#i really really considered doing front row since it’s all seated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 3 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 IF I WAS BORN A BLACKTHORN TREE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: it's finally the night of the event you've been preparing so ardently for. it's going as well as it can be considering the circumstances—or it is until dazai osamu shows up and throws you off your game. suddenly confused and concerned, you can't help but wonder if maybe things aren't what they seemed with the civilian you've grown so attached to.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART THREEEEEEEEE!!! hehehe we finally have some major plot development here <.< i was rlly excited for this chapter it was one of the ones i was looking forward to most when plotting the series. anyway, tae some more of reader being THE it girl ever - actually i was rlly excited for this because i havent really had the chance to showcase pmreader in her element the canon universe so i had fun with it here

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: lots of politics, dazai has the beginning of a panic attack, jealousy on both ends

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Chuuya asks, leaning over the center console to look at you, watching as you dab on lipstick in the mirror.

In the driver’s seat, Albatross snorts, and he sees how you hardly refrain from rolling your eyes—Chuuya has half a mind to use his ability to rattle the car while you’re finishing up your makeup just to piss you off, but he has a feeling that you’ll lose your shit if he does that. You’re about to head into the event being hosted by the government for that agency in Tokyo, and Chuuya is just not feeling good about it. He’s felt this way since you were finishing up preparations at the headquarters an hour ago, forcing his way into the car with you and Albatross before you left.

“Chuuya, your face has been plastered all over Japan’s most wanted for three years. How do you propose you walk in with me without confirming that the Mori Corp. is a front for the Port Mafia?” you sigh heavily.

Chuuya bristles. “I just don’t have the best feeling,” he says defensively. “Forgive me for being worried. Damn.”

Chuuya settles back against the middle seat in the back row, letting out a sharp puff of air and pointedly turning his head away. He stares ahead, mind racing—it’s barely been a week since the operation against the Ingawa-kai. His body is still sore, and he should probably still be on bed rest, but he wasn’t going to laze around his apartment while you’re out here still healing from having your stomach sliced open.

By him.

Well, you won’t say what caused the almost lethal injury, but Chuuya knows it was from when he was in his Corrupted state. Whether it was by accident or because Arahabaki targeted you when you approached him, it doesn’t matter—the guilt he feels remains the same.

“It’s just a government event, Chuuya,” you say, looking back at him. “I’ve been to hundreds of them, relax.”

Yeah, but never so soon after a major operation against a Yakuza syndicate. Tokyo is Shimazaki-kai territory—they’ve always worked closely with the Inagawa-kai, and he doubts they’ll take kindly to Port Mafia presence in their heartland after they just annihilated one of the branches of their biggest ally.

“Just be careful,” Chuuya says quietly when he sees you’re about to step out of the car. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not Albatross,” you say dryly.

“The fuck did I do?” Albatross demands once the abrupt and uncalled-for insult registers, head snapping to the side to look at you.

You only give him a sharp smile and wag your fingers in a mocking wave before stepping out of the car and making your way to the steps of the city hall. Chuuya only feels slightly relieved at the sight of Kiyomasa Daichi of the Sun and Steel immediately making his way over to you to escort you into the building.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Chuuya is gnawing at his bottom lip, grateful that his gloves are preventing his nails from drawing blood from his palms. You’re right—you’ve done this hundreds of times before, attending these types of events since you were fifteen with Lippmann chaperoning, taking over them alone when you were sixteen just because of how impressed Lippmann was with how easily you were able to navigate the intricacies of political webs and veiled conversation.

So, why is that nagging feeling still-

“Yo, what the fuck?” Albatross suddenly says, straightening up in his seat, eyes pinned on a figure making their way into the city hall.

Alarmed, Chuuya follows his gaze quickly, eyes widening when he registers what Albatross is seeing. “Isn’t that…?”

Dazai Osamu.

That civilian you’d been seeing for a few weeks. You cut him off a few days ago, Chuuya doubted it at first when you said you’d done it, but then he’d seen how much withdrawn you’d become the past few days. How you bought yourself a new phone with a new number. Chuuya feels guilty over that, too. He can see the way it’s tolled on you—you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet during meetings, constantly glancing down at your phone as if expecting messages from him—but Chuuya would also prefer this than to make you go through the same devastation he felt years ago that still weighs to this day.

“Yeah,” Albatross says, jaw tight. “The fuck is he doing here? It’s going to throw her off—there’s no way she knew this. What do we do?”

“We can’t do anything,” Chuuya says, pulling out his phone to warn you that your civilian is evidently attending this event even though he knows damn well you don’t check your phone while on missions like this. “Fuck. The Shimazaki-kai are attending this event. The Boss is still trying to settle things with them after our conflict with the Inagawa-kai—it’s not going well.”

“Yeah,” Albatross scoffs. “Apparently, the oyabun’s daughter was married to one of the Inagawa-kai’s shatei. We’re probably gonna end up at war with them too—heard that they took in most of the Inagawa-kai’s refugees from our operation.”

Shit.

That Chuuya didn’t know. Family is everything to the Yakuza syndicates—if the head of the Shimazaki-kai married off his daughter to one of the sons of the head of the Inagawa-kai… they’re a lot more tightly aligned than Chuuya initially thought. Attack on one is attack on all, or however that saying goes. Even if they don’t know that you’re the one that ordered the operation, they know you’re an executive of the Port Mafia, and that would be enough…

“They’ll be watching her like a fucking hawk,” Chuuya says, his throat swollen. “If they’re smart…”

If they’re smart, they’ll take you out now.

“I should go in,” Chuuya says, fingers curling around the handle of the door.

“Don’t,” Albatross tells him, giving Chuuya a short look. “If you blow her cover in there, it’ll fuck the Mafia over completely. We can’t lose our foothold in the Diet. Not with this bill about to pass through.”

Chuuya takes in a short, shaky breath, pulling off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. “If they see her with him-”

God, he can’t even finish the sentence, looking down to see his hands covered in familiar blood, a cold body in his arms. He-

“Chuuya,” Albatross says, twisting around to face him, reaching back to grab Chuuya’s hair and force him to look up and away from his bloodied hands. “She’s smart, she’ll be fine. She won’t seek him out.”

“And what if he goes up to her?” Chuuya hisses.

Albatross looks away grimly. “… Let’s just hope he doesn’t.”

Dazai feels distinctly out of place as he makes small talk with two House Representatives. He plays his part well, that’s for sure—he can feel Hinami hanging off his arm, watching him with wide eyes, stammering over words whenever she’s addressed by either of the politicians—but he feels like he looks like a fraud. Like everyone can tell that he’s just talking out of his ass and hoping for the best. Like everyone knows that he doesn’t belong.

He knows that he’s only in his own head about it. The two Representatives he’s talking to treat him like he’s one of their own and not a college student who doesn’t know jack shit about what he’s talking about. He supposes he has you to thank for that—knowing what to look for, it’s easy to pick out who belongs and who doesn’t, and because of that, it’s easy for him to figure out how to belong. Ayato sticks out like a sore thumb from where he’s trying a little too hard to talk to one of the Councillors, Dazai thinks Hinami would be too if she wasn’t attached to him.

He misses you. It’s only been a few days, but he misses you badly. His lips tingle from where you’d kissed him that night, and he can still feel the weight of your body on his. He misses you, and this event just makes him think even more of you. All of these people, this whole event, it all reminds him of you and Dazai can’t help but wonder if he’d feel more comfortable here with you at his side.

“I have to ask, Dazai-san,” one of the representatives—Hayashi, if Dazai remembers correctly—suddenly asks, drawing him from his thoughts. “Where did you get your suit? The tailor that works at the warehouse I usually get mine ended up quitting recently, and I’m looking for a new one.”

“Kido’s boutique in Nishi-ku,” Dazai tells him, a bit surprised when he watches the man’s eyes widen a bit in astonishment. “You know about it?”

“Who doesn’t? How did you manage to get a fitting with him?” the other man—Sato?—sighs, envy edging into his tone. “Kido-san is so selective with his clients. He turned me away when I went in for a fitting.”

Oh, Dazai thinks, surprised. He figured that Kido’s boutique was high-class, but the fact that even people like Hayashi and Sato, who were very clearly well off with notably important positions in society as two of the more vocal members of the House of Representatives, couldn’t even get a fitting with the man leaves Dazai a bit put off.

“My brother-in-law got a fitting with him a few months ago for his son’s wedding,” Hayashi says, looking more at Sato now as he speaks. “He’s on the board of the Age of Blue Company and even he had to pull strings to get the appointment. Cost him nearly a million yen.”

Dazai has to physically force himself not to blanch at his words. Nearly a million yen—that’s more than what Dazai made in two months back when he was working full time and for a suit that he’s probably going to wear once.

Ridiculous.

Dazai hates rich people.

He can feel Hinami’s eyes on him, the way her arm tightens around his. Dazai wishes it was you on his arm instead. Or maybe him on yours, he’s not picky. He doesn’t even know why she’s attached herself like this to him—they’d make more progress splitting up. They’re seriously limiting their scope by only having two opportunities to talk to people but Hinami has been intent on staying at Dazai’s side no matter how much he urges her to go off and talk to people on her own.

Observe. Small talk. Gather information.

Not hard, not really. Dazai is good at putting on masks and blending in with people, and you certainly made it easier by making him look the part, but it doesn’t change the discomfort he feels, the lingering fear that people can see right through him. He likes to play the role of the clown because it distracts people from looking too deep, but that’s not an option in a setting like this, and he thinks people are still seeing him as a clown but for all of the wrong reasons: he’s dressed up in clothes that feel more like a costume than an outfit, he’s talking about subjects that go over his head even after he’s studied them in preparation for this, his face is stretched into a smile that feels foreign on his face.

He hasn’t made much progress with gathering any useful information. Either he’s prodding at the wrong people, or they’re being extra careful not to let anything slip—could be both. Professor Ui gave them an overview of the important figures that are going to be in attendance and the ultimate goal would be to eventually talk with the majority leader in the House of Representatives and the minority leader in the House of Councillors. They were warned to keep a wide berth from Kiyomasa Daichi, an executive of the Age of Blue Company’s board—evidently the Ivory Eagle’s biggest target for this event. So Dazai supposes he’s among the right people right now, at least, because Hayashi just mentioned that his brother-in-law is on the board of the company.

The right people. Unless they find out what Dazai is here for and then-

“Tendo-kun,” an unfamiliar female voice calls from behind the two men he’s making conversation with. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

Hayashi immediately cuts off his conversation with Sato, whirling around with a wide smile to face a pretty young woman with dark hair and darker eyes, red lips curled into a too-sweet smile as she comes to stand between the two of them, giving both Dazai and Hinami a curious look.

“Noriko-san, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight. I thought your father was only sending Kiyomasa to rep the company,” Hayashi says easily, hooking his arm into the woman’s and looking down at her, enamored.

Kiyomasa. Dazai has to force himself not to react to the name. Hinami is not quite as subtle, drawing in a sharp breath that makes Dazai nearly wince because the woman, Noriko, clearly catches it from how she tilts her head to the side, looking over the two of them.

Your father was only sending Kiyomasa…

Her father must be Mishima Yukio, the CEO of the Age of Blue, and that means-

Mafia.

Exactly what they were meant to avoid right in front of them and Hinami is not being slick. Dazai can feel her fingers trembling from where she’s holding his arm.

“You know I only come to these events for one person,” Noriko laughs airly, leaning into Hayashi as she looks up at him before turning her attention back to Dazai and Hinami. “Who are your friends? Unfamiliar faces…”

Luckily, Hayashi is more focused on the first thing Noriko said. “No way,” he says, eyes bright and voice low and conspiratory. “She’s here. I thought for sure she wouldn’t show at this after everything that happened between this agency and the Mori Corporation a few months ago.”

“I think that’s exactly why she did come,” Noriko hums with an easy smile, lashes fluttering as she looks back at Dazai. “Mishima Noriko. And you are?”

Dazai doesn’t even get the chance to respond—which is for the best—because in an instant, there’s a commotion on the other side of the room, drawing the attention of all of the attendees of the gala. Noriko, Hayashi, and Sato all turn around, and Dazai takes a slight step forward to peer around them, trying to see what’s going on.

It doesn’t take long for Dazai to pinpoint it, mouth drying and heart stilling in his chest as his eyes land on you at the center of all of the attention.

You walk away from your previous company feeling grim, sure this is what you came here for—to meet with the more influential individuals attending the event tonight and help ease them into an opinion more aligned with the Port Mafia’s interests—but your heart’s just not in it. It’s easy to keep the smile on your face as you make casual conversation with House Representative Yamamoto, one of the key swing votes you have to bring to your side, but it’s much harder to make the smile reach your eyes.

Kiyomasa claimed that most of the swing votes are already falling in your favor, so long as Yamamoto’s and a few other controlling ones can be secured, you’ll be on a quick path to ensuring that the military bill is quashed in the Lower House.

But you find yourself distracted. Your thoughts drift mid-conversation to a familiar pair of warm brown eyes and a soft smile, your heart yearns for something you know you can’t have, and it makes you feel sick. Luckily in situations like these, your body works on autopilot—you smile when you’re meant to smile, you laugh when you have to laugh, you make witty comments and sly remarks to push the swing votes your way—but you just want to go back to your apartment.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” Representative Yamamoto hums, waving down a server to grab the two of you flutes of champagne. He looks amused as he turns his attention back down to you, dark eyes glittering. He’s handsome, you think, with dark hair and darker eyes, only a few years older than you—maybe if you can’t convince him with your words, you’ll convince him in bed. “Not after everything that happened between the Mori Corporation and this… what is this agency called again?”

You laugh—genuinely this time, not one of those airy automatic ones. You take a sip of your champagne and look at Yamamoto. “Ah, Yamamoto-san, how terrible of you, not even knowing the name of the agency we’re all here to celebrate,” you tease lightly.

“Shame, shame, I know,” Yamamoto sighs, leaning against the pillar where the two of you are standing.

“The OCDA,” you tell him, looking up at him through your lashes as you study his face.

Organized Crime Defense Agency, Mishima is truly taking far too long to eliminate them. The Sun and Steel were supposed to put them in the ground months ago after they drew attention to the Mori Corporation, trying to accuse the business of being a front for the Port Mafia. You had to lay low on business for months because of it, knowing that one wrong move could lead to a huge exposé from one of the big journalism groups in Yokohama, and if that happens, the government will have no choice but to intervene. The OCDA didn’t have proof to back their allegations, but if one of those journalism groups managed to get their hands on some…

The Port Mafia isn’t exactly in the position to be dealing with wars against major Yakuza syndicates, the Guild, and the government all at once. It could spell the end for it.

“Ah, yes, that’s it,” Yamamoto says absently. “The Commissioner has been staring at you since you walked in.”

Of course. Five months ago, you dedicated every waking moment to ruining the reputation of the OCDA—you had to do it. If people started believing their accusations, even if there was no evidence, it could cause trouble for the Port Mafia. You’d tarnished their public perception so completely that it literally took until this operation against the Scarlet Gang and the government going above and beyond to commemorate their success for the public to start viewing them in a better light.

“I’m not surprised,” you tell him. “He still clearly holds a grudge over what happened a few months ago.”

“Unjustly, too,” Yamamoto notes. “They were the ones that chose to target the Mori Corporation with no grounds. I don’t know what they were thinking and to act like the victim after being the one to start it… Deplorable.”

Interesting, you think.

You look at Yamamoto under a new light, tilting your head to the side.

Is he just saying that because he knows it’s something you want to hear?

Or is that how he really feels?

The whole incident between the OCDA and the Mori Corporation has been a hot topic amongst the members of the National Diet. You’d feared that the allegations were going to severely harm your position amongst the Representatives and Councillors. To some extent, it had; a lot of the people who wanted the Mori Corporation to lose sway over the members of the Diet used it as a way to try to turn people against you—but you’d been able to salvage it. Still, even to this day, it’s a contentious topic that most politicians don’t willingly bring up.

Just as you’re about to open your lips to respond, pry a little bit more into his mindset before you say something riskier. You catch sight of an achingly familiar face from the corner of your eye.

What-

All conscious thought leaves your mind as you turn your head to the side, trying to figure out if you’re seeing what you think you’re seeing.

Dazai?

Your gaze settles on none other than the boy who has been plaguing your thoughts since you left his apartment a few days ago. He’s standing off to the other side of the room dressed in the suit that you bought him—you can hardly bring yourself to draw your gaze from him. He looks… stunning, actually, at ease in a way that you never would have expected him to be in this setting.

He’s talking to Hayashi, Sato and Noriko—three people that have close ties with the Port Mafia, much to your distress—the smile on his lips is easy and casual, body language relaxed. He looks right at home. A part of you itches to walk right over to him, but you know you shouldn’t. There are too many eyes on you at this event, enemies and allies alike. You don’t want to draw unwanted attention to Dazai, not when you’ve cut him off to protect him from this very sort of attention.

Your eyes linger on him as he laughs at something Hayashi says, breath catching in the back of your throat—and god, you know you’re being obvious. You need to force your attention back to Yamamoto and at least try to remember what you were talking about to play this off. But-

But then he looks at you.

Dazai’s eyes drift from Hayashi right to where you’re standing with Yamamoto as if he already knew you were standing there. He looks surprised, and you realize that he’s probably more surprised that you’re looking back at him, like he didn’t expect you to notice him.

How could you not notice him?

And as soon as his gaze meets yours, you know that’s all an act. You can see the way his eyes are a bit lost, lonely. You know he feels severely out of place and you long walk over there to him. All thoughts of keeping attention off of him out the window if it means he doesn’t look so uncomfortable—you yearn to see the bright look in his eyes that you’d become so accustomed to, feel his smile against your lips. You’d known it was a mistake to kiss him that night, that you’d already let yourself indulge too much, and taking that next step would just hurt you both but…

Just like now, all reasonable thought seems to be thrown out the window whenever he’s around.

You watch as something akin to hurt flashes through his eyes, and you withhold a wince as you remember all of the lies you told him—leaving the country, not having time to text him. You’d even gotten a new phone and a new number so you wouldn’t be tempted to read his messages. Fuck, why does he always show up at the most inopportune moments? This must’ve been why he’d asked you about the military bill. This was the event his journalism professor wanted him to attend. How did you not put this together sooner?

Then, his gaze hardens, and he looks away, shifting to the side as if to pointedly show off someone you hadn’t noticed before—a girl hanging off of his arm. Pretty. Big dark eyes and light brown hair, a soft expression. Pretty, you think again, sickeningly civilian, probably another student at the university he attends. Even being dolled up in a gown and makeup can’t hide that.

Perfect for him, then. Sickeningly civilian. Just like Dazai. They’d be good for each other—live out long, sickeningly civilian lives with each other. Go to cafes and talk about all of their sickeningly civilian classes, discuss all of the books and poems they read. It’s perfect, it’s what you want for him, it’s why you cut him off. So he’s not in danger by being associated with you, so you don’t drag him into the dark and get him killed.

So, where is the anger coming from?

Your jaw is so clenched that you can feel your teeth grinding together, knuckles tense around your flute of champagne. Your tongue feels itchy, your throat feels swollen, your chest is unbearably tight—you have to force yourself to remain rooted next to Yamamoto, and your body twitches to walk over there. You’re so lost for logic that you can’t even fumble for an excuse to explain the sudden bout of anger.

You try. You tell yourself that you’re angry because he shouldn’t be at an event like this. You tell yourself that you’re angry because his journalism professor should know better than to send college students to gather information at an event where several mafias are going to be in attendance. You tell yourself that you’re angry because he’s always coming around to fuck things up for you, that he shouldn’t have wormed his way into your life.

But it’s all flimsy and weak because the color flooding you right now isn’t red.

It’s green.

“I think you should go over there,” Yamamoto says, amused, nodding over to where you’re looking as he leans in closer to you. He keeps his voice down, luckily, but you can’t help the distress that sweeps through you when you realize that you are being that obvious.

“Allow me to pretend not to be so obvious, Yamamoto-san,” you sigh.

Yamamoto laughs, tossing you a wink. “I’m not that kind,” he says lightly. “I’ll send you an email later if we don’t get to talk again tonight. I’d like to discuss the more… minute details of the proposition you were offering.”

Your smile is a bit more genuine now as you turn your attention back to him.

“Of course,” you say easily. “A pleasure talking to you, as always.”

“And you,” Yamamoto replies. “Talking to you is always a highlight of these dreadfully boring galas.”

“You flatter me,” you laugh, waving off the compliment.

“Me? Never.” Yamamoto winks at you again, then leans in to murmur, “Best of luck.”

Yamamoto wanders off without another word, and your gaze drifts back over to Dazai and you find yourself actually contemplating it. You contemplate going over there and forcing that girl away, forcing him to spend the night at your side instead. You contemplate ruining everything by drawing all of the attention in the room onto him. You contemplate putting him in danger just to make this ugly green emotion go away.

You grab yourself another drink instead.

Dazai can hardly pay attention to the conversation at hand. No matter how much he tries to keep the conversation going between the two Representatives and Mishima and Noriko, he finds that his gaze keeps drifting back over to where you’re standing on the other side of the room.

You look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but there’s something… different tonight. You’re dressed in a sleek black dress rather than the expensive suits he’s become used to. It hangs off your shoulders, a slit up your thigh; there’s a pretty smile on your face and a playful glitter in your eyes as you entertain conversation with people. You’re always beautiful—whether you’re in one of your ridiculously expensive suits or an equally expensive dress—but there’s something different tonight that makes him unable to keep his attention off of you for long.

In your suits, it’s a polished type of beauty. Cold. Untouchable. There’s an air about you that few would dare try to disturb. He noticed it that first night when everyone at the bar gave you a wide berth. At the cafe, it was the same—your presence screams that you’re someone important and someone who should not be bothered. Even at the library, though his classmates clearly wanted to approach you and talk to you, they were all too intimidated to try. Everyone waited for you to leave before badgering Dazai with questions.

This is different. Just as refined but untouchable in a different way. Your smiles are sly and inviting, your body language smooth and languid; people gravitate toward you rather than avoid you, but none dare to draw too close. If intimidation was the factor in other situations, nerves are in this one—you’re warm and enticing but still too elusive for anyone to dare to try to capture. Dazai can see it in the way they watch you longingly, fingers itching to reach out toward you, but they freeze before they can, like you’re some otherworldly being that they think they shouldn’t taint with their touch.

And Dazai is so conflicted.

He yearns to go over to you. He wants to be the one to draw close to you, wants to see the expression on everyone else’s face when he’s the one that breaks through that invisible barrier, wants to slip his arm around your waist, hold you in the way that he knows other people are fantasizing about right now. He’s missed you the past few days; he can still feel the weight of your body on top of his, his lips tingling from where they’d been pressed against yours. If he closes his eyes long enough, he can almost imagine your fingers entwined with his hair, holding him close as your lips slide to his jaw.

But he’s angry. Or maybe he’s not angry, maybe he’s just hurt. Maybe both. Dazai can’t tell. He’s never been good at understanding his own emotions, he just knows that he doesn’t like it. Wants it to go away.

Wants you to explain.

Why did you lie? The thought makes his stomach churn so uncomfortably that it makes the alcohol he’s been drinking come up his throat. Why did you lie? Since he saw you before, he’s been on the brink of collapse. He wants to go back to his apartment and forget all about this shitty event and your betrayal, wants to curl up in his futon and sleep before the gaping hole in his chest starts to spread.

He should have known this would happen. Every time Dazai Osamu has ever come to want something, it’s always lost the moment he obtains it. This has been true since the moment he was born, but somehow it eluded him the weeks he spent pining after you, eluded him the night you spent at his apartment sharing kisses and gentle touches.

The cloud that’s been hanging over him since the night he met you at the bar, the one that you’ve successfully pushed away twice, is heavier than ever and Dazai wants to be rid of it. He’s so tired. Everything feels amplified now that he’s been given a taste of what he could have had with you, only to find you lied to be free of him just like so many others have. Ever since Odasaku died, he’s been alone and Dazai just doesn’t know how much more of it he can take. And he feels selfish, he feels selfish for wanting to go before he can fulfill his friend’s final request but he just can’t do it anymore.

It’s just too much for him, and Dazai isn’t going to finish this novel anyway. It doesn’t matter how many English classes he takes, doesn’t matter how much time he spends reading to teach himself how to write—Dazai will never be able to finish Odasaku’s book. How can he? A book focused on the human experience? Dazai is, unfortunately missing a key characteristic necessary to successfully write this novel.

Dazai has always struggled to understand the minds of people around him. He’s smart, and he can read people easily, but he’s never been able to understand them. It’s why he’s found himself an outcast time and time again: no matter how hard he tries, and he does try, he tries so hard, people can tell something is… off about him. His laughs are too loud and too hollow. His eyes are too black and too empty. His smiles are too wide and too fake.

When he was younger, kids were cruel about it—they would point it out and laugh at him, and when he tried harder to fit in with them, they would point that out too. He couldn’t win, no matter how hard he tried. Now that he’s older, people aren’t quite as blatant with it, but Dazai is far from stupid and he can see the looks people give him, can see the way they actively avoid him, the way they whisper.

Dazai’s gotten better at masking himself. It’s hard for people to tell at first glance now that something is off about him—his smiles have become smoother and less strained, and he’s taught himself to laugh light and airy. He can make do with small talk and acquaintances, even able to charm people into his bed, assuming they aren't put off when he keeps the bandages on.

The trouble comes when they stick around too long, when they start noticing the cracks in his mask; he can evade it at first, become loud and funny, take on the role of a clown so they can focus on that instead of the gaping void within him, threatening to consume anyone that dares to come near. But he can only play that role for so long before people realize something is up; whether his smile fades at the wrong moment or he talks a bit too long, something clues them into the fact that something is wrong with Dazai, and they inevitably disappear without a word, avoid him on the streets if they happen to run into him.

Or they lie to him and tell him that they’re going abroad for a while just to be rid of him.

Dazai is drawn out of his own thoughts when he realizes that all four pairs of eyes are on him—Hayashi, Sato, Noriko, and Hinami are all looking at him expectantly, and he realizes, anxiously, that one of them must have directly addressed him but he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t even been listening. He racks his brain for a response, desperately trying to figure out if he’d subconsciously picked up on the conversation, but the longer the silence draws on, the harder it becomes for him to push away the numbness spreading from his core to his limbs.

Before he can fumble out a non-response, an achingly familiar voice intrudes on the conversation.

“Hayashi-kun, Sato-kun, I’ve been meaning to speak with you two,” you say with an easy smile as you make your way over to the small group, and Dazai can hardly breathe at the sight of you so close, unwittingly rescuing him yet again. “Noriko-chan.”

Your smile is fonder as your gaze lands on Noriko and the cold and aloof woman suddenly looks starstruck by your presence, enamored. Dazai’s chest tightens as he looks between the two of you.

You ignore his presence completely.

“Hime,” Noriko breathes out. Dazai startles at the honorific—it was startling hearing Kido, and the attendants call you it at the boutique, but it’s even more jarring hearing it come from a woman that Professor Ui suspects of being a mafia heiress. “I heard you would be here. I convinced my father to let me come.”

“Just for me?” Your voice is light and teasing, you reach out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Noriko’s ear, and Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. “You’re so sweet, Noriko-chan.”

“You didn’t come to Arima-kun’s wedding,” Noriko pouts in a way that’s so exaggerated that it nearly makes Dazai roll his eyes and gag. “I’ve missed you.”

“Ah,” you sigh. “I’m afraid I was busy. I heard it was fun. I regret not being able to be there.”

You notably don’t tell Noriko that you also missed her, and it makes Dazai’s lips quirk up in smug amusement.

No, he stops himself, reminding himself that he’s angry at you and he should not care about any of this. In fact, he should walk away. He should. But his feet betray him, they keep him rooted to the ground when you finally turn your gaze onto him.

“Who are your new friends?” you ask casually.

Dazai has to physically stop himself from flinching at your words, the way you pretend you don’t know him, just like so many people have before. His chest aches, his throat feels swollen, and he feels embarrassed—he doesn’t even know why he feels embarrassed, but he can feel heat spread across his cheeks at your words. For a second, Dazai swears he sees regret flash through your eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that he thinks he imagined it.

“Koda Hinami.” Next to Dazai, Hinami stumbles over her words, face pink as she bows her head in respect, “It’s, uh, a pleasure to meet you…”

You don’t even acknowledge Hinami, your gaze doesn’t budge from Dazai, and you don’t offer your name at Hinami’s unspoken request for it. Hinami lets out an embarrassed noise in the back of her throat as she looks away. Dazai has half a mind to stay silent, to ignore you in the same way you ignore Hinami, but he finds his lips moving before he can stop them.

“Dazai Osamu.” He’s grateful that his voice is steadier than how he feels, cool and short, unlike the rampage of emotions tearing through his chest.

You tilt your head to the side as you look over him. You reach out, pinching the material of his suit jacket between your fingers—as you do, your knuckles brush his bandaged skin, and Dazai has to physically withhold a shiver at the touch.

“One of Kido’s,” you note, and there’s a small smile on your lips as if you’re sharing an inside joke with him. “You must have friends in high places—he doesn’t often take appointments without referrals.”

You’re mocking him.

As if pretending he’s a stranger isn’t enough, you’re standing there mocking him too. Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, everything feels all twisted inside of him—he wants to go home.

“Not a friend.”

The jab is cold and pointed. It goes over the head of the other four, but he watches the way your smile falters at it, and he savors it even if he does know it hardly stings you in comparison to the knives he feels being jabbed into his chest and back.

“Hm,” is all you say in response, gaze sliding away from him as if he’s no longer of any interest to you. You look back at Hayashi and give him a smile that makes Dazai want to throw up. “Dance with me?”

Hayashi rushes to take your extended hand, fumbling over a yes, and you don’t even bother to spare another look at Dazai as you lead Hayashi onto the floor, where a few couples are already swaying around. Dazai can’t even force himself to look away from you, eyes pinned on how Hayashi’s hands rest on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Maybe he’s a bit petty when he turns to Hinami and offers his hand to her. For a second, the girl looks as if she’s going to shake her head no, too nervous to go to the dancefloor, but then other couples start taking your cue, grabbing a partner to take to the dancefloor.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Hinami whispers, panicking. “I don’t-”

“You’ll be fine,” Dazai says. “Follow my lead.”

Dazai also doesn’t know how to dance, but he thinks it should be easy enough. He observes the few people already settled on the dancefloor, watching their steps and the way they sway to the slow beat and then matches their pace and hand placement.

“I don’t know how you’re so good at this,” Hinami says quietly as he leads her in the dance. Dazai hardly pays attention to her, gaze cutting through the growing crowd of couples to find you. “I feel so in over my head. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine,” Dazai tells her absently, stiffening when he finally spots you not too far from him in deep conversation with Hayashi. “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Hinami sighs. Dazai’s eyes linger at how low Hayashi’s hands dip down on your hips, how your heads are bowed together as you sway, speaking quietly in one another’s ear. It makes him sick, he can feel his stomach turn inside of him, he can feel something ugly and green spreading through his chest. “You look like a natural. Like you’re meant to be here with these people. I can hardly speak to any of them without stumbling over my words. I mean, did you see how that woman ignored me? … So embarrassing…”

Dazai’s breath hitches when you lift your face up a bit, so close to Hayashi that your noses almost brush. He can’t see the expression on your face, but he can see that you’re making eye contact with him, and it looks so intimate that Dazai feels that void in his chest start to spread to his limbs, his fingers feel numb and clunky against Hinami’s waist, and he nearly stumbles over one of the steps in the dance.

You look like you belong with him. High-class. Smooth. Charming. Wealthy. Dazai’s known you were out of his league since the day he met you at the bar, but actually getting a visual of what you would look like with someone of the same class as you—the people you interact with on a daily basis—makes him feel sorely inadequate. Any of the people at this event would kill for just a few seconds of your time, all of them wealthier and more influential than him, way more worth your time than a broke college student who can hardly talk himself off the edge of a bridge.

Why would he have ever thought he had a chance with you? Why would you waste any time with him? Why wouldn’t you pretend not to know him? Dazai would be embarrassed to associate with himself too. He can hardly even stand to look at himself in the mirror.

He shouldn’t be as upset as he is. He should’ve expected this from day one. He doesn’t know why all of this hurts as much as it does.

Because it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to hope since Odasaku’s death.

The air getting to his lungs is thin and shallow. Dazai feels like he’s at the peak of a mountain where oxygen is few and far between. Hinami doesn’t seem to notice his distress from the way she’s still complaining about the event, but it’s hard for him to ground himself to the present.

He’d allowed himself to hope.

The way you had immediately noticed his discomfort with the bandages and moved to try to make him more comfortable—no one has ever done anything like that for him, not since Odasaku died.

The way you came to him when you were hurt.

The way you helped him around his apartment and didn’t question the filth and mess, buying him food, replacing what he’d broken in his depressive episode.

The way you looked at him.

The way you touched him.

The way you kissed him.

He’d allowed himself to hope that maybe someone would accept him for who he is instead of running as soon as they see beneath the mask.

He had let himself hope. A fatal mistake. Always has been. Dazai should have known better.

Dazai needs to get out of here. He can hardly feel his fingers anymore, can feel the numbness spreading to his legs. His vision is blurring, his lungs are burning. He needs to go back home so he can let the black hole consume him in peace. He needs to be alone. He needs to-

Dazai doesn’t even notice the music tempo changing, nor the way people are swapping partners until he and Hinami are separated and drawn into a new dance. Dazai’s breath catches, caught off guard and still trying to ground himself.

“Why are you here?”

Your voice meets his ears, quiet so as to not be heard above the music, you forcibly guide his body to move in step with yours. He stares down at you, brain not processing who’s standing in front of him. He can see the concern thinly veiled behind your eyes, the way your lips curve down.

“Dazai, snap out of it. Breathe.”

You. You’re here. You’re always here when he feels as if he’s finally going to let the void win, and Dazai just-

Dazai wants to scream.

Why are you always here to rescue him when he knows you’re just going to leave him?

“Why am I here?” Dazai finally forces himself to say, grateful that his voice is steadier than how he feels. “Why are you here? How was your trip abroad, hime?”

Any concern in your eyes disappears, and the grip you have on his waist tightens in a way that makes his breath catch. “Don’t call me that.”

Now a bit more coherent than he was when he was dancing with Hinami, he thinks he should be mortified by how you’re taking the lead. All of the other men are leading their partners in the dance, but he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed because he’s so focused on your hand on his waist and the way your fingers are laced with his. He’s mad at you, yes, but he has to actively remind himself of that because of the way you’re holding him.

Dazai fears he is a weak man at heart.

“How was your trip abroad?” Dazai asks again, leaving off the title this time. He wants to know if you’ll lie to him. Again.

You watch him carefully for a moment, and then you sigh, shaking your head. “Don’t ask stupid questions,” you tell him.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, throat bobbing at your words. Doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that you didn’t even try to lie. Does know that it hurts hearing you admit that you lied to him. That you made up a shitty excuse so you could cut him off, ghost him like so many others have before. He lets out a shaky puff of air, shaking his own head as he tries to take a step away from you, intent on creating some distance between the two of you, but you don’t let him, your grip on his waist tightens again, hand sliding to the small of his back to force him flush to you again. His face heats up.

You tilt your head to the side as you look up at him as if daring him to make a scene. Dazai wants to. He does—just to embarrass you in front of all of your rich, upper-class friends—but more than that, he wants answers.

“Why?” he asks tightly.

“Stupid questions annoy me,” you say with a thin smile, being purposely obtuse.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Dazai refuses to humor the non-answer. “Why did you lie? Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to-”

Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to be with me?

Why did you have to give him hope?

Why did you have to be like all of the rest?

“It has nothing to do with what I want,” you finally sigh, voice quiet as you lead him into an outside spin, keeping him in pace with all of the other couples. “It’s complicated, Dazai.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Dazai says immediately, body tense. “What did I do wrong? I thought-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him, which only frustrates Dazai more because if he’s about to get the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, he thinks he might storm right off the dancefloor, leaving you here. “It’s just complicated, Dazai. I can’t uncomplicate it.”

“That’s not fair,” Dazai murmurs. “You kissed me, you-”

“You kissed me,” you correct.

“You kissed me back,” Dazai hisses, getting annoyed, “and you initiated the second kiss.”

“Dazai-”

“You know what,” Dazai laughs to himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you want nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” you say immediately, but Dazai is already taking a step away, brushing your hand off of his waist and pulling his hand back. He can’t listen—he can’t—he can’t let himself hope again. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive it this time. “Dazai-”

“I need to go,” Dazai interrupts.

He doesn’t wait for a response from you as he turns to walk off the floor, leaving you standing there alone. He can hardly breathe in the crowd, with you so close—he needs air. It feels shallow again, like it’s not getting to his lungs. He tells himself that this was to be expected, again, but the thought doesn’t calm him down this time. You don’t follow him off the dancefloor—he doesn’t know if he wanted you to or if it would just stress him out more.

“You’re so lucky,” a familiar voice sighs as soon as Dazai is off the dance floor. He feels unfocused as he looks at Sato. “I was trying so hard to position myself to switch with Hayashi for the partner swap.”

Dazai is annoyed. He is annoyed, and he is jealous and he is once again very acutely reminded of the fact that every single person in this room would kill for a few seconds of your time, once again very acutely reminded of his own inadequacy. He had known from day one that he didn’t have a shot with you but-

No.

He’s not going to go down this rabbit hole again.

“Well, she has no partner now,” Dazai says with a strained smile, ignoring the tightness in the chest and the way his vision blooms green. “You should go ask her to dance.”

Sato brightens. “You’re right,” he says, sparing a haste ‘thanks’ before rushing off to the dance floor.

Dazai doesn’t let himself linger long enough to see if you accept his extended hand, making his way out of the event room and down a nearby hall, hoping for some fresh air.

You don’t know where Dazai went, but he’s a sneaky bastard for sending Sato your way to distract you. You couldn’t blow him off without looking like an asshole, so you had to entertain him for a song before making an excuse. Dazai is nowhere to be seen now—not hanging near the walls, not hovering near the apps or drinks, not making small talk with any of the other politicians or businessmen in attendance.

Did he leave?

No, he wouldn’t have. Your eyes trace around the room again as you make small talk with Noriko—he had to have gone somewhere, but where? You focus on a hallway leading out to the back of the city hall, tilting your head to the side. There, maybe? There are bathrooms back there, if you remember correctly, most people will probably use the ones in the entrance hall, but if he’s looking for somewhere quiet…

You excuse yourself from the conversation with Noriko and make your way across the room, careful to avoid the eyes of any of the other attendees who might try to steal you away for a talk. You get there without incident, luckily, because you think if someone tried to interrupt you, you might shatter the carefully crafted reputation you’ve built over the past six years.

The hallway is dim and cool, a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of the other room. You head straight for the men’s bathroom, hoping that your hunch is correct. Also hoping that there are no other men in the bathroom because that would be awkward—and you’d have to do some serious explaining because you can’t have anyone know you’re seeking out Dazai.

You think you’ve done a pretty decent job in making sure people don’t realize you knew him before the event. Noriko and Hayashi have no suspicions, and if anyone was going to pick it up, it would be those two. You were casual enough with the positioning of the partner switch that it didn’t look like you were intentionally seeking him out, but you could see the way he was thinking himself into a panic attack, the girl with him obliviously babbling on as Dazai struggled to breathe. You suppose him being mad at you is preferable to him thinking himself into an abyss, but it’s just not settling right with you.

You think that this is a mistake—you should let him think that you want nothing to do with him, should let him hate you and resent you so he can move on with his life—so why are you still turning down the hallway to get to the men’s bathroom?

You blame Dazai. If he hadn’t shown up at this event and all but shoved himself in your face, purposely antagonized you by shoving that stupid civilian girl in your face, then everything would be fine. You would’ve evaded the places he frequents in Hodogaya-ku, and you’d have never crossed paths with him again. Both of you could’ve moved on with your lives as if you’d never met each other—but now-

You’re almost angry as you shove open the door to the men’s bathroom.

No, you are angry, and it isn’t just because he’s shown up to the event and fucked up your plan to keep him out of your life. It’s also because you know why he’s here, and he’s a lot stupider than you thought he was. The suit for the event he’d mentioned his journalism professor wanted him to attend and the question about the bill… He’s here to gather intel for that professor of his, and the only reason why a bunch of students would be sent to an event like this in lieu of the actual journalists themselves is because they’re trying to seek out information that wouldn’t be easily acquired by known faces. Whether that’s information about insider opinions on the new bill or something else, it’s dangerous business. If the opinion of the wrong person gets out to the media and the public, there’ll be a witch hunt trying to figure out who let it loose, and all eyes will be on the unfamiliar faces.

All eyes will be on Dazai.

He’s stupid.

The door slams against the wall hard, and your gaze cuts to the side, hardly focusing on Dazai’s surprised expression as he straightens from where he’s leaning over the sink. Your attention shifts from him to the stalls, making sure each of them is empty before shutting the door behind you and locking it.

“No,” Dazai says, shaking his head, jaw tight as he moves to leave the bathroom.

Your eye twitches when he tries to push past you and all of the rising frustration you’ve felt the past few weeks snaps like a taut cord that has been pulled at too much. Your hands dart out to grab his waist, fingers hooking in the belt loops to stop him before he can get past you. You watch as his eyes widen as you tug him closer before slamming him back against the bathroom door hard.

“What are you doing here?” you ask again, ignoring the look he’s giving you, lips parted in shock and pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. “Dazai, what are you doing here?”

Finally, he’s drawn out of whatever stupor he’s in, scoffing and looking away from you but not pushing you away.

“Really? You just came here to interrogate me some more?” he says bitterly. “Don’t you have better things to do? I’m sure there are plenty of people out there more worthy of your time.”

“What are you even talking about?” you ask, irritated. “I couldn’t care less about any of them. Stop avoiding the question, why are you here?”

Dazai looks conflicted at your words, and you don’t know why, but it’s really starting to piss you off. You feel like you should step away from him, give some space, but you can’t bring yourself to move. In fact, your grip on his slacks tightens.

“I told you I had that event to attend for my journalism class, I-”

“You didn’t tell me this was the event-”

“You didn’t ask! What does it matter?” Dazai demands, glaring at you.

You inhale sharply and let go of his belt loops, taking a step back, but Dazai doesn’t move to leave. He stays leaning against the bathroom door, staring at you as he waits for a response, but you don’t even know how to respond.

“It matters,” you finally say without giving any context, which evidently pisses him off from how he lets out a sharp puff of air.

“Why does it matter?” Dazai asks, raising his voice in a way that stresses you out because if anyone happens to come down this hall and find you in the bathroom with him, it’s going to cause issues. “Why does-Why won’t you explain anything? Why did you lie about going abroad? Why does it matter that I’m here?”

“Because you shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, not wanting to expand on it, but you can see the frustration rising on Dazai’s face, and you think it’s more important not to have him screeching for people to overhear. “Dazai, don’t you think there’s a reason that your professor didn’t come to this event himself and with his trained colleagues?”

Something shifts onto Dazai’s expression that you don’t like—a strange look caught between suspicion and wariness that you take note of. You misspoke somewhere but where? This conversation is risky—you don’t even know what his professor sent him and his classmates to get information about, how they were prepped for it, or what information they were given. What a mess.

“What are you talking about?” Dazai asks in a way that lets you know that he’s onto something.

You don’t respond for a moment, choosing your words carefully. “What do you think will happen if an unsavory opinion of one of these politicians gets out to the media, Dazai? These people have more money than you could ever dream of, connections with-” You cut yourself off abruptly, staring at him for a moment before saying tightly. “Connections with all types of people. Good and bad. They’ll find out who spread what was spoken at this event.”

“Isn’t this suit supposed to help me blend in?” His voice is so snide that you almost want to smack him. If he were anyone else-

You don’t even finish that thought. He’s not anyone else. He’s Dazai Osamu, a stupid civilian who has managed to worm his way into your life, for better or for worse.

“Sure,” you agree tightly. “It makes them less concerned about your presence at the moment. But once they have something to be concerned about, you know who they’re going to remember? The boy in a poorly tailored suit who spoke too loudly and with far too many people. The girl in a thirty dollar dress from Muji who stumbled over all of her words and the boy that she latched herself onto.”

“And what exactly are they going to do if they figure out who leaked their shitty opinions?” Dazai asks, a challenging expression on his face as if he knows what the answer is but wants to hear you say it out loud. “Ui-sensei said-”

Ui. There aren’t many journalists with the surname Ui and if they’re here at this event…

“Ui?” you ask cooly. “Don’t tell me you mean Ui Koutarou.”

The surprise that flashes through Dazai’s eyes tells you all you need to know, and you can’t help the scoff you let out, a bitter feeling spreading through your chest. Ui Koutarou, one of the senior journalists at the Ivory Eagle—a group that’s been relentlessly trying to pin down the Mori Corporation as the business front for the Port Mafia.

Is that what this is?

The thought is as haunting as it is jarring, realizing that maybe this has all just been some giant scheme that you fell right into. You know the man has been trying to expose you as an executive of the Port Mafia—the first stepping stone of taking down the Port Mafia. Is that why Dazai attached himself to you so quickly? Pushed into it by his professor as a means to get proof of your affiliation with the Mafia? You’d assumed maybe it was your ability at work, making him more comfortable around you, and since he was so lonely, he ended up attaching himself to you but… this would make more sense, wouldn’t it?

Dazai is a lot smarter than he makes himself out to be, a lot more observant and perceptive; you knew that day when you showed up at his apartment wounded that he was seeking out information about you. He could’ve been asking about the military bill to prepare himself for this event but… could he have been asking about it because Ui Koutarou is using him as a puppet to corner you? To get the proof that he needs?

You don’t want to believe it, but the passive form of your ability isn’t strong enough to create such a dependency even on the weakest of minds… and this makes a lot more sense than someone liking you for who you are.

You don’t say anything else, unwilling to incriminate yourself anymore than you already have. You’re sure Dazai must have some idea of who you are by now—maybe not exactly, but there’s no shot that he doesn’t have a clue as to your real occupation, and if you keep running your mouth, it’s only a matter of time before you hand him the proof Ui Koutarou needs on a silver platter.

So, instead, you shake your head and walk back to the door, unlocking it so you can go back to the event hall.

Dazai grabs your wrist before you can. His grip is weak enough that you could pull out of it if you want, but you don’t. You don’t turn to look at him, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“Can’t you just tell me what I did wrong?” His voice wobbles a bit as he speaks, you can feel the way his fingers are trembling on your wrist. God, it’s so believable—you remember the way he kissed you, unsure and hesitant, breath shaky. No one is that good of an actor. “I did something again just now, why won’t you just tell me? I want to-”

You don’t want to hear the rest of that sentence, so instead, you look back at him and watch as the words die on his tongue. The look he gives you is confused and desperate, pleading with you to help him understand.

“If you know what’s good for you, Dazai, you’ll forget you came here tonight and won’t do another job for a man who’s willing to put three stupid kids on the line to save his own ass,” you say and Dazai’s brows furrow, he looks impossibly more confused as he waits for you to explain, protests and questions on the tip of his tongue.

You leave before he can get any of them out.

Dazai’s head spins as he leaves the event hall. He tries to seek you out again, but you’re nowhere to be found, so he finds himself wandering the edges of the event hall, unsure of what to do. Mishima Noriko is missing, too, he can’t help but notice with a tight feeling in his chest. Hayashi and Sato are speaking quietly to one another by the refreshments table, heads dipped together and serious expressions on their faces.

“Dazai,” Ayato calls, making his way over to where Dazai is standing.

After your words, Dazai can’t help but wince at how loud his voice is in comparison to the other attendees of the event. It’s glaringly obvious now that it’s been pointed out to him—even when he lowers his voice, there’s a jarring cadence that’s stark compared to the smooth tones of the other people here.

Hinami is with him too, Dazai realizes, watching as the girl comes over to Dazai’s side, looking between the two of them before asking: “Are you ready to head out?”

No, Dazai wants to say, throat swollen and stomach churning. He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again if he leaves now. Doesn’t know if he’ll see you again. This might be his last chance and he’s so frustrated and lost. He wants answers from you—more than that, he wants you.

He wants you.

You didn’t explain why you lied to him. You hardly explained why you were so mad about him being at the event. You clearly know who his professor is, you’re clearly unhappy about Dazai working with him, and you made a cryptic comment about how he’s putting Dazai and his classmates on the line to save his own ass.

Does that mean you know? Do you know what information that they’re trying to uncover at this event? You kind of implied it, didn’t you? You implied that a lot of the politicians in the Diet have affiliations with criminal organizations because what else could that ‘good and bad’ comment have meant? But how could you possibly know that? How could you know unless-

Dazai’s mind drifts back to all of the suspicions that had been floating through his head, letting out a heavy breath. Shit, could you really be-

“Dazai,” Hinami prods, nudging his shoulder, but before Dazai can make an excuse about staying longer, the entire building shakes.

Dazai nearly topples right over, barely catching himself on the wall behind him. His eyes are wide as he looks around the room, watching as people shriek and dive for cover. Again? The second one in a few days?

“Come on,” Ayato grabs his wrist, and Dazai instantly draws back, not expecting the sudden touch. “Dazai, come on. Ui-sensei’s been texting. He’s panicked about something, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Texting about what?” Dazai asks, casting one last longing look around the room, a last-ditch attempt to seek you out, only to find himself empty-handed again, shaking his head as he follows the other two out of the building. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” Hinami says as they slip out of the building into the front parking lot. “Just said we needed to get out before things started going down.”

“Crazy that the earthquake happens right as he tells us that,” Ayato notes. “What are the chances?”

What are the chances?

Unless it’s not an earthquake, Dazai thinks, taking a deep breath of the cool air outside, mind racing as he thinks back to the day you showed up at his apartment, the cryptic comment about the earthquake. You acted like you didn’t know that it was an earthquake, but Dazai had a strong gut feeling that you knew exactly what it was and it wasn’t an earthquake. And Ayato is right; what are the chances it happens twice, and both times you’re around for it? The first time, you seem to know what’s going on but try to evade talking about it; the second time, you mysteriously disappear right as it takes place.

It’s suspicious. Everything about this is suspicious, and Dazai just doesn’t know what to think. He wishes that he had more time to talk to you, that you hadn’t rushed off as soon as he mentioned Professor Ui—and that’s suspicious, too, because Professor Ui sent them here to try to get some intel on one of the big mafias in Tokyo so…

Dazai can’t even finish sorting out his scrambled thoughts because a familiar van is pulling up to the front steps of the city hall. The door is sliding open and Dazai can’t stop himself from looking back one last time before he’s being ushered into the back of the van by Hinami and Ayato. Professor Ui is already waiting inside for them, brows creased and a frown on his lips—an expression that instantly has Dazai on edge.

“Ui-sensei, what’s going on?” Hinami asks softly as Ayato pulls the back doors of the van closed. Slightly alarmed, Dazai watches as Professor Ui instantly motions for the driver to get going. “Is something wrong?”

Dazai’s stomach lurches as the van flies over a bump, gaze focused on Professor Ui as he taps furiously at his phone. His voice is a bit tighter than he intends for it to be when he asks, “Aren’t you going to tell us what’s going on?”

“We got a tip-off that the Port Mafia was going to be in attendance at this event at the last second,” Professor Ui finally says, sitting up in his seat as he focuses his attention on the three of them. Dazai stiffens, mind racing back to Mishima Noriko and her last minute attendance of the event when she heard that you were attending, mind racing back to his piling suspicions of you. “We also got a tip-off that there was going to be a major conflict between them and one of the Tokyo-based Yakuza syndicates tonight. We wanted to get you out of there before it happened.”

“What?” Ayato sounds far too excited for Dazai’s liking; he gives the other man a heavy side-eye before focusing back on Professor Ui. “A gang fight is breaking out tonight? Wouldn’t that have been the best chance to get the proof?”

Best chance to get killed more like it, Dazai thinks, hardly withholding an eye roll as he keeps his gaze pinned on their professor. He can’t help the way his heart is skipping around with anxiety; he finds himself nervous for you, remembering how you abruptly disappeared from the event.

“Too dangerous,” Professor Ui shakes his head. “The fight has already broken out. Did you feel that quake?”

“The earthquake?” Hinami asks curiously.

“Not an earthquake,” Professor Ui says dryly, grabbing his laptop and clicking a few times before turning the laptop to face them. Dazai’s gaze focuses on the screen, frowning at the blurry image of a man with red hair and an ugly hat. “From what we know, that was the ability of this man. We believe he’s an executive of the Port Mafia, the gravity manipulator. He’s been at the top of the country’s most wanted list for three years since he leveled all of Izumi-ku; hard to track down because he’s frequently in the west. They say he’s currently the strongest ability user in the world.”

“Tacky hat,” Dazai mutters absently, ignoring the looks he receives for the comment.

He’s ignored.

“I didn’t see him at the event,” Ayato announces, leaning back in his seat. “I made a lot of rounds too. Maybe your tip was off.”

“He wasn’t the executive in attendance,” Professor Ui says firmly.

Dazai’s heart drops to his feet. His professor flips the laptop back around, and Dazai can hardly breathe as he clicks through again. It feels like an eternity before the clicking stops, and he can hardly even drag his gaze back to the screen.

Dazai knows what it’s going to show him before the computer is even turned toward them again. Doesn’t need to hear him say your name. Doesn’t need to see your face on the screen.

He looks anyway.

Your smile is foreign—unkind, almost—and the expression on your face is much cooler and unapproachable than what he’s become used to. You look beautiful, you always look beautiful, but he feels sick to his stomach at the sight of you when he’s usually dizzy with how much he’s enamored by you. His ears ring as he tries to tune into what Professor Ui is saying.

“... presents as vice-chair of the board of the Mori Corporation, suspected of being an executive of the Port Mafia… -sing her position within the Mafia would be the easiest way of exposing the Mori Corporation for what it is considering how public of a figure she is… say that Mafia affiliates tend to refer to her as hime in recognition of her position as heir…”

Dazai doesn’t care to hear anymore. He ignores the way Hinami stares at him with wide eyes, ignores when Professor Ui asks if any of them managed to speak to her at all, ignores everything as he stares at the damning image of you on that screen, confirming all of the suspicions he’s discarded over the past few weeks of knowing you.

Suddenly, for better or for worse, all of the peculiarities that he’s noted about you begin to make sense—everything from your ungodly wealth to how evasive you were about why you lied to him about going abroad, saying it’s too complicated to explain when he begged you to tell him why you lied.

Shit.

There are too many emotions ricocheting through his chest and mind for him to pinpoint all of them, but as he looks back to the direction they’d left, knowing that whatever conflict is taking place there, you’re at the center of it, one emotion stands out above all of the rest—fear.

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

447 notes · View notes

flickering-chandelier · 7 months ago

Text

What You Mean To Me

Pairing: Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Cassian is fed up with Rhysand x Reader beating around the bush and helps them get together.

Word Count: 2.5k

You would certainly not consider yourself to be a jealous person. In fact, you rather prided yourself in your ability to keep a level head and look at a situation from every possible angle, giving people the benefit of the doubt before you would jump to conclusions.

And really, there was no reason for you to be jealous. The High Lord had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go, and he admittedly had become your closest friend. You knew he cared for you in his own way. But, that was just it. You were friends… nothing more. Although he flirted with you shamelessly, you knew he didn’t mean any of it. You were endlessly polite, unable to bring yourself to even attempt to flirt back.

Yet, as you watched him mingle at Mor’s favorite club in Velaris, watched how heads turned as Rhys walked through the crowd, saw the twinkle in the eyes of every woman he talked to…let’s just say that you were keenly aware that every eye was on him and that he hadn’t so much as glanced in your direction for the past thirty minutes.

“He’s not interested in them, you know,” Cassian said as he settled in beside you, passing one of the drinks in his hand to you.

“Hmm?” you said, finally tearing your gaze from Rhysand, stirring your drink absently with your straw.

Cassian snorted. “Rhys. He’s not interested in any of those people flocking him.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference, gingerly taking a sip of your drink. “Okay?”

“Come on, sweetheart. You’ve been watching him all night, like you always do when we’re out and about,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I do not-”

“You do,” Cassian cut in. “Just admit to yourself that you’re in love with him, will you? I think you’ll be way less miserable. Even better, admit it to him.”

You gaped at him, your mouth forming a small o as you tried desperately to form a response that wasn’t humiliating. “I am not in love with him. He’s -- he’s Rhys, he’s my best friend.”

“Your best friend who saved your life,” Cassian offered, smiling cockily.

You drew your mouth into a thin line. “Well, yes. Of course he means a lot to me. But anyway, I’m not miserable.”

You turned away from him, frustrated, and faced forward, where you practically had a front row seat to watch a beautiful High Fae whispering in Rhys’s ear, his smile sensual, his hand at her waist.

Cassian looked at you thoughtfully for a moment. “You look pretty miserable. You look like you hate that woman he’s with. And I’ve never known you to hate anybody.”

You sighed, turning to face Cassian once again. “I don’t hate her. I… I think I’m mad at myself.” You thought about all those times Rhys had flirted with you, given you that lazy, sexy smirk… and you had done absolutely nothing, too scared to admit to him or yourself what those little moments had done to you. You paused, not wanting to admit it, but knowing that Cassian had opened the door for you to finally talk about your feelings for the High Lord. “I think you may be right. I think I may love him. But what does it matter? I can’t do anything about it.”

Cassian seemed taken aback. “What -- are you blind? What do you mean you can’t do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do? He’s the High Lord, and he and I are so different. He would never want me.”

“Once again, I raise the question, are you blind? Have you not noticed the way he looks at you? How often he looks at you? Or how often he flirts with you? Or how angry he gets at me when I flirt with you?

You shook your head, swirling your straw around again for a distraction. “You’re out of your mind. He hasn’t looked at me once since we got here! And he’s angry at you all the time, that has nothing to do with me.”

Cassian laughed. “You don’t think maybe he’s unaware that you’re interested? You’ve never once entertained his flirting, never tried to tell him how you feel. I think he genuinely has no idea if you see him that way or not. Maybe he’s trying to give you space to come to him, when you’re ready.”

Twisting in your seat again to face away from Cassian, you glanced up and noticed that Rhys was staring right at you, his expression unreadable, and the woman talking to him seemingly forgotten. You quickly glanced away, not knowing how to feel anymore.

“Trust me,” Cassian leaned in, his breath tickling your ear, “I’ve known Rhys for a long time. He wants you. He wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything.”

“I--” a blush rushed to your cheeks as you stared at Cassian, completely lost for words. It couldn’t be true, could it? But you knew Cassian would never lie to you, especially not about something like this.

“You better pick your chin up off the floor, because he’s on his way over,” Cassian whispered to you, his smile teasing.

Before you could do anything, Rhysand was before you both, his eyes shooting between you and Cassian. His smile was easy but his eyes had a hint of something else, like he wasn’t sure what to make of the two of you right then.

“Cassian, what have you been saying to the poor darling to make her blush like that?” Rhysand said with the hint of an edge to his voice, his violet eyes fixing on you.

“You know me, Rhys, always stirring up trouble,” Cassian grinned,squeezing your shoulder for a moment before standing up and downing his drink in one gulp. “You know what? I think it would be best if she told you all about it on her own. I’ll see you guys later,” he said, shooting you a wink before sauntering off.

Rhysand watched him go before his eyes landed back on you. “If you need me to beat him up, just say the word.”

You laughed, feeling slightly nervous about being alone with him for the first time you could remember. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

He gazed down at you, and took your hand in his, gently pulling until you were standing. “Dance with me, darling?” he purred, just as a slow, beautiful song started playing.

“Of course,” you said quietly, trying not to flush as he led you to a quiet corner of the floor, gently guiding your body close to his.

Rhysand’s touch was gentle, as it always was with you. He had a hand at your waist, idly running his thumb back and forth over the thin fabric of your dress, while his other was holding yours. He was so much taller than you and he was holding you so close that when he spoke you had to crane your neck to look up at him.

“Are you alright? You seem… upset,” he murmured, gazing down at you with those twinkling eyes.

You felt your cheeks warm, remembering what Cassian had said, remembered Rhysand’s hand on that woman’s waist only minutes ago, and cursed yourself for it. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to sound like it was true. “I’m just a little tired, I think.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You know you can tell me anything,” he murmured.

You tensed, your fingers tightening on his hand, his shoulder. You averted your gaze, unable to stomach the way he could read you like a book. “I don’t know if that’s true,” you whispered, barely audible over the music and the crowd, but you knew he had heard it.

The look he gave you was of pure concern. “What do you mean? Have -- Have I done something?”

Quickly, you shook your head, eyes daring to meet his again. “No! It’s just... You’re the High Lord. You’ve got a whole court to worry about. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

Rhys scanned your face, his eyes softening. Quietly, so unbelievably quietly he said, “you have no idea, do you? You have no idea what you are to me.”

“What--”

Before you could finish, he asked, “Will you go for a walk with me?”

You hesitated, trying to read his expression. He looked almost like he was in pain, like if you said no, it would be a tragedy. “Okay,” you said, tentatively, almost a question.

Smoothly placing his hand on the small of your back, he guided you through the crowd to the door. Cassian caught your eye and grinned, his eyebrows shooting up into a question as his gaze flicked to Rhys. You swore you could feel Rhysand roll his eyes next to you.

Once you were outside, you took a deep breath of the crisp night air, and looked up to the sky, watching the stars twinkling, trying to ground yourself before whatever was about to happen.

You felt Rhysand’s eyes on you as he took your hand, wordlessly leading you through the City of Starlight. It was unusually quiet tonight; you two were the only people around as he stopped on the bridge looking out across the river and perched his elbows on the railing, gazing out.

It took you a moment to work up the nerve, but you settled in next to him, your arms almost touching, but not quite.

After a few moments of silence, Rhysand murmured, “you were so broken when we met. You were so alone, and all I wanted was to give you a home. It broke my heart every day to look at you during those first months.”

Try as you might, you could not think of anything to say for a long moment. Eventually you settled on, “you did give me a home, Rhys. And a family. You saved me. You gave me everything.”

He let out a humorless laugh, still gazing out at the river. “I wanted to give you more,” he said quietly.

You felt your breath catch. “What do you mean?”

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes on fire like you’ve never seen them before. “I need you to tell me the truth. Please,” he said, his voice wavering in a way that nearly broke your heart in two. He sounded like the words hurt him. “Who am I to you? Am I just your friend? Just your High Lord? Is that all I’ve ever been?”

In this moment, there was no trace of the vibrato and easy smugness that he always wore around. He was vulnerable, pleading, and it made you wonder how many times he had wanted to ask you that question. You knew you could be ruining everything, but finally you whispered, “No. I-- I never wanted you to just be those things.”

He took a step toward you, his hand gently tilting your chin up to look at him. He murmured, “What is it that you want, darling?”

The breath rushed from your lungs. You felt like you were drowning as he looked down at you, his eyes so intense, his breathing uneven, yet still remaining so gentle where he touched you. “I want…” you gulped, trying to find the courage necessary to get the words out. “I want you.”

Rhys’s eyes widened, his breath stopped entirely. Without another word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him as he leaned down to kiss you, tentatively at first, as if he didn’t want to scare you off. You let out an involuntary noise, almost a squeak, and after a moment, you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

He groaned quietly, and as his tongue slipped into your mouth, it all clicked into place. You felt it, the tug between the two of you, as if your very souls were connected. Because… maybe they were.

With a jolt, you took a step back, your hands sliding down to grasp Rhysand’s considerable biceps. He looked slightly terrified. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” He asked, eyes raking your body as if to make sure he didn’t hurt you.

You could barely get the words out, feeling like your throat was constricted. “Are you… my mate?”

Rhysand’s expression of pain and concern turned into a slow, seductive half smile that you knew so well. “It’s about time you caught up.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he pulled you to him once again, gently brushing your hair out of your face and gazing at you with so much love, you felt like you might collapse.

You looked at him as he steadied you, a silent question in your eyes.

“I’ve known since the moment I saw you. Felt the ground shake beneath my feet, felt the tug in my chest immediately, like nothing else mattered anymore. Nothing but you.”

You couldn't help it. You smacked his chest and he let out a soft grunt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes softened again, tinged with pain and maybe a little guilt as he looked at you. “You had never had a choice in anything before you met me. I didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t deny me. And you had so much to deal with… I didn’t want to add to your plate or confuse you. I just wanted you to heal. And I hoped and dreamed and wished to the stars that one day you would figure it out. That you would love me back.”

Suddenly, tears burst from your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb, so gently you wanted to cry even more. “I always loved you back,” you choked out.

He grinned, pulling you into him tightly, kissing the top of your head with a contented sigh. “It sounds like we have to make up for a lot of lost time then,” he purred.

You tilted your chin up to kiss him, wishing you could do it forever, and realizing with a start that you had your entire immortal life ahead of you with him. With your mate.

As you pulled away, you mumbled, “Cassian is never going to let me live this down.”

Rhysand growled, his hands tensing on your waist. “He’s the one that pushed you into my arms tonight, is he?”

You nodded, relishing the feeling of his arms around you, and wondering if you would ever get used to it. “Did he know?”

Rhys seemed to contemplate for a moment. “I think he figured it out. He knows me too well. I didn’t tell him, though. I didn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut,” he smirked.

The two of you gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, and Rhys smirked, giving you a look that could only mean he was undressing you with his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Cassian anymore,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on your lips.

“Me either,” you breathed.

Rhys laughed seductively, gripping you tightly, before unfurling his wings and shooting you into the sky in one movement, no doubt racing you to the townhouse to do what he had been dreaming about for so, very long.

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand acotar #rhysand one shot #acotar x reader #ACOTAR x you #acotar #cassian #Cassian acotar #ACOTAR fic #ACOTAR fluff #acotar one shot

762 notes · View notes

lovelettersforthedamned · 1 month ago

Note

all hail the hockey peter queeeeeen 👑👑 seriously your stuff is so good and has been cheering me up these days :)) maybe peter and bug go to an NHL game or something like that? or hanging out at home watching a game? whatever you’re feeling :) ily and appreciate you!!

Score!

✰ college!hockey!peter parker x f!reader

✰ word count: 1.2k

✰ summary: treating peter with hockey tickets for his birthday makes him very grateful for you, and he'd love to show you.

✰ warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, kisses, some tension that's sexual, mention of a boner LOL.

─── ⋆��☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list ⋆ college!hockey!peter parker m.list

gif by @dailytvfilmgifs

Entering a building and it being colder than the temperature outside was something you found yourself getting used to. Especially when you had the pleasure of walking into a professional stadium with Peter by your side.

You were able to score two really good tickets for the last game before playoff season, just in time for Peter’s birthday. It was easy to persuade him to miss a practice. All it took was you waving the tickets in his face before he tackled you for them and pressed a sloppy kiss to your lips.

The atmosphere at Peter’s games was always exciting. The fan’s cheers echoed through the building, even carrying out towards the front doors. But this? This was on an entirely new level.

Taking your seats, the lights began to dim before the ice lit up with colorful lights. An uproar of cheers and commotion flood your senses as a video showcasing the players appears on the screen above.

Looking over to your right at the brunette next to you, a big wide smile appears on his face as the light reflects off of his irises. You can’t help but stare at him. He must’ve noticed after the main lights came back on, “What are you staring at?”

“Your big ugly face,” you chuckle.

He kisses his teeth as he tries to cover up his smile, his arm coming around you to pull you closer to his side.

Before you both realize it, the game begins. Players meet at center ice to wait for the puck drop, and as soon as it does, fans clap and sit back down. Your seats gave you an optimal view of the ice. You were still on the first level at the corner of the rink, a row away from the glass.

Of course, you’ve watched games with Peter before, but that was all on the couch at your apartment. Seeing him immersed in the game that was directly in front of him was a whole new experience. His eyes are darting back and forth as he watches the players skate. If there was a special move he noticed, he made sure to lean over and whisper the technique and training they used to learn how to do it. He was geeking out, and you loved it.

After a scoreless first period, you could tell Peter was getting antsy in his seat. All it took was a goal to happen right in front of him for the both of you to jump up in excitement and get his confidence back. He started to hi-five the people around him before sitting back down as the game continued.

A few power plays later, and the second period has come to an end. Standing up, he fixes his jersey and asks, “Wanna get something to eat? I know you haven’t eaten since your granola bar this morning, and I wouldn’t even consider that a meal.”

You nod before standing up and climbing the stairs back to the concessions. The moment you stepped out, you noticed how rowdy the crowd had become. Since it was the last game of the regular season, tensions were high, and the postseason always carried that energy.

Weaving in and out of crowds was becoming more difficult and Peter noticed as he decided to move you to the front of him instead of you dragging behind him. When you finally decided on a place, you grabbed your food and drinks before carefully returning to your section.

The sense of relief that washed over you felt nice as you made it back to the seats, five minutes remaining before the start of the third and final period. Taking a sip of his beer, Peter sighs. You notice and immediately turn your attention to him, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just happy,” he smiles again before taking another sip, “thank you for this. It means a lot.”

You wipe the foam mustache he gave himself before pecking him on the lips, “Happy birthday, Petey.”

He doesn’t say anything in return, he just holds your hand; and to you, that’s enough.

The third period flew by, as the final score was two to zero. It's the perfect way to end the regular season. Everyone stood and cheered as the clock counted down to zero and the buzzer signaled the end of the game. Maybe it was because Peter was a beer and half deep, but he wasted no time in pulling you in for the biggest bear hug of your life.

He fully pulled you off your feet and pressed a kiss into the top of your head. He held you there for quite some time, and it made you wonder where all this strength came from.

You had no time to waste as he led you up the stairs and out the doors before starting your walk to the car. Peter’s hand was on your lower back the entire ten-minute speed walk back to the parking lot.

Once you’ve made it to the door, you throw your bag in the back and sit in the driver's seat, buckling in and ready to go before Peter grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss. He’s needy tonight.

The kiss is passionate and probably a bit much for being out in public still, but you don’t mind. You remember a time when Peter never gave you any type of affection outside of closed doors, so experiencing this isn’t the worst thing in the world.

His hands move down to your waist, his fingers making their way under your shirt, his touch giving you goosebumps. He feels you shiver, causing a light moan to leave his lips. That only made you deepen the kiss, sparks shooting up your body.

Peter’s kiss starts to move towards your chin and neck before a loud horn makes you jump. You look around, realizing that you’re still very much in the stadium’s parking lot before laughing. “We should probably go home,” you sigh as you reach for your seatbelt next to you and buckle yourself in.

A sigh is heard from beside you as he also buckles up, his eyes never leaving your frame even as you begin to drive off. Maneuvering out of the busy streets, you finally make it to the highway, allowing you to relax. It wasn’t long before you felt a hand make its way to your thigh. Peter starts to move his hand up and down your leg, occasionally giving the muscle there a squeeze.

He runs a hand through his hair as he speaks for the first time since the game, “For God's sake, will you please go faster.”

“No, I am not going to speed–,” you look over at him, and more importantly, his jeans that are now painfully tight. Your mouth falls open before you bite your lip to keep you from saying anything snarky because you know Peter was not in the mood for any of your bitchy teasing.

“I’ll try,” you smirk as you press a little harder on the gas.

✰ author's note: HIII!!! thank you so much anon. i'm so happy you love my writing!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! if you want to send in an ask like this, you can! my requests are open!! ok, ily bye !!!!

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker #tasm!peter parker #college!peter parker #hockey!peter parker #llftd anon ask

102 notes · View notes

ihrtsevyn · 8 months ago

Text

- NISHIMURA RIKI DATING IDOL!READER

GENRE fluff, headcanons, idol au, slightly suggestive.

SYNOPSIS what your idol life would be like dating ni-ki :)

WARNINGS slightly suggestive but nothing sexual considering he's still a minor as am i, a bit of angst, talks of insecurities, mainly fluff :)

PAIRING nishimura riki x gender neutral!reader

REQUESTED nope

WC 3.3k

`⌁ ◜ FIRST MEETING ◞

You first met at GDA (Golden Disc Awards). Your group was on a constant uprise since the moment you debuted. Everyone in the KPOP industry knew your group, it'd be impossible not to after being featured on the cover of multiple magazines, constantly being front row at fashion shows, as well as being the face of countless brands.

Niki knew of your group but never really had the time or interest to look more into it until your performance.

He was truly mesmerized by you when you popped on the big screen for your mini solo. Your visual, and your voice, enchanted him like no other. His lips would slightly part while his unwavering gaze softened whenever you appeared even if it was for just a split second.

And once the dance break started an unknowing smile would appear on his face. although barely noticeable, it still surprised his members as they're so used to him remaining stoic throughout performances.

Your performance ended much quicker than he'd like, he felt as if he was stuck in this euphoric like state watching you move and having it end so abruptly covered him in unmistakable dread. Still he didn't hesitate to stand up from his seat and give applause with everyone else once the lights dimmed.

Once everyone cleared the stage and the announcers were back to keep the crowd entertained, niki's eyes darted amongst the rows of seats where other idols resided, patiently waiting to see you again.

Niki watched as your group got closer, bowing to your higher-ups and smiling while waving to your close friends. He along with his members stood up to reciprocate your bows. Niki's eyes laser-focused on yours hoping you'd make eye-contact with him, which you did.

It was only for a split second but in that moment he felt his heart skip a beat, your warm smile along with your shimmering eyes made him feel like he was walking on air. He could feel the breath leave his lungs as you passed by him, it's as if your gaze casted a spell on him making his legs stiff and feet glued to the ground.

He didn't even realize that everyone around him sat back in their seats and had averted their attention back to the stage. Well, not until Jake pulled him down by his wrist.

"something catch your eye?" "or more so, someone?"

His members teasing him completely flew in one ear and out the other, he wanted to just drown out all of his surroundings and focus on you but he knew how certain fans could get and instead decided on training his eyes back to where they should be.

Throughout the evening his eyes would drift back to the back of your head, being ever so pleased when you'd slightly tilt your head enough so he could see your smile. It was obvious he had taken a liking to you, so with the help of his hyungs during the commercial break they pushed him over to your direction.

He smoothed out his blazer before standing up straighter and making his way towards you. One of your members noticed him coming before you did, nudging you discreetly before tilting their head in his direction with raised eyebrows.

You looked over to find him making his way over, his eyes pointed at you only, making you freeze momentarily before standing out of your seat.

"Hi."

`⌁ ◜ FRIENDS BUT CRUSHING ◞

— it's not obvious just in passing but to his members and yours it's extremely evident of his unrelenting crush on you.

— he's very attentive to you. if you're ever on a variety show together he'll do his best to keep a respectful distance but his attention will barely stray away from you.

— a small smile will creep up on his face as he watches you tell a funny story with such excitement. his eyes will follow you across the room as you hit one of the hosts across the head with one of those giant red hammers. and he'll cover his face with a shy grin when you're forced to do aegyo, laughing as he finds you so adorable while you're cringing at your own overbearing forced cuteness.

— he likes to do dance practices together. teaching you their new choreography step by step. laughing at your demise whenever you trip over your own feet or freeze in the middle of the choreo.

— he actually enjoys whenever you mess up, it gives him an excuse to get closer to you and 'fix' your mistakes.

— he'll come up behind you, towering over you as he moves your arms and hands along with his. he'll lean in, whispering in your ear with one of his arms around your waist.. "make sure to keep your core firm." while resting his hand over your abdomen.

— he'll suddenly detach himself with a teasing smirk, feeling accomplished at making you flustered. "alright, ready to redo it again?" he'll ask as if he didn't make the largest swarm of butterflies thrash around throughout your body.

— he'll follow close by you. he'll either hover over your shoulder to see what you're doing on your phone, or just linger by to be around you. but most of the time it's done unintentionally because of how naturally drawn to you he is.

— throws away inkigayo sandwiches. if he ever overhears an idol saying they're gonna give you one of those sandwiches, he's very quick to interfere. it's petty, yes and a bit toxic of him to block his peers from interacting with you but he just doesn't want to have to compete for your attention, especially if it's with another male.

— buys you small trinkets. he'll off-handedly give you a keychain with pochacco on it and say it reminded him of you. he's always quick to avert his gaze during these small moments, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket while anxiously waiting for your response.

— he'll always bite back a smile at your excited rambles as you talk about how you were "just thinking about sanrio" before attaching the keychain to your bookbag.

— anytime he sees you flaunting around his gifts in public or a new dispatch photo showing you wearing it he'll feel a sense of pride swell in his chest. he's even watched clips of your lives where you'll read out a question asking "where'd you get that cute bracelet?" watching with pure adoration as you fidget with the bracelet before one of your soft shy smiles appears on your face. "my friend gave it to me :)."

— practices your choreography. during late hours into the day after he's done all of the practice for his group's choreo, he'll stay back and practice yours.

— he'll deny any and all teasing if one of his members catches him humming your groups song, specifically your chorus while softly mimicking your movements during his regular day to day.

— he'll even surprise you during one of your bi-weekly dance practices together. getting flustered and hiding his face at your loud claps and boisterous cheers as he finishes off the dance perfectly.

— sends you tik toks. sometimes it's core videos of you and he'll attach a laughing emoji or a comment saying "ur so weird", other times it'll be a cute video of your assigned animal doing something goofy and he'll send it saying "you."

— there has been a handful of times where he'll randomly stumble across an edit of yours. he never scrolls pass them, always watching them in full and maybe even a few times again before silently saving them into a private folder on his tik tok saves, never to see the light of day or anyone else's eyes.

— truly doesn't realize how down bad he is until he's up at 2am, smiling with a toothy grin and lightly laughing at an edit of you to twice's 'look at me'. "so cute..." he'd murmur before scrolling up and quickly back down to watch the edit again and again and again...

— describes you as his ideal type. whenever asked about his ideal type or celebrity crush he'll always describe your physical features and characteristics and might even name a celebrity that has your type of likeness.

— a shy smile will be on his face while he avoids eye-contact with the interviewer, the only thing popping up in his head are fantasies of you. your hair, your eyes, your lips. all things niki's attracted to. while, most girls are excited to hear the list of attributes that they think align with their features, none of them will ever truly match up to you in his eyes.

— wants you to like him. if you describe your ideal type and it doesn't exactly align with who niki is, he'll get a bit sulky.

— he won't do much to change his appearance because he likes the way he looks, the most he'll do is add a bit more color into his wardrobe if that's something you're into. if you like a lot of jewelry, he'll add on a few more rings and bracelets. but other than that niki won't do much to change who he is, he'll just try to find a way to shift your romantic interest into more of who he is.

— if he sees you eyeing his necklaces or if you compliment his style in any way he'll genuinely be overjoyed. whatever jacket you liked on him, he'll start to wear it more. you liked his hair being part a certain way? he'll post a bed or mirror selca on weverse with his hair just to your liking. you liked his skull ring? you'll see it adorning his finger more often than any other piece of jewelry, it now being noticeable in nearly every photo he takes. if you weren't so oblivious you'd see him fishing for your attention more than anyone else and realize he likes you just as much as you like him.

— compliments that sound like scolding. the way he compliments you almost sounds like he's annoyed or angry with you.

— if you ever feel the slightest bit insecure of your appearance he's very quick to shut down any and all self-deprecating thoughts, and loudly. saying phrases like...

— "ya! what are you talking about? you'd pull it off so well."

— "shut up, you know you look good."

— is a relentless tease. he genuinely will never let up with his teasing but it's nearly unbearable when he's in the crushing stage. he'll laugh in your face and start mocking you if you stumble over your words, he'll find memes of you where you look unflattering and spam them to your inbox when he misses you but doesn't feel like saying it verbally. if you ever have a moment where you forget choreo on stage or your voice cracks he'll send the clip to you or mock you right in your face.

— if he ever feels like he might've gone too far with his taunts he'll dial it down a few notches and hold off on teasing you for a while.

— he likes seeing you annoyed at him because you always sport a cute pout on your face that makes his heart flutter. he never wants to push you pass your limits and have you actually become upset at his antics or distance yourself away from him.

— if anything he full on encourages you to tease him back. he believes you'll have a stronger bond with each other if you're comfortable enough to make certain jokes about each other together.

`⌁ ◜ CONFESSION ! ◞

— he's so nervous to ask you out. he really likes you, as a friend and as a romantic partner so he's extremely irritable throughout the entire process. he knows that this question could change your relationship for the better or for the worse and that just makes things so much more nerve-wracking.

— he planned on asking you out at one of your dance practices together. just you and him, no other choreographer, no other teammates to bug you both, just the two of you. alone. together.

— he's so much quieter throughout the practice, so you can tell he has something prodding at his mind. he's jumpier and has been repeatedly rubbing his palms on his sweatpants.

— after confronting him halfway through the practice niki will just blurt out his feelings for you in quick jumbled rambles. quietly asking after his tangent "will you- or do you maybe wanna go out with me?" all while fiddling with the long sleeves of his jacket.

— of course you said yes, which made him ecstatic. shy giggles and playful smiles were sent to each other throughout the rest of the practice before you finally decided to wrap up for the night.

— a small innocent hug to seal your departure away from each other made his heart nearly beat out of his chest and the butterflies in his stomach to reach down to his toes and to the base of his throat. he was barely successful at containing all of his excitement until he got back to the dorms.

— his hyungs already know what happened by the wide grin on his face and bounce in his step when he re-enters the dorm.

— niki had a date! and possibly a significant other :)

— it took quite some time for you to plan your date because of you misaligned schedules but after a few stressful days of running rampant and trying to figure out a proper time, the both of you decided on a nice movie night at his dorm.

— he's so displeased that he's unable to take you on a normal cute date because of dispatch and saesangs possibly ratting you guys out, but you're quick to reassure him and let him know you're happy to do anything with him, which relieves him quite a lot. ( he silently promises to you and himself that he'll take you on a real extravagant fancy date one day. )

`⌁ ◜ DATING STAGE ! ◞

— engenes have noticed an uptick in niki's mood. he seems happier, more playful, and more feral than he's usually been in recent activities.

— and it's all because of you!

— now that you're together, he can't go a day without speaking to you. on his breaks he'll spam your inbox non-stop until you reply. management had to confiscate your phone one time because it kept buzzing during an interview.

— his texts usually consisting of 'hey' 'imu' ' :D :D :D' '*photo attachment of two cats* us' 'tell ___ hyung/noona i said hi' 'i saw ur weverse post.' 'u look ugly today 😒' 'jk jk jk' 'pls don't kill me'

— bursts out laughing randomly. he does it a lot, especially on live and it's usually because he haphazardly remembered an inside joke between the two of you.

— secret touches. he loves to initiate small signs of affection in public. it gives him a bit of a thrill knowing there's so many cameras and people watching but none of them know what's happening between the two of you.

— he'll softly graze a hand on your back when moving past you on stage with other idols, winks at you when you make a split second of eye-contact, briefly caresses your hand with his when passing by each other backstage.

— he loves laughing at your flustered reaction after he does something bold. like when you were filming a tik tok together for your latest comeback.

— your group gathered together around the camera with enhypen on the other side, you and niki pushed to the far back.

— the whole time you couldn't focus on whatever your leader had been explaining enthusiastically to the camera because niki's hand that was resting on your lower-back had traveled down to your butt, ever so lightly patting it with a steady rhythm.

— you nearly forgot your lines when it became your turn to talk and had to focus on not stumbling over your lines. you could see the smirk on niki's face out of the corner of your eye but didn't say anything until the cameras were off and your managers were occupied.

— physical affection. if you're in his vicinity he needs to be touching you in some kind of way. he's not one to be physically affectionate in public or even around the members, but he'll still try to initiate some type of contact with you.

— in public spaces it'll be minuscule acts of affection, so small that no one would even blink an eye at you two. his knee barely leaning against yours as you sit next to each other, or his elbow just barely touching the skin of your arm when he stands next to you.

— when the two of you are around your members and no one else he's a bit more touchy. resting his head on top of yours, fiddling with your clothes, entangling his legs with yours when you're sat on the same couch, and maybe even a small kiss on the cheek if he's feeling bold enough.

— when the two of you are alone he can't keep his hands off of you. you two rarely ever get moments alone so when you do you make the most of it.

— he'll lay his entire body on top of you and stay there even if you plead with him to get off because you feel like you're being crushed. he'll just ignore your cries and nuzzle his head further into the crook of your neck. good luck trying to escape.

— is obsessed with the size difference between you two. loves to compare hand sizes, bending the tips of his fingers over the tops of yours. in dance practice he'll gaze at your smaller figure next to his in the big mirrors and just smile to himself.

— whenever you wear any article of clothing that is oversized it makes his heart melt, he'd much rather prefer you wear his clothing tho.

— he'll take off-guard pictures of you drowning in his clothes and just keep them for his eyes only. looking at the pics whenever he starts missing you.

— collects your photocards. he was hooked after being gifted a signed mini album from your leader where he just so happened to pull your photocard. he gave away all of the inclusions that didn't include you to his other members but kept whatever had your face on it.

— now the both of you exchange albums after every comeback and unbox them in-front of each other.

— truly getting excited when you pull each other's photocards and extremely sulky when you pull someone else's. ( i fully believe at some point he has snatched a sunoo photocard from your hands with his teeth. )

— self-care days. those rare days where you two cuddle up in matching pajamas in one or the other dorms with junk food surrounding you have created the best memories for the two of you.

— after long days constantly working with very limited bits of sleep, you two deserve to just spend time together, and the way you two do it is by doing nothing with each other.

— painting each other's nails, wearing face masks, gossiping together, and cuddling up together under a mountain of blankets while a random variety show plays in the background.

— those are the times where he's the most affectionate. nudging his nose against yours as a silent plead for a kiss, and once he does get what he wants he'll be reluctant to let go. always going back for more and lingering longer than the last.

— supportive. whenever your group wins an award he's one of the first people to stand up while clapping, biting back the cheesiest grin while he watches your eyes gloss up in shock.

— he likes to promote your groups music, if you ever come out with a solo he'll slyly mention it by posting a list of songs he's been listening to, yours standing proudly at the top of the list.

all in all he truly loves you, and can't wait for the day you two reveal your relationship to the public and he no longer has to hide his overbearing adoration for you. <3

a/n: i yapped a lot in this so i had to shorten it down lol sorry. HTGTG CHAPTER THREE (and possibly 4) WILL BE POSTED TMMRW <3 !!

#ihrtsevyn #nishimura riki fluff #riki nishimura x reader #nishimura riki scenarios #nishimura riki x reader #enhypen headcanons #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #enha scenarios #enhypen niki x reader #niki headcanons #niki scenarios

372 notes · View notes

hbyrde36 · 1 year ago

Text

STWG Daily Drabble 11/7/2023

Prompt: Unexpected conversation

Eddie didn’t know what to think when Max approached him out in the field just as everyone was wrapping up their preparations for going after Vecna. Dustin had just gone off to talk to Steve about something when the, frankly intimidating, redhead made a beeline for him.

“Hey Munson, we need to talk.” She said.

He was taken aback. Sure they were neighbor’s and all but they didn’t really know each other that well, and she was surrounded by friends here. He couldn’t imagine what she would need him for, but who was he to deny the girl who’d been cursed by Vecna himself.

“Sure, Red. What’s, uh... what’s up?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an honest-to-god once over. Suddenly he felt like he was being picked apart by an adversary and being studied for weaknesses. Which was weird considering they were on the same side here. He was so confused.

She cleared her throat and held piercing eye contact as she hit him with her question. “What’s going on with you and Steve? I mean, what are your intentions?”

Eddie couldn’t help but burst out laughing. There was no way she could possibly know he was gay, and obviously Steve wasn’t. So it had to be some kind of joke.

Right?

One look at Max’s face silenced him abruptly.

For some reason, she looked pissed. “Well that’s about as clear an answer as I could have asked for. Is this a fucking joke to you?”

Eddie glanced around, hoping someone, anyone, would come and rescue him from the scary teenager, but everyone was busy with their own taks.

“Wait, what do you mean? Are you serious?” He said finally.

“As a heart attack, dickhead. I know I don't always show it, but Steve means a lot to me, okay? I don’t want to see him get hurt again.” She looked off briefly in the direction she’d come from. Where Nancy was still working on her sawed off shotgun and making sure she had enough ammunition.

“I don't understand.”

He really didn’t.

Eddie got the Nancy thing. He’d had a nearly front row seat to the show the night their relationship had imploded in the bathroom of Tina’s Halloween party. He'd been dealing just across the hall and couldn’t help but overhear, but he didn’t know what he had to do with any of that.

“The boys might all be blind but I'm not,” Max began. “I was watching you guys on the boat through the binoculars.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“Okay fine, I was watching Steve take his shirt off through the binoculars. Sue me, have you seen him? Whatever, I saw the way you were looking at him and-”

Eddie cut her off. “Max… that’s… you can’t just say that shit, alright?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to out you, Munson. Trust me, I don’t care if you’re gay. I’m not gonna, like, tell anybody.”

Good to know.

“Okay fine, good, I guess. Thanks. But, what’s all this shit about me and Steve?”

She furrowed her brows for a moment and then something seemed to click in her head. “Oh. So you are as stupid as you look.”

“Hey!”

“Just calling ‘em how I see ‘em.” She shrugged.

“Jesus christ, all you kids and you’re fucking tones I swear to god.” He muttered.

“Look, I'm just gonna say it. Usually I wouldn't get involved, but since no one can blame the dying girl for meddling, I- ”

Eddie softened. “Max...”

He knew she didn't like sympathy, she's made that abundantly clear, but he coudn't help it. She shut it down immedietely though.

“I’m fine, just listen. Steve clearly likes you.”

“I mean, we did have a little talk in the weird freaky woods, and we definitely don’t hate each other anymore, but I…”

Max snorted. “See? Stupid.”

Eddie gaped at her. “Dude, what did I ever do to you?”

She pointedly ignored his outburst.

“Like I said. I saw the way you looked at him on the boat and then I saw the way he looked at you when you got back. Then there was that whole thing in the RV." She shuddered. "I don’t know what happened in between, and I don't want to, I just want to make sure you know that if you hurt him we will all collectively kick your ass. You might be one of us now, but Steve's been there from the beginning. He’s saved all of our lives, more than once. He deserves to be happy.”

Eddie took a deep breath. He could appreciate what she was saying, and yeah maybe he had started to develop a small crush on the guy. Anyone would after seeing him rip that demobat apart with his bare hands… and mouth.

Jesus Christ, Eddie stop thinking about his mouth!

“Listen, Red. I think it’s sweet, what you're trying to do here, but I cannot stress to you how unnecessary this is. Nothing is going on between Steve and I. Even if I wanted that– and I'm not saying I do!” He was quick to add. “He is literally the straightest guy I've ever seen.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“He didn't have to.”

“There you go again, putting people in boxes!” Max scrunched her nose in disgust. “Isn’t that against your whole thing?” She asked, gesturing at the general, everything, about him.

“Technically, yes. But…”

“But nothing! You shouldn’t assume things about people. You should talk to him.”

“There is no way in hell I'm asking Steve Harrington if he’s gay!”

“Not that dip shit. Just, i don't know, tell him you like him!”

“Why do I have to put myself out there?!” Eddie shouted, a touch too loud. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just denied it.

Max sighed deeply. “Because Steve won’t. He’s probably scared and he’ll just keep flirting with you until you get the hint and I gotta be honest, I don't have a lot of faith in you on that front after this conversation. So I'm gonna need you to bite the bullet on this one.”

Eddie chewed his lip. He couldn't believe this girl actually had him considering this.

Was it worth the risk if she was wrong?

Maybe.

What did he have to lose it anyway if it went badly?

“Okay. Fine. If we all survive this I promise I'll talk to him. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

And then Eddie wasn’t an idiot and he didn’t go after the demobats alone and he didn’t die. Steve however did wind up in the hopistal, because how could he fucking not have gotten an infection with that many open wounds running around in a fucking hell dimension. Eddie sat by his bedside and one night confessed his crush. And then they kissed and lived happily ever after. The end.

#stwgdailyprompt #steddie fanfic #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie fic #fanfic #steve x eddie #steddie

403 notes · View notes

dwobbitfromtheshire · 9 months ago

Text

The Stirrings in the Junkyard

Summary: A one-shot set during season 2. Eddie was hanging out in the junkyard when he caught sight of a side of Steve Harrington that no one had ever seen before, and it caused quite a stir in Eddie's secret romantic heart. Also, with a side of monsters.

Eddie was just minding his own business, really. Here he was, late at night, sitting in a junked out old car that he turned into a little fort. Wayne's trailer was occupied tonight. . .their trailer was occupied tonight. He was still getting used to calling it that since he moved in a few months or so ago. Well, officially anyway, he's lived there on and off the last few years since he was eight. It wasn't until his goddamn house burned down due to his own stupid decision-making skills and his father's that he had to move in with Wayne. Not that he was complaining. He loved Wayne. He just missed that house sometimes, the house his mom had picked out herself. He sighed and tried to get the image of his mother's records going up in smoke out of his head and focused on the book he was reading under a flashlight. That's when he heard it, the sound of hushed voices and something. . . something growling.

Shit, was the junkyard occupied by someone else tonight? Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes. He finally found a perfect place to escape to, and someone else was here. God, was it someone doing something sketchy. . .like maybe a drug deal. Eddie snorted. He was the one to talk, considering he had just started selling drugs to help pay the bills. Shit, did he have competition? No, these sounded like kid's voices, and someone was yelling for a guy named Steve. Eddie peered through the broken door frame from the back seat of the car. His eyes widened when he saw what was next to the very car that he was in. At first, he thought that it was a fucked up looking dog but there was no way that this creature belonged here on Earth. There was just no fucking way.

Eddie slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelling out. One sound and he was done for. The creature was black with long, gangly looking limbs. It walked on all four of them, so it was an easy mistake to make, thinking it was a dog. It had no face. No eyes. No nose. No mouth. How did it eat? Oh God, he didn't want to find out. That's when he saw him, out of the corner of his eye. Steve Harrington. He stood in front of the bus like a guardian or a knight, a nail studded baseball bat in his hand and wielding it like a sword. He could see kids' faces peeking out and calling for him. Steve was protecting them. He was a gallant handsome knight, protecting his young charges. He's more like a paladin, really, Eddie thought. Wait, handsome? He must have let out a wimper because suddenly, the creature was trying to get into the car.

"Shit!" Eddie cursed as he backed away from the window and pressed himself up against the other door.

Suddenly, the creature's non face opened up to a giant flowery shaped mouth with thousands of rows of teeth. He was going fucking die. . .or so he thought. A moment later, he saw more creatures approach Steve, and Eddie watched for a moment as Steve took a swing at one, hitting it with everything he had. Eddie couldn't stop watching the swing of his hips. The creature growled and moved away from the window. It joined the others in their fight against Steve. Eddie couldn't stop watching the way he moved. The man was breathtaking, a word he never used to describe a man before, but it was accurate. The word belonged to Steve, and now, suddenly, Eddie could see what so many of the girls were saying about him. He was utterly gorgeous. Yep, Eddie Munson had a crush on a boy. Goddamnit, those stupid jocks were right. He wasn't straight. He wasn't gay either though.

"Fuck," Eddie muttered.

Suddenly, the creatures ran off like they were called away, and for whatever reason, Eddie still couldn't stop watching Steve. Okay, he knew about his crush and the things that go bump in the night, Eddie could look away now. He was in awe of Steve Harrington, though, completely enamored, and he couldn't look away. He watched as Steve ran his hands through his hair, and Eddie's eyes followed his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Eddie licked his own. Steve’s side was turned to him so he could see his profile pretty well in the moonlight. Eddie's eyes followed past his hair and down the curvature of his back. He liked the way his back curved, and Eddie could image running his hands down it until they rested against the small of his back. . .maybe even cupping his well-rounded ass. Holy shit, you could probably bounce a nickel off that thing. That's when he realized he was being watched. Steve’s eyes were on his or were they? He couldn't see him, right? Steve started moving toward the car. Shit.

"Steve, come on, they're heading toward the lab!" A boy shrieked.

"I thought I saw - Nevermind! Wait for me, you little shitheads!" Steve yelled.

Eddie sunk low and laid down against the seat. He pressed a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. He shut his eyes tight, hoping that it had all been a dream. He wasn't sure when he had drifted off to sleep, but when he had opened his eyes again, sunlight was peaking through the window. Shit! Eddie sat up and quickly climbed out of the car. Wayne was going to be worried. He hopped in his van and drove off. When he got back to the trailer, Wayne was waiting for him out on the couch out front. It was earlier than he thought it was. The sun hadn't quite woken all the way up yet. Eddie plopped down next to him on the couch.

"Your friend leave?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah. You fall asleep in the car again?" Wayne asked.

"Yep," Eddie said, his leg shaking.

"You know, you don't have to keep doing that. Going to the junkyard," Wayne said.

"It's fine. I loved it there," Eddie said.

"You look a little pale there. Is everything okay?" Wayne asked.

Eddie looked at him and debated on whether or not he should tell him. Knowing his uncle and his conspiracy theories, he knew he would believe him if he said anything. It was best to keep it quiet.

"You ever ran away from something because people were telling you that's who you are, and they acted like it was a bad thing, but really, you didn't want them to be right because of your own stupid fears?" Eddie asked.

"Tried to run away from being a Munson when I was younger," Wayne shrugged. "But then I realized it wasn't just my daddy who shared the name but my mama too. She chose to be a Munson even after everything he put us through and even after he died. I ain't ashamed of it no more because you're one too, and I'm happy to share it with you, too."

"The crazy thing is, is that I never thought that it was a bad thing, I just ran away from it, and I don't know why," Eddie said.

"Looking into a mirror and being aware you're looking at yourself can be an unsettling thing. It's hard to open up to people and even harder to open up to yourself," Wayne said. "You want to tell me what this is all about, son?"

"I like women, but I also like. . . ," Eddie said and suddenly pictured his own dad walking out of his life, giving him pause. ". . . I also like men."

He was leaning forward, sitting on the very edge of the couch and trying his hardest not to look at Wayne. Suddenly, he was pulled back, and Wayne was hugging him tightly to his chest.

"You're my boy, and ain't nothing going to change that," Wayne said. "I love you, kid."

"I love you, too," Eddie sniffled as Wayne kissed the top of his head, and Eddie pulled back.

"Besides, you really thought the friend that I invited over here last night was a woman?" Wayne asked.

"You're - "

"Gay. Always have been," Wayne said.

"You never said," Eddie said.

"You never asked. I never asked you either. I figured you would come to me when you were ready," Wayne said.

Eddie sighed, grinning, and leaned back. He sank lower into the couch and rested his head on Wayne's shoulder like he used to do. They watched the sun wake all the way up, shining down over the trailer park as though it was letting them know that everything was going to be okay. For a moment, Eddie believed in the sun, and then he remembered the creatures in the junkyard. The image of the teeth chowing down on Uncle Wayne popped into his head. He couldn't stop the shudder from coming. He wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure there isn't anything else that you want to talk about?"

"I'm good, Uncle Wayne. I'm all good."

He had been hoping to talk to Steve that very day at school, but he wasn't there that day, nor was he there the following day. The next time he saw him was on Monday, and it looked like someone had done a number on his face. He managed to get him alone when Eddie himself was also going to the bathroom. He had spotted Steve going in first. He waited a moment before following him in there. Steve hadn't noticed him at all, struggling with the lid of a Tylenol bottle. Eddie made sure no one else was in the stalls before locking the bathroom. He swiped the bottle from Steve’s hand and hopped up on the bathroom counter.

"Those are not going to help you," Eddie said.

"And how do you know what's going to help me, Dr. Munson?" Steve scoffed.

"I've been called worse," Eddie said, cackling. "I don't know if you've heard about what I've been doing lately - "

"Selling weed," Steve said.

"Yes, that," Eddie said. "It's going to help you a lot more than these things will."

"I don't have a whole lot of money on me," Steve said, looking embarrassed.

Eddie tilted his head, studying him. He looked weak, pathetic, and sad like the bruises weren't the only things that were hurting him. He was curious about the bruises and it won out.

"What happened to your face, man?" Eddie asked.

"I don't really want to talk about it," Steve winced.

Eddie could tell that he meant that. He wanted so badly to tell Steve about what he had witnessed in the junkyard, but he could see it in his eyes that whatever he went through, he didn't want to talk about it. Maybe another day.

"Okay. Do you still want the weed then?" Eddie asked.

"I told you, I don't have a lot of money on me," Steve said.

"I don't want your money," Eddie said softly.

"What?" Steve asked.

Eddie couldn't believe what he was saying next. He couldn't believe how brave he was being considering that Steve could punch his lights out. Maybe he was just being stupid.

"A kiss," Eddie said.

"A kiss?" Steve asked. "From. . .?"

"You."

"Right. On the cheek or. . .?"

Eddie puckered his lips at him, and Steve swallowed. Oh, this was stupid. Steve was going to kill him. Suddenly, though, Steve was moving closer to Eddie and spreading his legs apart before stepping in between them. Steve grabbed Eddie's legs and slid him closer, very roughly. Eddie wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder as the sudden movement, grabbing the back of his jacket. Steve’s face was very close to his, his lips hovering over Eddie's lips.

"I'm not doing this for the weed," he whispered.

And then Steve was kissing him, like actually kissing him. It was like out of a goddamn romance novel, the kinds that Eddie always denies reading when people ask him, the kind that he was reading in the car in the junkyard. He gasped, his mouth opening when he realized he had left his book in the junkyard. Like he always does, he put his name on the inside cover. Steve slipped his tongue in his mouth, and suddenly, every thought fell out of his head. Eddie moved his other hand into his hair, his legs squeezing his hips as he moaned. Steve cupped the back of his head, his large hand cradling him so gently. Suddenly, Eddie became very aware that the hands holding him so delicately, so softly, were man hands. The lips that were on his were a guy's. Eddie broke the kiss with a gasp, feeling very overwhelmed.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, cupping his cheek.

"Yeah, I just - ," Eddie trailed off.

"This is your first time kissing a guy?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I'm going to guess that it's not the first time for you," Eddie said.

"Yeah," Steve said.

"I'm sorry, I only just figured out that I like guys, and I thought I was ready, especially when I saw you, but I don't think I'm quite there yet. Sorry, if - " Eddie babbled.

"Eddie," Steve said softly, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. "It's okay. Take your time. Breathe."

Eddie inhaled and slowly exhaled, leaning his face into Steve’s soft touch.

"Thank you," Eddie whispered.

"Take your time, man. When you're ready, come and find me," Steve said. "I'm in the big book."

"The bible?!" Eddie exclaimed.

Okay, yeah, that kiss turned his brain into oatmeal. Goddamnit.

"The phonebook," Steve laughed and grabbed the Tylenol bottle from Eddie. "You're right, I don't need this. I feel much better."

He kissed the tip of Eddie's nose, and he walked out of the room with a spring in his step. Eddie eyes were glued to his backside the entire time he walked away. He ended up leaning so far forward that he fell off the counter and onto the floor. Eddie flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Oh, I am in trouble," Eddie said.

It was a statement he repeated a couple of years later, when Chrissy Cunningham died in his trailer and he was hiding out in Reefer Rick's boathouse. He never expected him to show up, and he certainly never expected to see him after Eddie pushed himself away after Eddie distanced himself like a coward that he is. Eddie didn't deny himself after that kiss. He even went up to Indianapolis and discovered the term for himself. Eddie Munson was a full-blown bisexual. He wasn't afraid of that anymore. No, it was the fear of actually getting close to someone in an intimate manner of letting his guard down that kept him at bay. He had hoped that Steve somehow knew. As Eddie pushed him up against the wall of that boathouse, he could see it in Steve's eyes. Steve knew. He cupped Eddie's face and brushed his thumb against his cheekbone.

"It's okay, take your time, breathe. It's okay, Eddie," Steve said softly.

Eddie whimpered, leaned into his touch, and dropped the beer bottle. He buried his face into Steve’s neck. He broke down sobbing as Steve wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just ran," Eddie sobbed.

After that, everything happened so fast. They barely had time to talk except for that little moment in the woods in the Upside Down, where they admitted that they had been jealous of each other's relationship with Dustin. God, he really did love that little dude, and yeah, every time Dustin brought up Steve’s name, he had been a little jealous, but he had also felt guilty about not going to Steve. That one stupid kiss felt so perfect but also final, and it was like he realized he was never going to have a first kiss ever again. They had barely interacted, but when Eddie saw Steve swinging that bat in the junkyard and protecting those kids, he had known in that moment that this guy was it for him. God, did that scare the shit out of him, so he ran away.

"Hey," a magical voice sang to him.

White lights floated above him, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. There's no way in hell. . .

"Am I in fucking Heaven? Who in their right mind would let me through the gate? Oh my God! What's that obnoxious beeping sound? Someone get your fucking food, man," Eddie groaned and then he blinked more clearly to find that Steve was sitting by his bedside. "Yeah, I am in Heaven. There's a fucking angel sitting beside me."

Steve grinned and blushed. Eddie heard giggling coming from somewhere. He looked around and groaned. He was in a goddamn hospital and surrounded by his uncle as well as the members of the party.

"Don't be embarrassed, son. That's not the worst thing you ever said," Wayne told him. "I could tell everyone about the time you got your appendix out, and you told the nurse - "

"Nothing! I told her nothing!" Eddie exclaimed.

"It's good to see you're awake, Eddie," Nancy said as she started to push everyone out of the room.

"Um, okay, I guess I'm not as interesting now that you guys can no longer watch me sleep," Eddie said.

"We're giving you some time, son," Wayne said.

"Time for what?" Eddie asked with wide eyes. "Time for what, Uncle Wayne?!"

He didn't answer, just followed everyone out of the room, leaving Eddie alone with Steve.

"This isn't the first time you woke up, you know," Steve said.

"It's not?" Eddie asked.

"No, you were still pretty out of it. You kept apologizing to me about waiting too long, then something how when you saw me swinging that bat in the junkyard protecting the kids, that you knew I was it for you," Steve blushed. "And you said it scared the shit out of you which, I totally get."

"You do?" Eddie said.

"Do you think that you're the first person who ever ran away from big scary feelings? You're not. I mean, why do you think that I didn't chase after you? I had just gotten dumped, I was still hurting pretty bad, and suddenly, the guy that I've been crushing on since freshman year wanted to kiss me. I pushed you away too because when I kissed you, I knew you were it for me too," Steve said. "It was easier to run than to risk getting hurt again. I think I'm ready to take that risk, if you are."

"Yeah," Eddie said, grinning when Steve took his hand and kissed it.

"So, I guess you never went back to that junkyard after that because when I went there, I found this," Steve grinned.

He pulled out a book from his pocket and wiggled it in front of Eddie. It was his romance novel. With his name writing on the inside cover.

"Oh, no," Eddie said.

"Oh, yes, Eddie Munson likes romance novels," Steve grinned. "Apparently, he has a type, too. You know that guy on the cover looks awfully familiar. I think I've seen a guy like him in the mirror a time or too. I've got better hair, though."

"Goddamnit, how do you make being a bitch look so sexy?" Eddie muttered.

"It's a God-given talent, baby," Steve winked. "Now, let's crack open this bad boy because you're in luck, I happen to love romance novels too, and I haven't read this one yet."

With one hand, he held the book, and the other he held Eddie's. Eddie, meanwhile, gazed lovingly at him as he listened to him read. Steve paused for a moment before pulling out a pair of glasses from his pocket and slipping it onto his face. Oh God. He has glasses. Yep, Eddie Munson was completely gone for this man. Time of Love - wait, there's no fucking clock in this room. Goddamnit. Time is a funny thing. One minute, you're just minding your own business, and the next thing you know, you have got the best thing that ever happened to you reading by your hospital bed. Time, what a mischievous bitch.

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #bi4bi #wayne munson #good ol' uncle wayne #eddie & wayne #stranger things fanfiction #rueleigh writes

301 notes · View notes

flyingwargle · 3 months ago

Text

tsukishima often forgets that he's considered a public figure. his picture has been on billboards around the city and pamphlets to advertise the v. league; he's been interviewed for magazines and television talk shows; and he's done a few brand deals here and there. one thing that he always forgets as a possibility as an athlete is-

talking to kids.

once a month, the team gives presentations to different schools in the city. for elementary school kids, they focus on the importance of exercise and healthy living. for junior high, it shifts to how to start their athletic career. for high school, it's all about avenues to reach the top level.

this time, though, it's an elementary school, so that means a day of rowdy kids with insensitive questions, too much sass, or not enough tact.

"i don't want to do this." kyoutani is slouched on the bench, already in uniform. tsukishima nods in agreement, similarly dressed, long legs stretched in front of him.

"come on, guys! don't you ever think you're some kid's hero?" koganegawa is enthusiastic, as always. "i always loved meeting my role models! we could really make someone's day!"

kyoutani snorts. "you think anyone would look up to us? if i were a kid, i'd be looking at div. 1 players, like ushijima, or something." tsukishima nods again. after all, it's only the best of the best that are featured on tv or at the olympics.

their cue to file into the gym comes a few minutes later. the elementary school kids, all six and seven year-olds, seated in crooked rows while their teachers stand behind them. a familiar face turns and catches his eye. "hey, tsukishima!"

"sugawara-san." he bows as his senpai steps forward to greet him. "i didn't know you would be here."

"i thought about letting you know ahead of time, but i wanted to surprise you." suga's grin hasn't lost any of its mischief, eyes gleaming with humor. "let's talk later!"

tsukishima rejoins his team, seated on the floor in a semicircle to go through their rehearsed talk about healthy living and the importance of sports. his part is a short spiel on what volleyball is, simplified for kids to understand. his audience is equal parts bored and captivated, the bored ones shifting around until a teacher tells them to stop moving.

afterwards, they break into small groups for live demonstrations. suga brings a handful of his students over, although they try to hide behind him. "you can't have to be scared," he says, nudging them forward. "he may look scary, but he won't bite. i'm his senpai, after all."

"sensei, you know him?" a girl asks.

"we went to school together. we even played on the same team." suga plucks one of the kid-friendly volleyballs and sits a few meters away, raising it over his head. "watch!"

they volley a bit back and forth, the kids watching in awe. suga catches the ball and gestures at another child. "hiro is actually a big fan of yours, tsukishima. he's one of the best volleyball players at school."

hiro tugs on his shirt, a sendai frogs jersey. it's hard to tell because his arms are covering the front, but tsukishima recognizes the number 17 behind it. "want to volley a bit with me?" he asks.

"c-can i?" comes the timid reply.

tsukishima nods, waiting until hiro gets into position before he gives a gentle toss. the kid receives it flawlessly. "very good," tsukishima praises him. hiro's smile widens, suddenly shy.

"mister!" another boy waves his hand. "how can i get taller?"

"you'll have to eat your vegetables and play sports," tsukishima says. "the more you move around, the taller you'll get."

"is playing volleyball fun?" another kid asks.

he tosses a ball lightly in his hand. "i didn't think so, for a long time. i started when i wasn't much older than any of you, mostly because of my brother. i kept going since my friend played with me, and if i didn't, my mom would send me to tutoring, and i didn't want that." tsukishima lowers the ball to the floor. "in high school, i met a lot of people who were better than me. it isn't fun playing a sport if you aren't good, but that just means you have to practice until you are. and then, when you have that moment of victory, you'll start to think that it's fun."

his mind flashes, a mosaic of faces and figures, a chorus of voices, a snapshot of bright lights, shiny medals, and framed certificates. he may not be at the top, may not represent his country at the olympics, but here, in this gym, he's at the pinnacle of these kids' heights, the doorway that leads them further.

"it's not just about volleyball," he adds. "it can be for anything. so long you do your best and do all that you can, you'll have fun."

the groups are dismissed, as they'll head to the bleachers and observe a scrimmage. tsukishima rises to his feet, pausing at the sound of his name. "that was great, tsukishima," suga says. "you have a way with kids."

"please don't tease."

"i'm not! i've done a few talks before with other community members, but they always forget how old their audience is. you were perfect." his senpai smiles at him. "good luck during the scrimmage."

it isn't meant to be long or exhaustive, just a quick demonstration of what volleyball can be like. tsukishima is up first with the serve, hand up to catch the ball. he bounces it a few times, moves back to prepare for his jump serve. he's about to do his toss when-

"ready, and-" in a chorus, suga and his kids shout, "tsukishima, nice serve!"

koganegawa whips his head toward the bleachers. "hey, that's no fair! cheer for me, too!"

kyoutani chuckles. "guess you'll have to ace it," he calls out to tsukishima.

he narrows his eyes in concentration, body low and ready. "guess i'll have to." tsukishima tosses the ball, makes his approach, and jumps. perhaps one day, those kids will be able to reach the same heights as him.

inspiration: this fanart of tsukishima with suga's elementary school kids and this fanart of said kids and suga posing and cheering for him <3

#drabble #flyingwargle original #haikyuu!!#haikyuu drabble #tsukishima kei #kyoutani kentarou #koganegawa kanji #sugawara koushi #post timeskip #sendai frogs #fanart august

43 notes · View notes

joonggphilia · 1 year ago

Text

🖤💜Reputation💜🖤

———————————————————————

Pairing: Dom! Top! Lee Jeno x Sub! Bttm! Mreader Genre: Smut Cw: IdolxFan, corruption, semi-public, degradation, katoptronophilia A/n: I actually really enjoyed writing this. This fic has part 2 potential <3

———————————————————————

You were a sweating, crying, and a moaning mess, pressed up against a mirror in his dressing room. Whose room one may ask? None other than Lee Jeno’s. How did you get yourself here, let’s rewind————Tonight was the Nct Dream concert you had managed front row tickets to, crazy! You absolutely adored them, especially Jeno. You got to the venue early so that there wasn’t a crowd to push through. You were so early you happened to bump into a certain someone, leaving the restroom. “I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to- OH!” You looked up to make eye contact with Jeno. Jeno of all people. “No it’s really ok! That was my bad. You know the show doesn’t start in another hour?” Jeno questioned, placing his hands on his hips. “I do, I just wanted to miss the crowd.” You breathed, awkwardly scratching your neck. He found this cute. He found you cute. The way you twiddled your fingers as he loomed over you. It sounded so bad, but he wanted to corrupt you or take advantage of you. Jeno considered himself a kind man, but god were your innocent eyes driving him crazy. “Hey, since your so early wanna help me out. I’m kind stressed and I need some help prepping for this concert.” Jeno blurted, half-truthfully. “M-me? I don’t know how I could possibly help you.” You panicked, feeling guilty for practically turning him down. “Cmon, I really need it. Please?” The taller plead. “Ok, whatever you need, I’ll help!” You chirped, changing your tone. Perfect. Back to the current situation———“Cmon whore, you can take me a little further! I’m not even trying yet.” Jeno grunted, as he pushed his cock deeper into your gapping hole. “O-of Course! I w-want your k-kids, pl-please!” You moaned, the sight of yourself in the mirror taking a hit to your pride, yet turning you on all at once. “Anything for a whore like you.” He hummed, thrusting up and finally hitting the spot. “OH JENO!” You screamed, your body twitching and squirming at the sensation. “Quiet down pretty boy! If you wanna be my dedicated whore, you can’t ruin my reputation.” Jeno whisper-yelled into your ear. He kept the pace of his thrusts while he moved his mouth down to your neck, leaving beautiful purple marks in his path. “You’re gonna go out into that crowed all marked and bred by me, hm? Risky, but not surprising for a slut.” He degraded, slithering his hands around to stroke your throbbing dick. “Your slut.” You mumbled, throwing your head back against his shoulder and kissing his cheek. “Yeahhhh, my slut.” Jeno agreed, Turning his head to sloppily make out with you. The overstimulation of his cock, hands, and mouth were sending you over the edge. Your mind began to blur, changing all your words to a mantra of Jeno’s name. “That’s my whore. I’m Lee Jeno, your idol.” He spat, thrusting up harder and pumping his hands faster. “J-JENO! I-IM CUMMING!” You shouted, your orgasm hitting you like a train, shooting cum all over the mirror in front of you. “All pretty in the mirror for me whore. We are gonna do this again!” Jeno grunted, as his last strong thrust brought him to his release, painting your insides white. “Now you’ve got my kids. That’ll be bad for my reputation if anyone finds out, pretty boy. You keep quiet and maybe you’ll see me again.” Jeno hummed, pulling out and cleaning himself off. “Can I? I like you a lot, Jeno!” You asked, dabbing sweat from your body. “Yeah sure, now you better go get those seats.” Jeno whispered in your ear, before nudging you towards the door. You hid your face as you opened the door to walk out, but not without bumping into someone who was on the way in. “Sorry!” You squeaked, before running down the hall. Renjun watched your figure disappear down the hallway. “What about your rep, Jeno!? Didn’t know someone like you would stoop to fucking fans in your dressing room. You better get serious with him, don’t break his heart.” Renjun scolded, with a stressed scoff. “Don’t worry, we agreed on something. I think he’s a keeper anyway!”

#lee jeno #smut #bottom male reader #jeno x male reader #nct dream smut #jeno x reader #nct x reader #nct x male reader #nct dream x reader #kpop x male reader

315 notes · View notes

that-basic-simp · 6 months ago

Text

That's My Wife

Star and Stripe X Fem!Reader CW: N/A WC: 1.1k+

"You have everything?" I asked Cassie as she was getting ready for the celebration.

"I believe I do," she said.

"I don't know why they're doing this," I chuckled, shaking my head.

"A parade isn't too bad," she said.

"I get that, but it's not like you haven't taken down most of the bad guys here."

"Well that, and also it's to commemorate those we have lost," she said.

"That is true. I just know they're going to make it a big deal."

"The people there are going to make a big deal about it because I'm there. I honestly don't want to be," she let out a sigh. "I just want to sit with you in the crowd and watch the parade go by."

"I know. But I will be out there cheering you on," I smiled, a thought popping into my head.

A few friends of mine have done this prank on their significant other. It was a harmless prank, but it was basically they call their significant other either their husband or their wife to someone else. And their significant other is thrown off by it. I've been wanting to try this out on Cassie, but I haven't found the right time. Maybe this parade isn't the best time since the media would be all over us, considering that they hardly know about us being together. Not even my friends know about our relationship. But maybe with all the commotion, no one would hear me beside her.

"I've gotta run, I'll see you out there. I'll be looking for you," she said and pecked my lips.

"See you out there, Cass. I love you."

"I love you, too," she opened the apartment door and closed it behind her.

Once I had finished getting ready, I left the apartment and my friends were waiting for me with their significant others. Of course I felt left out whenever we'd go out since I couldn't bring Cassie with me. But Cassie didn't want anything bad happening to me if others knew, but I could trust my friends with that information. We walked down a few blocks since the parade was being held close by where we lived.

"We saw Star and Stripe on our way here!" my friend smiled at me, practically bouncing on her feet.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah. I had no idea she was going to be in the parade."

"It's the talk of the country," her significant other said. "Why wouldn't they have her there?"

"Maybe to ensure no one attacks," my other friend said.

"Or they're trying to draw out a villain that's been hard to track right now."

"Either way, it's always nice to see Star and Stripe. She's always active with the community," I said. "As much as she can be."

"Since when do you know about that?" the first friend asked, poking my arm.

"I just read up on all the things she has done."

"I sense a fangirl," the second friend said.

"So what if I'm a fangirl of her?" I chuckled. "I'll be her biggest fan yet."

I technically was, since I literally knew everything about her since she shares a lot with me. Even when she doesn't, I still know what is going on with her. We reached one of the roads of where the parade was going to be taking place today. It was more on the back end of the parade, which I didn't mind. That just meant Cassie could come home earlier than if this was the beginning section.

"We have some time to kill," the first friend said.

"And there's not many people here," said their significant other.

"We get some nice seats then!" the second friend said.

"Front row, too," I said, leaning against the road barrier they had set up the night before.

As we were waiting, more and more people started to show up. They were watching the live stream of the parade since they were unable to head towards the beginning. We were watching it on my phone and my friends were always pointing out Cassie. I want to say they knew, but I didn't want to ask. Right in the middle of the live stream, I get a text notification from Cassie. My heart dropped as my friends looked at the name. I had put her in as Cass with a little heart emoji next to her name.

"Who is Cass?" the first friend asked.

"N-No one," I swiped up on the notification, making it disappear.

"Hey, look, they're rounding the corner!" a watcher nearby yelled.

My friends turned to look to find they were indeed rounding the corner. I turned off the live stream and went to see what Cassie had texted me.

"I used New Order so I am able to hear what you say. I'll see you soon. ;)"

I smiled and texted her back.

"See you soon."

"There she is! Star!" the crowd cheered as the car she was in passed by. She was in a convertible with Ethan driving her. She sat on the back seats and were waving to the people.

Since there was a lot of commotion and no one could really hear me, or they weren't paying attention, I locked eyes with her and smiled.

"That's my wife right there!" I said loud enough to if someone was listening, they would hear me.

Her face dropped, a shocked expression came across before blush crawled onto her face. She smiled warmly at me, blowing a kiss in my general direction before winking. That got the crowd going. After the parade had ended, my friends and I headed back to my apartment.

"Did you see what happened to Star?" one of them asked.

"What happened?" I asked, turning to face them.

"Her expression changed. Maybe someone complimented her when she was driving by or something," another said.

"It's the talk of the media right now. It's going viral," said a third.

They handed their phone around. It was true. Someone had caught it on camera and they were asking what just happened. I smiled to myself, knowing it was I who caused that. Maybe it wasn't for the best, but I know Cassie enjoyed it. I waved goodbye to them and headed inside and found Cassie was already back before I was.

"Cass?"

She came up behind me and picked me up, sweeping me off my feet.

"Cassie!" I squealed, which turned into laughter as I pressed my forehead against hers, a hand resting on her cheek while the other was on her shoulder.

"Hey, love," she smiled.

"You looked great out there," I said, caressing her cheek.

"I heard what you said."

"I know. Why do you think I said it?" I giggled.

"One day, Y/N," she said, pressing a quick peck to my lips. "One day it will happen and you can finally say that Star and Stripe is yours and no one else's."

I smiled, "So we'll finally come out?"

"If you're ok with that. I don't think we need to hide anymore. I don't want to."

I nodded my head, "Besides, I want to show off my wife to my friends."

She shuddered slightly, "I'm totally marrying you now."

I chuckled as we headed towards the bedroom. I had an inkling of an idea of what was going to happen next.

#star and stripe x reader #star and stripe #cathleen bate x reader #cathleen bate #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia

93 notes · View notes

yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 1 year ago

Text

On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Fem! Reader)

A/N: Not me already have written this part the day after I posted the first one 🤭. I wanna add titles to the chapters but idk what I’d have them be, probably lyrics from songs I like lol. Once again, apologies now for If Miguel is ooc and if the terminology and sports talk is wrong. If you’re experienced in either sport and wanted to lmk if I got something wrong. If you want to be added to the taglist lmk too.

(Y/N)- Your name, (L/N)- Last name.

No warnings, Just Miguel and you interacting lol. Idk if this is consider filler but it’s meant to get the ball rolling lol.

Word count: 1.3k

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2: Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift the tide,

—

It’s been about a week since you’ve last ran into Miguel at the arena, surprisingly the figure skating team don’t run into the hockey team as much as you would think despite having to share a communal space on campus. Unfortunately, today was one of those days were you did run into them. You’ve arrived about 45 minutes early to practice, Logan nor coach Kavinsky were here yet. You were hoping to get some alone time on the ice before practice, but it had slipped your mind that today was Thursday, and on Thursdays the hockey team practiced before you rather then after like the rest of the week. As you dropped your gym back on the bench in the girl’s locker room, you were debating to whether you wanted to just wait at the arena till they were done, or walk back to your dorm. The only problem with the latter option is that the dorm buildings were all the way across campus, and by the time you finished the walk you’d have to turn around to walk back anyways.

So you stuck it up, and changed into your practice outfit, your skates in hand as you leave the locker room, deciding to keep your regular shoes on so you could at least get your stretching out of the way before your coach and partner came. You quickly went into one of the empty dance rooms that the arena had to do warm up stretches in, popping in your headphones to listen to your favorite song. After about 15 minutes you still had plenty of time before The Spiders got off the ice, you decided to just walk around the stadium. No destination in mind, just where ever your feet decided to carry you as your music continue to play in your ears. You can’t really say you were surprised to find yourself ending up in the main area with the ice rink, plopping yourself down in one of the front row seats as you let your brain go on autopilot.

You were too busy being lost in the music, you didn’t realize you were staring into space until you say a large tan hand appear in front of your face and began to snap its fingers, pulling you back into the moment.

“hellooo? Earth to ice princess.”

“Huh?” You shot up to sit straighter, blinking a bit as you take out your headphones, turning your head to look at the person who had just snapped you back into reality. “Look I know I’m attractive and all, but you don’t have to stare-“ Miguel begins, a cocky smirk on his face that you just wanted to smack off. One of his large hands going up to take off this helmet, his dark brown hair that was usually slicked back was now messy from the helmet, a thin coat of sweat covering his forehead. You cut him off, “ew, why would I be staring at you?” You question, your face slightly scrunched in distaste at the thought.

“You’ve been looking in my direction at the past 20 minutes.” He smirks as his teammates start to put away all their hockey equipment behind him, not paying attention to you both talk. You gave him a confused look before you realize why he might have been thinking that, “Oooooh-no-no I was just zoning out, I wasn’t staring at you on purpose.” You quickly explain, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck with your gloved hand, attempting to keep eye contact with the hockey player.

For a second, it looked like Miguel’s cocky exterior faltered, before coming back up. “Uh huh…sure.” He tone dripping with sarcasm as he drops his helmet onto a seat, then taking a seat next to you. His action caught you by surprise but you didn’t let it show, you also didn’t want to show the annoyance that filled your body from the taunting comment. “Why are you even here this early? Where is your little boyfriend?” He asked as turns his body towards you, resting the hand closest to you on his knee, his forearm that was further from you going to rest on his other knee. He was manspreading a bit, his eyes raking over your form slowly.

“Jesus why is it so warm in here all of a sudden? Usually I’m freezing my nonexistent balls off…” You thought as you shifted in your seat a bit, feeling the need to distract yourself, you start to change into your skates. “I wanted to get some time on the ice alone before practice but I forgot it was Thursday and- wait. Boyfriend?”

Miguel chuckled at your surprised reaction, turning his head away slightly, the hand that was resting on his knee came up to cover the smile that was creeping up on his face from your reaction. After a second or two he cleared his throat, his hand dropping back down to his knee as he turns to face you again with a neutral expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend, the one you skate with. What’s his name again? Lincoln? Liam?” Miguel knew his name, he just wanted to see if you’d correct him.

“Logan?”

Miguel tried his best not to scowl.

“Yeah, Logan-whatever-where’s he at?” He asked, he’s words come out annoyed and a bit rushed. “Well for one, he’s not my boyfriend, just my figure skating partner.” You start as you tilted your head to the side as you look at him, saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Now Miguel is trying his hardest not to let a huge shit eating grin spread across his lips. “And second, he’s probably on his way, he had a class today before practice-some science thing- I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders as you finish speaking.

Speaking of the devil, Logan and Coach Kavinsky appear through the front double door. “Ah! (Y/N), already here. Perfect! Let’s get straight into it.” She said with a smile as she seemingly ignore Miguel’s presence next to you, Logan stops next to you as you both took the guards off your skates, him shooting you a knowing look, his lips twitching up into small smirk as his eyes drift between you and Miguel. “I swear to God…if he brings this up later…” You start to think but a voice cut you off.

“Hey Cap!” One of the hockey players called out for Miguel’s attention, “We just finished packing up, you coming?” He asked as he skate to the edge of the rink, before getting out, a few of the other lingering players that were making sure all the equipment was all packed up doing the same. As soon as the other player was done speak to Miguel, he took off his helmet revealing (messy from the helmet and some sweat) light brown hair and brown eyes, his lower half of his face covered with a 5 o’ clock shadow and you noticed his nose was slightly croaked, probably him having broken it from a past game.

Miguel let out a heavy sigh, before turning towards the other player. “Yeah Parker, I’m going.” He grumbled as he brought his hand up to rub his face before giving you one more quick glance and getting up, leaving with the rest of who was left from his team, without another word. For some reason, that bothered you, causing your brows furrowed as your lips fall into a small frown.

“Rude…” you mumbled as you got up from your seat, Logan heard this and let out a small snort as he steps on to the ice. “Don’t overthink it (L/N), that’s just how he is.” Your partner tried to reassure you, you send him a small smile back and a quick nod of your head.

“Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t overthink it.” You repeat his words, as you went to enter the rink as well, but it was a bit too late for that, because you already were overthink it.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara fanfic #miguel spiderverse #astv #astv spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #hockey au #figure skating au #miguel o’hara au #spiderman 2099 #Spiderman 2099 fanfic #on thin ice fanfic

283 notes · View notes

paymechildsupport · 8 months ago

Text

YAN!Suguru Geto // x Reader [Vindication]

-!! Yandere!Vindictive!Geto x Yandere!Reader (two yanderes in love <3 )

-!! CW: Themes of death, suicide, murder, obsession

Storyline takes place a few months after Riko’s death, in the middle of Geto’s descent into immense depression and prior to him leaving jujutsu tech. Instead of investing his time to become a murderous cult leader, Geto pours everything into academics, and against you. He would do anything to make sure you didn’t leave him too.

-!! The alternation between Geto and Suguru is intentional.

-!! Gender never specified

You were his academic rival. You’d both do anything to maintain that thrill of competition, anything…

…

Could they get any more annoying..?

Could they get even more unbearable..?

Could they just shut up for once..?

Goddamnit,

They were so…

Infuriating.

The mere idea of them being happy,

Of them being even remotely okay

Of air reaching their lungs

Of their bones all perfectly intact

Of their mere e x i s t e n c e,

It made you want to throw up.

Why couldn’t they just… go away?

It would make your life so, so much easier.

It would make you so, so happy.

If…. They….. could… just…. Cease… to… E̴̠̟̾̈́ẍ̶̡̢̻̱̠̜́̒̀̉̿͝i̴͓͇̓͐͆͘͘ş̶͙͚̞̪̽͛̋͜ͅt̵͓̲̟̪̹̊͒̉̈̏̑

“Is everything okay?” You’re snapped back to the present immediately. You struggled to remember where you were or what you were doing.

You look up to find the words come from Suguru Geto’s mouth. He’s standing over where you slouch in your seat, looking down with a hint of condemnation and… smugness? Fucking bastard.

“Eh..? Where- where is..”

“You’re in the library” Ah, that’s right.

“Oh! Ehe, of course I am. Geez- ah… Oh! Yeah, uh, I’m okay. Its all good”

Geto raises a brow in question, not buying it

“You’ve just been staring out into space for the past seven minutes. And-“ he points, “You just broke your pencil”

You look at where he was staring at to see your pencil, indeed, snapped in your hand. You were still gripping it, hard. Very hard.

You don’t even know how you’re still surprised at the sheer power that your hatred has over you. It’s quite scary sometimes.

“Yes.. everything’s fine, honestly. I’m just tired is all..”

“The library closed awhile ago” He deadpans. So matter of fact.

“Ah- wait, what? Then why are you still here-?”

“Satoru and Shoko have already left. I said I’d stay. The librarians were too hesitant to approach you.”A corner of his mouth quirks up, “you’re very intimidating when you’re frustrated.”

You were silent, just now taking in the darkness of the library. Almost all the lights were out- albeit a few lamps in the corners- and you were the only ones still in the building. It was getting very late and the streetlights outside illuminated the dark streets. Under other circumstances it could be considered peaceful even.

You sigh, looking down. You can see the eyebags under Geto’s eyes, engraved into his features for the past few months. You’d only ever seen that look in the mirror. The similarity unnerved you, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You felt proud, partly,-- it showed how much he expended just to compete with you, to rake himself up somewhere remotely close to your level, and then some. You reminisce, remembering the Geto a few months ago, prior Star Plasma, prior to Riko, prior to the empty husk in front of you

“Is something the matter?” His voice takes a drastic switch, softening to a wispy tone. You start to shake, “Is someone the matter?”

“…”

You knew it was dangerous. Suguru Geto wasn’t who you remembered, – he was unstable, unpredictable. You of all people should know, you’ve been subjected to a front row seat to his descent into despair. He was apathetic, borderline violent sometimes. Ever since the murder of Star Plasma vessel, Riko Amanai, Geto unknowingly latched himself onto everyone close enough, determined to make sure they never suffer the same fate, – and that included you, his rival.

It was rather humorous, really. The lengths you two would now go to to keep your little game going. You were so invested, so enthralled into beating and dominating him in absolutely every way possible. You were intoxicated by the idea of winning, so drunk off of the thrill that came with competing. You sometimes wonder where you would draw the line.

Suguru was so into your little games that oftentimes you wonder if he really does enjoy to be beaten. To be made lesser of, to be belittled, to be degraded, to be beaten and dominated in every way possible. Obsession would be the only word to describe it. The boy was obsessed. Obsessed with competing. Obsessed with your antics. Obsessed with you. You would often question how far he’d go just for the sake of your little contest.

“Would you kill someone for me?” The words fall from your lips before you can think as you lift your head up.

“Yes”. He doesn’t hesitate.

“…”

“I would kill anyone without a second thought, should you request it”

You can’t stop,

“…If there was someone I hated more than anything in the world… someone I couldn’t stand… someone who’s mere presence makes me want to break something…. Someone who I cannot stand the thought of them breathing… someone who just thinking of them makes me… makes me wanna…” You trail off.

“My only regret,” he says quietly, “was that it wasn’t me who had affected you in such a way”

You smile bitterly, looking out the window.

“Who hurt you” His words were soft, but his tone dripped with venom.

“… They didn’t necessarily hurt me directly… They just-…. I just…- “ You take a deep breath, “the things they do and say to others concerning me and people I care about are… questionable, to say the least.”

“Yet they did end up affecting you nonetheless, correct?”

“Well, yes”

“So then they did hurt you”

“You could put it that way, yes”

Geto’s eyes flash,

“What is their name?”

“…”

“Tell me their name.”

“…” Such a vindictive sense of justice.

His smile is laced with dynamite.

“Tell me their name and I’ll make sure no words will ever be allowed to leave their mouth again”

Still, you remain silent. You didn’t want Geto to get his hands dirty doing something you should have been able to do. You shake your head.

He sighs, his face softening. He bends down on one knee to meet your eye level whilst sitting down.

“Darling,” He’s so, so very gentle. “It will be alright. All this will be over, soon. Just let me do this for you. Let me get rid of one more disgusting person. Just let me…” You can feel yourself coming undone. “Let me do what I do best. I would never offer unless it was you” Your breathing heavily now, shaking violently from head to toe.

He was going to protect you–

He leans down to your ear and whispers the final bit like a caress, “Just give me their name”

And you do.

–no matter what.

You tell him their name.

And just like that, he smiles, gets up, and exits the library, closing the door softly behind him.

The next morning they’re all over the news.

A true tragedy, or so that’s what it appeared to be.

You say nothing as the police describe in morbid detail the mangled and shredded body that had appeared to have jumped off the roof of the school. Your school.

It was much too graphic to show, the police said. But it was by far one of the most horrendous deaths they had ever witnessed. The poor man looked sick to his stomach merely recounting the memory.

Mawed and dismantled…

And although you felt as if you should have been happy, that you should have at least cracked a small smile, you simply couldn’t.

This was only one.

One death.

One person you hated, gone.

You still had more.

Much, much more.

A whole list in fact.

You wondered what would happen if Geto ever found out about the list you kept in the bottom drawer of your nightstand.

…

Maybe another day, you think.

Maybe another day.

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

(Heavily edited from a older piece)

I lo-lo-lo-lo-LOooooove Suguru he's such a bbg malewife :3

#jjk oneshot #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #suguru #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jjk suguru #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere suguru geto #yandere geto #i love geto

74 notes · View notes

skyloftian-nutcase · 1 month ago

Text

Whumptober Day 3 - Set up for Failure

Link walked the castle hallways in the dark. Occasionally he could still feel slippery warmth on his fingers, a strange echo of what had transpired. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he found it odd that it would imprint itself on him so much considering it was hardly his first kill.

Perhaps it was just because it had been a while. Or because of who the person had been.

It had been deserved. But he regretted doing so in front of Zelda.

Nausea overcame him, alongside a mind numbing exhaustion that fought for control. His skin crawled, hair on the back of his neck standing on edge, but his mind was so utterly blank he could hardly put together a single thought.

He felt nothing, really, as he continued to walk. His skin settled. He checked his hands once, twice, thrice. No blood. But he could still feel it, could still hear the gurgling breath as air filled pathways it wasn’t meant to, bubbling and drowning.

He wished Zelda hadn’t been there. But there was no avoiding it. The man had lost his mind, had been threatening her. Whether he’d truly meant it or not was a moot point by now; the damage had been done.

The man’s followers had done more damage than anyone. And Link was still very keen on hunting the rest of them down like the animals they were.

He’d spent the last month in a continuous fury, focused and determined in a way he hadn’t been since the war. It had been invigorating, honestly, and it had brought him and Zelda closer together than ever before.

Now that it was over…

Link paused, world growing hazy and spinning. He felt dizzy. He felt sick.

He wished today hadn’t happened. But what else had there been to do?

It was over. That was all that mattered.

The king consort sighed heavily, deciding that perhaps some prayer would settle his rattled mind. He maneuvered through the castle discreetly, entering the small sanctuary dedicated to the goddesses that was set aside for the royal family.

He hadn’t expected to see Zelda there.

The room was only just a little larger than Link’s own bedchambers, wooden pews lining in pairs for four rows, leading up to an altar where the ancient goddesses shimmered in golden splendor high on the wall. Beneath them was a depiction of Hylia, harp in hand. The altar glowed in different colors as moonlight spilled through stained glass, flanked by incense that slowly trailed tendrils up to the heavens.

Zelda sat on the floor just in front of the statues and altar, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, knees drawn to her chest.

Link felt like he shouldn’t be here. He was likely the reason she was praying, hunched over in such a vulnerable position. The Queen of Hyrule should be seated at the pews, or perhaps standing in front of the alter with hands folded over her heart. Instead, she looked like a child seeking comfort. It made Link feel all the more uneasy.

But no. He shouldn’t leave her like this. That was cruel.

Is it crueler for her father’s killer to be near her?

Ozen’s face flashed through Link’s mind again, nagging at him. He shook the image away, only slightly perturbed that it haunted him. He’d killed hundreds. This couldn’t be any different. It couldn’t.

Slowly, Link walked to the front of the chapel, sitting on the floor beside her.

Zelda didn’t acknowledge him initially. The cold of the stone floor brought some life back to him, trying to push the fog in his head away. He started trembling, catching himself off guard.

“Do you think Farore made us to suffer?” the queen asked quietly, eyes never leaving the golden statues above.

Link watched her a moment, uncertain, and then followed her gaze. The Golden Three looked serenely back at the pair. His eyes traced over the scales of justice in Nayru’s hand, over the flowers blossoming and encircling Farore’s arm, the fire and stone sparking around Din’s fingers.

“I don’t see why that would be the case,” he answered truthfully. “They have no need to make us just to watch us suffer.”

“What if we’re their entertainment?” Zelda questioned almost bitterly.

Link honestly sometimes debated if they even mattered to the goddesses, but the Triforce had chosen them, so clearly they had their favor, for whatever that was worth.

“Farore made us for a reason,” Link settled on saying. “I don’t think she wants us to suffer. I wouldn’t make something to watch it suffer. I wouldn’t want to see our children suffer.”

He supposed, then, that perhaps with that logic Farore had to care at least a little bit. But perhaps she was too removed, too busy dealing with something else – his destiny, once entwined to her graces, was over, after all.

“I suppose our suffering is our own fault, then,” he admitted. “We must be doing something wrong.”

He wished he could take the words back as soon as he’d spoken them—he’d decided to sit here to comfort Zelda, blast it—but he had no way to retract them. He himself had thought it multiple times, wondering why he was the way he was. Clearly it was his fault. He didn’t pray enough. He knew that. It wasn’t as if Hylia wouldn’t help if he petitioned her, even if Farore was too far to reach. She’d answered his prayers in the past, when he still bothered to speak to her.

Zelda was quiet for a long time before looking at the ground, pulling her knees a little closer, eyes staring somewhere beyond the stone floor. “We aren’t the only ones Farore made. We all have destinies, we all play our part. Just because others break the pieces of the puzzle, just because we bleed when we try to fit together as a result… that isn’t our fault.”

The words settled heavily in his mind and heart, and a million scenarios ran through his mind. Ganondorf, ruining everyone’s lives with his selfishness and pride. Ozen, almost destroying Hyrule time and again with his own paranoia. Zelda, constantly using those around her to further her agenda.

Link, helpless and pathetic and stupid, letting himself be hurt time and again, wallowing in self-pity like a child pitching a fit, undeserving of any sort of praise or love given all the idiocy he’d done.

He almost smiled. “I’m constantly reminded why Nayru chose you with her grace. I imagine your explanation is the correct one.”

The pair sat beside each other, each lost in their own thoughts. Link wanted to look up at the statues again, perhaps even to try and pray, but found he didn’t even have the energy to raise his head. Instead, he watched his hands, convincing himself he’d scrubbed off the blood for the millionth time that night.

He probably shouldn’t have killed him. Ozen was no murderer. He may have been brandishing a sword, but he hardly knew how to use it. He may have been yelling at his daughter, but he had never actually hurt her.

How could Link have known that she wouldn’t get hurt, though? How could he have stopped himself, when years of anger and hurt snapped at once, when all he saw was blood and all he felt was rage?

What was wrong with him?

What was he at this point? Had he ever been a Hero? He was no Hero now. He hardly felt empathy anymore, hardly felt anything. Dealing with the insurgents was the first time he’d felt life breathe through him in what felt like years.

Even now, despite how he ached at the pain emanating from Zelda, he could still feel anger and impatience trying to burn inside him. He had the gall to be frustrated that Zelda was suffering like this because of his actions, the audacity to be upset that he had to comfort her after she’d watched him murder her father.

When had it gotten this bad? Why couldn’t he fix it? Could he fix it?

Zelda swallowed, taking a slow, deep breath, and when he looked at her, he could see how she bit her lip to control her emotions.

“I still loved him,” she whispered, barely audible, voice breaking.

The queen of Hyrule began to cry quietly, trying to hide her tears from her husband. Link tensed even further, stomach rolling in protest, heart slamming against his ribs. The frustration boiled to the top and he looked away for a moment, frozen in anger and fear and exhaustion and hurt and guilt, not sure what he should feel, knowing, begging himself to comfort the woman beside him, unable to speak a word.

He dug his nails into his skin until they broke through. It made his body feel like ice in an instant, quieting his mind and heart. He felt sick. This was his fault. He wanted to run and never look back.

Instead, he leaned slowly towards her, wrapping an arm around Zelda, inviting her to rest against him. She started to sob, wrapping herself more tightly in her blanket, burying her face in his shoulder.

Link just held her as she cried. He couldn’t speak for the longest time, but the longer her tears stained his tunic, the worse he felt. The anger dissipated, exhaustion burned away, leaving a raw, raw emptiness and hurt that he couldn’t put any words to, a wound that had scarred and reopened time and again over the years, never healing fully, never addressed, and never leaving him alone.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, hardly able to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Once the words came out, they wouldn’t stop. He apologized over and over and over, images of Ozen, of Ganondorf, of Hemisi, of Merovar, of fallen Sheikah and Gerudo and Hylians, of Lady Impa bleeding on the floor after the attack, of his children watching him, of his own blood dripping down his body—I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry—

The King and Queen of Hyrule wept bitterly into the night, their cries carried on incense rising into the sky.

#this counts right #King Ozen certainly didn't set Zelda up for success #Link's own trauma didn't set him up for success #so there.#idk I wrote this just to vent and then I was like “wait whumptober's happening and that's an excuse to hurt blorbos unapologetically”#the prompt kind of works whatever #imprisoning war #hero of power #for context Zelda's father had followers that tried to overthrow her years after the war #they hurt Impa in the process and Link and Zelda were NOT happy #they fought back and overthrew the usurpers but Ozen tried one last time to take over #he probably would have never actually hurt his daughter but if he panicked and thought she would hurt him he might have #but Link is a trained killer and does not know how to regulate his emotions #it's a bad mix #whumptober #legend of zelda #imprisoning war zelda #writing

31 notes · View notes

cherryxcadbury · 2 years ago

Note

11 with jude please 💖

so ik there were a lot of reqs for #11, but this was the first one I received so this will be my #11;)

2nd person pov

“Why do you have chicken in your purse?” You asked your best friend, Natalia as you both looked on at the pitch.

“Not paying for that over prices stadium shit.” Natalia explained, as she happily ate her chicken nuggets in peace while people began to fill in the seats after half time.

You two were both huge Bayern fans. So when they posted on their social media, a giveaway for two tickets up close to the pitch, it didn’t take much for you two to submit about a thousand entries. And somehow, you guys won.

The score was 0-0, against Bayern’s biggest rivals, Dortmund. In honesty, Dortmund usually tended to get thrashed by Bayern, but they were the biggest competition in the Bundesliga.

“Look! Bellingham!” People called from behind you.

You angled your head and saw as Jude Bellingham was leading the charge back from the break onto the pitch. The nineteen year old captain had even the Bayern fans in awe of him.

“I hate him but he’s hella fit.” Natalia admitted, to which you only nodded in response.

He was good yes. Okay fine. He was really good. But you considered him overrated.

“There are way more options for captains though. I don’t know why the nineteen year old is the captain.” You grumbled, honestly a bit angry because of how close Jude had gotten to assisting.

“Says the one who’s no older than nineteen. Also bro, you know he deserves to be captain. Have you seen the way he is on the field. Captain material. And I say this as a lifelong Villa and Bayern fan.” Natalia responded.

You looked to her to see a brow raised in your direction.

“You’re more competitive than half the players I swear.” Natalia laughed.

“Chicken?” She offered, holding her hand out.

You chuckled before waving her hand away.

“Second half’s about to start.” You mumbled.

“WOOOOO MIA SAN MIA!” Natalia cheered, eliciting more cheers from fellow Bayern fans.

“What does Mia San Mia even mean?” You asked her, as Dortmund made their way up the pitch.

Natalia scoffed and turned to you, “You do not deserve to be wearing that Alphonso Davies kit right now.”

“In my defense, I’m not German!” You exclaimed.

“Y/N! I am literally from fucking Ecuador, I don’t know German either but at least I know Mia San Mia! Fake fa-”

She started to say before being cut off by you. Dortmund’s offense was getting suspiciously close to the Bayern net. You were tempted to grimace as Neur was out with a knee injury, not that his replacement was bad by any means.

The stadium almost fell silent as the ball made it to Bellingham’s feet. He was successful in weaving in and out of players, before the ball was deflected. And it was coming straight at you.

Your worst nightmare. You’d love football since you were a little girl. You’d watch it all the time, with or without your family. The one thing that kept you away from live matches as a kid was potentially being hit by a ball. The thought embarrassed you to no end. And now, it was about to happen, in front of tens of thousands of people.

This was what you deserved for sitting in the front row.

“DUCK!” Natalia screamed into your ear, physically pushing you down.

Luckily the ball didn’t hit you, and went flying to the row behind you. Hitting a poor unsuspecting boy.

“Oh shit.” Natalia looked at the wailing kid sympathetically.

You also felt your heart pang in sadness for the clearly hurt boy. But you also thought it was kind of funny. He’d been kicking the back of your seat for the whole first half. And you wanted to smirk and mention karma, but you were better than that.

You grabbed the makeshift ice pack in your bag, which was really just a bag of a lot of ice you’d bought at the stadium and handed it to the boy’s mother.

“I don’t have much but this might help.” You said, placing the bag in the mother’s hands who smiled at you gratefully.

The boy also thanked you, silently calling a truce.

You and Natalia told the boy jokes to help distract him from the pain but eventually it was drowned out by cheering on your side.

“Turn around!” The injured boy gestured.

You did so and saw Jude Bellingham jogging over to your area. Hence why you could barely hear anything. You turned back to see the gleaming boy, figuring it would probably be easier if he was closer to Jude.

So, you picked the boy up and transferred him to your seat, closer to the pitch, while you climbed over to sit a row behind.

Unbeknownst to you, the kind act did not go unnoticed by Jude, who’d seen it while approaching.

“I’m sorry about that bud.” The footballer smiled apologetically, ruffling the kid’s hair.

The boy just smiled, “It’s okay. You weren’t the last one to hit it anyways.”

“You doing better now eh?” Jude smiled.

“Yeah! She helped me by giving me ice and telling me jokes.” The boy answered, gesturing to you while he spoke.

This caused Jude’s eyes to flicker towards your for a second. A smirk found its way onto his face while you started blushing red.

“Ah well your sister seems very nice.” Jude emphasised the “sister”.

The boy quirked his brow.

“She’s not my sister. She just helped me after the ball hit me.” The child explained. “Ah, should’ve figured based off of the opposing kits.” Jude replied, noticing now that you sported a Bayern kit while the child was decked out in BVB gear.

You turned to Natalia who just sat there smugly, watching it all happen.

“Don’t talk much now do you?” Jude asked you, the smirk ever so present on his face.

You wanted to stop from blushing again. But you couldn’t. Instead you had to switch the topic.

“Don’t you have a game to play smart one?” You shot back, snark in your voice as you forced him to turn back to the field where the players were still waiting.

“If I were you, I’d go back to playing now. The quicker you lose, the quicker you get this over with.” You advised.

That flared some sort of pride and fighting spirit in Jude. He smiled to himself turning to go back to the pitch.

But just before that he looked at you and said, “I’ll show you why I’m the golden boy for a reason.” before stocking off.

Within a few seconds, the game resumed.

“I swear the golden boy was Gavi.” Natalia wondered aloud.

And you couldn’t help but laugh.

Approximately 48 minutes later, the match was at a standstill 2-2. Jude had already smirked in your direction after scoring. You however didn’t return anything because what if he had a girlfriend or something that was directed towards?

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Natalia breathed as Adeyemi made his way up the field.

That boy was faster than lightning.

Adeyemi handed it off to Jude who then passed it to Gio, outside of the box. The American faked Alphonso fucking Davies and shot the ball at such an angle that no one expected a goal out of it. But it was. It was a goal indeed. You bit your lip as Dortmund players and fans alike celebrated, going insane.

You could only think to keep your head down to shield yourself from the embarrassment.

15 minutes later

Most fans had left but you and Natalia hung around to take pictures considering how close you were to the field. Your back was currently facing the pitch as Natalia stood on top a seat to get your optimal angles.

“You look so good!” Natalia smiled, clicking away.

But she stopped abruptly.

You noticed.

“Oh are we done? Should we go now?” You asked her.

“Turn.” She commanded.

You whipped you head around to see Jude Bellingham shirtless. Kit in his hand, elbows leaning against the miniature wall.

“You.” You gulped, waiting to get trashed after seeing the look on his face.

“Unfortunate that you guys lost today.” He smiled.

“Yeah well match fixing’s always a possibility. Sure you know a lot about the match fixing.”

You referenced the interview which got Jude fined in the previous year.

Jude’s smile stayed, turning into an ever present smirk.

“Touché I suppose.” Before handing you his kit.

You grasped it, before looking in disgust.

“I don’t do Dortmund kits.” You tried handing it back to him.

You were actually freaking out on the inside.

“This is a Jude Bellingham kit though.” He bit his lip as he maintained eye contact with you.

“Even worse.”

He just laughed.

“Listen sweetheart. I’d take a good look at that kit before you feed it to the dogs.”

And with that, he winked, jogging into the tunnel.

“You better fucking open that kit.” Natalia commanded, holding it up.

Both your eyes shot to something scribbled in the corner.

Call me;) 49*** *** **** -Jude

Your mouth hung wide open at this point. He was into you.

“W fucking rizz Bellingham. W rizz.” Natalia muttered.

“You’re going to be a WAG Y/N.” Natalia’s hands clamped over her mouth.

You rolled your eyes at your best friend’s wild imagination. But secretly, 99% of you, hoped that what she was saying, was true

#jude bellingham #bellingham #jude #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham x you #borussia dortmund #bvb09 #bvb imagines #england nt #dortmund #football imagines #footballers #football #fc bayer munich #bayern #bundesliga

420 notes · View notes

wyn-n-tonic · 2 years ago

Text

I'll Have Another

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader Word Count: 3.3k+ Warnings: Protected PiV. Mentions of guns and allusion to sexual violence (but neither guns nor sexual violence are apart of this story, they are just passing comments). Oral (f! receiving). Author's Note: This is all @d-sav's fault, she derailed me from writing the fifth chapter of Days of You & Me (a Joel Miller x OFC story), you can read the first chapter HERE.

Please follow @wyn-writing and you can sign up for my new taglist HERE.

Two whiskeys, two fingers full, down for the second night in a row as the clock ticks closer to a new day.

It’s only a Wednesday night but the nice weather drove people into the bar in groups of friends looking for a place to watch the game or somewhere new for their fantasy football league. Not him though, all alone at the bar with anxious hands and tired eyes.

You shouldn’t be looking at him, staring at him like this from the other side of the bar. He’s never been here, you didn’t think he’d come back.

Crowd starts to thin and he raises his hand to call your attention over.

“Final call was about half an hour ago, stretch,” you tell him, eyeing the empty glass and thinking he wants more. “If you wanna keep going, you’re gonna have to do it at home.”

“If I wanted more,” he grins out, “I would’ve asked for it half an hour ago at last call or”—he rocks his head back and forth, like he’s about to make an obvious statement—“maybe an hour ago when I finished it in the first place.”

“Then why on earth are you still here?” You ask him, arms crossed to consider the man in front of you. “Does it take you that long to sober up?”

He’s got a smile like a little kid, secretive and boyish like he’s never known true hurt because he’s always had somebody else standing in front of him to take the bulk of the blow. Or maybe he just hides it really well.

“I’ve been sober for a minute, actually,” he declares. “Just been spending all this time looking at you and how you keeping looking away from me when you see that I’ve caught you.”

“You’re new here,” you shrug. “It's my job to keep an eye on the newbies, never know who’s gonna start swinging.”

“And what would you do?” His head cocks to the side, eyes looking you up and down to the best of their ability with a bar in between you both. “If some dumb, drunk asshole were to start swinging, what would you do?”

“If this is a threat, handsome, I should probably remind you that you’re in Texas—my daddy put a gun in my hand long before I ever knew how babies were made and said to use it if some dumb, drunk asshole got handsy.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

He is. Long face and a slightly rounded nose, black curls and half full lips on sun kissed olive skin.

“‘Cause, see,” he leans forward, and drops his thickly accented voice, “I'm talking about fighting and you’re talking about fucking.”

“To most men, that’s the same thing.”

He considers that. “Well, I may be a dumb asshole but I’m not drunk and I certainly mind my manners.” He winks. “I'm Tommy and I would certainly like to get handsy with you.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re crashing into bed with his hand down your pants, long fingers fighting against the tightness of your done up jeans to touch you in that spot that makes your skin burn.

“If your soft little pussy is as tight as these jeans,” he drawls out, “you may never get rid of me.”

It’s not just the stimulation of his callused fingers against your clit that makes you burn, it's the words and it’s him. Has been since he sat down in the same seat last night and ordered his first drink.

He’s over you now, knees pressed into the mattress as he sits bowed towards your center with full concentration on the buttons between you.

“You can touch me too, you know,” he says, grin splitting his face again as he looks up. With the button free, he undoes the zipper and starts to peel back the denim gently, like it’s painted on something delicate and only concentrated precision can clean it off without hurting what’s underneath it. “Oh, I hope you do. You can pull my fucking hair right out, sweetheart, it’d be an honor.”

Shoes and pants tossed to the side, he focuses on his own as he pulls the large buckle free of his belt followed by the button of his fly and a deep sigh of relief.

“Well, you get right to the point,” you tell him, poking a pointed toe into his hip. You’ve never been more thankful for a pedicure than you are right now. “Don’t you?”

Starting with the contact of your foot poked into his side, he drags his gaze up the length of your open leg—takes in your body beneath him—and laughs.

“I really don’t,” he tells you, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt with the same deft fingers you were bucking against not even five minutes ago. “My cock's just real fucking hard and needed some breathing room.”

His voice is raspy, raw with the burn of alcohol and lust heavy on his tongue. He pulls the button up open and shrugs it off, revealing a sleeveless, white, ribbed undershirt over a barrel chest and thick, defined arms.

Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you look down at the straining material below his belt. “I really think you should give it some more.”

“Oh no,” he bends and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “I'm a real selfish son of a bitch”—he starts to pull the material down—“sometimes I can’t control myself and my pent up little dick can’t last longer than a few minutes so I try not to leave a lady too dissatisfied.”

His confidence is sexy—a magnetic charisma you’ve been drawn to the last two nights he’s ordered whiskey and laughed at all your jokes. You’ve never heard a man willingly, or with such enthusiasm, refer to his dick as little. But here he is, setting a precedent of what to expect that you feel is the direct opposite to the one you’re usually fed.

Finally, his eyes trail away from yours back down your body, pushing your legs open as he tosses the soaked fabric over his shoulder and he whistles. Not the cartoonish kind of wolf whistling reserved for Jessica Rabbit but the kind of silent disbelief and awe.

“It's cute how wet you are already,” he says, pressing two fingers flat against your mound. “The way the streetlight reflects off this slick little thing makes you look like fucking magic.”

Still on your elbows, he crashes a kiss down on you but unlike the hungry, hard kind of desperation in his lips at the door, this is soft; this is gentle.

There’s whiskey on his breath and a little more; tobacco; coffee; mint and cinnamon—probably gum to cover it all up.

“May I please eat your pretty little cunt?” He breathes out against your lips.

Dazed, you nod your head. He may look it but this is not the frat boy hook up you’re used to. Hell, this isn’t the kind of hook up you’re used to with any kind of boy you’ve been with up until now. Using the word cunt as a positive, associating it with prettiness and, even, filling the word pretty with so much awe and wonder like he’s lucky to be here.

He kisses you again before sliding back, laying down flat on his stomach as he lifts your shirt to place a kiss to both of your hips and the soft skin of your lower stomach.

Tommy does not get right to the point, he drags it out.

Shoulders settling between your thighs; soft lips against the inside of your knee, your thighs, and repeated patterns on the opposite side.

Anticipation builds within you, his hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin he’s already set ablaze while yours comes out in short, heavy puffs.

He looks up at you again with that cheeky grin, like he has a secret that he’s just dying to tell. “Go ahead and lay back,” comes his low voice, breath fanning right over where you want him. “Let me take care of the rest and feel free to pull my hair.”

Talking back isn’t even an option, not when he hooks his arm over your thigh to place one heavy, rough palm down on your mound. Still, you can’t sit back, too mesmerized by the crooked smile and lonesome dimple as he spreads you beneath that grip.

Then he kisses you. Open mouthed, free hand gripping around your thigh, he closes his mouth around you like he has never seen food, never known the satisfaction of a good meal or a good fuck.

You do crash then, one hand sinking into your own hair as the other threads through the curls reminiscent of the darkest night you’ve ever seen.

He hums and the vibration makes you jolt against his face which only makes him laugh. The laughter, continuous and contagious, mixes in with his moans until your own are dancing up to meet his.

You’ve been loud before, but never like this. This aren't the cries of a dorm room pornstar persona keeping herself in the good graces of drunk boys with mean streaks. This is heavy breaths and his name like a prayer before God who you are also calling to in desperation. Not to ask His spite for the man between your legs, but to ask His mercy and protection over him for the rest of his life.

This is tender and gentle.

This is warm and all encompassing.

This is pressure on the dam building up in a hard rain.

“Tommy,” you say his name in a panic, the familiar feeling of a full bladder hitting you. “Tommy, I’m gonna—“ It’s too late.

Pressure releases and warmth slides down to meet his tongue—his fingers—different in feeling from the slick you’ve dripped with after every fleeting moment of eye contact. Different, further, from the feeling of relief you get when you finally find the toilet after a four hour lecture hall.

Lifting himself, he runs a hand across his bottom lip and then his tongue along that too. “Been a while since I made somebody come for me that fast,” he says, surprise lacing his voice. “Tell me who’s not treating you right, I’ll beat the fuck out of them.”

Covering your face—your embarrassment—with your hands makes him laugh and he lifts his weight off of the bed.

“Hold this for me, sweetheart,” he says as a small object no heavier than a quarter lands on your stomach followed by the sound of a zipper.

Tommy’s toeing his boots off when you sit up to look at him, undershirt already tossed to the side somewhere near his button up from earlier. His pants go next but he leaves his briefs, the soft cotton material leaving nothing much to the imagination as it stretches with his growing cock.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” He asks, calling my attention up to his eyes. I can see him slipping his underwear down in my periphery before he joins me back on the bed, but I don’t look—too taken by the liquid coal color of blown out pupils against dark brown irises.

“I don't think I’ve ever come before,” you tell him, lower stomach still clenching and unclenching. There’s a wet spot just beneath where you’re sitting, subtle and cooling against your ass in a way so different than the room temperature spillage of an uncovered cock you’re used to.

He smiles. “That’s why I asked you who hasn’t been treating you right,” he responds. “Somebody as pretty and smart as you should be coming as often as she goddamn pleases.”

“How do you know I’m smart?”

Eyes darting around the room, he lands on you again. “Framed bachelor degree, textbooks on the nightstand and on the desk with big words I don’t understand, figured you were a smart girl.”

“I'm trying.” There’s something so fucking intimate about how close he is, certainly the most intimacy you’ve ever felt.

“Help me with this condom, baby,” he says after several beats. “Been dying to get your soft little hands around my dick since the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Not my mouth?” You ask. “Usually, it’s my mouth that’s wanted.”

Gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he encourages you to open up to him, something you find yourself doing so easily, as he leans over to press his tongue flat against against yours.

Kissing after a man has been down on you is something you’re accustomed to, even if men won’t give the same courtesy of kissing you after you’ve reciprocated, but you’ve never tasted this. Tangy and sweet and mixed with his bad habits, there’s a throbbing building down within you again.

“I don’t have time for this sweet little mouth around me tonight,” he whispers when he pulls away. “I’m gonna three pump chump you and I’d like to do that deep inside of your pussy and not your throat.”

Stunning, charismatic. This man could tell you to rob a bank for him and you’d probably do so.

Taking your hand, all eyes focus on the weeping length of him between you. Even if he’s gonna three pump chump you as he says, part of you wants to ignore him and take him in your mouth anyway. He got to taste; why shouldn’t you?

Controlling yourself is hard, wanting to willingly give over everything you so closely protect in other encounters—the vulnerability, the tears, the communication of what feels good and what hurts. It’s usually always just what hurts and no amount of communication can solve a lecture fatigued college boy’s mind.

With trembling hands, you help him push the condom down his shaft; careful beneath his guidance not to squeeze too hard.

You let him lift your shirt off, his eyes kept on yours as he peels yet another layer of fabric away. The amount of respect within this unforeseen encounter is the kind of shit you’ve only seen in movies.

“Magic,” he whispers again, finally looking down your body when the bra comes off as well. “You look like fucking magic.”

He leans himself into you, open mouth to open mouth as he takes your body back down to the mattress. All of his weight is braced against one arm and you’re gripping half-moons into his ribcage as he breathes heavy and slow, so close to you. It’s like he knows there’s a limit to air between you and he’s saving most of it for you.

Guiding himself to your entrance, he goes slack jawed with a small groan as he pushes slowly inside.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Goddamn, you’re never getting rid of me.”

He lays you down fully, body weight pressing against you like a hard wind, and he laughs when you start counting.

“One…” Your arms curved around his hips. “Two…” His hands smoothing across your hair. “Three…” The heels of your palms pressing into his ass to encourage him.

“There were your three pumps, chump,” you whisper. “Shouldn't you be done?”

Chest to chest, his hips stutter into a slow grind. “Oh, I’m taking my time with you, sweetheart.”

Continuing that same languid pace between your legs, it’s all soft touches and heavy breaths and moans traded back and forth in the space between until that pressure is building in you again.

Before, you thought it was an accident waiting to happen—part of you still does—but you only encourage him to continue fucking up into you at this pace as you chase down the high that fueled your embarrassment not too long ago.

It’s better this time, the same but different. Different in the way that he’s inside of you; the way his cock stretches you makes it all build that much slower and come down in a similar pace around him. His reaction, too, is different with his choked sound of pleasure and the changes in pace with which he continues pumping into you.

“Never getting rid of me,” he whispers against your lips as another wave rushes through you. “I could live inside this cunt, pretty thing, nothing else has ever gripped me so-oh fuck—so fucking well.”

He doesn’t make a spectacle of his release, doesn’t grunt like a man through the fake tan fumes of a body building competition. This man you wouldn’t have necessarily pegged for gentle not even two hours ago releases soft sounds beneath his grasp for air and stills with closed eyes.

“Believe it or not,” he says a few moments later when he’s rolled onto his back, “I've never fucked like that.”

“You're right,” you tell him. “I don’t believe it.”

He’s not in a rush to leave and you’re not in a rush to push him out either. So different, still, from other encounters you’ve had. It helps that he smells good; tastes good; treats you with respect and kindness.

You watch as he stands up and moves across the room towards the ensuite. He’s got a cute little butt, not much going on there but enough to grab onto as you already know. He smiles when he looks up and catches your reflection in the mirror.

“Don't make fun of my booty,” he says over the sound of running water. “I’m very insecure about it.”

You watch again as he walks back and slips naked out the bedroom door. Small moments like this and you’re glad you have the apartment to yourself more often than not.

Returning, he hands you the glass of water he filled up and joins you back beneath the covers.

“So… I’m gonna guess from all the books and the fancy paper framed up on the wall that you’re not just a bartender. Are you still studying?”

“I am,” you stutter; half caught off guard by the interest he’s taken, half caught off guard by the fondness you already feel for him. Like this is normal. “I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Public Health from Texas A&M.”

“Go Aggies,” he says.

“More like Go Longhorns now,” you continue. “I’m getting my masters here in Austin and then the dream is a doctorate from Johns Hopkins, all public health.”

He looks confused but interested. “I said I was a dumbass so excuse me, I promise I’m not trying to sound like a dickhead, but what does that enable you to do?” He shakes his head. “I never went to college, I’m actually really curious.”

“I'd like to be an epidemiologist,” you answer. “They study infectious diseases, aid in the prevention of them for the good of global health. Prevent pandemics and shit.”

He nods, crooked smile returning. “That's like superhero level of shit, you know that? What are you doing having sex with a random hick in some bar?”

You laugh in return. “What's a random hick in a bar doing knowing how to eat pussy that well?”

“Oh, I was stationed in France for a bit,” he tells you. “French girls do not let you get away without eating them into a goddamn stupor, best skill I picked up in the army.”

“And you used a condom without me having to beg you, that’s so sexy.”

“Yeah?” He asks, leaning in with that same crooked, cocksure smile of his.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Don’t think I wanna get rid of you, in all honesty.”

Gently, he takes the water glass and sets it over on the nightstand before pushing back up against you. “I got another condom in my wallet, how about another round?”

“I have a whole box,” you counter, “how about several?”

He kisses you again, mumbling something about soulmates against your lips as he takes you back down beneath his naked body.

#tommy miller #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #gabriel luna character #gabriel luna #o writes #one shot

575 notes · View notes