become choked and grow even louder. Your pussy squeeze Ari’s dick, creaming around his hardness as you come undone. Ari marvels at the sight.

Your eyes squeeze shuts and your hold onto the bed sheets tightly. You’ve never felt such pleasure before—even at your own hands. It’s like Ari knows your body—and your entire being—better than you do.

“That’s it. Good girl, ” Ari growls, admiring how your leaky pussy just swallows his dick. The arch in your back is mean, but he loves it. He loves watching you take it. His once-innocent princess is now the older man’s whore. All his, forever.

The stars in your eyes dissipate as you ride out your high, coming down from it slowly but surely. It’s hard, though, as Ari is relentless in how in pounds into your cunt. “Who owns this pussy, honey? Hm?” Ari asks. He can feel his own orgasm building up, and he knows he cannot hold back any longer.

“You! S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M yours,” you mewl, and as if on cue, Ari shoves his hips forwards and he stills his movements. His heavy balls clench as he leans forward, completely covering your body with his. Ari holds onto you tightly, filling your pussy with his cum.

Ropes of his seed shoot from his tip and coat your inner walls, filling you to the brim until some of it leaks past his fat cock. He gives a few thrusts just to tease you, smiling when you whimper from the stimulation.

It’s so damn messy where the two of you are connected. Ari has the desire to clean you up, but he knows that your sweet-self wouldn’t be able to handle all that in one night. At least, for now.

When the older man finally catches his breath, he slowly pulls out of your pussy. A trail of his cum follows, leaking out and mixing with your juices. He rolls you onto your side gently, laying down next to you as he watches your face intently.

You have no clue what to say. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around what happened, especially as the haze doesn’t seem to leave any time soon.

A few moments of silence pass. Ari’s hand rubs up and down your arm, moving upwards to cup your cheek again. He drinks in very detail of your face and you watch him, too, just not with the same intensity.

“D– Daddy?” you quietly say, and his ears perk up. “Yeah, baby?” Ari responds. “What now?” you question. Where do you go from here?

“Well… I think you should get some rest,” he starts, sighing deeply and he seemingly fights back a yawn. You agree, but that’s not what you meant. “I’ll get you cleaned up, don’t worry,” the mob boss assures you.

“What about the deal?” you continue.

More silence, and the sound of Ari clearing his throat. The deepness of his voice remains as he speaks.

“I think I may have to extend it, honey,” he honestly tells you, words heavy with disappointment. You don’t really know what to think—you have no reaction, save for the small nod you give him. You’ve come to realize that whatever Ari wants, he gets. And he’s so damn greedy.

You drift off to sleep slowly, accepting your fate even though it was too late the moment you resigned and stepped into his office a month ago. It could be worse, you could be dead, you reassure yourself.

Ari stares at the ceiling and thinks about how time can fly. Soon, those promised months will turn into a year, and then even more. Just like he planned—just how it’s supposed to be.

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson smut #dark ari levinson #dark!ari levinson #dark ari levinson x reader #dark!ari levinson x reader #smut #lemon #dark #au #fic #series #chris evans #the red sea diving resort

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merrybloomwrites · 26 days ago

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Been Here for Days

Summary: You never thought about the dangers of dating a celebrity. But when you get taken by a man who's after Harry's money you're faced with the jarring reality that you're not as safe as you thought.

Word Count: 3.7K

CW: kidnapping, drugs, violence, attempted sa, hospitals

AN: I've read a few mafia AU stories where reader gets kidnapped because of Harry's dark world. So it gave me the idea for a non-AU story in which the reader gets kidnapped, simply for being the partner of a famous and wealthy popstar. I've had this partially written for a while but it seemed fitting to include in Whumptober so I finally finished it up.

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Dating Harry Styles came with a certain level of attention. This wasn’t a surprise to you, and you learned how to deal with it fairly quickly. Harry also did a lot to protect you and try to keep you out of the public eye as much as possible.

Whenever he did get overprotective you’d remind him that it’s okay, you knew what you signed up for. But he always reiterated that his personal life should be private, and he didn’t want people trying to get more information about the two of you than he chooses to share.

One thing that’s obvious is that no one really cares about you. Not as an individual. They care that you’re Harry’s girlfriend. There’s not a doubt in your mind that if the two of you ever broke up, you’d never have photos posted of you again.

And you’re fine with that too. It doesn’t bother you that you’re just seen as the girlfriend, mainly because it means people don’t care to go digging and finding facts about your life. Your family has been left alone for the most part, and you can still go out alone without being bothered.

Occasionally an individual will show deep interest in you, and you’ll find a social media account dedicated to you. Sometimes it’s a fan page, sometimes it’s a hate page. You let them be, since they’re still only posting things that are already released to the public. Even these ‘more enthusiastic’ people aren’t really crossing boundaries, since they’re not trying to find private photos or follow you to get photos of their own.

Or so you thought.

Since spring began, and the weather turned nice, you’ve been making sure to walk to work each day. Ironically, you’d gotten a job in a local bakery. You wanted a steady job of your own while Harry isn’t touring, and this seemed like a perfect choice. You love getting up early to bake and decorate what’s needed for the day. It’s calm, and therapeutic. You mostly work in the back, doing the actual baking, but occasionally you fill in up front at the register.

Each morning you walk to work as the sun is just rising, and you get home by early afternoon. This gives you time to run errands, do some chores around the house, or just take some time to relax before Harry gets home. He’s been working more in the studio recently, but still makes it a point to get back by 5PM in order to spend a couple of hours with you every day.

You cook a meal together, talk about your days, and often put on a movie and cuddle. It’s the simple things that bring the two of you joy, just getting to end your days together.

You wake up on Monday morning, and it starts just like the rest. You get dressed, kiss the cheek of a still sleeping Harry, and begin your walk. You have an odd feeling, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. You were up a bit later than usual the night before, enjoying some adult activities with Harry, so maybe you’re just a bit tired.

The same feeling is there on the way home. But you’d had a tough day at work with someone calling out, leaving you to try and continue baking while also working the register.

This feeling continues the whole week, and you continue to make excuses as to why you’re so anxious during your commute each day. But when the next week is the same, you begin to grow wary. Finally, on Thursday of the second week you realize that it feels as though you’re being followed. This thought does freak you out, and you plan to talk to Harry that night at home.

But you don’t make it home.

The weather on your walk back to the house is perfect, if not even a little warm. But you don’t feel it. You feel chilled, and nervous, and you’re glancing over your shoulder every two seconds. You’re mad at yourself, berating yourself for not calling Harry to have him pick you up. You’d convinced yourself it would be fine, and you didn’t want to bother him. But now as you walk alone, sensing another person might be following you, that logic seems incredibly stupid.

As you’re pulling out your phone to call Harry you hear a noise in the bush next to you. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound. Everything happens so quickly, yet as though it’s in slow motion. A man rushes at you, covering your mouth so you can’t scream and using his other arm to keep you still.

You try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. Despite your best efforts, he still manages to get a needle into you. At first you feel the pinch of the needle, and then you feel nothing at all, and your world goes black.

When you wake up, you’re disoriented. You’re in a bed, and while it’s comfy, it’s not your own. The bedroom you’re in is completely unrecognizable. Slowly, your memories come back. There was a man. Who’d probably been following you for weeks, tracking your schedule, and he’s now taken you.

And not to some basement, or a warehouse or something creepy that you’d see in movies. No, he took you to his home. To a bed. And that feels even worse. You quickly assess your body, and are relieved to find that you’re still in your same clothes, and all you can feel are a couple minor scrapes and bruises, likely from trying to fight the man.

There’s a window in the room so you get up and peek out. It’s dark, indicating a lot of time has passed. You can’t see anything outside, no other houses, and hope it’s just because of how dark it is. Because the idea that there’s nothing nearby is causing you to panic even more than you already are.

You check the door, but of course it’s locked from the outside. The window won’t open either. You’re trapped.

There is a bathroom attached to the bedroom, but no way to escape from there either. It does mean you can take a sip of water and splash some water on your face which helps calm you briefly.

Taking deep breaths you begin to pace. Your mind spins, trying to come up with escape scenarios, and hoping that someone is figuring out where you are so they can come get you. The sky turns pink outside and you check your surroundings again.

There’s nothing but a large open field. No biggie. Maybe there’s civilization out the front of the house. There’s no way you’re locked in a house with a crazy person out in the middle of nowhere.

Tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. There’s got to be a way out of here. A way back home. A way to Harry.

You’re left alone for what feels like hours. You’re a little hungry, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment.

Finally, the door opens. You stand your ground in the middle of the room, not wanting to back yourself into a corner for whatever is about to happen.

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straight, not showing any weakness to the person who took you.

“Well good morning sweetheart,” he says. The pleasantries, the nickname, it’s all nauseating to you, but you keep your expression unreadable.

“My name is Roy. I’ve been watching you and your boyfriend. You make a very cute little couple.”

“What do you want with me?” You ask, ignoring how violated you feel at the confirmation that this strange man has been following you.

“Isn’t it obvious? Money. I want money. Harry seems to be quite devoted to you. I bet he’ll pay anything to get you back.”

And it is obvious, really. It shouldn’t come as a surprise at all that people would want Harry’s money. But you never expected anyone to literally kidnap you for it.

“Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure you have food and water and a safe place to stay. Might rough you up a bit, maybe have some fun,” he says as he steps forward and runs a finger along your cheek, causing you to recoil and bump into the bed behind you.

He laughs at that, seeming to enjoy your discomfort, and then adds, “Of course that may be some good incentive for your boyfriend. I’m sure he’d hate to see anything bad happen to you.”

Your fear amps up a notch hearing this but you keep your emotions off of your face. You’re determined to stay strong throughout this whole ordeal. This man does not get to overpower you, doesn’t get to see you break like you’re sure he wants.

He steps back a moment later and says, “Just need a quick picture, you know proof of life, proof I have you, all that.” Before you can register what he’s saying he takes out an old camera and takes your picture, the flash stunning you.

“I brought you a sandwich and some water. It’s all sealed so you know I haven’t done anything to it. Wouldn’t want you starving yourself or dehydrating,” he says as he hands you the items. You take them, confirming they are in fact unopened.

“Eat. I’ll be back later,” he says before stepping out of the room. You hear the definitive click of the lock but you still double check, just in case it’s open.

Of course it isn’t, but you had to try. After examining the food to confirm it hasn’t been tampered with you take a tentative bite. It’s good, and that first bite kick starts your appetite so you quickly eat the rest.

Roy comes back hours later to drop off dinner. He again leaves you alone to eat, and you’re starting to get lulled into a false sense of security. You think that maybe it won’t be so bad. If he’s just after money, then he might just leave you alone and then he’ll get paid and you’ll be home.

But of course it can’t be that simple.

Later that evening he comes back in.

“I’m bored,” he says. Just two words shouldn’t be so bone chilling, but you understand the implication. He’s bored and you’re at his mercy. He’s already drugged and kidnapped you. There’s not telling what else he’s capable of.

By the time he leaves again you're bruised, and there’s blood running from your split lip. He’d thrown you around, hit you hard enough to send you to the ground where he kicked you repeatedly. It was terrifying and painful.

But you admit to yourself that it could’ve been worse. You somehow convince yourself that it wasn’t so bad, that you’ll recover quickly once you get home.

After another day and a half with Roy, you’re doubting that will happen. You’re doubting you’ll recover. You’re doubting that you’ll get home. The situation has turned from terrible to terrifying.

You’ve spent three nights in this room, including the one you were mostly unconscious for. Roy’s violence has grown, and now he seems to be changing plans again.

“These bruises look lovely on you,” he says. It’s creepy as fuck, and indicates that whatever happens next will be awful.

“While the violence has been fun, there are other ways to bruise your skin. I think I’ll do that today instead.”

After days of beatings you’re too tired to fight back. You lay there crying as he climbs on top of you and pins you down. His mouth goes to your neck and he begins to suck a mark there. Bile rises in your throat and it takes everything in you not to vomit at the feeling of him so close to you, touching you in this way.

You’re wondering how you’re going to survive what’s sure to come next when there’s a noise. Suddenly the door slams open and nearly a dozen people enter the room. At first you’re terrified that they’re here to hurt you as well, but then Roy is pulled off of you and handcuffed and you realize that they’re police officers there to save you.

One comes and talks to you, reassures you that everything is going to be okay, but still, you’re scared. It’s too much. Too much noise, and commotion, and people. You’re overwhelmed.

And then one more person enters the room. He looks different, more frazzled with a longer beard than you’ve ever seen. But as he crouches beside the bed and holds your hand between his, there’s no denying that Harry is here.

There’s a darkness that’s been pulling at you for a while, and now that Harry’s here and you’re safe, you finally let it pull you under.

You wake up in an uncomfortable bed wearing an itchy gown. There are bandages wrapped on various parts of your body and tubes and wires attached to you. Everything is still hazy, but you know there’s a hand holding yours.

You quickly and clumsily pull away, not wanting anyone to touch you right now.

Slowly the world around you refocuses, and you realize the person next to you is Harry. As much as you want his comfort, you can’t bear to have anyone’s skin touching yours. Not when it only makes you think of Roy and what he did. And what he was planning to do.

Over the next few hours people come and go from your room. Nurses, doctors, detectives, all sharing information and asking you questions.

But you say nothing. You don’t respond. You lay there, watching with a blank expression. Someone brings in food for dinner, and you eat just enough to make them happy before pushing away the tray and curling further into your blankets.

The next day is much the same. They bring in a trauma counselor and though she’s a kind woman, you still say nothing.

And it’s not that you’re upset with, or mad at these people. They’ve done nothing to you. But there’s this block in your mind right now. You’re so exhausted from the whole ordeal that it’s taking everything in you just to eat food and drink water and get yourself to and from the bathroom.

Another two days pass and your doctor is in the room talking to Harry. He tried speaking to you but still you’re unable to find your voice.

“Medically, she’s well enough to go home,” the doctor says. “Her injuries are healing well enough that I’m ready to discharge her.”

You perk up a bit at this news. You miss home, miss the big comfy bed with the big windows. You miss your garden, and how peaceful it is. Hearing that you might be able to go back to your house with Harry has you more alert than you’ve been in days.

But then the doctor adds, “However, I’m concerned by her mental state. She still hasn’t said anything, and she barely lets anyone touch her. It’s important that her bandages get changed regularly and I’m worried that she won’t allow you to help with that. So until that changes she’ll have to stay here.”

Your heart drops at that. The despair you feel has you finally breaking through and suddenly you say, “No. Home.”

They both look at you and Harry quickly moves to the side of your bed.

“What was that, baby?” he asks. He looks hopeful and you know that he’s just happy to hear you speak again.

“Home. Please,” you state. It’s hard to talk, full sentences being something you can’t do yet. But you get your point across and Harry looks at the doctor to see what he has to say about this advancement.

Your doctor comes closer as well and asks, “Will you be okay with Harry helping you at home? He’ll have to touch you to properly clean and bandage your wounds.”

You nod, but you know that alone won’t convince them. Even though it takes a lot of courage to do this, you reach out your hand and grab Harry’s. He gasps at the contact and quickly laces your fingers with his. It feels foreign, and you hate that you no longer feel comfortable holding hands with the person who used to be your safe place.

Apparently that was the right move, though, because you’re discharged by the end of the day. You get wheeled out, and Harry helps you get from the chair into the car that’s there for you. There’s still an overwhelming part of you that wants to flinch away from his touch, but you tell yourself that he needs this. He needs to be able to help you.

On the drive, Harry informs you of the updated security the two of you will have. It’s weird to know that there will be people watching the house at all times, but you admit to yourself that it makes you feel better.

Once you’re finally home you breathe a sigh of relief. And then you get to your room and the exhaustion hits again.

You sit down on the bed and Harry moves through the house, doing all kinds of things that he thinks will help you. His nervousness is obvious, and you want to tell him you’re okay, that he should relax.

When he focuses on you again he asks, “What can I get for you? What do you need?”

“Bed.”

“You’re tired? You want to get ready for bed?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, we can do that. Let me get you some clothes and then we can go brush our teeth together. And I’ll bring up some water and maybe some food in case you wake up hungry since you didn’t eat too much dinner before we left the hospital,” he rambles. It seems that he’s trying to make up for your lack of words by speaking more than usual.

Harry grabs the clothes and walks over to you. It’s clear that he’s about to help you up and so you quickly stand and walk to the bathroom before he has the chance to touch you. You hate seeing the pain in his eyes at your rejection, but you’re just not ready yet.

After getting ready you climb into bed. It’s so soft, so comfortable, and so familiar that you quickly fall asleep.

You wake up with a jolt, your heart racing as the images of your dream race through your mind. The worst part is that it’s not just a made up nightmare, but the memories of the nightmare you actually lived.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks and he reaches out a hand to comfort you. He quickly pulls it back when he sees the way you eye it with fear and trepidation.

“I can go,” he says. “If you’re uncomfortable with me in the bed I can stay in the next room.”

Immediately you panic at the thought of him going anywhere. “No. Stay. Please. Just, don’t touch,” you reply.

He nods and the two of you sit there in bed next to each other. You begin to cry and Harry fights back tears of his own.

After a few minutes Harry says, “They wouldn’t let me pay the ransom.”

You turn to him, confused for a moment. And then you realize that he’s explaining why it took so long to get you out.

“When I got the message from…him. I showed it to the detectives who were here and told them I’d pay immediately so I could get you back. But they wouldn’t let me. Said it would set a precedent and put you in even more danger. Make you a target. That if I listened to this crazy person’s demands and gave him what he wanted, more people might try to take you to get money as well. I hated knowing that they were right. That I couldn’t do the one thing in my power to help you without making life riskier for you. And I hated that you being with me put you in that position in the first place. Y/N, I am so sorry that this happened to you, that it happened because of me.”

His voice breaks and you sit for another moment absorbing what he’d just said. You didn’t realize before, but now you know that you were mad at him. You were mad that it took so long for them to get you. But everything he said makes sense to you.

And as horrible as the experience was for you, it was awful for him as well. He looks just as exhausted as you are, and though he didn’t deal with the pain and terror that you did, he spent days filled with anxiety and fear and guilt.

You lay down on your back, looking up and trying to silently send him a message. Once he understands he lays down as well. Slowly, one inch at a time, you shift closer to him. Finally, you turn and lay your hand on his chest. He brings up his hand and places it gently on top of yours.

The touch no longer feels foreign to you. It finally feels comforting again. Building up courage, you move again, lifting your head until you can place it on his chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate, but quickly wraps his free arm around your shoulders, holding you close to him.

For a moment you panic, feeling trapped by him. But then you take a deep breath, inhaling Harry’s distinct smell, and you relax into his hold.

“I forgive you,” you say quietly. Harry lets out a sob and you squeeze his hand reassuringly. After a moment he controls his tears and regulates his breathing.

“I love you. So much,” he says.

“I love you too,” you reply.

You know that this isn’t the end. There’s a long road of recovery ahead of you. But being able to lean on Harry, to trust him fully again, you know that you’re going to be okay. He’s going to be there, he’ll help you on the bad days and celebrate the good.

He begins to quietly sing, filling the room with his familiar and comforting voice. He lulls you back to sleep, but stays up for a while just watching you, reveling in the feeling of having you back in his arms, home where you belong. Safe and sound once again.

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AN: Thank you for reading!

#harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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this is quite self indulgent (you have no obligation to respond if this is not something you are down to write, i totally get it lol), but as someone with ptsd, i get nightmares more nights than i don’t. this kinda made me realize- how would keeper! simon react if he can hear feral having a nightmare in her room, especially with his rule of letting their space be theirs and theirs alone? how do you think the other would react to one if they were watching her?

(also, can i be ☘️ anon?? this and the scientist au live in my head rent free and i have so may ideas lol)

Hi!! You can absolutely be ☘️! Welcome aboard!!

And oooh yeah, nightmares I can def do.

The first time it happens is early on in your time with him. No surprise, your life has been turned upside down and you’re still very frightened of him! It’s entirely understandable. He also knows that going in to wake you up probably won’t help.

So he turns your light on so that when you wake up, it won’t be dark. He leaves a glass of water at the door, and a heating pack in case you need it.

The next morning, he’s extra slow and careful with you. You’re so tired you barely even notice.

Later on, he starts gently waking you. He doesn’t mind that you react violently, just makes sure you don’t fall out of your tall bed. He offers you things - water, snacks, a trip outside for fresh air, a cuddle? The first time you ask him to just… stay, don’t speak don’t touch, just be in the room, his heart melts. He stays until you fall asleep.

He gets you a pretty fake moon that he hangs from the ceiling. It casts a pretty soft glow that’s much easier to wake up to after nightmares. You bump your forehead against his arm in thanks for that.

When you two actually have a bond, though, you’re running into his room if he’s not already in yours. The “your bed is untouchable” rule no longer applies if you’re screaming and sobbing and hyperventilating in your sleep. And that’s by your own permission! You told him that!

You can’t handle being held after a nightmare, don’t like feeling trapped or pinned. So he just stays where you can see him, hands to himself and you decide the level of contact. Sometimes you yank him down to play with his hair to soothe yourself. Sometimes you lean into his side for something sturdy and warm. On really bad nights, the two of you go back to his room. He lies on his side facing away and you press against his back, palm flat to make your breaths match his. He stays awake all night those times, just to make sure you sleep alright.

When he’s away, you’re much more likely to have nightmares. Unfortunately, the care guides are not very helpful. You won’t let anyone do what he does for you, and you react to them all differently.

Price takes a similar approach to Simon in the beginning. Leaves things for you to comfort yourself with and stays available if you need to be with someone. Later on, after you’ve gotten more used to him, sometimes you creep out of your room and sit in the couch with him. It works for you, even if you’re very tired and grumpy the next day.

Johnny will only enter your room if it’s really bad to wake you up. Those are the few times you’ve apologized for biting or scratching him. He brings you hot chocolate and holds your hand a respectful distance away, sometimes on the couch, sometimes on the floor of your room. He asks what you’ve dreamed of, but you never tell him.

Gaz is allowed in your room always to wake you up. You feel so bad if he doesn’t dodge fast enough and gets hit or bit. He just shakes it off a little smile and squeezes your hand. He takes you out to the sunporch to look at the stars under blankets usually. Or cuddles up on the couch with you to watch cartoons or comedies or tiktoks. Sometimes if he asks, you do tell him. But you feel bad for doing that whenever you do.

#asks #my writing #fanfiction #cod #thoughts™️#reader fic #keeper ghost #kept pet ghost #dark fic #kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mactavish #keeper/kept au #☘️ anon

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reverie-starlight · 11 months ago

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it's about time I wrote something for owl head. @luvring I blame you for launching me right back into my bokuto era. not sure how I feel about my characterization of him yet, but it's a work in progress. considering it's my first time writing him, I don't think it's too horrible!!

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. established relationship, fluff fluff fluff, he is such a baby omg. I just want to see him happy, he's so sunshiney and warm. slight, miniscule, microscopic suggestiveness in one part.

early mornings can get a bit hectic when your boyfriend spends the night.

they used to be worse, you will admit, but even if you've both established somewhat of a morning routine, actually putting the plan into motion always proves to be a difficult task.

hopefully things settle after he moves in, you think.

you take a few moments to bask in the early morning silence that follows the swift movements of shutting off of your alarm (it's far too cold out for birds to chirp outside your window, and your apartment's not too close to any busy streets) and admire the sweet man beside you. ever the deep sleeper, bokuto's snores pop you out of your bubble.

you check the time again and feel your face form an expression of pure disdain when it registers that you have less time to get ready than usual. you turn to the side.

he's facing away from you- an oddity, considering he usually has one hand on you at all times- broad back on display, expanding and deflating with every breath he takes.

it almost feels wrong to disrupt him, but you know he has to get up for practice soon anyway, so you attempt a softer wake up method.

you put out your hand and trace patterns over his skin. it's warm and soft and makes you want to cuddle up melt into him for the rest of time. knowing him, he wouldn't mind that one bit.

he barely stirs at the feeling of your fingertips, so you do get closer this time and press light kisses against his shoulder blade.

the back of his bicep.

the centre of his back.

a few along his spine.

the spot just behind his heart.

you watch as goosebumps follow your trail of kisses and smile as he shuffles and finally turns to face you.

"good morning, baby..." he yawns and gives you a sleepy, closed-eye smile.

it breaks your heart that you're going to have to cut this moment short, but it has to be done. you're already cutting it too close for comfort (last night's activities had forced you to set a later alarm). any longer in bed and you'd both be late for work.

you card a hand through his hair and match his expression. "good morning, koutarou. it's time to get up." you keep your voice low and sweet, hoping to keep him sleepy enough to just go along with whatever you say.

but it seems that fate is not on your side this morning.

he opens one eye just a crack and begins to nod before freezing and promptly burying his face into your chest. he wraps his arms around your torso, making you you groan a little. "I need to make up for not holding you while I was sleeping."

while the sentiment is sweet, you would think that him getting ready to move in with you would make up for it. but apparently not even the prospect of spending every night from now on in your arms is enough to satisfy him.

"ko, please," you huff and try to pry his arm off. you really don't want to be late for work. things have been picking up lately and you definitely don't want to be chewed out by your boss for poor time management.

but bokuto does not waver. he may be a big baby sometimes, and he may do everything in his power to make you happy, but he is also incredibly determined and annoyingly stubborn.

especially when it comes to sleep.

so he just holds you tighter, mumbling out little apologies for not keeping you warm during the night. you giggle at that, because you are nothing if not warm whenever he's around. his presence is akin to summer's sunshine- so genial and bright that you can feel his love even without the physical gestures he always insists upon.

you stroke his back and just as you're about to give in to him, a small, smug smile appears on his face.

"bokuto koutarou!" you gasp "you know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"

he laughs into your chest and you can feel it reverberate throughout your body. "just stay with me a bit longer, when was the last time you took a sick day, anyway?"

his voice is littered with drowsiness and it only makes you want to give into him even more.

how is it that you've always seen yourself as the clingy one in the relationship? the thought makes you laugh a bit and he looks up at you hopefully.

but sadly, one of you needs to have some self discipline, so you cup his face in your hands and squish his cheeks together. "nice try, lover boy, but you promised me you'd get up on time."

he pouts and you try not to crack a smile at how funny it looks with a squished face. "but baby-"

"nope! you brought this on yourself, ko. besides," you do let your smile break through this time. "you're the one who insisted on setting a later alarm." you poke his nose to punctuate your sentence.

"you're the one who insisted we'd have more than enough time to get ready." poke.

"and you're the one who kept begging to go round after round despite me telling you this would happen," poke.

you squeal a bit when he suddenly gets up to hover over you, a mischievous, almost predatory look in his eyes that can only mean no good. “sorry- who was the one begging, baby?”

he digs his fingers into your side, causing you to giggle and squirm underneath him. his other arm holds him up and cages you in just enough that you're unable to roll away to safety.

the thing with bokuto is that he can be incredibly playful and child-like, yes; but like most people on earth, he also has moments that remind you he's much more dynamic than the endearing traits he most often presents.

you'd consider yourself lucky to be one of the few to see every side of him, but as you lay underneath him with a giddy feeling in your stomach from how handsome he looks while tormenting you, you only feel your self-discipline melting away.

he might be rebranding himself as an "ordinary" ace now (much to the surprise of everyone who knew him in high school), but you've been convinced for years that there's nothing ordinary about him at all. his determination, skill and unconditional love for you proved your theory every day.

fine, maybe one "sick" day wouldn't hurt.

"okay, okay!" you gasp out through your laughter. "we can stay in bed if you stop tickling me!"

his smile is positively blinding as he retracts his hand from your side and flops back on top of you. "thank you, babe. can I tell you a secret?"

you raise an eyebrow and he takes that as signal to continue. he "lowers" his voice to a whisper-yell and says "I don't actually have practice today."

you blink at him. "ko, what?"

he lets out an excited laugh. "I tricked you. I came up with this whole plan to keep you home with me today and it worked."

the unmistakable pride in his voice washes away any annoyance building up within you and opens you up to hearing him out. "explain."

"you've been working so much lately, I can see how much it's wearing you out," he rolls onto his side to face you better and cup your face with one hand. "and last night practice got cancelled super suddenly 'cause coach got sick or something. so I decided we should both have the day off since we both work super hard. also... I didn't want to be lonely," he mumbles at the end.

you snort at his honesty and shake your head in appreciation. that's why he was being so insistent? how did you manage to land someone as unabashedly sweet and caring as him? you started the day worrying about being late, and now work is the last thing on your mind. you grab your phone off the night stand and quickly leave your boss a message, letting her know you won't be coming in because of some sudden illness.

bokuto watches you closely and allows you to cuddle into him with a smile after setting the device back down. "so... does this mean my master plan worked?"

you nodded into his bare chest and let the stress you've been storing for weeks release alongside a deep sigh. "can't leave my sweet boy feeling lonely, now can I?"

you say it as a joke, but you hope he hears the appreciation in your voice... that he can feel how thankful you are for him looking out for you.

it all remains unsaid for a while longer, but you know he understands the underlying message when he kisses your forehead and prompts you to get more sleep.

BONUS:

you wake up again a couple hours later to a strange burning smell.

you're up immediately, not registering the fact that your boyfriend is not beside you anymore until you stumble into the kitchen and see him standing at the stove, stirring away.

the domestic view makes you excited for all of your mornings going forward looking like this, but you also make a mental note to buy a new set of pans before that happens.

he must feel you watching him, because he turns to greet you with a wide grin. "mornin', baby!"

"morning..." you make your way to the table and take a seat where there's already a glass of water. "are you making breakfast?" you try to keep your nerves out of your voice. he's not the worst cook in the world, and he's definitely improved since meeting you, but... he's still working on lunch recipes. he hasn't graduated to complicated breakfast foods yet.

he nods excitedly. "yup! I already had some cereal, though. I was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed, but since you're up we can sit at the table." bokuto turns the stove off and scrapes... whatever it is evenly onto a plate. "it's a bit burnt, but it should still be good!"

he sets it down in front of you and the burning smell only gets stronger. you can see now that he had attempted pancakes. you smile up at him thankfully, but you wonder how you're going to get the round discs down without creating an unnatural chemical reaction within your stomach.

"I know it's been a while since we've had a proper breakfast together like this, and you mentioned a while ago that you've been craving pancakes, so I thought today would be the perfect day for that."

you can almost feel your pupils dilate when he says that. your heart beats faster and you feel warm all over (again). he remembered something like that? you don't even remember saying it, which leads you to believe that he's been storing it in his mind for a while now.

you scarf down the pancakes.

they're not good by any means, but you know they were made with love and that makes them the best damn pancakes you've ever tasted. you'd rather endure a the worst stomach ache imaginable than make this man sad.

his eyes widen. "woah! you must've been really hungry, do you want me to make you more? as many as you want, just give me a number!"

you tear up a bit, from affection for him or a reaction to the pancakes, you're not sure. "no, baby, these were perfect. do you want some coffee?"

he nods his head. "I wouldn't mind one if you're offering."

you kiss his cheek and move over to the coffee machine, still overflowing with love, but the taste of the charred breakfast lingers on your tongue. as you're grabbing a mug, you casually ask "hey baby? would you ever want to take a cooking class with me?"

I lowkey hate how it turned out, but not enough to keep it in the drafts. hope you enjoyed!!

#bokuto x reader #bokuto x reader fluff #bokuto fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader #bokuto x gn reader #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader fluff #haikyuu x gender neutral reader

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creedslove · 1 year ago

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JOEL TAKING CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU HAVE A MIGRAINE 🍓 - HEADCANONS

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: Guess what: I had a migraine and suffered double because it was no only the pain in my head but also the pain in my heart for not being Joel Miller's wife 💔

Migraines weren't unusual for you: whenever your period was coming, you would suffer from it at least for a day, sometimes two

It was also a sign that baby Miller wasn't there, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, you and your husband Joel had discussed the possibility of having a baby and came to the conclusion you wouldn't try but if you ended up pregnant it would be good as well

And as usual when you had your migraine you took a few pills that didn't work at all, so you did your chores like you normally did because the sooner you started them, the sooner you would finish them

You didn't have energy to cook dinner for your handsome husband and though you wanted to take care of him, you also needed to take care of yourself, so you just baked a chicken pot pie and left it in the oven so it would be warm when he got home from work

You grabbed one of Joel's shirts from the wardrobe and put it on, lying in bed and hugging his pillow so you could try to sleep your migraine off surrounded by his scent

When Joel got home, it wasn't very late, but it was already dark and he thought it was very odd there were no lights on in the house. Perhaps you could have gone out to run some errands but then you would've texted him and he checked his phone and saw no missing calls or texts, and your car was in the driveway

He stepped inside and called your name, having no answer, maybe you were asleep, though he knew you never went to bed that early, he climbed upstairs as silently as possible and found a wave of relief when he saw you asleep

Joel hadn't told anyone other than Tommy and you, but he found out Sarah's mom had left when he arrived home from work and found his daughter peacefully asleep in her crib while her mom had simply gathered her stuff and disappeared leaving only a shitty note telling him to take care of their baby

And since then, a small part of him feared coming back home to an empty house after being dumped by the woman he loved. Again.

He sat on the edge of the bed and caressed your hair gently; he didn't mean to wake you up but you were looking so lonely and fragile even in your sleep, he knew something wasn't right

"What's wrong baby girl?"

"I have a migraine, Joel"

You answered him in your low voice, your eyes still half closed as you hugged him and let his big hands caress your hair, your face and your body

"I'm sorry I didn't make dinner, but there's chicken pie in the oven, I hope it's enough"

Enough? Joel wanted to burst out laughing, you had taken your time to bake him a pie that was more delicious than his own mother's - and she should never know that - even if you were in pain and you were apologizing and worrying it wasn't enough for him? He didn't even know if he deserved you in the first place, you were definitely too good for him

"It's wonderful baby girl, everything you do is amazing, you should relax, I'll be back later"

Joel kissed your lips gently and placed a soft peck on your forehead, covering you with a blanket and went to do his own stuff

Joel kept silent while having dinner, showering and watching some TV. When he felt tired he went upstairs with a glass of water and some headache pills just in case you needed them

He got under the blankets and quietly wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you closer and falling asleep

Later that night, Joel would wake up to the bed empty, he would see the pills and the glass of water were gone, so he goes downstairs and finds you eating a slice of your pie. You explain you felt hungry and he feels better knowing that your migraine was closer to its end now that your appetite is back since you get very nauseous during your crisis

He makes sure you drink a lot of water and washes your plate so you don't have any trouble

He sits on the couch with you and decides to give you some clit rubs, hoping it will help you forget about the pain

It does but you are now so wet and needy for him, he decides to eat your pussy, enjoying the fact it's just the two of you at home

Once you cum for him, you try to please him, but he assures you he doesn't want to, as you both can enjoy once you are feeling better

You and Joel go to bed and you fall asleep in his arms, knowing you would feel much better once morning came, because you had a loving husband who takes care of you just like you take care of him ❤️

_____

A/N: I spent my whole day yesterday struggling with a headache and I know my life would be a lot easier if Joel was my husband 🥺😭

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal headcanons #pedro pascal headcanon #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller headcanons #joel miller headcanon #joel the last of us #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction

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linkeduniverse-writing · 11 months ago

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General LU Headcanons part 1

Heya! So I'm starting this blog with some general headcanons about the boys, I think I'll divide it in three parts so it's not too long. First up are Four, Hyrule, and Legend! Hope you enjoy :D

Part 2 Part 3

Four

It takes him so long to emerge from sleep

Like he'll be in a haze for like 20 minutes, not able to form any coherent thoughts

Which is kind of a surprise because he's one of the early risers, and is super reactive once fully awake

He tends to talk to himself a lot, mostly when he does something or thinks through a problem

It's mostly to exteriorize all the noise inside his head tho

The others aren't as weirded out by it than he feared, and he's thankful for it

Whenever they're in a market or just in a town, he always finds himself drawn to craftsmanship

Like if they need to interrogate people about monsters and stuff, he'll go ask artisans mostly

He feels more comfortable around them

It feels like home

Also he likes to compare his work to other blacksmith's

He feels like he has a lot to learn still, and he's very curious about how the craft has evolved with time

He doesn't know first aid and the scent of blood makes him sick, but if his teammates need tending he'll do his best

He tries to see their wounds as metal work needing repairs

It helps him keep his cool

But he'd rather leave it to someone else

Hyrule

Another early riser, but he hates it

He loves sleeping in and wishes his body would let him sometimes

But oh well, when it's time to wake up it's time to wake up

He's a very light sleeper too, like the wind blowing in the leaves above would wake him up

He hates it

Botany nerd

Loves keeping track of the new plants he finds along the way

He always asks the Link from the Hyrule they're in if he knows about it, and will pick them up if he can't get an answer, to study them later hopefully

He rarely can, but when they have a moment he'll either find a plant book (and a Link who can read it for him) or straight up ask someone if they know about the plant

He's always so polite and genuinely curious, people can't help but answer

He accidentally set Sky's stuff on fire once when showing off his fire magic to Wind

Sky was too impressed to truly be mad at him tho

(Also Hyrule replaced all of the stuff that couldn't be repaired, don't ask him how)

He doesn't mind blood and grime and gore, but can't handle anything with maggots in it

He'll stitch up anything, he'll put bones back in place if necessary, but one bug? In a wound? Don't count on him

He can keep his calm even before the grossest injuries, which is why he's often fixing up the others after a fight

He rarely uses his healing magic tho, he knows he'll tire too easily, and he can't help them if he can barely stay awake

So potions potions potions

He's a gentle caregiver but you better do as he says when you're hurt

Legend

A heavy sleeper, and he dreams a lot, but he never remember them

Probably for the best if you ask him

He usually wakes late, but never truly rested unfortunately

That never stoped him from being immediately efficient and fully awake tho

He knows he has a reputation of being sharp and closed off, but he's a really good listener

He's the kind of person curse the world with you when you vent until you're in the right headspace to find a solution

He kind of encourages the others in their dumbest ideas just to see what'll happen

(not the too dangerous ones, of course)

But he's curious, and after all the adventures he's been through, he believes that if he survived all of this, surely Wild will survive trying to cook a bomb flower

He did, but Twilight almost died of stress

He's the one who helps Warrior with refilling their inventory when they're low on supplies

He's a great negotiator and can get them twice the supplies for the same price

He's sometimes even charming enough to get them all a free meal

It's his favorite skill

He doesn't mind blood but will not look at broken limbs

Not his own, not other's

He tries to keep his cool around the others to not make them panic, but he really hates broken bones

If one of them is hurt, he'll try to distract them and make sure they have water and enough heat

He'll also keep them in place if they move around too much for Hyrule or Warrior to work on them

He's not gentle, but he's still reassuring somehow

#linked universe #linked universe headcanons #lu headcanons #lu writing #lu four #lu hyrule #lu legend #i hope its good #im gonna write the rest of them now wish me luck lol

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cilil · 5 months ago

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Hi! You’re really kind!

Sorry I forgot to say which character! Could you please do them for Caranthir?

(Thank you for the advise!!)

You got it! Thanks for clarifying🖤

♥ - family headcanon

Caranthir finds himself in the unfortunate position of being the fourth of seven - the ultimate middle child. This is made worse by the fact that he's constantly overshadowed by his older brothers as well as Curufin; even his names - Caranthir/Carnistir meaning red-face and Morifinwë meaning dark Finwë in reference to his hair color - are more reflective of physical attributes inherited from other family members than any distinguishing talents or features of his own.

His parents do love him; Caranthir sometimes forgets that fact whenever he feels overlooked, but he was in fact unable to get and retain as much attention as he would have liked.

His unhappiness with his position in the family is further exacerbated by his brothers forming special bonds with one another, most notably of course the twins, but also Maedhros with Maglor and Celegorm with Curufin, making him feel left out and not as close to them as he would like.

Caranthir loves his family very much, yet due to his discontent with aspects of his dynamics with family members and a perceived lack of affection and importance he has a tendency to be bitter, closed off and keep to himself. Still, they know they can count on him, they may just have to endure a few snarky comments.

▼ - childhood headcanon

Caranthir screamed a lot as a baby and continued to do so well into later stages of childhood. It's part of the reason why Nerdanel named him Carnistir. She and Fëanor would often joke about Caranthir becoming such a fierce little character and how he would surely share his father's temper.

As well-meaning as such comments from various family members were, the true reason why Caranthir continued to be prone to screaming and having anger issues is that he felt like that was the one way he could get attention when he needed it. He may have also struggled with OCD and/or ODD.

Whenever little Caranthir was crying and refusing to calm down, he would be handed from one family member to another until he arrived at whoever it was that he wanted to see, which would finally result in blessed silence.

★ - sad headcanon

Tying into the previously outlined family and childhood headcanons, Caranthir is someone who seems confident, capable and no-nonsense on the outside, but is very insecure on the inside. He's still prone to reacting to things going wrong with anger and while he has it under control most of the time, he could use some emotional support.

What is most harmful to Caranthir's relationships, however, is that he takes anything that could possibly be perceived as rejection very seriously and always assumes that he isn't people's first choice. His favorite cousin Turgon hangs out with Finrod? Surely he must like Finrod more. His brothers spend more time with each other? They definitely love him less. His parents go on to focus on his younger brothers when they are born? It's because he wasn't good enough. Haleth declines his offer? It has to be because she doesn't like him.

In order for Caranthir's outlook on life and relationships to improve, he has to separate himself from everything for a while and find his own little world to feel secure in, which he may be doing right now in Mandos.

☾ - sleep headcanon

When Caranthir sleeps, he sleeps. You don't want to disturb him. Conveniently for those around him, he's usually an early bird and therefore less likely to be woken up by someone, either accidentally or intentionally, which would result in a very grumpy Caranthir all day long.

Sometimes Caranthir can be heard mumbling in his sleep, doing equations and writing to do lists. There have been instances of him remembering what he came up with in his dreams and writing it down after waking up.

✿ - sex headcanon

Caranthir is the ultimate tsundere bottom who desperately wants to be topped, but will also be damned if he doesn't make it unreasonably hard for any top to get to that point. Due to being closed off and overall stiff (pun intended), he has also has trouble communicating his wants and needs, so the ideal partner for him is a dominant top who isn't impressed by his nonsense and moodiness and is also attentive to any signs and clues he gives.

Contrary to popular belief among his peers, he requires a lot of aftercare and reassurance from his partner. Nothing makes him happier than getting railed and afterwards praised for being such a good little whore and his lover's bestest and most favorite.

Caranthir continues the proud family tradition of enjoying being pegged by strong women.

#headcanon meme #asks #cílil answers #caranthir #headcanons

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ilovetheriddler · 5 months ago

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Broken Promises.

(The Evil Within) Joseph Oda x F!Reader.

Word count: 1,051.

Contents: Angst. Uncertainty. Loss, Mourning.

You were sat down on the couch in your and Joseph's shared apartment. You had been dating for five years and had just gotten married to each other last year. You stared out the window, you felt anxious and you weren't quite sure why, it was as if you knew something bad was going to happen but weren't sure what it would be. Your phone rings, and you felt more at ease once you saw that it was your beloved Joseph. You answered it and were greeted by his calming voice.

"Hello dear, I just wanted to give you a heads up that I'll probably be really late getting home tonight, so you should just go ahead and eat dinner without me."

"Oh, alright? You haven't had to stay at the precinct incredibly late in a while. What's going on this time?"

You shifted slightly from your nerves. You always worried about Joseph whenever he had to work late, or just whenever he was at work in general, to be honest. Anything could happen, anything could go wrong, and the very thought of losing him suddenly terrified you more than anything else.

"Apparently, there's been some sort of incident at Beacon Mental Hospital. So far, from what we've heard, it sounds like some type of massacre went down there. We haven't heard back from the ones who responded to it, so we're being sent over to check it out."

"A Massacre? That's horrible...."

"I know, but yeah, like I said, just go ahead and eat without me because I imagine that there's going to be a nightmarish amount of reports we'll have to file for something as big as this."

You stood up and walked into the kitchen, grabbing some stuff from the fridge to start making dinner as you were on the phone with him. You got out some slices of cheese and a box of macaroni noodles. You figured that you should probably just make something really simple tonight since Joseph would most likely just eat at the precinct.

"Alright, well.... thank you for letting me know, I love you, and um... please be safe out there...."

"Of course, dear. I promise to be careful and I love you too, I'll see you later tonight, bye..."

After he hung up, you began making dinner for yourself. Joseph would sometimes have to work late to finish up reports, but he hasn't had to for quite a while now, so the fact that you'd be eating alone tonight after growing so used to going over each others day while at the table, was difficult for you. But you supposed that you could always just tell Joseph about your day whenever you woke up in the morning.

That was one good thing, though. He would be off of work tomorrow, You could spend the early morning hours cuddled up with him and then talk while eating breakfast. He'd always make pancakes for the two of you on his days off. It was truly sweet and never failed to bring a smile to your face.

You sat down at the table and enjoyed your meal, well, as much as you could while you worried about Joseph. You hoped that he at least would remember to eat something while working on the reports. He sometimes gets so lost in his own thoughts and focus that it worries you. Your nerves calmed down some, though, as you remembered that Sebastian wouldn't let him skip a meal if they're working that late.

You finished up eating and washed the dishes before putting away the leftovers for tomorrow night. You toke a quick shower before hoping into bed. At least when you woke up, he'd be back home next to you. It made you smile to think of how the next morning would go, you'd wake up to see his usually perfectly kept hair a mess from sleep, his voice would be a bit groggy as he'd mumble out a quick "morning" before kissing you. Those thoughts of tomorrow helped you fall asleep.

However, you were incredibly confused when you woke up in the morning. The other side of the bed still remained empty. At first, you assumed that he had gotten home, went to sleep, and already woken up. But you became more worried as you crawled out of bed and looked around the apartment for him. He wasn't here, why wasn't he here?

You checked your phone and felt your heart rate skyrocket once you saw how many missed calls you had. Not from Joseph, but from Sebastian. You started to feel uneasy. Something was wrong, horribly wrong, and you didn't exactly know what. You quickly got dressed and made your way down to the precinct. You felt even more nervous once you spotted Sebastian. He looked horrible, and his face paled the moment he noticed you walking over to him.

"Sebastian, where's my husband?"

"....God, it... was nightmarish... Like a scene, right from hell...."

"What was?! What are you talking about? Where is Joseph?!"

He looked down for a moment, unable to meet your eyes. He felt guilty for what he was about to have to tell you. He had to deliver news like this a few times before to people, but he never thought he'd have to deliver that news about his closest friend. He reluctantly met your gaze.

"I-it's my fault.... maybe if I had done something differently, then this wouldn't have happened..."

"Sebastian.... what are you trying to tell me...?"

".....He's dead.... I'm so sorry for your loss... truly..."

It took you a few seconds to fully process what he just told you. You sank down to your knees once you realized what he had just said. Joseph was dead. Your beloved husband, your best friend, the person you held dearest... was dead. Your wailing and heartbroken sobs echoed in your ears. Sebastian kneeled down to attempt to comfort you the best he could.

"I'm sorry... I'm so damn sorry.... this shouldn't have happened... damn it!"

You were both devastated and borderline inconsolable. You had just lost the love of your life, and Sebastian had lost his closest friend and partner on the force. It wasn't fair. He had promised you that he'd be careful and safe. He had promised you.....

#the evil within #joseph oda #joseph oda x reader #x reader #fanfic

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whumpshaped · 1 year ago

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what’s the day-to-day life like with helle and beck after beck gets turned?

"Um, let's see..." Beck thinks on it a bit before he starts listing the activities, counting on his fingers. "I usually wake up around 8-9 pm, which must be late by vampire standards, because Helle is always awake by then. I always wake up hungry, way more hungry than I ever have as a human, I think, so then I wait for Helle to go hunting. Since, y'know, I can't really... hunt for myself."

"I can't really focus on anything else before I eat, honestly. As soon as Helle gets back, I... I politely ask whether I'm allowed to feed on the human they brought back." He stops, debating whether he should go into more detail about the politeness, but decides against it. "They, um... rarely ever let me have as much blood as I want. I'm not sure if it's because... because I want too much? Or they just like seeing me desperate. They say I have to learn restraint..."

"After that, they send the human back home, and we just... I don't know. Pass the time. Watch movies, take a walk out in the yard... I stargaze a lot... Helle reads a surprising amount of books when they're not... set on making undeath difficult for me. They get super into it too, it's a little like when they watch an actual movie. It's kind of, um... endearing."

"What else, uh... I clean a lot. The mansion is so big, there's always something to do, and especially in the early weeks it was so chaotic. Some areas I'm not allowed into, and I can't imagine what sort of mess those doors are hiding."

"Sometimes Helle takes me out to the city. Whenever I whine too much about missing it, usually... But then when we're there, I kind of always regret it. It's so scary now that I'm a vampire. It's somehow scarier than when I was human. At least then I had all these other humans around me, and I could delude myself into thinking I won't be the one the vampires get. Now I'm almost on my own, surrounded by hundreds of people who probably want me deader than I already am."

"I kind of prefer staying inside. It gets a little lonely whenever Helle is out, though. It's strange, I used to love being alone... I don't know. When the sun comes up in the morning, we obviously stay inside with the curtains drawn. I always thought vampires would go to sleep immediately as the sun rose, but, well... That'd leave them barely half a day to be awake, huh? I realise that now... We go to sleep closer to noon, sometimes even later. And that's basically it! Sorry, you probably weren't looking for something so detailed."

#asks #at my beck and call #beckett #asks for beckett

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aramynx · 7 days ago

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𝑀𝐻𝒜 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

𝐼𝓏𝓊𝓀𝓊 𝑀𝒾𝒹𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓎𝒶

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

ꕥ baby, my love, sweetie

ꕥ remembers everything- and i mean everything you’ve ever said to him

ꕥ he can quote word for word what you said to him on your first date actually

ꕥ he remembers off the top of his head what you like- which snacks are your favourite, which flavour and brand of ice cream you like, where you are in the show you’ve been watching recently

ꕥ he still gets nervous and giddy around you even after you’ve been together for a while- surprise kisses turn him into a flustered mess when he really isn’t expecting them

ꕥ “oh! hi sweetie, i didn’t see you there- what’s all this for?”

ꕥ loves to ramble about things to you but he does worry that it bores you or freaks you out sometimes so he tries not to carry on for too long

ꕥ when you tell him you love his rambles he just about explodes- he falls in love with you all over again

ꕥ chronically late coming home- whether it’s because he was stopped by a fan, or he needed to go grab some stuff from a store, or if he saw a new limited edition all might figurine…

ꕥ you’re so used to it that you always expect him to get back 30 minutes later than he actually should

ꕥ even though it’s become a routine, he still apologises for coming home late

ꕥ “hey baby! I’m so sorry i’m late home again- they just released a new Kamino All Might figurine!”

ꕥ speaking of figurines, he has a room dedicated to them- and he keeps them in pristine condition

ꕥ he does get nervous about you-or anyone- going in there, but he trusts that you’d never hurt his All Might collection- it’s important to him!

ꕥ you can not sleep around this man- he makes a lot of noise even when he’s trying to be quiet.

ꕥ he’ll sit in bed with an open notebook, scribbling away as he plans things out or puts new information into his hero book

ꕥ “so, if we do… in the morning and then wait… group d arrives in the afternoon, that gives us about 4 hours of rest time between missions… not enough backup… then when the sun starts setting we’re going to head towards… and everyone can take shifts… not secure enough… maybe more to the west… what would all might say? … oh… yeah i see it now… i know what we need…”

ꕥ sometimes he stays up into the early hours of the morning just muttering and writing while you sleep beside him

ꕥ he feels really bad if he wakes you up

ꕥ “oh! i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you, sweetie… i get it, sorry for being so loud- i’ll come to sleep now too okay?”

ꕥ he likes to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into him to cuddle- he’s still pretty short so he snuggles his face into the warmth of your back

ꕥ over-plans for dates, tries to cram too many things into your dates on his days off and you never end up doing half of them

ꕥ you appreciate the sentiment though!

ꕥ he gives you a lot of flowers- he’ll buy you new ones whenever he sees any in the store, usually accompanied by a note to remind you how much he loves you

ꕥ He was so nervous to bring you home when you started your relationship- more than you were. He just didn’t really know what to expect

ꕥ Inko loved you immediately! She says you’re an amazing person for Izuku and that you compliment each other well.

ꕥ You regularly go to her apartment for dinner- usually every Tuesday night, it’s something you all look forward to doing!

ꕥ Izuku loves that you get along with his mother, it makes him so happy that she loves you as much as he does.

ꕥ you swear he has a different picture of the two of you as his wallpaper every time you look at his phone

ꕥ he likes to have lots of photos of you- he makes sure to take at least one per date!

#bnha #mha x reader #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #mha headcanons

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candycryptids · 5 months ago

Note

What is Chuu's evening routine?

Ok ok so I kinda answered that [here] but I can give you her Morning Routine >:3

Which is getting up alarmingly early (4-5 am)- her sleeps tend to be naps more often than not. 3-4 hour sleeps at whenever-she’s-tired (usually somewhere around midnight, noon, and sometimes a couple sneaky less than thirty minute power naps in between, when she needs to force reset her thoughts. She’ll stay up days at a time to finish something in a rush at times, though, and after crashing from one of THOSE, she’ll be out like a light for at least 16 hours straight and then wake up feeling jetlagged for the next two days. It does not seem to stop her from doing it again.)

But if it’s morning she WILL lay in bed for an hour enjoying the Comfy Cozy and Wife-Time (when she’s home) before Talia gets up for HER daily routines (which… I think would involve hygiene, protein heavy breakfast, and then training and gear maintenance… but I’d have to ask 🫢)

So it’s breakfast (made by someone else, but if left to her own devices it’s Black Coffee 3 sugars.), and then fiddly maintenance with her Guns, just in case, and Self-maintenance. Like. Clipping her nails back down and hair brushing and washing out her ears. Morning stretches so her back doesn’t gripe later. She was once convinced to join Talia on her morning run, and had to bail partway through and get carried the rest of the way- she’s just not cut out for a five mile run.

Oh, I forgot- she applies lipstick in the mornings after eating breakfast xD it’s the only bit of makeup she actively puts on because she likes it and it keeps her lips from drying. The facemask covers it most of the time but. It’s for Her Enjoyment more than anybody else’s, lmfao.

[Pre-DT ?’s prompt List For Funsies]

#ffxiv Chuu #ask game #I can tell you with certainty one of her guns is the Garo Hand Mortar but I have to look at guns again to find her other one :/ she has two.#I actually mostly like linking back to the prompt so people can reblog it for themselves if they want XD #and also to add some context to the question I guess :thinking:#I’m spinning a ground tiller in Chuu’s brain until she spits out a hobby. girl go touch grass.

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saturnite0614 · 2 years ago

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Prompt idea I had recently while drunk;

Ghost returns from a super undercover/off-grid solo mission and tries to find soap before debriefing, but can't find him and notices everyone acting weird around him. When he is debriefing later with price he learns that Soap died recently on another mission and that no one was able to get in touch with him to tell him sooner

I worry about you if these are the things you think while drunk. Anyway, buckle in cause this is long.

Ghost groans, rubbing a hand across his stiff neck. That would be the last time he slept in a tree for some stupid mission that went nowhere. He's big enough to accept that sometimes, a mission goes nowhere. Shit, it could have gone worse. All he really needs is a long shower and a nap in his bunk. The entire helo ride back to base he's yawning like the kid staying up to catch Santa. It's unprofessional.

But the image of a bed no matter how shitty is too appealing. Much more appealing than taking that nap right here. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep to the sound of whirling blades. The mistake in that had been doing it while Johnny was there.

He could have taken Johnny taking the piss out of him for sleeping on the job. What he couldn't take was the look on his face when Johnny had woken Ghost up after that mission. It had been soft, the corner of his lips curling up. His voice had been low, urging Ghost to wake up because they'd made it back to base. Even the friendly punch to his shoulder had been to sincere for Ghost's taste. His face had warmed uncomfortably under his mask and his throat constricted. All he could manage was a tired flustered grunt in his general direction. Then that Scottish bastard had the nerve to laugh at him.

Soap would be waiting for him back at base. Just like Price and Gaz, obviously. He'd probably be at the debrief. Ghost had to get his yawning under control by then.

And the fucking blushing. His face itches underneath his mask thinking back to Soap's smile and wide eyes, specifically the face he makes whenever he's listening intently. As if everything you were saying was important and he needed to memorize every bit of it. Maybe he did. Ghost had caught him more than once scribbling in a pocket journal, only the size of his hand. With those wide eyes he'd look at Ghost, then drop them quickly back down when Ghost made it known he'd seen him. He'd have to ask him one day what he wrote in that damn thing.

The base is dead when the infernal helicopter finally drops him off. Makes sense. It's late. So deep on the night that if it weren't for the bright lights dotted around the base, Ghost could study the stars. But what he really wants to study is the back of his eyelids. And maybe Soap's tired smile.

His capability for rational professional thinking was beginning to quickly wane. He needed to find Price asap before he made a mistake and actually spoke to Soap.

He stops off long enough to dump his equipment at his bunk before finding his Captain. Strange that he hadn't been there when Ghost got back. Yes, they hadn't been in contact for weeks now, but Ghost had returned exactly on time. He'd met the pilot at the LZ without incident and the weather had been nice. He could just be busy or maybe he'd gone to bed early. The old man was smart like that.

The few soldiers who are awake don't meet his eye as Ghost heads for Price's office. The sooner he finished this debrief, the sooner he could return to the world of not thinking about Soap.

Ghost's heavy knock is met with a grumble from the other side of the door.

A single lamp lights Price's office, casting the tired man in a sickly yellow glow. He's nursing a drink, clutching something in his other hand. His grip is so tight that his knuckles are bright white. He doesn't meet Ghost's eyes.

"Rough day, Captain?"

"Sit down, Simon." His voice is rougher than usual. Quiet.

He does as he's told, sinking into the cheap partical board chair across from Price. The captain slides the drink to him. Half melted ice clinks around inside of the glass, "Drink up."

"Mission wasn't that bad. Boring, sure." Ghost is trying to play oblivious. Pretending not to smell the scotch on Price's breath or the stifling amount of cigar smoke choking the small room or even how bloodshot Price's eyes are. They were both tired. That's what this was. He'd already been through the worst parts of his life.

Price grabs a bottle from under his desk and sips from it, "Right."

He still hasn't looked at Ghost.

But he does finally set down whatever had been buried in his hand. It makes a sickening familiar sound as he slides it to Ghost. His fingers twitch as he questions whether to take the last step.

Ghost only has one question.

Who?

Price must sense this because he releases the dog tags. He jerks his hand back, as if the steel had burned him.

Ghost bites the inside of his cheek, comforted by the fact that Price can't see it. Both options are bad, but not picking up the tags wouldn't make it true.

His arm is shaking. It has to be from the helicopter ride, not anxiety. He's lost people in the line of duty. It happens.

Maybe someday he could convince himself it didn't hurt.

He brushes his thumb across the smooth metal, putting off the act of flipping it around and settling into a reality where yet another person he cared about was gone.

He does it. Maybe just to save Price from having to physically tell him.

John "Soap" MacTavish.

He wasn't John. He was Johnny. Was.

"How?" Ghost growls. He doesn't mean to. Whatever happened, it wasn't Price's fault. But tell that to his heart, tearing itself in two over something he can't even name.

"Don't go there, Simon." Price's voice is more unstable now, wavering under the weight of his crumbling resolve.

"How?" Price's resolve isn't the only thing wavering. Simon's own jaw trembles, wanting to scream at nothing and also wanting to freeze, to bottle every emotion about Soap up. If he could do that, Johnny would still be with him. Still, his eyes well. It would be better if he could stop staring at the damn tags.

"Sniper. He caught him before I did, pushed me out of the way. Died in the CASEVAC."

Simon is thankful for the darkness. It matched the mood. He wants to grab the bottle of scotch and chug it down, use the warmth of the alcohol to chase away the burning in his throat.

"He asked about you," Price continues. Simon's question had opened a well that the captain had wanted to keep closed. Now that it was open, he couldn't stop talking about it, "I'm not sure how there he was. He asked if you knew. Don't know what he means by that... Meant."

He digs around the top drawer of his desk and tosses one more cursed object on the desk. A brown pocket journal with edges curled by use. The edges are stained brown. This had happened long enough ago for the blood to have dried.

"Last page was addressed to you." He doesn't wait for Ghost to respond. Instead he snatches the scotch off the desk and storms out of the room.

That journal is dangerous, more than anything Ghost had ever handled before.

He settles Soap's dog tags on his neck, tucking them into his jacket. They're ice cold against his skin. Simon wasn't wearing his. You didn't for covert operations, in case the enemy got you.

He flips to the last page of the journal. Some of the pages are stuck together with dried blood. With a gentleness he wasn't even aware he was capable of, he peels these apart to see the words written within. He doesn't want to damage a single page. Doing that would hurt the memory of Johnny.

His handwriting is horrible, slanted and scratchy. It's heavy handed, begging to be seen but also unsure. Ghost skims past these, half expecting Soap to burst through the door and demand the stupid thing back. Ghost even looks, waiting for him.

The dog tags burn against his skin to remind him.

The final page is actually a group of pages, prefaced by a page with a single sentence. It reads:

For Simon Riley Only.

Can't believe I'm writing this but it feels right. That's what these things are for. Writing what you feel. You've been gone a few weeks now. Price is probably pissed at how many times I've asked about you. First I thought I was just being friendly. You watched after my ass in Las Almas. Seems only fair I return the favor. Then I started to get annoyed. Couldn't stop thinking about you. Missed seeing you around.

I'm embarrassed writing this like I'm some school boy. Might end this off with a yes or no check box. Knowing you, you'd find that funny. Maybe even add your own option that says fuck off or something endearing like that.

I care about all of you. Price. Gaz. Alejandro. Rudy. But you. You're something else Simon Riley. Feel cheesy as fuck saying this, but I might be in love with you. Only explanation I can come up with for why I like a guy who constantly wears a mask and literally hides in the shadows.

Probably going to leave this here. You're never going to read this. I wouldn't let you. You'd kill me if you found out. And I have to get ready. Price and I are leaving for a quick mission. Should only take a few hours. See you when you get home.

Ghost presses a fist into his eye, rubbing away the tears, begging for a numbness to settle in. Where is the shock? Where is the denial?

I might be in love with you.

So that's what that feeling is called. Doesn't fucking matter now, huh?

Thanks for the prompt anon, hope i did it justice.

#call of duty #fanfic #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #angst

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noisester · 1 year ago

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LITTLE MUSE FACTS.

Instructions: Fill out the questions about your muse, repost, tag as many people as you want.

1) What does your muse smell like?

Depends on the crime activity he's performed. On a non-hectic day he smells like sweets and candy corn, since he carries a few thousands of them to use as projectiles for his slingshot. If not then bomb powder and engine oil whenever he's messing with explosives and machines. Bastard.

2) How often does your muse bathe/shower?

Twice a day. One before work and another one after the daily tomfoolery. Believe it or not, he does care about looking nice and clean in front of an audience (even drinks mouthwash after his smokes so his girlfriend doesn't give him an earful!). So much so that he makes sure to use the highest quality skin care products available in the market™ (I haven't known peace ever since you sent me this, Kirm).

3) Does your muse have any tattoos or piercings?

Nuh uh! Though he does magically get a tattoo on his right arm during funny moments, say when he's wielding a rocket launcher (check rocket HUD). In true cartoon fashion it disappears in the next shot.

4) Any body movement quirks?(EX: tapping heel, shaking knee)”

When does this creature stay still. Tell me, when. Other than when it's funny. Drumming his fingers, tapping his foot when irritated/impatient and jumping in place when he's livid are amongst the HUGE list of gestures he does. He also has a bunch of fidget toys lying on his desk at all times to keep his hands busy.

5) What do they sleep in?

Gotta be those cartoony PJs you see on TV, with the night cap/mask and eye cover to top it all off (would he have slippers with his face on it? Rats, maybe? I don't know. I'll have to figure that out later).

6) What’s their favorite piece of clothing?

His hat and his cape, of course! They're the signature Noise™ combo you almost never see him without. His cape especially is handy for gliding and parrying... somehow.

7) What do they do when they wake up?

Obnoxiously loud alarm that only does its job when it's comedic because *checks name* yeah. Wake up. Big annoying stretch and yawn. Take a shower. Get a warm drink with treats or a stupidly large bowl of 99% sugar cereals that somehow exists in his place, then head off to work with whatever means of transport you're in the mood for (usually his skateboard). It's essentially your basic routine with the Noise twist added to it, and although he often leaves before the missus for his early morning broadcasts, he does make sure to do small checkups on her beforehand.

8) How do they sleep? Position?

I need you, the reader, to listen to me. Okay. It’s important that you listen to me. I am speaking directly in your ear right now. Okay. Listen. Do not invite him to a sleepover. Ever. Maybe in certain nights/once in a blue moon he's oddly still and quiet but? I cannot stress how loud his snoring can get when he finally drifts off, let alone all the turning and idiotic positions he does. Sometimes it gets so bad he finds himself upside down in bed or even face-down on the floor. Good lord.

9) What do their hands feel like?

Surprisingly soft! At least not entirely considering the myriads of schemes they're involved in, but also not so rough that they're completely worn down, either. To no one's surprise his grubby hands often steer trouble in a multitude of ways, yet through the sheer power of cartoon physics he can just. Look bruised and battered on cue, then completely fine in a few minutes.

Tagged by: @thetravelershub! Tagging: I DON'T KNOW I'M PRETTY SURE REINA TAGGED THE WHOLE WORLD

#◜ 🍰 . dash games ◞#◜ 🍰 . headcanons ◞#// I've yet to recover from that Noid Gift Set fuck you Kirm /lh

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osarina · 8 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 COMING DOWN

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: something is up. you know it. dazai is being far too romantic and you're absolutely not buying the excuses he keeps giving you. it's whatever, you think, you'll enjoy the fancy dinner and fancier hotel, even with the imminent threat of the looming bomb about to drop. {wordcount: 13.4k; fem!reader, romance}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: here is part 4!!! i can't believe we're already so close to the end of this one, i'm so excited for side b you guys have no idea, i'm almost done writing part 4 of side b and then part 5 is going to be a beast in itself, PUN INTENDED. i'm going to be posting a poll a bit later on that i'll need your guys' opinion on concerning part 4 of side b, so please keep an eye out for that!

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: i was conflicted as to how to go about this because as per tags on masterlist, there was always going to be smut in this series. i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 13.4k chapter just because there's like 2-3k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the FOURTH scene. there is very little, if any, plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! i'll summarize the little plot development in the smut at the end of the chapter for you guys.

SMUT WARNINGS: mostly vanilla-ish, fingering, dazai has a dirtyyy mouth, a bit of edging, mentions of f!masturbation, pussy drunk!dazai - he's a bit pathetic HAHAH, unprotected sex. i think that's all, if i'm missing anything please let me know!

SEE: BADLANDS SERIES MASTERLIST READ: UNREAL UNEARTH SIDE B

You’re a bit alarmed when you wake up and realize that Dazai is nowhere to be found. Usually, you wake up to the warmth of his arm draped over your body, his tall and lithe form curled around you and his face buried in your hair. It’s a process trying to get out of bed, because even in his sleep he clings to you tighter whenever you try to free yourself, and he always lets out muffled noises of complaint and displeasure at the slightest disruption to his sleep.

Normally, the man wakes up hours after you—and even then, you still have to drag him out of bed so he’s not abysmally late to work—so this is… strange to say the least. He’s gotten better the past few weeks, sometimes he wakes up early to join you at the beach to watch the sunrise and usually it’s a bit easier to get him out of bed even when he wants to sleep in, but he never wakes up before you unless he just doesn’t sleep, but you know that he slept last night because he fell asleep while you were finishing up some emails to prospective employers for your summer job.

You’re suspicious when you slip out of bed and stretch, curious to figure out what he’s doing—you wonder if he had to get up early to get to the Agency for a mission, but you’re pretty sure Dazai would rather face a raging Kunikida and death by fire than wake up before dawn for work. Still dressed in your night clothes, you make your way out of your bedroom and into the main room of your apartment.

He’s standing there in your kitchen, brows furrowed and already dressed in black slacks and a button up and tie—not his typical attire, you can’t help but note, and your suspicion grows. He looks handsome though, and you would spend a few moments just admiring him but you don’t like the way he’s staring at your stove so you decide to speak up before he can do something destructive.

“Dazai,” you call his name, still half-asleep, watching as his eyes shoot open as he turns to face you. “What’re you doing up so early?”

Dazai doesn’t even respond. Instead, he snatches something from the counter and makes his way over to you—you draw back a bit, confused and increasingly more alarmed but too out of it to effectively dodge his rapid approach, and you part your lips to ask him what the hell he’s doing and why he’s acting so weird but he only takes the opportunity to shove an unwrapped protein bar into your mouth. You choke a bit in surprise, trying to chew on the bar, but you’re reeling as he presses his hands to your back and pushes you back into the bedroom.

You’re barely registering what’s happening as you finally take a bite of the protein bar and remove it from your mouth—watching as he strips you of your pajama top and shorts in abject horror. You want to ask him what the fuck he’s doing but you’re still trying to chew through the thick bar, almost gagging on it.

You watch, standing there in your panties, braless and topless—you want to complain because you’re cold but you’re more occupied with watching Dazai Osamu, a man clearly on some sort of mission as he snatches the dress hanging on your closet door. You’re certain that you hadn’t left it there, in fact you don’t even remember picking it up from the dry-cleaners, so he must’ve picked it up on his way home from work yesterday and you just didn’t notice when you were focused on finishing up your emails.

“Up,” he says, motioning for you to raise your arms and you just stare at him in disbelief, absently raising your arms.

Without hesitation, he slides the dress over your body, adjusting it so that it’s laying against you nicely—and then he shifts to stand behind you, zipping it up. Usually, he would linger for a bit, press a few kisses to the crook of your neck and wrap his arms around your waist, but this time he zips it up and darts back off to your closet, where he’s evidently also laid out a pair of heels for you.

He snatches them up and kneels in front of you, grabbing your ankle to lift your leg and slip your heel on—he fastens the buckle, and this time he does linger a bit, dipping his head down to press a chaste kiss against your ankle before shuffling over a bit to do the same for your other foot.

“Dazai, what is going on?” you ask, voice riddled with disbelief and confusion as you stare at him, taking another bite of the protein bar he’d given to you.

“I’m taking you somewhere,” he says, as if that isn’t obvious enough.

“You’re dressing me.”

“You’re taking too long.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance,” you protest, scowling down at Dazai, but he only looks up at you.

He props his chin on your abdomen as he looks up at you, a soft expression on his face.

“Sweet bella,” he sighs dreamily, “not even the millions of stars in the sky can compare to how brilliantly you shine. The most beautiful being I’ve ever had the fortune of laying my eyes upon. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You roll your eyes—no matter how often Dazai gets all poetic and theatrical, it never fails to fluster you, but you know he’s only trying to dodge your interrogation this time. You tug a lock of his hair and he hums softly, turning his head to kiss your palm before leaning into your touch.

“I need to do my hair and makeup,” you tell him. “Where are we even going?”

Dazai leaps to his feet instantly. “Nope!” he says loudly, and your expression twists in irritation, watching as he bounds over to your desk, grabbing… your make-up bag? “Do your makeup and hair when I get to the office, I have to stop there for a few minutes before we leave. I put everything together for you.”

“Where are we going?” you repeat as you try to reach for your makeup bag but Dazai holds it above his head so that you can’t get to it. You squint and you have half a mind to jump up on him to try to pull his arm down but from the way his eyes are glittering, you have a feeling that he wants and expects exactly that.

So instead, you let out a pointed sigh and turn your head away. Dazai pouts, but you figure either way it was a losing decision for you because his pout disappears in an instant as he grabs your hand and drags you out of the bedroom.

You’re all but stumbling after him, trying to keep up with him in the dark heels he’d dressed you in, and Dazai is merciless, not slowing down for even a second until he skids to a stop at your door, grabbing the keys to your car that you left hanging next to your jacket.

He turns to you, giving you an expression that’s more fitting of a wet dog than a human being, not wanting to give up the keys. You close your eyes and sigh.

“Answer my question,” you finally say.

“I can’t,” Dazai complains, “it’s a surprise.”

“Dazai,” you warn, voice low.

“It’s a surprise,” Dazai repeats instead, frowning slightly as he looks down at you, and you can see the earnestness in his eyes as he looks down at you, lacing your fingers together as he squeezes your hand gently, as if begging you to not make him ruin it.

Again, you sigh.

“Do not get into another accident, Dazai.”

His face lights up.

You regret everything.

“Dazai, I thought you were-”

“Shhhhhh!”

You’re a bit amused as Yosano Akiko holds up her hands in mock surrender from where she’s lounging at one of the booths in the cafe beneath the Agency. Dazai looks thoroughly distressed, waving his own hands and panicking at Yosano almost giving up his top secret plans.

“I’ll be back down in a few minutes,” he says to you before turning to squint at Yosano. “Don’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” Yosano promises, holding her hand to chest as if to convey her honor.

Dazai’s eyes narrow a bit more, as if he doesn’t trust her, but then he glances at the clock and flees up the steps to the Agency without another word.

As soon as you hear the door slam upstairs, signaling that Dazai entered the Agency, you make your way over to where the other woman is sitting, propping up your phone against the wall to use as a mirror before unzipping your makeup bag. Impressively, Dazai managed to make sure he got all of your everyday makeup and even the ones you keep to the side for special occasions, you hum a bit in appreciation before getting started.

“Can you give me a hint?” you ask, eyes flickering up to Yosano, who’s studying you with a fond expression as you start shifting through your makeup bag, looking for a particular concealer.

Yosano’s lips curve up into a smile. “He’s actually been working the past two weeks to make sure Kunikida can’t complain about him taking time off for this—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so excited for something.”

Your chest feels a bit warm, a smile itching at the corner of your lips as you pause from where you’re applying your makeup. “Yeah?” you ask, eyes lingering on her for a bit longer before you go back to looking back down at your phone to continue doing your makeup.

Yosano lets out a quiet noise of agreement. “Honestly,” she says quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy in general as he’s been the past two months, so thank you. I’m glad he has you.”

You falter a bit, glancing up at Yosano as you recall Atsushi’s words from back when Dazai got shot: “I’m really glad that Dazai-san has you. He’s been a lot happier the past few weeks.”

“You think so?” you ask softly, twirling your mascara wand in hand as you look down at the table.

You wonder what exactly Dazai was like if now two of his coworkers are mentioning how much better he’s been since meeting you. You have your own suspicions, just from knowing how the two of you met (twice) on top of his flippant attitude regarding suicide, but that’s all you have: suspicions.

“Know so,” Yosano corrects absently, taking a sip of her coffee mug—although you can’t help but notice that it doesn’t look like coffee in there. She sighs, tilting her head back against the booth. “He’s good. He doesn’t believe it himself—probably never will—but he is. He deserves this… I doubt he’ll ever believe that either though. Be good to him.”

“You guys are all really close, aren’t you?” you note, half to yourself.

“Like family,” Yosano confirms with a grin and then pauses before saying, “... we are family.”

You smile a bit wistfully. “I’m almost jealous,” you admit, “but it makes me happy to hear that he has you guys. Sometimes he just seems so…”

Lonely, you finish quietly.

On nights where he can’t sleep and you happen to wake up, you sometimes find him staring out the window just like you did that first night you met. He always looks lost and alone—he tries to hide it when he notices that you’re up too, masking it with a smile that never reaches his eyes. You think his mind haunts him a lot more than he lets on—well, you know it does, you remember how you met him and you remember his chilling, offhand comments, but you think it haunts him even more than that, to the point that no matter how many people care for him, it’ll never allow him to see it.

“Yeah,” Yosano agrees quietly, you don’t have to finish what you’re trying to say for her to know what you’re getting at. She lightens up after a moment though. “Make him bring you around more, you’ll be part of our ragtag little family in no time.”

You smile brightly. “I think Dazai would have a heart attack—did you see him at the event last month?”

Yosano’s smile is sharp and dangerous. “That’s the point.”

Laughing loudly, you nearly mess up your mascara, and as you open your lips to respond, you pause when you catch sight of a familiar, suspicious face poking around the corner of the doorframe leading up to the Agency. As soon as you catch sight of him, he tries to disappear and pretend that he isn’t there.

Your eyes narrow. “I saw you, Dazai,” you say loudly and Yosano whirls around to look over the booth just as Dazai reluctantly steps out into view.

“Dazai, you damn creep, were you eavesdropping?” Yosano accuses, throwing a stray teaspoon in his direction.

“Yosano-sensei,” Dazai complains, “can you blame me? I see my two favorite women laughing, of course I’m going to be curious.”

You snort as you finish up with applying your lipgloss—the strawberry one that Dazai loves so much that you’ve caught him trying lick the wand when you’re not looking. Rising to your feet, you put your makeup bag back together before looking back over at Dazai, who finally made his way over to the table.

There’s a soft, adoring look in his eyes as he looks down at you; you think that it’s a bit unwarranted because you’re pretty sure your makeup must look terrible from how quickly and half-assed you'd done it, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Dazai was looking at someone glammed up for the red carpet.

It almost makes you feel a bit flustered.

“You look beautiful,” he says quietly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I haven’t even had a chance to brush my hair yet,” you counter, looking up at him through your lashes with a half-smile.

“And you’re beautiful still,” he teases softly, leaning down to press his lips to yours in a chaste, deceptively innocent kiss.

“God, you two are gross, get a room,” Yosano grumbles, throwing a packet of sugar at the side of Dazai’s head.

Dazai tosses Yosano a wink. “Oh, we will,” he leers and Yosano dramatically gags.

You smile lightly, but then your mind starts to drift because you’ve been with Dazai for two months now and the two of you have hardly gotten further than heavy petting and kissing. Not for a lack of trying, and it’s kind of become a borderline taboo subject between the two of you, because he always stops it before it can get too far. You don’t know why, and you’re afraid to ask because you’re beginning to get anxious that there’s something wrong with you because why else would he constantly pull away whenever things start to heat up between the two of you? You know damn well the man isn’t a saint from what you’ve heard from his coworkers and how grateful they were that you reigned in his “womanizing” tendencies, so why are you different? It’s been two months, why won’t he touch you?

Your thoughts start to spiral, as they always do when you think too hard on the topic. You can feel him give you a concerned look but you only turn to Yosano, bidding her goodbye as Dazai leads you out of the cafe and the woman raises her arm in a lazy wave in response. Once you guys are out the door, you turn to Dazai before he can interrogate you on what’s wrong.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, nudging your shoulder into Dazai’s side as the two of you make your way back to your car. Dazai slings an arm around you, pulling you into his side and dipping his head down to kiss the top of your head.

You feel his lips curl up into a dangerous smile against your hair. “The train station.”

You turn your head to look up at him as soon as the words register, eyes a bit wide. “The train station? Where are we taking a train to?”

“Mhm,” he agrees, not fully answering your question, eyes glimmering as his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer into him. “We’re spending a night away from here.”

“I didn’t pack anything,” you say, a bit panicked. “Daz-”

“I packed a change of clothes and pajamas,” Dazai grins. “Relax, I’ve got you, bella. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you,” you scoff immediately, noting the way his grip around you falters a bit as soon as the words leave your mouth. “But I also know you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dazai laments. “You hate me.”

You roll your eyes. “I definitely don’t hate you, Dazai,” you murmur, resting the side of your head against his bicep for a moment—three words threaten to burst from your lips, you swallow them.

As if Dazai can sense the sudden change in mood, he leans down to kiss the top of your head again—this time softer, and he lingers longer. As he does so, he reaches to swing open the passenger door to your car.

“Shall we?”

Kyoto.

He brought you to Kyoto. You’ve never actually been despite having wanted to visit for years, too busy with college and then preparing for graduate school. Dazai has spent the entire day bringing you from place to place, letting you play the gawking tourist as he drags you everywhere from the botanical garden to the shrines and temples places throughout the city. He’s spent the entire day embarrassing you, one way or another, by announcing in public that his ‘darling wife is pregnant!’ so that you’re flooded with older women cooing over you and making loud and poetic proclamations of love and distress in Nishiki Market, pretending to be a scorned lover bemoaning the cruelty of the woman he loves.

You can’t even find it in yourself to be angry about it, because you remember Yosano’s words about how excited he’s been and you can see the way his eyes shine brightly whenever he sees the dread rise to your face as soon as you realize he’s about to do something shameful.

Now, the two of you are sitting in a rooftop restaurant of a luxury resort that you know damn well neither of you can afford, and you’re not even sure how Dazai had managed to book a reservation at it—you’re not even sure if he had booked a reservation at it. The whole situation is honestly a bit weird. The hostess seemed to have recognized Dazai’s name as soon as he gave it to her, rushing to seat him at the best table in the restaurant, and once you’d been seated, the owner had come over to greet Dazai.

You wonder if Dazai secretly comes from old money, generational wealth—you think if he does, you might kill him, because you can’t even count the number of times you’ve had to spot the asshole for coffees and snacks. If he was sitting on piles of money the whole time? You swear that you’ll rip into him.

You tried to ask him about it already, but he waved off the question with a non-answer and a charming smile that doesn't quite work on you anymore. When you tried to press, you got the same dismissal, so with much restraint you finally let it rest so you could enjoy your dinner.

“Are you going to tell me what the occasion is now?” you finally ask, taking a sip of the after-dinner martini you’d ordered as you watch Dazai carefully.

“We’re celebrating,” Dazai grins, reaching across the table to take your hand into his; he brings yours to his lips, kissing your knuckles before laying both of your hands over the table.

“Celebrating what, exactly?” you tease, tilting your head to the side as your fingers lace through his—he’s gotten a lot more touchy the past few days, you’ve noticed

“You finished your finals, obviously,” Dazai says, as if it were obvious, “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out yourself.”

Your fingers tighten around his hand as you let out a puff of laughter. “Really?” you ask a bit doubtfully. “All of this because I finished finals?”

“My sweet belladonna thinks I’m a liar,” Dazai complains, head falling back dramatically. “You’ve been so stressed the past few weeks, I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Although you can’t help but notice that his fingers tense against yours, as if he’s not telling the full truth, you decide to leave it and press later, instead smiling softly and squeezing his hand.

“Oh yeah? You could’ve just brought me out to dinner back home, spend the night at some cheap hotel that we can actually afford,” you snort, looking around again at the extravagant rooftop restaurant the two of you are eating at. With the dim, romantic lighting and luxurious furnishing, you think this might be the fanciest place you’ve ever been. “... How are we going to afford this, Dazai?”

“When are you going to start calling me Osamu?” Dazai pouts as if to try to avoid the question.

You ignore the way warmth bubbles at your chest, instead correcting, “How are we going to afford this, Osamu?”

His name tastes frighteningly familiar on your tongue—as if you’ve said it a million times before—and you can see from the way that his eyelashes flutter it seems to have affected him just as much as you.

“You won’t tell me what you and Yosano were laughing about, so obviously I’m not gonna tell you about this,” Dazai teases, thumb circling the back of your hand. You roll your eyes, so he continues with, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, that’s for me to handle”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you drawl with a side smile. “Unless you’ve been hiding some secret wealth from me—which if you have, we’re going to have serious problems, I’ve paid for you too many times for that—we’re going to be washing dishes at this place for the rest of our lives.”

“You have no faith.” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out even further. “You said you trust me.”

“I do trust you,” you say and you can see from the way he squints that he knows there’s about to be a ‘but’, “but-”

“Dazai-sama.” The waiter that has been diligently tending to the two of you bows deeply to Dazai—you give Dazai a pointed look, as if saying, see!, but he only winks at you. “Is there anything else that you and your fiancée need? Or shall I get the two of you the bill?”

Fiancée, you think to yourself a bit surprised, shooting Dazai another sharp look, noting how his cheeks flushed a bit after hearing how the waiter addressed you.

“Charge it onto the usual card,” Dazai tells the waiter, who nods and bows again before rushing off.

You stare at Dazai as soon as the man leaves. “Dazai Osamu, who are you?” you ask, a bit jokingly, a bit not jokingly because he really has thrown you for a complete 180 with this whole extravagant date.

His smile falters, as if you asked a question that he doesn’t want to answer, but you think he was stupid to bring you on this date if he didn’t want you asking questions about it. You wish that you had some idea of what the answer might be but you don’t, and it worries you a bit, because there’s clearly something he’s hiding from you and he’s anxious about how you’re going to take it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says quietly, holding his arm out to you.

You sigh a bit as you rise to your feet after finishing your drink, looping your arm into his. He tugs you a bit closer, and you watch, hawk-eyed, as the waiters of the restaurant nod their head in respect to Dazai and the owner himself bids him a brief goodbye and a ‘it was good seeing you again, Dazai-sama’ before the two of you reach the elevator leading back down into the hotel.

As soon as you’re within the closed doors, Dazai turns to you, bringing his hand up to brush his knuckles against your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, looking up at him, eyes wide and a bit imploring, asking him to explain without verbally voicing the words.

He sighs. “I came here a lot for my previous job, before I joined the Agency,” he explains quietly. “We brought… associates here a lot for business.”

“You’re going to charge our date and stay here on your old boss’s card,” you ask, a bit horrified at the prospect, not even thinking to ask what his previous job might be in your panic. “Daz-Osamu, are you crazy?”

“Trust me,” Dazai grins as he says the two words you’ve been hearing all night from him. “He won’t do anything about it.”

The words sound a bit ominous, you don’t really know how to take them, so instead you shake your head and rest the side of your head against his bicep as you wait for the elevator to open up on your floor—a penthouse suite, naturally, one that you’re sure must cost at least one to two hundred thousand yen a night.

After a few moments, you ask quietly, “What was your previous job?”

Dazai stiffens beneath your touch. You glance up, watching as his face closes off and his throat spasms beneath the bandages covering it. You can feel his fingers dig a bit deeper into your hip from where his hand had been idly resting against you.

He doesn’t want to tell you, you realize—you don’t know why he doesn’t want to tell you, you know deep down that it must be something that he’s ashamed of, or it’s something he thinks would make you think differently of him. A part of you wants to assure him that nothing would change how you care for him, but Yosano’s words still ring through your head: “he doesn’t believe it himself—probably never will.”

So instead, you hook your arms around his waist loosely, leaning up on your tiptoes to press your lips underneath his jaw.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, resting your head on his chest and letting your eyes slide shut. “You don’t have to tell me now, I hope one day you feel ready to share it with me.”

You hear Dazai let out a breath from above you. “I don’t understand why you’re so patient with me,” he murmurs, leaning his head down to rest his forehead on the top of your head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips. “Because I care about you, Osamu. A lot. Nothing you tell me would ever change that.”

“... That’s not true,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you.

“It is.” You only tighten your arms around him and then continue with, “Are you going to click our floor or are we just going to sit in the elevator all night?”

Dazai’s face flushes. “Click our floor,” he says sheepishly

You laugh, Dazai leans over you to click the button before draping himself over you. You feel warm again, but there’s still a cold hole still spreading through your chest: even with the implication of his previous job, and the realization that it might just be something unsavory enough for him to fear you changing how you see him, you just can’t seem to brush away the feeling that there’s something else he’s hiding from you.

“I lied before.”

The admission comes bluntly and quietly from Dazai, who’s laying next to you on the massive king-sized bed of the nicest suite in the hotel—you think you’ve never stayed in a more comfortable bed, all the two of you have been doing for the past few hours is lounging around watching shitty movies and sharing kisses.

You’re still resting your head on his shoulder, eyes idly tracing the television screen where a girl is crying over a boy she’d just met the other day before you turn your gaze up to him.

“About what?” you ask.

He’s not looking at you, he’s staring up at the ceiling instead with a conflicted expression; he opens his mouth to say something but nothing spills from his lips. Finally, he sighs, “I didn’t do this just to celebrate you finishing finals.”

Your heart drops a bit, inhaling sharply. You don’t look up at him, wrapping your arm around his waist and settling against his chest, bracing yourself for whatever he’s going to say. “I figured,” you say, your throat feeling a bit tight. “It was a bit… too grand of a gesture to just be for celebrating finishing finals.”

Neither of you speak for a moment, and you wait for him to explain, eyes sliding shut as you listen to the sound of his heart beating steadily in his chest to ground your creeping anxiety.

“I’m going to have to leave for a while, I think,” Dazai says softly. “Things are… going to get bad. I don’t know how it’s going to go down yet, I don’t know when I’ll be back—I don’t know if-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, cutting himself off before the words can fall from his lips. He doesn’t have to, you know exactly what he was going to say—he doesn’t even know if he’ll be back.

Your throat feels tight as you stare ahead at the wall. “That’s okay,” you say, your voice sounds a bit stronger than you actually feel. “I can wait.”

From the corner of your eye, you see his head snap in your direction and you don’t have to look at him to know that he probably has that twisted, conflicted expression on his face. He starts to say, “But I don’t know if-”

“I know,” you interrupt him because you don’t want to hear him say it out loud. “I know. I can wait. I’ll wait for you.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything in response, you don’t know what’s running through his head—you’re not sure if you want to know, or you suppose that’s not really true. You’d kill to understand what exactly goes on in Dazai’s head, you want to understand him better, you want him to rely on you like you do him. You want him; you want him for all that he is, no more masks and no more hiding. Just him.

You’re not given the chance to linger in your thoughts. Dazai moves closer to you, lifting one hand to cup the back of your head and turn your face toward him; he doesn’t waste a second before pressing his lips to yours, they’re chapped and familiar, you’ve kissed him hundreds of times since that party but this one feels different. It feels desperate, as if he’s afraid to forget the taste of you or the feeling of your touch.

He shifts his body closer to yours, pushing you back gently until you’re laying flat on your bed with him hovering on top of you—his lips don’t move away from yours for even a second. It’s dizzying, honestly. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, like you’ll disappear at any given second; his tongue brushes against your bottom lip and your lips part instinctively for him.

His body slides on top of yours, narrow hips slotting between your thighs—there’s no space between the two of you, you can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, you can feel his fingers intertwining just a bit too tightly into your hair, causing a pleasant sting to spread through your scalp, you can feel his bulge pressing against your pelvis.

Oh, you think to yourself, sighing into his mouth as his tongue traces the inside of your lips, as if trying to create a map of your mouth. It’s soft and gentle, you think he might be tracing letters on your tongue but you’re so hazed out that you can’t concentrate enough to figure out what they are with the added feeling of the fingers of his free hand tracing up and down your side.

And then, as if he’s had enough of the slow pace, he deepens the kiss. You think there’s something distinctively filthy about the way that Dazai’s tongue drags against the roof of your mouth before he separates your mouths so he can trail wet kisses along your jaw, the gentle traces on your side becoming a much more firm grip on your hip as he hooks one of your legs around his waist to tentatively roll his hips against yours.

Your body aches at the feeling of his bulge nudging up against your core, the friction setting all of your nerves on fire. This isn’t the first time that the two of you have started to take the next step—kisses becoming just a bit too heavy, touches becoming just a bit too desperate—but every time he ends up withdrawing, and god, you think you might die if he does now too. His lips drag down your neck, he’s reckless with his teeth as he scrapes them against your skin, tongue tracing patterns down to your collarbone where he sucks at your skin hard, drawing a choked, breathy moan from you.

His fingers bite into your skin as his lips trail down lower—lower than they ever have before, down to plump flesh of your breast, to the low cut line of your dress—your lashes flutter and lips part and you want to beg him ‘please, don’t stop’ but you don’t think you’re capable of speaking right now, mind fogged with desire. He keeps the pressure on your cunt with slow and lazy rolls of his hips, each movement putting more and more friction on your clit and-

And he’s stopping??

Your breath catches when he suddenly rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, catching his own breath as his body stills and you can feel his arms tensing as he prepares to push himself off of you.

You don’t let him.

With the leg you still have hooked around his waist, you flip the two of you over. His pupils are blown wide as he stares up at you, a surprised ‘oof’ escaping his lips. You think he’s beautiful. You really do. His lips are pink and swollen and wet with spit, his cheeks are flushed, hair an unruly mess haloed around his head; you lean down to press your lips against his, taking the lead yourself now, and you relish in the muffled groan he lets out into your mouth as you grind your hips down against his clothed cock.

It’s a short kiss for how sloppy and debauched it is, tongues sliding against each other’s and lips clashing messily, hips rocking in sync—hot, blood curdling, but you have questions that need to be answered before you continue. He chases your lips when you pull away, a distressed noise forming in the back of his throat.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me?” you finally ask the words that have been plaguing you for almost two whole months.

Dazai stares at you as if you’ve grown two heads, and you’d be embarrassed at asking the question if the past two months haven’t been weighing so heavily on your shoulders. He looks pointed down his body, to where his cock is hard, straining painfully against his black slacks, and then he looks back up at you as if to say, what are you talking about? But you aren’t letting it go that easily.

“Don’t give me that,” you snap, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders through his dress shirt, wrinkled now from your time lounging about and indulging in one another. “You know what I’m talking about. We’ve been together for two months and every time we’re about to take the next step, you stop it, you were about to now too, weren’t you?”

Dazai grimaces suddenly and that’s all of the confirmation you need. You pull back, a bit hurt, but before you can withdraw completely, his hand darts out to grab your bicep, stopping you.

“It’s not… you,” he finally says, voice a bit hoarse—you don’t know if it’s because of the way you’re caught in a position where you’re still half grinding down on his cock or if it’s because he doesn’t want to have this conversation, but you’re instantly rolling your eyes.

“Okay, if you’re going to hit me with the ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ we’re going to have problems, Osamu.”

The grin he gives you is wry, his eyes still half-lidded as lays back against the bed again, letting out a sigh. He lets go of your bicep, hand falling down to your thigh to rub absent circles with his thumb as he stares up at the ceiling.

“I…” he trails off, as if considering his words, and you’re patient because you can tell he’s trying to be open and honest with you, vulnerable in a way he rarely ever is. “I’ve slept around a lot, and I know that you’ve probably heard that from the rest of the Agency and even if you haven’t, we’ve ran into a few… uh… we’ve ran into a few ex-acquaintances of mine while out on dates. I’ve never actually had a relationship. I don’t really know what I’m doing, I just don’t want you to think I only wanted you for sex.”

Your eye twitches.

“Dazai Osamu,” you say with a heavy sigh, leaning forward to cup his cheeks with both of your hands. He looks up at you with those big brown eyes that you can never say no to. He leans his face into your hand as his lashes flutter, you stroke his cheekbones gently with your thumbs. “For someone so intelligent, you really are the stupidest man I’ve ever met.”

You don’t give him time to get offended by your words, leaning down to kiss him again. This kiss is slower, just as intimate but not quite as depraved—lips gliding against each other’s, tongues teasing in a slow dance. His hands rest carefully on your hips and yours stay cupping his cheeks, you kiss him until your lungs scream for air and even then, you kiss him longer, reluctant to separate from him.

When you finally do, you rest your forehead to his, eyes fluttering shut as you share a thin sliver of air, dizzy from the feeling of breathing in one another’s air. Your thumb caresses his cheek, fingers intertwining with his dark locks, you press one more kiss to his lips, this one short and sweet, and then you say, “I want to have sex with you. Please fuck me, Osamu.”

He’ll deny it later, but the noise that slips from his lips is nothing short of a whimper as his grip on your hips tightens and he leans in to steal another kiss. He doesn’t move to switch your positions, seemingly content to stay beneath you, so you press him back down until he’s laying flat against the mattress, hands sliding down from his cheeks to rest against his chest as you tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, letting out a pleased hum against his lips when you feel one of his hands play with the hem of your dress, fingers dipping beneath the cloth, teasing. You kiss the corner of his mouth, and then down to his jawline, nipping at the sensitive skin and feeling him shiver.

“You’ll wait for me?” he asks suddenly, voice soft, biting back a groan as you roll your hips against his. He sounds hesitant, as if he doesn’t entirely believe you.

“Yes,” you tell him, lifting your head from his jaw to hover over his face again, fingers tracing his cheekbone, leaning down to press another chaste kiss against his lips. He tries to chase after your lips as you pull away, but you only give him a playful smile before leaning back again.

“Why?” Dazai asks hoarsely—he looks at you as if he’s desperate to know the answer, and the words linger dangle off of the edge of your tongue.

Because I love you.

You think you love him more than you’ve ever loved anyone else in the world—he makes you laugh when you can’t even bring yourself to smile, he makes you feel light when you swear you have the whole world weighing down on your shoulders, and he does it even though you know he struggles himself. And you want him to let you be there for him the same way that he always is for you, but he always closes off when you try.

Except now.

“Because you’re worth waiting for,” you say instead of those other three damning words.

“I’m not.” Dazai shakes his head, and it almost sounds like he’s trying to warn you, but you only cup his cheeks again and force him to still.

“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t worth it,” you say, giving him another teasing smile before adding, “I decide that for myself, and you are.”

“I’m really not,” he stresses, “I-”

You don’t let him finish, instead leaning down to cut him off with another kiss—he barely kisses you back, but you don’t really care because you only meant to stop him from talking anyway.

“You are,” you murmur, your lips graze his jaw again and you can feel him shiver beneath you again.

His fingers tighten around your hips and he’s flipping you onto your back in an instant. Your vision spins, a gasp pulling from your lips, and he gives you no time to regain your bearings as he bunches your dress to your hips, lips finding yours as his fingers fumble to push your panties to the side before he slides his middle finger and ring finger deep inside you, without all of the practiced ease you expected from him, more akin to a nervous boy who’s terrified of making a mistake.

Your jaw goes slack, head pressing back against the pillow, back arching up. Dazai’s lips move to the next available part of your body when he loses your lips: sucking at the skin on the underside of your jaw. As soon as he hears the choked gasp of his name, sees the way your body reacts to his touch, he seems to instantly lose his nerves. You can feel a wicked smile edge at his lips against your skin and as he presses soft kisses to your skin in lieu of the harsh sucks, he makes up for the gentleness there by fucking you with his fingers so brutally that your lips part but you can’t even make a single noise.

“This what you wanted, bella?” he purrs, but his voice is rough, exposing just how affected he is as he watches you writhe under his touch. “To think, here I was trying to be good and all you were thinking about was when I was finally going to split you open on my cock. How long did I keep you waiting, hm?”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. All you can focus on is the drag of his long, lithe fingers against your walls, the sudden stretch, the sloppy sound of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt. It’s wet and filthy and you can barely even breathe, much less speak.

You wanted this. You wanted this so bad. You remember all of the nights you’d spent desperately fucking your fingers, trying to pretend they were his but yours aren’t nearly as long, they can’t hit all of the places his do. You remember coming home with your face on fire, body itching with desire from the casual advances he made but never acted upon. You remember throwing yourself into bed, careful to keep a hand pressed to your mouth or your pillow over your face so he can’t hear from the other room as you let out muffled whimpers. You’ve wanted this so bad, you’ve imagined it so many times before but it pales in comparison to actually having him. His fingers feel so much better, dragging against your walls and pushing back inside of you hard. He’s so much prettier, dark hair matted to his forehead, pupils blown wide and lips still swollen and puffy from kisses; his voice is edged with so much wanton need that you could probably get off from it alone.

The heat spreads through your body fast. Your head feels all light and hazy. Your abdomen twists and coils and god, there’s no way you’ll cum just from this, there’s no way, but your breath becomes quick and pitched, your lungs start to burn and-

And he stops.

“I hate you,” you sob when he purposely stills his fingers inside of you after hearing you reach the edge, feeling the way your walls were starting to clamp down on him. “Osamu-”

He clicks his tongue, lifting his face from your neck to hover above you. His eyes are suddenly mirthful and cruel, his smile is sharp and dangerous—a monster, you’d unleashed a monster.

His free hand comes up so he can brush his knuckles against your cheekbone, fingers tracing the contours of your face before coming to land on your bottom lip, plump and wet from all of his kisses.

“Answer my question,” he says as he traces the outline of your lips. “How long? Fuck, you’re so wet, sliding in like it’s nothing, could probably fuck you as you are right now but I wanna feel you come apart on my fingers first. Tell me, how long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, forcing something out about your date at the Sankeien Garden two months ago and you remember the way he’d looked so pretty beneath the sakura blossoms and you felt so dirty because all you could think about was dragging him back to your apartment and having him in every way possible. His eyes widen when you admit the date, breath hitching and lips parting.

“That long?” he whispers, eyes searching yours as if to make sure you’re not lying and you think he’s stupid because you hardly have the headspace to think much less lie. His smile widens, teeth looking distinctly close to knives under the dim lighting of the penthouse suite of the resort. He leans down to graze his teeth against your neck. “Well, far be it from me to keep you waiting any longer.”

He lifts his head again before he continues the thrusts of his fingers, so he can watch you, surely—not as harshly, this time he’s precise and steady, each stroke has the pads of his fingers rubbing up against that soft spot inside of you, forcing your head into the clouds and your eyes to roll back.

“Did you get yourself off to the thought of me?” he breathes out, pupils blown wide, you try to rock your hips in time with his fingers but his free hand comes down to your pelvis, pinning you down with that deceptive strength of his. “Press your hand to your mouth to cover the noise, fuck yourself with your fingers while I was sitting in the next room over before we started sharing a bed?”

A broken sob spills from your lips, Dazai’s thumb presses against your clit when you don’t respond. Your thighs tense and tremble, instinctively going to clamp down on his hand but Dazai’s knee wedges between your legs before you can, forcibly keeping them spread. You think you should be embarrassed, you sound so wet, so sloppy, each thrust of his fingers and you can feel the slick splattering across your inner thighs, if you were any more coherent you’d be humiliated but Dazai looks absolutely reverent.

“You did, didn’t you?” he laughs breathlessly. “I heard noises sometimes, I thought maybe you were having nightmares, was tempted to go in and check on you sometimes. Good thing for you I didn’t then, yeah? Would’ve caught my dirty girl fucking herself to the thought of me, wouldn’t that have been a sight?”

Spots dot your vision, your nails claw at the sheets of the bed and you press your face halfway into the mattress as you desperately try to push away your rapidly approaching high, not wanting to cum so quickly, but it’s a losing battle with Dazai’s filthy words ringing through your ears and his fingers splitting you open.

“You must have been so desperate when we started sharing a bed, couldn’t even get yourself off at night anymore. Poor baby, if you’d have just said something I would’ve buried myself between your thighs from sunset to sunrise,” Dazai coos, and you don’t even have to look at him to know his grin is suddenly much more lecherous. “... Unless you just waited until I fell asleep. Did you ever get yourself off while I was laying asleep next to you? Tell me.”

You won’t tell him. You won’t tell him. He’ll never let you live it down but you’ve lost control of your body, your mouth moves before your brain can tell it to stop: “Once,” you choke out, “only once.”

And Dazai moans, it’s unabashed and wanton, eyes fluttering shut as soon as your words register and then he’s picking up the pace of his fingers, precise and ruthless and you don’t even know what you’re trying to say but it doesn’t matter because the only noise that spills from your lips is just another moan, garbled between his name and a please. Distantly, you think the bandages on his wrist and his expensive slacks must be ruined, the lewd sound of his fingers pushing in and out of you drowning out all other noise.

“I’m gonna-” you try to gasp out to warn him, head tossed back and hair matted to your forehead, they’re the only intelligible words to leave your lips but Dazai gets what you’re trying to say, of course.

“Yeah, you are,” he rasps, watching with the devotion of a disciple to his god as your back arches and cries of his name escape your lips.

He scissors his fingers inside of you, presses down hard on your clit, and you’re gone, you cry his name so loud that you think you should be embarrassed because there’s no way the other resort guests can’t hear what’s happening but in the moment, you’re too fucked out to care. You think you might be dying, your heart thudding in your ears, your body on fire, you don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard in your entire life.

Your body spasms, trembles; he rides out your high, fucking his fingers slowly into you, watching the way you whimper and writhe, you think tears might be spilling over your cheeks, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, and your thoughts are confirmed when Dazai leans over you, tongue dating out to lick away the tears.

Your breath hitches and your thighs quake, a jolt spreading through your body when he finally pulls his fingers out of you, your walls still convulsing around the digits. He sits up straight again, thighs straddling your hips and you can feel his cock pressing against your pelvis and you feel insatiable because you just finished and it’s not enough. Even as your body screams with sensitivity, not ready for anymore stimulation, your lashes flutter at the thought of his cock stretching you out, fucking so deep into you that you can feel him in your belly, thicker than his fingers, longer.

He brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking them into his mouth and you watch as a low, muffled groan escapes his lips, eyes rolling back as he sucks your cum right off of his fingers, not letting a single drop go to waste. Filthy. He’s so filthy. Utterly shameless. And god, do you need him.

As if he can read your mind, his hands fall to his belt, fingers fumbling to undo the buckle and pull it off. He flings it over to the side haphazardly, and you reach up, grabbing his dark tie and pulling him down to kiss him again. He moans into your mouth, one arm coming to rest on the mattress by your head to prop himself up and the other still stuffed between your bodies, desperately trying to unbutton and unzip his slacks.

God, he kisses you like you’re about to disappear, as if any moment could be your last. His tongue flattens against yours, sweeping against the roof of your mouth, mapping it out until it’s scorched into his memory; you can hardly do anything but lay there and let him, fingers fisted weakly around his tie.

When he finally does get his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, he doesn’t even bother to pull them off. He shoves them down just enough to free his cock, and your breath hitches when you feel the way it slides against your lower stomach. Your dress bunched up to your chest, you can feel the precum smearing against your skin—he’s so long, you can tell without even looking and for a split second, you wonder if you’ll even be able to take him all the way.

Dazai hardly gives you enough time for the fears to fester. His fingers wrap around your panties to pull them off but the material is thin and lacy and it only tears under his frustrated yank. You don’t even care, you can’t bring yourself to—you’ll make him but you new ones. He won’t complain about that of all things, in fact, he’ll probably have the time of his life.

As soon as your panties are out of the way, Dazai is lining himself up with your cunt—he doesn’t fuck you, not yet, and you think he’s evil for the way he rolls his hips slowly, letting his cock slide between your folds, pelvic bone grinding against your clit. You let out a whine—a whine, you’ve never whined before in your life but you don’t know how else to describe the noise that escapes your lips. Dazai can’t even tease you for it, though, because his whole body shivers at the feeling of his cock slipping between your folds, breath shaky.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes out, and then he free hand curls around your thigh, wrapping it around his waist, and he finally thrusts his hips forward, pushing inside of you.

The stretch burns, it burns so good even with how thoroughly he prepped you with his fingers and Dazai lets out such a pornographic moan that you think you might cum just from the sound of it. His lashes flutter, pink dusts his cheek, he rests his forehead against yours, breath so shaky that you think maybe he might be about to cum.

“Feels so good,” he gasps, next to your head, his fingers twist the sheets of the bed until his knuckles are white. “What’re you doin’ to me?”

His words hardly register, but when they do, you’re perplexed.

“What d’ya mean, Osamu?” you breathe out, and the way his body shudders above yours at the sound of his name leaving your lips is fucking heavenly.

“I’ve never-” he chokes over another moan and your throat feels dry when you realize he really might just be about to cum, “it’s never-”

“Hm?” you press when his voice trails off and his eyes half back. You tilt your head up to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth and he lets out another shaky noise.

“It’s never felt like this,” he pushes out, the words sound like a near slur. “I feel so-”

“So what?”

“So good.” God, his voice comes out close to a sob, broken and cracking, and when you try to move your hips, desperate for him to finally move, he lets out a panicked sound: “I’ll cum. I’ll cum. Don’t move yet, don’t-”

You still if only out of sheer shock of how worked up he already is. His whole body is trembling, he’s gnawing at his bottom lip, you can feel his cock twitching inside you, as if begging for release already. And your body is aching, your tummy is hot and your head is fuzzy, but it pales in comparison to the sight of Dazai crumbling above you just from the feeling of being inside of you. All of smooth talking and filthy words are gone, leaving behind only a man on the brink of falling apart.

“Feel like a virgin.” This sounds distinctly closer to a sob now, and you can’t help but notice that his cheeks are red and hot, his lashes are wet as they flutter shut—you wonder if he’s embarrassed. “S’tight, and-and wet. Fuck, fuck, what’re ya doing to me, bella? ‘s never happened before.”

Your hands slide up his body to cup his cheeks, dragging his face back down to press your lips against his, and when he moans into your mouth as soon as your lips are touching, he’s finally rocking his hips up into you. The pace is harsh and erratic, as if he’s already desperately trying to chase his release, and you can’t breathe, you can’t think. The tip of his cock bullies so deep inside of you that you think you might die, you think he might actually be splitting you open.

Your lips part in a noiseless moan, your head spins, Dazai fucks you harder, faster, so deeply that it almost hurts because each thrust has him brushing closer and closer to your cervix, hips slapping against your ass and thighs so roughly they’ll probably be bruised tomorrow; it tears the air from your lungs, you think you might pass out because you can’t seem to catch your breath. All of his finesse and touches driven by practiced ease are long gone; there’s something about this so carnal, driven by sheer lust, that it has your head in the clouds. And Dazai is always loud, he fills every silence he stumbles upon, but he’s especially loud now as he moans your name and claws at the sheets next to your head, gasping and panting and cursing each time he feels your walls convulse around him.

You don’t even realize it when you cum. There’s no build up this time. One thrust sends you over the edge as his cock presses up against that soft spot inside of you and his pelvic bone grinds just right over your clit, and instantly you’re spasming beneath him, your nails dig into his dress shirt and your body arches against his, head tossed back against the mattress and vision going spotty. Your lips are moving but you don’t know if screaming his name or if there’s no noise leaving you at all.

All you do know is that as soon as you’re cumming on his cock, walls tightening around him, Dazai’s eyes are rolling into the back of his head, hair matted to his forehead as he tosses his head back, jaw falling slack. There’s no warning when his hips still against yours and he’s suddenly pumping you full of his cum.

He slumps on top of you, body limp and shoulders still trembling in the aftershocks of his orgasm. You’re desperately trying to ground yourself again, trying to catch your breath and slow your heart rate, Dazai’s face is buried in your neck and you can feel how his back rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his own breath.

“So embarrassing,” you hear him slur from where he’s pressed against the crook of your neck still. “‘s never happened before.”

You can’t help the giggle that spills from your lips and he groans against you.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he complains, rolling off of you so he can pull you into his chest. Your eyes flutter shut as you rest half on top of him, letting out a soft sigh. “Next time, I’ll show you. You’ll regret laughing.”

“I’m sure,” you say, more to placate him than anything else, and he grumbles but doesn’t respond.

The two of you bask in each other’s presence for a few moments before he finally asks again, “You’ll really wait for me?” His voice is so soft that you might not have heard it if you weren’t so close to him.

You turn your face to the side to kiss his chest, smiling against his skin. “Only if you promise not to forget me while you’re gone.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, tilting his head down to kiss the top of your head. His voice is hoarse and stripped bare to of his unbound emotions for the first time as he says, “The thought of you will be the only thing that gets me through this.”

However bad that Dazai might’ve thought the weeks without you were going to be, it’s been worse. Only sheer willpower and the image of you waiting for him back home is pushing him through the trials and tribulations that Dostoevsky continues to push him through.

At first, the mind games and taunts and the puzzles of misdirection and manipulation were fun; Dazai has never conversed so long with someone who can keep up with his every thought and every plan. Fyodor Dostoevsky is impressive, Dazai can’t deny that, but the fun of the games is swiftly coming to an end the longer he has to stay in this wretched cell with even more wretched company.

He doesn’t have much to do—he has around four square meters to move around in, which is barely enough for him to comfortably stretch. All he does is lay in bed all day, waiting for Ango’s signals as he tries to anticipate Dostoevsky’s each and every move. His brain throbs and aches, having been placed on overdrive for weeks without rest because he knows one mistake on his part will lead to the fall of the Agency, the death and ruin of the few people he might actually consider friends.

The rare moments he allows it to rest, he thinks of you. He wonders what you’re doing back in Yokohama—maybe having coffee at that cafe near your apartment building, or meeting some of your friends from university for drinks. He wonders if you’re holding true to your words, if you’re actually waiting for him or if you moved on the moment he disappeared—he hopes that you are, because the thought of you, and getting to be with you again, is the only thing that’s keeping the gears of his worn out, exhausted brain turning.

A part of him wonders if you know what’s happening. Well, he knows that you must have some inkling—the Decay of the Angel’s plot has been a vastly public one, and you’re typically on top of current events. He wishes that he knew your thoughts on it. He wonders if you’d fallen victim to the Book, believing that the Agency are the terrorists that they’ve been written to be. He wonders if you were able to fight against the Book’s influence, because he knows that the Book can’t possibly be infallible—nothing is, there will always be cracks for exceptions to seep through. He hopes that you’re one of them.

He wonders if his crimes had become public knowledge too.

The thought makes his stomach churn uncomfortably, regret creeping through his chest because if you were going to learn about his past, it should’ve been from him, not from a random news outlet that’ll make him out to be the treacherous monster he really is, the one he’s taken so much care to hide from you. At least if he’d been the one to tell you, he could’ve framed it in a way of his choice—though he’s not sure how exactly he could frame something like that in his favor, it at least would’ve been better than the news.

He wants to ask Ango, but he knows that he can’t—not when the more pressing matter is the Agency and clearing its name. His own personal matters have to be pushed to the side until that’s handled, no matter how much his heart screeches at him otherwise.

This is why he hates emotions.

“Dazai,” Dostoevsky suddenly says and Dazai is immediately ripped from the brief respite he’d allowed his brain, although it wasn’t much of a respite considering he spent the whole time anxious about you. A smile graces Dostoevsky’s face that Dazai instantly doesn’t like. “Let us switch chess boards for a moment.”

Dazai’s eyes narrow. “To which one?”

“Yokohama,” Dostoevsky says absently. “... Knight from D5 to E3.”

Dazai stares for a moment—Knight from D5 to E3? The move is somewhat appalling in Dazai’s mind, but only because he can’t put together the reasoning behind it. It’s a dangerous push onto his side of the board, and for what reason? Most of Dazai’s pieces are setting up on the opposite corner of the board for an attempt to take out Dostoevsky’s bishop, which is what Dazai expected Dostoevsky to focus on protecting.

Dazai sits up in his bed, unable to hide the way his brows furrow a bit as he visualizes their chessboard, eyes darting around to each piece, trying to figure out what exactly in this game has slipped past his weary brain, lost in the dozens of chess games that he’s currently playing against Dostoevsky. And as he looks from piece to piece, he begins to understand.

There are only two pieces left vulnerable to the play that Dostoevsky is about to make.

Dazai’s expression hardens, Dostoevsky’s smile widens.

If Dazai doesn’t continue with his plan on the opposite side of the board, the opportunity will be lost and the Agency will not get another like this. Dazai clearly underestimated just how little Dostoevsky cares about his pieces—he doesn’t care whether or not his bishop is captured—he has a greater aim anyway.

The chessboard of the game he’s visualizing begins to crumble before his eyes and his vision starts to tunnel, a chill spreads through his chest, to his arms and to his fingers.

He needs to contact Ango, but Dazai’s heart is racing on its own now and he can barely control himself enough to send a message to the older man. In one move, Dostoevsky will be able to position his knight in a way that will have Dazai’s king in check and his queen left vulnerable. And Dazai will be left with no choice—allowing Ranpo to be captured by the Hunting Dogs is not an option, everything will fall apart. He needs to contact Ango. But he realizes that even if he does get the message through, he doesn’t know if Ango will receive it or if he’s too busy with plans at the Sky Casino. And even if he does receive it, Ango might not even be able to do anything.

“Dazai, dear, you’re taking quite a long time with this move—don’t tell me I have you in a corner already. It would be very disappointing, I expected better from you,” Dostoevsky’s faux-congenial voice mocks him from the other cell, and Dazai wants blood.

“Rook from B5 to F5,” Dazai’s voice sounds hollow and cold to his own ears as he continues forward with the plan he had set in motion at the cost of the one person Dazai doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle losing. The tips of his fingers feel numb as he waits for the inevitable.

Dostoevsky’s teeth are like knives.

“How callous and cold-hearted of you. I must say, I’m impressed—I really didn’t think you had it in you, you truly are the prodigy they all claim you to be. Knight from D5 to E3. Check to King at F1.”

“King from F1 to F2.”

“Knight from E3 to D1.”

And just like that, the one piece that Dazai has refused to touch the whole game falls. His ears ring and his brain throbs painfully, his throat feels dry and scratchy but he refuses to give Dostoevsky the reaction that he’s waiting for. The Russian finally speaks the words that finalize the play:

“Queen captured.”

“138 counts of conspiracy to murder. 312 counts of extortion. 625 counts of assorted fraud. Numerous other known crimes, countless unknown crimes. A former executive of the Port Mafia known as the Demon Prodigy, the youngest underboss in the history of the Mafia.”

You think it’s ridiculous. Or, you want to think that it’s ridiculous. You want to condemn the words as ludicrous as the idea of the members of the Armed Detective Agency being terrorists. These whole past two weeks have thrown you for a loop—you were sitting at your laptop watching a reality show to pass time when you got the notifications on your phone regarding the terrorist attack on the Ministry of Defense, the very place you were supposed to start working at soon.

You’d been watching with your heart in your throat until they were finally unveiled, and the moment they were, you were caught entirely off guard because what on earth? You saw it with your own eyes, but you still can’t bring yourself to believe it because what do you mean Mister Fifty-Eight Ideals with a moral high ground taller than the peak of Everest, Kunikida Doppo, is a terrorist? Tanizaki Jun’ichiro, the sweet boy who joins his sister down in the cafe with you when you’re waiting for Dazai to finish getting scolded by Kunikida, buying you a coffee and pastry? Izumi Kyouka, the young girl who looked at you with stars in her eyes when you brought her a crepe from the bakery near your apartment? Yosano Akiko, the woman who loves so hard and so deeply even if she does hide behind a rough facade, taking you, a stranger, in without hesitation just because of how happy you make Dazai?

There’s no way. You live in a world where men can transform into tigers and women can bring people back from the brink of death—there has to be something supernatural going on, you can’t bring yourself to believe that this is reality.

But are you equally as sure about the allegations against Dazai?

You try to make sure that the conflict doesn’t show on your face as your mind races—you remember the night in Kyoto when you asked him about his previous job and how he reacted to it, you also remember how the waiters and the hostess and even the owner had treated him. Your heart sinks and your throat tightens a bit, you have to force yourself to focus on the conversation at hand.

The young man dressed in a burgundy military uniform sitting before you has a smile that can only be described as cruel, the red tips of his hair brushing his chin as he tilts his head to the side. “I do hope you understand how critical it is for us to obtain as much information as possible. We are authorized to go to any lengths to prevent the deterioration of this situation—if someone is suspected of giving refuge to any of the terrorists, or assisting them in any other way, they will be charged with conspiracy against the government and the aiding and abetting of global terrorism. We have full power to act on our own discretion and take in anyone who presumes to be uncooperative to our questioning.”

“Is that a threat?” you finally ask, absently circling your coffee mug.

There are people looking at you—you’d chosen to sit outside of the cafe, and the streets are busy. You recognize two elderly women who frequent the cafe giving you concerned looks; three high school students sharing intrigued looks as one of them starts to video the encounter, knowing that any footage of the famed Hunting Dogs and the ongoing international crisis is a quick ticket to going viral; a businessman and his wife meeting for an early lunch before he goes back to work.

Good, you think.

“Only if you have something to hide,” the young man, who introduced himself as Jouno Saigiku, replies easily, smile sharpening a bit. “Do you have something to hide?”

“Why would I have something to hide?” you ask instead of replying, eyes narrowing.

“You tell me.”

“I have nothing to tell you.”

Distantly, you can hear the chatter of passerbyers walking down the sidewalk, the screeching of brakes as a car comes to an abrupt stop a few blocks down, the soft music coming from inside the cafe, but your gaze is tunneled on the young man sitting in front of you. His face is deceptively calm, eyes turned up and expression smooth, but you can see how the corner of his lip is pulled taut. More people begin paying attention to your conversation—you recognize some of them as regular patrons of the cafe who you’ve spoken to multiple times.

“I think you do,” Jouno says idly. “Even if it weren’t for the way your heart is racing… this is damning enough, isn’t it?”

You raise your chin as Jouno slides over a manila folder to you. You don’t move to look at it for a moment, eyes lingering on his face before you finally flip it open, lips pressing together tightly. Dozens of pictures of you and Dazai lay within the envelope, pulled from CCTV tape all around the city—most of the pictures are innocent enough to pass off as two acquaintances having a cup of coffee, but there are a few questionable ones.

And god, you miss him. Just seeing his face is enough to make your heart long for him, it’s only been what? A week and a half? But it’s been hell going from seeing him every day to not even knowing what happened to him until now… with all of this, learning about his crimes, finding out he’s imprisoned in the highest security ability user prison in the world, as you’re being interrogated by a member of the country’s most elite military unit.

It’s too much, you think. What the hell are you even supposed to think of it all?

You don’t even have time to think, not with this rabid dog sitting in front of you ready to leap for your throat at the first sign of weakness.

“How so?” you ask after you get your head back on straight, flipping the folder shut. “I’ve met with Dazai Osamu before. So have dozens of people in this cafe, hundreds of people around the city. Misaki-san, the older lady over there, has lunch with Kunikida-san twice weekly. Sayuri-chan, the high-schooler sitting two tables over, goes to Yosano-sensei for check-ups because her parents are hardly around to bring her to the doctor’s office. Takeuchi-san has tea with Fukuzawa-dono every Wednesday. Half of the city is intimately connected with the Armed Detective Agency, in one way or another—they’re active citizens, frequent faces around the streets, always helping when given the chance. Are you going to interrogate every citizen who has ever spent free time with a member of the Armed Detective Agency? Accuse them of conspiracy against the government and the aiding and abetting of terrorism?”

Your words cause a bit of a subtle shockwave across the eavesdroppers—a range of emotions from anxiety to indignance crossing faces, just as you hoped would happen. You figured that there would be no way of you really getting out of this, but you hope at least to trigger a bit of unrest. You know that a lot of the city’s civilians haven’t been fond of how the Hunting Dogs are handling this situation, despite them having authority from the Prime Minister to go to any lengths to regain control over the crisis.

And it’ll hit them hard seeing an upstanding, regular civilian being targeted for vague affiliation with a group that thousands of people in the city have had a vague affiliation with. Because if it happens to an upstanding, regular civilian, it can happen to any upstanding, regular civilian, and if it can happen to any upstanding, regular civilian, it can happen to them. You think most of the civilians in the city have been biting their tongues out of fear of the escalating terror, but once any civilian that’s ever affiliated themselves with the Agency becomes at risk for being under suspicion, under threat, then they’ll be forced to voice their discontent lest they be targeted next.

“So, we’re going to do this the hard way then,” Jouno notes pleasantly, his smile is tight and there’s a tinge to his voice that you can only decipher as a threat. “Good, I was hoping it turned out this way.”

You remember the warning you’d gotten the night before: ‘The Hunting Dogs will come after you next, get out of the city - R’ and a part of you wishes that you’d taken the warning more seriously and gotten the hell out of Yokohama in the middle of the night before you could be interrogated. You’ll lose your internship, it might affect your standing in your university. You wonder if your brother would be disappointed, he spent his whole life trying to build a better one for you—sacrificing his happiness, morality, and eventually his life—and here you are about to throw it away.

Are you really going to do this?

You swallow thickly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You think of Dazai—you think of the chilling list of crimes and his current imprisonment, you think of the promise you made before he fell off the face of the earth, you think of the nights you spent together, you think of the past few months you’ve lived with him. You realize that they’ve been the happiest you’ve been in your entire life, and you think that your brother might understand, because more than giving you a better life, he wanted you to have a happy one.

Yeah, you’re really going to do this.

You’ll get your answers from Dazai himself. You know in your heart that something bigger is going on, there’s no way that the members of the Agency are the terrorists that the world claims them to be and you don’t know if something else could possibly be going on with Dazai and the allegations against him as well. You think you know deep down that there’s likely some semblance of truth to them, but you owe it to him—and more importantly, to yourself—to hear it directly from him.

Until then, your loyalty stays with him.

“I guess so,” you agree softly, before turning your gaze up to Agatsuma Misaki, who’s looking increasingly more distressed by the whole situation. “Misaki-san, would you please let Hotaru-san and Hideyoshi-san know what happened here? I’m sure they’ll be worried when I don’t return home tonight, I don’t want them to lose any sleep over me.”

Agatsuma Misaki clutches her necklace to her chest as she nods, her wrinkled face bunched up in concern, and the woman sitting with her looks equally horrified. The three high schoolers sitting two tables away are sharing wide-eyed looks with each other, whispering under their breaths as they point to the one boy’s phone, still evidently recording. The businessman, Takeuchi Isamu, is watching with hawk eyes, but his fingers are tapping away at the phone he’s hiding beneath the table.

Jouno Saigiku rises to his feet, smile sharp and bordering on malicious as he says your name and then:

“You are under arrest for conspiracy against the government and aiding and abetting the Armed Detective Agency in their terrorism against the State of Japan and the entire world.”

— the only development in the smut scene itself is reader very briefly acknowledging that she loves him (internally, she doesn't tell him) and dazai acknowledging that he's avoided any intimacy because he's been worried that she's going to think he only was into her for sex because they've had encounters with ex flings of his & she's heard about him sleeping around from the rest of the agency. so a bit of openness from dazai and a brief acknowledgment of real feelings from reader.

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu smut #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

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