#i struggle with it every day. i can't just turn back. and people tell me it's my fault. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 2 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages.

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him.

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him.

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage.

You don’t want him.

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you.

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days.

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you.

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them.

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared.

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive.

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time?

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss.

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again.

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away.

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him.

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about.

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up.

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around.

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out. You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed.

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t.

Of course, you weren’t.

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel.

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you.

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more.

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what?

You ruined it because you got scared?

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him?

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight.

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you?

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous.

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable.

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue.

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue.

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that.

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai.

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer.

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama?

What happened, Dazai-sama?

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use.

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you.

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now.

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction.

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest.

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands.

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs.

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go.

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently.

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently.

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

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

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tremendouscreationperson · 3 months ago

Text

Logan x Reader pt.2

So I truly didn't think that many people would like this but thank y'all so much, genuinely

The reader is unfortunately no longer GN, they are referred to as 'mom' but otherwise fairly neutral

There is blood/sort of self harm imagery in this one but it ISNT SELF HARM I promise! Make sure you only read if you're comfortable though!!!

<< Part 1 Part 3 >> Masterlist

Waking up next to him was pretty surreal. Mostly because of how relaxing it actually was. His chest pillowed your head and one of his arms was around your back, playing with your hair. He smelt fucking amazing.

You lifted your head and looked down at him, images of last night flashing behind your eyes. It had actually been pretty funny to begin with, neither of you could work out how to get the other out of their suits, ending in you both giggling and undressing yourselves. He was out of his suit lightning quick - you're surprised it is still intact - and immediately found his way back to you. Kissing your neck and you struggled to remove your shoes.

“I promise this isn't some elaborate plot to turn you off.” You laughed as your foot was finally free of the blasted shoe.

He merely hummed, breath fanning your neck as he slowly bit down. Your brain short-circuited and it took a full shaky breath for you to be back in the room and removing the spandex.

His face was calm, relaxed, and he gifted you a small smile.

“Hey.”

You grinned back. “Hi.”

“It's still pretty early.” He wiggled his brows.

Your cheeks warmed and, in a move that probably wasn't wise, you hid your face in his chest. “No. We have to get ready.”

His chest rumbled with his chuckle and you groaned, placing playful kisses on his pecs.

“C’mon, baby.” He pulled you up to his lips and kissed you slow. Taking his time with a leisurely pace.

You kissed him back before nipping his bottom lip, knowing it would drive him crazy, and pulling back. “Stop." Kiss. "It's a big day." Kiss. "I gotta make sure Laura eats.”

Confusion splattered across his features but he slowly released you. A fact that you were grateful for because you don't think you could've rebuked him another time.

You eased yourself up, still a little sleepy and a little sore before stretching fully. His eyes watched your naked body shamelessly and you turned to locate your suit.

“What is that?” His expression was stony.

You turned around to catch what he had seen and couldn't find anything. “Was it a spider or something?”

“No, what is that?” He pointed at you.

There better not be a fucking spider on me. You looked down, scared, to see nothing. Just yourself, naked as the day you were born. “I'm still confused.”

“That fucking scar on your back."

Ah.

Shit.

He hadn't seen it last night because he had you laid on your back for the majority of it.

“Oh. That scar.” You played it off. “It's nothing real-”

“Did I do that?”

“No. It wasn't you.” You bit your cheek. “It was a version of you.”

“Wh-”

“Lo.” You stopped him before he could spiral, placing a hand on his cheek. “Nothing happened that I couldn't handle. He just got lucky and unlike you I can't heal everything so unfortunately I have claw marks. But I am alive and safe and you are not to blame.”

He looked like he was about to argue but a knock at the door stopped that.

“Guys, are ya decent?” Wade asked in a sing-song voice.

Not really. “You okay?” You called back.

“Yeah, I'm here to tell you to hurry up because Maya doesn't know how to end this part.”

Who the fuck was Maya? “O-okay?”

“See ya soon!”

Logan didn't look like he wanted to move. He was content with staying here and blaming himself for something that he didn't do.

“Look, Logan, if he is awake they all are. It's time to go.”

He had to agree with you there.

Logan entered the main living space and was unsurprised to see everyone else there. Gambit was sitting with Elektra talking strategy, Blade was kneeling spinning his weapon and psyching himself up, Deadpool copying every move he made and you were braiding Laura's hair.

“At least they won't be able to grab your hair, lovely.” You kissed her crown as you finished, tying it off with a small piece of fabric. She smiled and scooped a handful of dry cereal into her mouth. “Make sure you have some fruit, please.” The girl rolled her eyes but did take a piece of fruit from the can by your feet. “Good girl.”

Laura would never tell anyone but she loved praise from you. You were her favourite person and for you to tell her she was doing good meant the world. She liked to be strong and fierce but secretly she loved when you babied her.

“You her mom or something?” Logan asked. He didn't mean for it to sound so insulting. Every set of eyes turned to him, their judgement sitting heavily on his shoulders.

Wade even piped up, “What in the ever loving fuck?”

You looked up shocked and a little embarrassed. “No, of course not. But it's good to keep her safe and s-she needs a balanced diet, so I try to... provide one.” Oh, god. You sounded crazy. Your gaze fell to Laura who was staring right back at you. “Sorry. I guess I have been acting like your.. I know you have parents and I know I'm not- I’m sorry.”

“I don't have any parents.” She clarified.

That didn't hurt, per se, but it didn't feel good.

“‘course you do.” El called over. “She just braided your hair.”

Laura smiled and leant further into you, you hugged her back and handed the can of fruit to her. “Have you packed your things?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. Her ‘things’ were her comics and a pair of sunglasses. The light was far too bright for her eyes and they were a blessing in this wasteland.

“That's good.” You smiled as she stood up and walked through Wolverine, clipping his shoulder with her own.

Gambit asked Laura to help him in the other room. Everyone in your party knew it was a distraction so that Blade could feed. It was your turn and you knew it would go over swimmingly with the man that just insulted you.

“I didn't mean-”

“It's fine.” You stood and made your way over to the Daywalker. “You ready?”

“I hate this.” He clasped your arm and you helped him to his feet.

Wade reached his arm out and you obliged, pulling him up too. He bounced happily on his toes and hugged you. “You can be my mom any time.”

“Sure thing.” You chuckled.

“Where are you going?” Logan asked. He was just stood awkwardly where he had stopped in front of you and Laura.

“To feed Blade.”

“Feed him?”

Blade sneered, revealing his fangs. “I used to have a friend that helped my hunger. Now I'm here.”

“We all pitch in.” Elektra continued. “Take turns.”

Wade fanned himself, “he bites you? Kinky bitch.”

“No,” You shook your head. “I cut myself and pour an amount into a glass, we have a measuring line. It's a very well thought out system.”

“Cut yourself.” Logan's stony expression hadn't quite left from earlier but was back in full force now.

“It might sound strange to you but it's a good system.” You defended it. “We try to shield little Laura, we all take turns, it's fair. The only victim is Blade! He hates it!”

Blade, who had stayed quiet, nodded. He was embarrassed to ask anything like this, he hated that he was a Dhampir. His mother had died because of a selfish Vampire and said being cursed him, he swore to rid the world of them and here he was. No better than those he hunted.

“I'll do it.” Logan volunteered. “I heal so I'll do it.”

“You don't have t-”

“I'll do it.” He was firm but then spoke lowly. “I don't want any more scars on you.”

You sighed but agreed, half hating and half loving him.

“Come on then.” You ushered them both into the makeshift kitchen.

Deadpool followed watching with wide eyes.

Blade hung back as you got the glass, it had been scratched halfway to indicate the measurement.

“That's a lot of blood.” Logan's tone was accusatory.

“Every other day.” Blade informed, emotionless.

Logan was quick to yank off a glove and cut a quick slice on his hand. The hand had so many veins that he was sure it would take seconds to fill the cup. Except, he healed before he could fill it a quarter of the way.

He repeated his actions and the cut seemed to heal faster.

“This is embarrassing.” Wade ‘whispered’.

“Shut up.” Logan growled as he did it again and finally got just under the mark. “Is that enough?”

“Not quite-”

Blade agreed to stop this painful display. “It'll do.”

“Blade, we have a big fight coming up, you'll need all your strength.”

“It's okay, I'll be good.” He picked the glass up and took long thick swallows, hating that the taste was good. That it itched the scratch in the back of his head.

“So if he's a Vampire why can he go out in sunlight?” Deadpool asked whilst Blade licked his lips.

“Daywalker.. he can handle light.” You recalled something, “actually did you know that Dracula could as well? Sunlight didn't kill him, it just weakened him.”

Blade set the glass down, “I killed that mother fucker.”

“Dracula?”

“Yeah.”

“He's real?”

“Real as the stake I shoved into his heart.”

You were in complete shock. “Are you being serious? For real life? This… this is mind-blowing.”

Wade shrugged. “I dunno, I'm pretty sure in that comic he comes back to life.”

“Comic?” Blade raised a brow.

“Yeah keep up, sweety, this is a bunch of nerd comics thrust together with you included.” Deadpool pointed at you.

You'd never seen a fully grown man scream ‘shotgun’ and sprint to the side of a car. Yet, here he was, shoving Gambit to the side and opening the door of a beat up Honda.

Wade rolled down the window and explained, “I'm not driving but I am a passenger princess.”

“I guess, I'll drive.” Elektra shrugged and there were no objections. She was probably the most logical of all of you, she could handle his outbursts and tune him out. She had done that to Daredevil for years apparently.

Laura, Gambit and Blade were next in the car, the latter sandwiched in between the others, they say in the middle row as the back row had been destroyed. You smiled at Laura leaning against Blade.

“Y/N.” Logan gestured to the open boot. Oh, right. Yeah. You'd have to get in the boot. With Logan. The man that had been cold towards you today. Great.

You shuffled into the car and settled your backpack next to you, he got in behind you and you were both just sitting facing each other. Knees meeting.

You busied yourself with your backpack, handing Laura her sunglasses. She had them on her head and placed them down for a second, forgetting them. Luckily you picked them up for her.

“There you go, hun.”

She blushed and took them happily. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

After that there was nothing else to do. You had no distractions.

Wade had put the radio on as El had pulled away from your home. This might be the last time you ever saw it. It was actually a little bit sad. You all might never be back here. Or all but one could be, you hated that thought. It was bad enough Johnny being dead - and he was fairly annoying - you couldn't handle anyone else. Were you going to cry? No. You weren't. You were fine. Everyone would be fine.

You sniffed just as Britney Spears started singing and Gambit and Wade put on a terrific performance.

"I think I did it again."

“You look tired.” Logan whispered, the others wouldn't hear him over the duet.

“Do I?” You frowned. What had you done to him this morning? “Way to make a girl feel special.”

“No I mean.” He sighed. “Have a nap. It's a long journey.”

“There's not an abundance of space.” You gestured to each other.

Logan manoeuvred and motioned for you to move with him, you were wary but did as he asked and ended up in a very comfortable position. It mirrored how you had awoken this morning, resting on his chest, except you were both closer. If that was possible.

To be comfortable he pulled your leg over his, leaving the other straight, and wrapped both arms around your sides.

“I'm sorry I've been a dick.” He whispered against your hair. “I- The scar set me off this morning and everything I've done since I can't explain. I don't know why I've been an asshole. I jus-I haven't meant to be it's just come out like that.”

“It's alright.” You raised one shoulder in a half shrug. Your Logan had explained once that sometimes he says something and between his brain and his mouth it was as though it went through an 'asshole filter'. He truly didn't mean to be a dickhead but he couldn't help it. He usually felt horrible when it happened.

“No it isn't-”

You placed your hand on his lips, “yes it is. Now shush let me sleep. I was up practically all night.”

At least that got you an amused huff.

Part 3

#logan howlett #logan 2017 #logan x reader #logan #james logan howlett #deadpool 3 #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #the wolverine #wolverine x reader #xmen #logan xmen #wolverine x men

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feltit-wroteit · 6 months ago

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Spoiled and Loved

Art Donaldson x Fem!Reader

In every way, you were the person that made the college experience that much better for Art. You, on the other end, were still struggling to find your place at Uni.

Watnings: inscure reader, lost reader, small angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has rich parents, one s3x joke

There he was. In your usual spot in the cafeteria eating a lunch that his athletic nutritionist must've assigned him to eat. God was your boyfriend beautiful... "Baby?" He called you out of your trance and you smiled at him. "Come?" He motioned for the chair in front of him with his head. You walked toward it and sat down with your lunch that was healthy but certainly not planned. "Hey!" You said. You started eating and asking how his morning practice was and he smiled throught it all. After finishing his lunch and while explaining his morning, he drew mindless doodles on your left hand with a pencil. One was a tennis racket the other a heart and another a paint brush. Once he was done, silence had fallen and Art looked up at you, stopping his drawing. "Y/N?" Art asked while looking for your gaze. "Hmm?" You answered still looking at your left hand. "Look at me." He asked and lifted your head up with the help of his palm on your jaw. You looked at him and smiled. "How was your day so far, baby?" He then asked with certainty. You sighed and went to look down again, only to feel your boyfriend rubbing your jaw and hearing him hum no. When you met his gaze again you felt it.

The need to tell him the truth.

"Art?" He nodded at your interpellation, waiting for you to continue. "I don't think I belong here." You had felt like this for a while, but your boyfriend's joy at being here made that feeling simmer down a little.

That was until yesterday.

"That's Donaldson's girlfriend, right?" A girl said behind you during your history of the arts lecture. You normally tuned these type of conversations out, but today your ears decided that it was a mighty fine time to do as they wanted. "She play any sports?" The girl, Jenny from what you heard her friend call her earlier, proceeded to ask her friend, Luna. "Not that anybody knows of. Not to his level at least." The other girl answered with a certain turn in her voice. It wasn't a nice one at that. ""But she must do something else around campus for her to be with him, right?" Jenny continued her interrogations. "The only place other than her lectures that people see her at are Donaldson's games. She just does those two things that includes school life. People have said and know that she doesn't even have a major yet. She just does classes until she finally finds something that makes her spark. It's pathetic really." Luna said and chuckled with her friend who fired back : "Why would he want to be with her? If I were Art Donaldson-" And you never heard the last of her life hacks, because your ears decided you had been tortured enough as it was. The notes you had started taking were the only ones you took for the rest of the 3 hour lecture. Well, what was one more exam failed?

You would stay in this godforsaken place until you found a stupid major to work in life with.... Why bother studying right now? Your parents paid for your acceptance at Stanford. Your life was as corrupted as that.

"What do you mean Y/n/n?" Art asked with a concerned look and rubbed his tumb over your jaw. "I don't know what I mean by that. But that's also a problem, I never know..." you tried to explain but it was still unclear to him. He only wanted to comfort you and make you feel at ease at all times, but right now he couldn't understand you. That made him mad at himself. "I don't know what I am going to major in, I don't know why I went to college in the first place and I don't know what you find in me. Before you start to argue that point, I have to tell you that I don't doubt your love, I doubt my ability of being loved right now. I am a mess Art... I can't do it anymore! The only thing I do know, is that I'm going to end up like I always feared..." You continued to elaborate on your feelings while he was listening. "Baby... I love you for who you are. I'm sure what you feared for your future isn't even that bad-" you cut him off on that and laughed while letting some tears flow. "Oh yeah, it is. I will end up as every other rich kid who doesn't amount to nothing and will live off my family's money for my whole life." You said and removed his hand from your face. You didn't feel deserving of his touch right now. "Stop." He said sternly. How could he have left this go this far? How couldn't he have seen you were feeling like this? How bad of a boyfriend was he? "Y/n, you are not messed up. You are beautiful and intelligent and you are worth more than your family's wealth. You are important. Not only to me but to a lot of people. Listen, college isn't for everyone, baby. I know it 's easier listening than believing, but please don't pull away from me." He had tears brimming his eyes now.

What did you do to deserve him?

"I love you, Art. I'm sorry for upsetting you..." You explained and held his hand that had been squeezing the edge of the table. "Don't, baby. You do not have to appologize. I should appologize for not seeing how you had been feeling. Please... talk to me about these things. I want to be there for you like you are for me." He took your hand back in his to play with it lightly. "Okay." You said and smiled softly at him. "Okay?" He asked smiling softly too while looking into your eyes. "Yeah. I'll talk to you more about my feelings, baby." You nodded and affirmed.

As you both walked to your last class of the day that you shared, the girls of your history of the arts lecture passed you. They were looking at you and art with sadness. It was then you realized what they had been doing. Only wallowing in their jealousy because:

Art had chose you. Not them.

His heart was set on you and that made them mad. Some part of you felt like you could see them. Maybe you were loved by someone like they wanted to be, but you were also envious of how these girls would be graduating in Teaching in less than two months likw you wanted to be graduating.

Everybody was jealous of somebody in this world.

"Art?" You asked while going closer to his side. "Hmm?" He had answered when wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in even closer. "I think I'm jealous of you." You confirmed while giggling. "Oh yeah? How come, y/n?" He smiled at your randomness. "You have a massive dick. I want that." You said in the most serious tone you could master in that instance. Art burst out laughing and admitted that he was jealous of you too. "How come, Art?" You copied his sentence. "Imagine being as pretty as the one and only Y/n Y/l/n under sun rays. I'll pray for that to happen one day." You looked up into his eyes and stopped walking for a second. You smiled at him and went up to kiss him on his lips. The kiss was slow and full of love, just how you prefered then to be.

"I love you, baby. Even if you are a spoiled little brat sometimes." He said and tried to cover his head before you shoved his head to the side playfully.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson x you #art x reader #art x you #art #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers movie

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snapnov4 · 11 months ago

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marry me | gojo satoru

synopsis: a bad idea disguised as a practical joke turns into something way deeper than you intended it to be.

wc: 1.1k

cw: just good ol fluff!

a/n: happy late birthday to my baby daddy and man of my dreams gojo satoru. i have to marry this man. i have to i have to i have to. anyways. enjoy reading this cute little fic i wrote, meaning i thought abt gojo proposing as a joke and vomited this out. enjoy!

it starts, like all things involving gojo satoru, with a bad idea disguised as a practical joke.

you're sitting across from him, in a restaurant that’s not too fancy, more of a family-type deal. he's forgone his blindfold in favor of his square-framed glasses, but his uniform is still on. he insisted on treating you to dinner after you exorcized an unregistered special grade on your own. however, with gojo, things can't always be so easy; he always adds his patented gojo twist to things, and this time the twist is this terrible joke.

“come on, it'll be funny!” he whines, from across the table.

“you want to propose to me in this restaurant for free food? when you make well over six figures a year? and have full access to thousands of years of old clan money?” you ask, incredulously, reaching to take a sip of your drink, suddenly wishing you had gone with a stronger option.

“yes, exactly. what's not clicking?”

“uhmmm, all of it?”

“look it'll be funny. you could even say no, then you can run out and i get free food as pity points,” he smiles at you, and you find it hard to keep saying no. “i mean, they'll probably all call you heartless and tell me i deserve better but that's fine.”

“okay and if i say yes, what about a ring? or the fact that we're not even together? how is anyone going to believe you?” you ask, thinking you've backed him into a corner, until he just sighs softly, keeping an easy smile, and reaches into his pocket. he pulls out a black velvet box, and shakes it a bit by his head.

“you think i hadn't planned for that?” he asks, smirking in your direction, trying to hold back laughter at your aghast expression, you drag a palm over your face, finally conceding.

“okay. fine! fine! just…try not to embarrass me. please?”

“no promises! also the waitress is coming this way, so get ready. tears are optional but preferred.”

you roll your eyes at his statement, your gaze following him closely when he stands up and walks over to your side of the table. you look around desperately hoping that no one will actually have their attention drawn to you but the thing about gojo is wherever he goes he commands attention. consequently, when he stands at a whopping 6’7 everyone’s already looking, and when he drops down on one knee in front of you, holding that little velvet box in front of you, you catch people’s smartphones shooting up immediately, great. and you're sure the vision of jujutsu’s strongest sorcerer, taking off his sunglasses and holding up a ring box to you would haunt you forever. you think right under reverse cursed technique in his list of talents, they should add acting, because the look in his eyes almost feels real.

the way your name falls so delicately from his lips, before he clears his throat, feigning nervousness. the way he struggles at first to look you in the eyes, the ring sparkling in the dim lighting. he starts:

“you are truly the most beautiful woman i've ever met, inside and out. to know you and love you is a pleasure too great for words, and i want to continue living in it every day. will you marry me?” you roll your eyes, but the smile across your face is genuine, maybe he was right, maybe this is funny. so you have no issue, saying yes, throwing your arms around his neck as he spins you around, delicately sliding the ring onto your finger. the two of you giggle all the way back to jujutsu tech, containers of your free leftovers in hand.

and so it becomes a tradition.

satoru continues to propose to you every time the two of you get the chance to have dinner together, and despite all your better judgment, you laugh and say yes every time.

and what started as a joke, turned tradition, starts to morph into something else.

satoru notices it on a summer day. you're out with the students, supervising them as they spar. the sun’s been beating down for days, he's standing beside you his eyes trained on your hands. your left ring finger has a tan line, it's from that ring. you're not wearing it, you returned it to him last night, forgetting to give it back after dinner and then desperately trying to get your schedules to align for at least five minutes, but he'd been out of town for a week and when he finally got back late last night to find you working on paperwork in your office, he didn't know why it felt like his heart sank when you slid the ring off and put it in his hand.

now, the box feels heavy in his pocket (when did he start carrying it all the time?) and he looks at you with so much adoration that had his blindfold not been on, he'd look like a love-struck puppy to any passerby. you'd been wearing the ring so much it's left a mark on you, it's obvious you'd been wearing it, the tan line a stark reminder that it was there; and something about it makes satoru wish he could make the next proposal permanent. you turn your head to him, smiling softly.

“the first years are something else this year, gojo, did you see yuuji and maki spar? they're going places,”

and he's not sure why but before he can stop himself he's blurting out:

“let me take you on a date.”

you sputter and falter, turning fully to look at him, “are you being serious?”

he nods, that goofy smile of his making you weak to his every whim, it's the same one he gave you that night at that dinner table; the same one that made you start this tradition.

so he takes you out, and then that becomes a tradition. still every day, he thinks of the way that ring looked on you whenever he slid it on your finger, and how he felt rejected every time you gave it back. he'd clear his schedule if he knew he could have dinner with you, just to see the smile you couldn't stop whenever he got down on one knee.

satoru doesn't propose anymore. he figures the next time he does it, he should be serious about it since you're his girl now. on a tuesday night, you're sitting with him on the couch, your legs are thrown over his lap and he looks at you, focused so intently on a book you've been dying to finish, the bookmark always staying near the end as you get called into emergency exorcisms, and he knows. he fishes that ring out of his pocket, the same one he gave you in that restaurant almost two years ago, and there's no fanfare, no cameras, no theatrics. he just opens the box, looks at you, and says,

“hey baby, let's get married.”

and just like the first time, you smile and say yes.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #vela is a softie #vela loves gojo #fics #trying out a new header style also #got tired of finding those stupid manga panels

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storiesfromgaza · 1 year ago

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"Mom, does it hurt when we get bombarded? Do we feel the pain, or do we just die at once?"

These are the questions that Reporter Youmna El Sayed began with in her interview conducted by the AJ+ network to document her struggles with her children and the suffering of all the people of Gaza

When my kids ask me, 'Mom, does it hurt when we get bombarded? Do we feel the pain, or do we just die at once?' and I have to tell them, 'No, don't worry. It's not going to hurt.' Their father reassures them, saying, 'Don't worry. It just happens once, and that's it.' In the past, we would comfort our children, saying, 'Don't worry. It's going to be okay. It's going to end soon. You'll be fine. We'll be fine.' Everything is shaking—constantly. But now, every night, we tell them, 'Don't worry. We're together, sticking together. If we die, we die together.' Death has become a looming reality since the Israeli army encircled Gaza city. The bombardments have been relentless—from the land, air, and sea. Our building is in a perpetual state of tremor. Three days ago, we awoke to the smoke of nearby fires filling our homes. We sought refuge in the basement, the best option with the least smoke, but it was still overwhelming. The kids were coughing, suffocating, and their eyes were itching. But when it comes to my children, it just hits me so hard, Dina, and I just feel that I can't control it anymore. I can't be that strong, brave woman who's able to control things or get things under control because they're my weak part. I feel a loss of control, unable to maintain the facade of strength and bravery. Judy, usually full of life, now appears quiet and terrified

She doesn't eat much. She doesn't feel like doing anything. I tried to speak to her about things, you know, bring back some happy memories, and I said, as usual, 'What would you like to do the first thing after this war ends?' She told me, 'Mommy, I don't want to do anything except for this war to end. I just want these bombardments to end, everything—the destruction, the despair, the loss.'

I think they tell you that now—we're just hearing news of people dying every now and then—people that we know, friends, colleagues, everyone around us. And it just, you know, really, like, 'May he rest in peace,' and that's it. I just—we just go on because we were just waiting for our turn. You mentioned to me that food is scarce and supplies are low. What is the water situation? We can starve, right? We can go on without food, even as adults. But without water, I'd rather die from bombardments than die from thirst. I don't want my kids at the end to die from thirst. Are you still thinking to move south, and what would that look like? The last attempt was a couple of days ago, and we found out that to move south, we need to walk for at least 6 to 7 km on foot and not carry anything at all with us—none of our belongings. Basically, walk this distance while we raise our hands to show that we surrender, just holding our IDs in one hand and raising the other. And I think that's just extremely humiliating. And it's not just that, you know?

You remember the massacre that everyone saw on TV screens for the civilians that were bombarded on the road? They're still lying there. Until this day, lying there in the streets, their bodies. The crows and the birds are eating from them, and no one has been able to pick them up. The Israeli army has not allowed anyone or ambulances or any medical teams to come to pick these people up and to bury them. How can I let my kids go through a street while they see other children and other people killed and thrown just like that, lying in the street like that, while birds are eating from them? I think that this is just inhumane and more cruel than anything. This is not to worry about fighting Hamas or Palestinian fighters. This war began by eliminating and wiping out the Palestinian people in Gaza. This isn't a war against Palestinian fighters nor Hamas; it's a genocide against Gaza.

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nonranghaes · 25 days ago

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heads up: bi fem reader. mentions of biphobia and implied complex feelings surrounding things.

"sometimes... i think i just want to go back into the closet."

felix looks over, watching you with furrowed brow as you stretch slightly next to him before relaxing again. it's as if you didn't even speak, but he knows what you said. what you mean. what you struggle with, too: he's heard your rants plenty of times by now.

he turns over onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. "did someone say something?"

"not directly to me, but..." you let out a long sigh. "sometimes i just think it'd easier if i pretend i'm straight. that's all some people are ever going to see me as anyway."

"but you've dated--"

"i know i've dated more than men in the past," you shut your eyes. "do you think people care about that? it feels like people only care about the people we end up with, and get mad when it's the 'wrong' one."

he frowns, almost a little hurt secondhand. you've always been so up front with how much you adore him. it makes him feel special that you wake up and choose to love him every day, your 'easiest' choice in your own words (and he knows that picking what you want for dinner is one of the hardest decision when it's your day to cook). his hand slips into your own, squeezing it tight.

"i'm not going to tell you what you should do," he says, choosing his words carefully. "since... i know it's a hard thing to think about. but even if you do, it's never going to change how much i love and support you. our friends feel the same way, you know?" he rolls onto his back as he slides next to you, head resting against your shoulder. "you deserve to be you. i know i can't really say that you shouldn't let what other people say hurt you" his hand squeezes your again, "because it's hard. but... i love you. your friends and family loves you."

and when you break with that first shudder-y breath that precedes crying, felix holds you, rubbing circles into your back. it's going to be okay, he wants to say. but instead, he just lets you take shelter in his arms for as long as you need. he loves you. you love him. that's all that matters in this second.

#nonranghaes.thoughts #stray kids x you #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz imagine #skz x reader #skz imagines #lee felix x you #lee felix x reader #felix x you #felix x reader #nonranghaes.skz #nonranghaes.vent

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tomssexdoll · 4 months ago

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Under His Strings

PAIRINGS: Tom 2014 x Female reader

CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Tom is Y/Ns private guitar teacher. One day when she shows up she couldn't get the song right, failing almost every time she played, she could sense his frustration and used it to her advantage, teasing him until breaking point.

A/N: ur all amazing ily

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), mutual masturbation (handjob, fingering), a lot of teasing, degrading, age gap (5 years)

Tom was my guitar teacher, I took private lessons with him, I do have to admit they were expensive but Tom always gave me a discount, calling me his favourite student. I loved every session with him, he was patient, gentle and funny, he always bought us food and let the lesson go overtime.

He was in a band when he was younger, retiring to teach people guitar. He was a bit older, 27 to be exact. I was only 22, looking to learn guitar as a little hobby, the city I lived in being super boring.

When I wasn't learning guitar with Tom, I was at school. I came in one day for my usual lesson, I sat down on his fancy, red leather couch, grabbing one of his guitars and setting it in my lap, waiting for him to show up.

Shortly after he entered the room, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me. He sauntered over, his muscular physique clearly visible under his grey shirt. He took notice of my smile and returned it with a charming smile, "good morning, ready for your lesson?" he sat down next to me, grabbing a guitar too and facing me.

I nodded, "yep! Let's get started," I smiled brightly, grabbing my notes sheet, looking at the song I was due to play. He chuckled at my enthusiasm, grabbing the aux and plugging them into the speakers and guitar.

"Alright then, pay attention to the chord progressions and let your fingers find the notes naturally," he looked up at me from his guitar, making sure my fingers were in the right spots.

I began to play the song, messing up a few times, not able to get the rhythm right. I could tell he was growing a little bit frustrated, I usually had the ability to catch on pretty quickly but this song was difficult.

He let out a deep sigh, "I know you can do better than this, try again," he watched me play again, yet there was no improvement, only worsening due to the pressure of him watching me.

"Tom I can't!" I sighed, frowning deeply, his expression turned stern, eyes narrowing as he studied my performance, "can't or wont? Because right now, it looks like you're not even trying," he reached out, taking my hand, his large fingers wrapping around mine as he placed it on the fretboard. "You have potential Y/N, sometimes you just...don't try hard enough," he kept his hand on mine for a little too long, rubbing his thumb over my skin.

"Tom you don't understand, I am trying!" I whined, upset with how strict he was being. His eyes flashed with a hint of anger, his grip on my hand tightening tightly.

"Understand? I understand that you're struggling, but that's no excuse for mediocrity, I've taught you well and will not tolerate this from you," he leaned in, "whatever..." I muttered, pulling my hand away from his and focusing on my guitar again.

I started to play again, Tom watching me for a few moments, his expression unreadable. He leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he observed my progress. "No, no, no. You're still rushing the chorus. Slow down, take your time with it," I grunted and set the guitar aside, "well I can't help it if you're watching me like a fucking hawk!" I raised my voice, my tone laced with frustration.

He raised an eyebrow at my outburst, scooting closer. He took a deep breath, leaning forward to place a hand on my knee, "that's enough. I'm just trying to help you improve, let's try again," he looked into my eyes, reaching up and gently squeezing my shoulder before letting go and handing my guitar back to me.

Tom watched me intently, his eyes following every move I made as I played. He nodded along to the rhythm, occasionally offering a suggestion here or there, but for the most part he observed in silence. At times, he even moved closer to me, seemingly drawn in by your performance.

As I finished he spoke up, "that's it, well done, all you're stuck on is the chorus, come here, let me help," he turned me around, coming up behind and wrapping his arms around me, placing his hands on mine, "there we go, now let's start.." he whispered gently.

His chest pressed against my back as he adjusted my grip on the guitar and helped me strum the strings, his breath was hot against my ear as he whispered instructions, sending tingles down my spine, "see, it's all about timing and rhythm," he smirked, I bit my lip and nodded, feeling the tension start to build, the air thickening.

I kept strumming, purposefully getting it wrong to tease him. His grip on my hands tightened as I kept getting it wrong. His patience started to wear thin, his body tensing behind mine as he tried to control his anger, "no, no no, like this"

I kept messing it up, a small smile tugging at my lips, "like this?" I turned to look at him, our faces inches away. His eyebrows furrowed, his grip on my hand tightening even more as he tried to control his growing frustration. His chest heaved against mine as he took a deep breath, "stop fucking around and listen to me," he growled lowly.

"Sorry Tom.." I batted my eyelashes, putting on a fake innocence to drive him crazy. I backed my ass into his crotch, softly grinding into his erection, "so, do i do the chords like this?" I smirked, playing the guitar right for a moment.

His breath hitched as he felt me grind against him, his cock slowly hardening . He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure, "yes, just like that.." he murmured, his voice strained.

He tried to adjust himself discreetly, but I could feel him twitching against me. I smirked as he cleared his throat, trying to play it off, "okay Tom.." I kept grinding softly, at one point pushing my ass into his crotch.

"Tom I just can't get it right!" I whined, he hissed softly as he felt my ass digging into his hard cock, a rush of pleasure shooting through him. He tightened his grip on the guitar to try and distract himself, but it was no use. "Here, let me help you," he whispered softly, holding back a moan.

I nodded, feeling his hands gently move towards my hips, holding them tightly, guiding me to lean forward over the guitar. His breath quickened as he positioned me just right, so that his bulge pressed firmly against my ass. He could feel my warmth through his pants as he ran his fingers up and down my sides, teasing me softly.

I gasped, "keep teaching me.." I moaned softly, feeling his lips graze over my neck as he mumbled a low "ok..", his grip tightened on me, trying to guide my fingers on the guitar. His breath hitched as the friction against his aching cock became too much to bear.

I moved my hand behind me, towards his crotch, gently rubbing his bulge, causing him to let out a sharp breath, his hips jerking involuntarily, seeking more friction against my soft touches. "Not yet.." he warned, his voice low and husky, "focus on your lesson."

I smirked and returned my hands back to the thin strings of the guitar, gently strumming and slowly playing the song, "I can't get it right!" I grunted, turning to look at him again, his forehead covered in sweat, his breath ragged.

His eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and desire, not understanding why I was teasing him like this, was I purposefully fucking up the chords? Was he crazy for thinking I was teasing him?

He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, "stop teasing and focus," I smirked, "you look tense Mr Kaulitz, what's wrong?" I said innocently, knowing damn well why he was acting like that.

He grunted lowly, I had lit a fire in him that he couldn't extinguish, "I'm not tense..." he growled, trying so hard to not just grab me, bend me over and fuck me until I couldn't walk straight.

"Are you sure?" I moved my hand to his crotch again, gently rubbing his erection, "you seem upset Tom.." his patience finally snapped, throwing the guitar aside and roughly spinning me around to face him.

His hands gripped my shoulders firmly as he glared down at me with a mix of anger and lust in his eyes. "Stop it, or I'll take you right here and now, do you want that? Do you want me to fuck you on this couch?.." he grunted, "what if i do..." I smirked, leaning in closer.

His anger boiled over and in a flash, he grabbed me by my wrist and yanked me towards him. His other hand cupped my face, digging his fingers into my skin as he slammed his lips against mine in a brutal, punishing kiss, "fucking teasing slut..." he grumbled, pulling me flush against his body.

His hands moved up and down my sides, gripping me tightly as he kissed me again, his lips moving passionately against mine, his tongue demanding entry. His hands squeezed my hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue dominating mine in a heated dance, "you have no fucking idea what you do to me.." he grunted, moving his lips towards my neck, gently sucking.

"Tom.." I gasped, my mouth slightly agape as I wrapped my hand around the back of his head, gently tugging at his hair as he kissed my neck. He let out a low growl against my skin, knowing he had me right where he wanted me. His hands roamed down to the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it up to expose my stomach and chest.

My tits hid behind my bra, his hands desperately tugging it off, revealing my breasts, my nipples hard. His gaze dropped to my exposed breasts, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he took in the sight.

His hands immediately move to cup and squeeze them firmly, drawing a gasp from my lips at the mixture of pleasure and slight pain. "Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful," he murmured.

He moved his hands back to my waist, pulling me swiftly onto his lap. I moved my hand down to his erection again, feeling his cock throb in his pants, "you want me to touch you, hm?" I whispered, moving my lips to his neck, gently kissing the skin.

He let out a strangled groan as I rubbed his aching cock, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing through him. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer against him as he grinded into my touch, "yes, fuck...touch me, baby. I need it," he grumbled, I smirked and hummed in approval, quickly unbuttoning his pants and hooking my fingers around the waistband, dragging them down.

I hovered over his lap as he helped push his pants down further, letting them fall to his feet. His cock strained against his boxers, begging to be let free. I shoved my hands into his underwear, pulling his cock out, his tip glistening with pre cum.

A guttural moan escaped him as my fingers wrap around his aching cock, the feeling of my touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through his veins. His eyes rolled back slightly, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow as he arched into my grasp.

I started to move my hands up and down his shaft, small ragged gasps coming from his lips. As I kept jerking him off I felt his fingers slowly snake to my hips, down to my lower stomach and into my panties, running his fingers along my sopping folds.

A shudder ran through Tom as my hands work his cock, each stroke igniting a fire in his loins. The feeling of my slick heat against his fingers as he explored my panties was intoxicating, groaning low in his throat, "jesus, you're so wet for me already.." he leaned in, whispering against my lips.

I gently pressed my lips against his, whining as I felt his fingers enter me slowly. His lips devoured mine, his tongue slipping in to dance with mine as his fingers delved deeper into my wet heat "fuckkk...so tight and wet..taking my fingers so well baby.." he groaned, breaking the kiss for a second to spit dirty words at me, feeling my inner walls flutter around his fingers. His cock pulsed in my hand, straining towards release.

I moaned against his lips, continuing to stroke his cock, my pace quickening as I felt his fingers curl inside my pussy, teasing my g spot and sending shivers down my spine, "Tom...mmh..."

"You like that baby? You like when I finger this tight cunt?" he whispered, his breath fanning on my face. I nodded, whining softly as the pleasure built up, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked down at me with a dark, hungry gaze. His fingers worked inside me, pumping and curling to hit that sweet spot that made me clench around him.

He growled lowly as I worked his cock with renewed vigour, my hand flying up and down his throbbing shaft. The dual sensation of his fingers inside me and my hand on his dick almost too much to handle. "Fuck, yeah...Just like that you dirty slut.." he said, his voice laced with desire.

I felt my release quickly build up, my pussy clenching and throbbing around his fingers, soaking them in my juices. "Cum for me..let go baby.." he moved his lips down to my neck, placing sloppy kisses all over the skin, sucking gently and leaving marks in his path.

"Gonna cum baby...cum with me.." he said through gritted teeth, thrusting up into my hand, his thick cock moving up and down in my hand viciously, precum beading at his tip, his release dangerously close, ready to erupt at any second.

His cock throbbed in my hand, cum shooting across my stomach and breasts as he groaned, clenching his teeth, his pace never faltered even after his orgasm, only going harder, his thrusts erratic and cruel.

I threw my head back, moaning loudly as my orgasm came crashing down, my hole clenching tightly as my juices spilled all over his fingers.

"Fuck yes..that's it baby.." he groaned, removing his fingers from my cunt and moving them up to his mouth, gently sucking all the slick off with a pleasured hum, his chest heaving with extortion "mmh...you taste so sweet.." his eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took in the sight of my pleasure drenched face.

After calming down from our earth shattering orgasms, he gently laid me back on the couch, climbing on top of me. His gaze darkened as he saw me ready for him, his possessiveness flaring as he pinned my wrists above my head, his cock still hard against my thigh. "You're mine, understand? Mine to fuck, mine to use however I please.." he said, his voice just above a whisper, taunting me.

"Yes Tom.." I nodded softly, looking up at him, my pussy aching for his cock. A wicked grin spread across his face as he saw the desperation in my eyes. His grip on my wrists tightened, his thumbs brushing over my pulse points.

"Good girl..." he lined up his cock, the head pressing against my entrance. He slowly entered me, inch by inch stretching me out, "ah! fuck!" I gasped, squirming in his grip. He let go of my wrists, his hands snaking to my hips instead, holding them in place.

A low grumble rumbled in his chest as he felt my warm enveloping him, "fuck, yes..You're so tight, so perfect..." he thrusted himself deeper inside me, setting a steady and dominating pace, "you belong to me now, understand?" he growled, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of my hair.

"Mmhm!" I whined, his eyes flashed with excitement, his thrusts becoming more forceful and deliberate. "You like that, don't you? Being fucked like a little slut..being fucked by your guitar teacher.." he leaned in, his hot breath against my ear, making my skin prickle.

I whined, not being to answer because of all the pleasure I was receiving, he chuckled deeply at my helpless response, pounding into me with reckless abandon, his cock throbbing inside me as he chased his climax.

I wrapped my arms around him and dug my nails into his back, the pain causing him to groan lowly. As much as he enjoyed the pleasure, he also enjoyed the pain.

The couch creaked and shuddered beneath us, a symphony of flesh slapping against flesh and my mingled moans and cries. He couldn't get enough of me, his body craving more with every thrust, "take it all, fuck.." he grunted, pulling my hair tighter, diving down into my neck and leaving rough, sloppy kisses.

He groaned into the crook of my neck, slamming into me with renewed ferocity, driven by the sweet torment of my nails and the desperation in my moans.

"Come for me, love. Let me feel you cum on my cock.." he groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest as he slammed into me with brutal force, he reached down with his spare hand and gently rubbed my clit, his cock twitching and throbbing in my needy cunt, signalling his impending release.

"Mmmh! Fuck!" I gasped, the feeling of being pleasured in 2 different ways at the same time driving me crazy, arching my back to meet his vicious thrusts.

His thrusts become erratic, powerful and ruthless, the couch slamming into the wall beside it with each brutal plunge. I felt my stomach turn in knots, my climax dangerously close with his.

His grip on me tightened as he slammed into me one final time, his cock erupting deep inside me, yelping my name. His hot seed flooded my pussy, painting my inner walls as he rode out his climax, lost in the intense pleasure of claiming me so thoroughly.

The feeling of being filled triggered my orgasm, I moaned loudly and came all over his cock, my juices spilling down it. He collapsed on top of me with a grunt, our chests heaving in unison, trying to calm down from another shared, mind blowing orgasm.

After a few minutes he gently shifted his weight off me, but remained lying close, settling behind me. His strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest. His breath still heavy as he recovered from the intense love making.

He reached out to gently stroke my hair and whispered, "I can't get enough of you, my love, we have to book you more classes during the week," I smirked, "oh do we? And what will we do Mr Kaulitz?" I taunted, turning around and looking up at him.

"Mmhh..." he gave a sly smile, his eyes glinting with mischievous intent, "ah...I have a few extracurricular activities in mind.." he leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.

"Oh you do?" I giggled, "and what are those activities," I whispered against his lips. His hands wandered down my body, tracing the curves of my hips and waist before pulling me closer against him. He nipped at my bottom lip, his voice husky with desire.

"Mmmh...exploring every inch of your body, making you scream my name as I take you roughly.." he grinned, "oh really? I don't think that's very appropriate Mr Kaulitz, you're my guitar teacher after all," I said, continuing to taunt and tease him.

"Oh shut up.." he chuckled, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss. I deepened the kiss, feeling his tongue invade my mouth, his hands roaming my body, caressing and exploring, as he pulled away from the kiss he looked at me with a heated gaze.

"Let's get you cleaned up love, i'll drive you home.." he pecked my lips before grabbing a tissue from the coffee table in front of us, wiping all the cum he had spurted on my tits and stomach from before, then moving down to my pussy and cleaning the cum dripping out.

He helped me put my clothes on, fixing up my hair and holding my waist as I walked, my legs close to giving out, trembling slightly with every step.

tags: @ballhair @kaulitzswhxre @tomsonlyslut

tags: @billsdolliest @pa1n-0f-l0ve @tomscumdoll

tags: @bills-wife-1 @bkaulitzlover @ella1289 @tomsfuckdoll

Tags: @miyukafujii

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callmemaeverick · 3 months ago

Text

Good Cop, Bad Boy Part II: Scary Dog Privileges - A. Aretas

Pairing: Armando x f!Reader Summary: You learn what scary dog privilege is and who better to give it to you than Armando. WC: 2.2k [I went overboard, I can't seem to end a story it seems] TW: men being slightly creepy

Ps: pics are not mine, they are sourced from the internet. If these are urs, lemme know and Ill credit where credit is due or take it down

Photo credits @yeahnohoneybye (bottom left)

~~~~

You didn’t notice it at first. In fact, you were the second to last person to realize it and when you did, you couldn’t un-notice it.

According to the people around you, it was so obvious, they had known for months. It was only you and Armando who hadn’t caught up yet. And when you finally did catch up, you did not know whether to laugh and punch someone. And the best thing was, the person who had to break it to you was none other than 15-year-old Callie.

Mike was hosting his monthly cookout and his expansive yard was teeming with friends, family and every police officer who was off shift. You weren’t really having a bad time, but no one from the station seemed to want to spend time talking to you for more than 5 minutes.

It weirded you out because you don’t consider yourself a boring person. In fact, you were one of the department's top interrogator. You could talk and talk and talk to the point that the suspects would let their guards down and began talking too. But that day, you barely got to make a conversation.

“Whoa, what’s with the face?”

You looked up and smiled at Callie as she took a seat at the vacant table with you.

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” You hesitated but then decided to hell with it. “Do I smell?”

“What?”

“Do I smell? Have I got something in my teeth? Is my eyeliner smudged?”

The kid looked at you like you’d grown a second head. Maybe that’s why, you thought.

“Uhh no. You look great!”

“Then why isn’t anybody talking to me?” Your voice raised a little bit so you quickly reined it in. “There’s like half the department here. My old partner is there but he ran off before I barely finished telling him about Dorn’s stupid accident. That cute new beat cop there could barely meet my eyes when we were chatting at the drinks table.“

The whole time you were ranting, Callie seemed to struggle to fight back a smile. It was an expression you caught and zeroed in on.

“You know something.” When her grin finally broke out, your eyes narrowed. “Spill it!”

The girl you once babysat sighed. “Oh, you have no idea how many girls would kill to be in your position right now.”

“Ostracized by society?” Never it be said that you were not dramatic.

“Privileged!” She exclaimed. “It’s your scary dog privilege.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“My what now?”

The groan Callie let out was something that once came out of your own throat when you were a teenager. "Sheesh, you’re old.”

How dare she. “I’m 29.” You bit back, indignant.

Callie ignored you with a roll of her eyes. “Scary dog privilege. It's like having a guard dog that's so scary, no one wanted to mess with you. Or in your case, talk to you.”

“And you’re saying I have that? That scary dog… privilege?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

You almost snapped. “Notice what?!”

There’s a subtle twitch at Callie’s lips, threatening to become a smirk. She leaned in and you subconsciously did the same.

“He’s been watching you all afternoon.”

“Who?”

“Armando.”

The mention of his name sent a zap of something unidentified down your spine but you had more than enough practice of hiding it.

“What? No, he's not!” You laughed but couldn’t help yourself turning to locate the man.

You found him at the far corner of the yard, having a drink with Dorn and Rafe.

It had take a bit of time and effort from Mike to fight for his son to be exonerated. Especially when Armando had helped with so many cases and after a gruelling and extensive trial, Armando was granted amnesty provided that he worked off his remaining years of incarceration with the MDPD and AMMO. And after the whole thing with McGrath, Dorn, not one to hold a grudge, had warmed up quickly to him. The pair grew amicable, or at least respectful of each other and the skillset they brought to AMMO.

Then, as if he could sense you, Armando turned and met your eyes.

You immediately tore your gaze away and shook your head. “Yeah, no. That’s… that’s ridiculous.”

Callie, who had been watching you the whole time, did indeed smirk. “Suit yourself.”

Stubborn as a mule, you refused to entertain the thought until Monday rolled around.

“C’mon, Mike. It's just a 3 hour drive. I'll be fine!" You sounded like a teenager; but you couldn't help it. Not when one of your superiors insisted on acting like a father.

"No! You're not going alone. Period."

"Then you come with me."

"The fuck I am! I got a wife to get back to."

"Then, I'll go alone."

"The fuck you not!"

You groaned aloud, exasperation lacing your tone. There was no winning against Mike. Especially when you knew he has a point. But this was a once in a lifetime event and you were not going to miss it. A part of you had wanted to nod and agree with Mike and just go anyway, but you had too much respect for the man to do so, even if he was being a little overprotective.

"Dornatello," You swivelled in your chair towards your bestfriend, using his nickname to butter him up. "Please come with me,"

The big man shook his head, not even reacting to the nickname anymore. “No can do, shortstop. It’s my turn to cook tonight.”

When your eyes met Marcus, the man raised his hands up and the question died on your tongue.

It was at that moment you realized how fucking single you were.

The sound of someone descending the stairs to the war room quieted your energy a little. Especially when you saw who it was.

Armando gave his customary head nod to his father in greeting before he quirked an eyebrow at you. In the year working with him, most of you could read him based on his face alone.

“There's gonna be a meteor shower tonight.” You explained. “But you need to go somewhere dark to watch it because there’s too much light in the city." Turning back to Mike, you continued your argument. "I'm a fucking cop, Mike! I can handle myself"

"I know you can. But a female cop, alone in some dark-ass national preserve can still die."

"I'll go."

All at once the room went silent as everyone turned to Armando.

"What?"

"You need someone to go with you, right? I'll go."

Someone shifted in their seat somewhere behind you and you knew it was a nervous Dorn. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Marcus discreetly pulling on Mike’s pant leg, a giddy smile on his face.

"It's a 3 hour drive and we would be there until early morning." It was a way-out. It was your way of telling him to back out if he was not serious. You won't get your hope up just yet.

But Armando just levelled you a with a look and shrugged.

You fought not to show how warm you felt at the offer, but inside your heart felt like it was about to explode. A small smile of gratitude worked its way to your lips.

"Okay. I'll pick up up at 8?"

"Okay."

A beat passed. None of you looked away.

And then. "Okay. It's a date!" Mike exclaimed, breaking the tension. "Now, can we get to work?"

Blushing slightly, you broke off eye contact and turned to the screens.

xxxx

When you told him you'd pick him up, Armando apparently heard, "You should drive my car.", because the moment you pulled up at his small apartment, he walked over to the drivers side and opened your door.

"What?"

"I'm driving,"

"Excuse me?"

The way he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow made you want to smack him, but you knew that it was an argument you would not win. Besides, if you were honest with yourself, you felt much safer with him driving than driving yourself.

Pretending to be exasperated, you exited the car and let him slide in.

The drive up to Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park normally took 3 hours; but with Armando behind the wheel, you arrived earlier than expected. Or it felt that way with how the time seemed to fly when the whole journey consisted of you mostly talking and him mostly listening.

You talked about everything you could think off. Your current watch on Netflix, your new obsession with jigsaw puzzles. And occasionally; you would get some tidbits of info on your partner as well.

In any other situation, with any other man, you would have felt self-conscious with the amount of chatter that came out of you. However with Armando, you felt comfortable enough to tell him things you don't normally reveal.

But then you stepped onto the designated clearing in the park and all words died on your lips.

The place was dark. Very dark and you were some of the only people there. Slightly down the middle, a group of men sat around a small camping lamp. They saw you arrive and almost all at once, their heads turned to you.

Despite being a cop, despite having years of self-defense training, a chill crept down your spine. Maybe Mike has a point.

"You okay?"

His voice could very well have been a weighted blanket with how quickly the feeling of relief washed over you. You turned to Armando who revealed himself from behind you and nodded, moving further inside the clearing to find a spot to sit.

The moment they seemed to realize you were not alone, the men ignored you completely.

That's when you remembered what Callie told you and an amused smile broke out from you as you watched Armando take a seat on the picnic mat you brought.

"What?"

"She was right." When he gave you his signature look, you elaborated. "The scary dog privilege."

"The what?"

Your grin widened and you leaned closer as if sharing a secret. "She told me that you give out this scary dog vibe that makes people stay away from you and anyone you're around. And I think I see it now."

Armando scoffed but turned away from you. "Fuck outta here,"

"You do! Now that I realized it, you truly do!"

"How?"

"My interrogations went easier when I have you in the room with me." You started a count. "Remember? That perp practically spelled everything out for us last week and I barely said a word. We went to that shady bar looking for that fence the other day, and the bartender cooperated like that." You snapped your fingers.

Beside you, Armando rolled his eyes, but you were on a roll.

“And on Saturday Callie said you scared some of the guys from the precinct because you were…”You realized what you were about to say and trailed off.

“I was what?”

This time, it was you who averted your eyes. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Silence draped over you both and the darkness began to lift a little. People around you were more visible but most importantly, the sky above.

Millions of stars dotted the black above you and not for the first time, you realize how insignificant you are in this universe. For that moment in time, your work did not matter, your problems did not matter, you did not matter. You are a speck. Nothing more.

About an hour or so later, the first streaks of light appeared across the sky and you gasped, clutching Armando’s arm.

“Holy shit!” The view was breathtaking.

Your mouth fell open as you watched the small debris of matter that flew into your earth’s atmosphere, zooming past you at lightning speed. Every now and then, their light illuminated the clearing, giving you an ethereal glimpse of the national park and the people around you.

You turned to the man beside you and grinned wider when you saw the small smile on his face. People around you oohed and aahed and you joined them with abandon.

You had seen plenty of solar and lunar eclipses, even experienced an Aurora Borealis once. But this was the one that was the hardest for you to experience. This was the last one on your bucket list.

When the first flight died down, you finally felt the soreness of your cheeks. That's what you got for smiling so hard but goddammit it was worth it.

You turned to the man beside you.

"Thanks," You said and waited for him to properly turn to you before you sincerely added. "Thanks for doing this with me.”

Armando looked back at you but there was a softness in his gaze. Under the glow of starlight, he looked positively gorgeous. Gone was the hard lines of his face, the tightness in his jaw. Gone was the haunted look in he always carried.

All that was left was a brown-eyed boy who offered to watch meteors with you.

#armando aretas #jacob scipio #armando aretas x reader #bad boys #bad boys for life #bad boys ride or die

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diamond-champagne · 3 months ago

Text

Point of View

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

In which sometimes you need someone else's POV

Part II

It's like you got superpowers

Turn my minutes into hours

Paige is struggling

She’s tired from the lack of sleep, sore from practice, and stressed from school. Paige isn’t necessarily sure when she started to feel like everything was too much but everyday she feels herself giving way to the pressure and expectations that she and others place on her.

The blonde isn’t sure when it all got to be so hard. It wasn’t always this difficult but somewhere between studying on planes and not getting enough sleep something in her had snapped.

It was like those huge buckets at the waterpark that slowly filled with water and on a set interval turned to drench all the little ones with water. Except there was nothing playful or even exciting about how Paige was feeling. She was simply just waiting to tilt over; to let it all out. And when everything became too much and she spilled over, Paige would adjust herself and keep it moving because she doesn’t have time to dwell in it; whatever it is. Not when there’s workouts to be had, homework to do, and events to attend.

So, Paige pushed through despite how much she didn’t want to. She pushed through practice, studying, and she’s pushing through the group outing at Ted’s. The blonde doesn’t want to go but she doesn’t want to miss out on what could possibly be her favorite moments with her favorite people. The basketball player also doesn’t want anyone to think less of her or know she’s anything less than 100 percent.

It takes damn near all of her energy but she manages. Cue fake laughter here and a small joke there. Insert a smirk there and faux interest here. Every movement planned and placated specifically to not raise any eyebrows.

But then Azzi arrives and suddenly Paige isn’t acting anymore because her laugh is real and the banter is effortless. Her smirk is natural and she hangs onto every word that Azzi says because she wants to memorize her voice for years to come. Slowly but surely the dark cloud that has been a permanent fixture over Paige has evaporated and the body that used to lag with exhaustion is now buzzing with energy.

The best friends have only been engaging in conversation for a few minutes but Paige swears that Azzi has been fighting off the looming darkness for a lifetime.

You got more than 20-20, babe

Made of glass the way you see through me

You know me better than I do

Can't seem to keep nothing from you

Maybe Azzi has been fighting off the dark cloud that seems to follow Paige. It seems to be the case when she shows up at the older girl’s apartment one day to demand answers.

Paige doesn’t immediately give in though, wanting to not bother her best friend with her own battles. Her not being able to swim does not mean Azzi is to drown.

“What are you talking about?” Paige asks. The blonde thinks she might have gotten too good at lying because the way her voice goes up a pitch and her head cocks to the side is so natural to her, she almost believes that she doesn’t know what Azzis is really asking her. Almost.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Bueckers.” Azzi growls. The use of her last name makes Paige flinch and that makes Azzi soften. The curly-haired girl is simply tugging on the tether that keeps them connected and afloat. The last thing she wants to do is push them further away. So despite the frustration that flows through her veins, she takes a deep breath before reaching for her favorite blonde-haired girl.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Azzi whispers in Paige's ear as she engulfs her in a hug. Her tone is soft like she’s trying not to scare her blue-eyed girl away. It is accompanied by a soft hand that runs from the base of her neck to the end of her back.

Paige doesn’t know what exactly causes her to break like a cheap rubber band but suddenly she wipes one tear. And another. And another until there’s too many and her body is shaking.

She guesses that despite not wanting her team to know, she wishes that someone did; that someone cared enough to see when she wasn’t okay.

Azzi knew. Of course she did.

How you touch my soul from the outside?

Permeate my ego and my pride

“Babe, tell me what’s wrong.” Azzi gently demands of her best friend. The words acted as a key for a lock that Paige didn’t know existed because suddenly she can’t stop talking.

She’s going on and on about her classes and then work and the team. How everything is too much. How it’s all pulling her in different directions. How she feels the need to be everything to everyone and nothing to herself. Is she allowed to not want everything she’s worked so hard for? Is she allowed to breathe?

When she’s done, the boulder that has situated itself on Paige’s chest is gone but it’s pain is still prevalent. Her vision is blurry and spotty. Her voice feels so far away as if she’s not in her own body. Her ears are hot and her heartbeat is loudly beating through them.

Paige is spiraling but well maybe not.

Because soon, Azzi’s voice is in her ear telling her to match her breathing and Paige feels a cold hand over her heart before those same hands are pulling her closer.

“Babe, why didn’t you tell me?” The question rings on the blonde’s ears but she can’t answer because Azzi has tears running down her face and the sight is devastating to Paige.

“Don’t cry” the blonde whispers as she reaches to wipe the stray tears from her Azzi’s face. The action causes the younger girl to chuckle because how is it that the most caring person she knows is experiencing so much pain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to be a burden. I also didn’t want the team to think I wasn’t 100 percent. It’s been tough since my injury and the last thing I need is for people to doubt me again because I can’t handle a little pressure.”

“Look at me.” Azzi commands. She waits until her favorite pair of blue eyes meet hers before continuing. “You could never be a burden, P. No one worth listening to would ever doubt you for your internal struggles. It’s shitty, yes but this does not define who you are.”

Paige nods a little before leaning in to hug her best friend once more before settling herself on Azzi’s chest.

“You don’t have to be 100 percent to be loved, Paige. I love you through it all.”

“I love you too”

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb

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vampmattsbae · 3 months ago

Text

Coffee Kisses

pairing: grumpy!Luke! Matt x sushine!Lorelai! reader

summary: Every morning you come to your favourite coffee shop, which happens to be owned by your boyfriend, to tell him about everything.

warnings: very fluffy, no smut (yet 😈), established relationship, gilmore girls!au

a/n: this is just a love child of two things I love very much. I'm super excited abt this one hehe

It's another beautiful day in Stars Hollow. The leaves are changing colour and falling from the trees. Pumpkins litter the town, waiting to be bought and carved. You can smell fall in the air as you walk into your favourite coffee shop, which happens to be owned by your boyfriend. The bell jingles as you open the door. Matt hears the sound and looks up to see you walking towards him with a huge smile on your face. He instinctly grabs the coffee pot as you take a seat at the counter.

"What's got you so smiley?" Matt starts in a monotone as he grabs a mug and starts to fill it for you.

You thank him and take a sip of your coffee before answering his question. "Alright, ya know how my microwave literally never worked? Not that I make my own meals that often, but sometimes i just want microwave popcorn or something and I couldn't cus I have a janky microwave but, now I don't!" You ramble on while Matt nods, listening intently to your words.

"Thank god I won't have to come over and try to fix that thing anymore." Matt mumbles.

"Yeah, you could never get it to work and you always fix things. So there was definitely something deeply wrong with that thing." You say before taking a long sip of your coffee.

"So, did you get a new microwave or..?" Matt asks, leaning in as you start to ramble again about how the new microwave is like a literal robot and how the microwaves are going to take over. He's fascinated by how much you can talk but also how good you look doing it.

"Baby you're staring." You cut yourself off with a smirk. Matt's eyes widen once you catch him.

"No, I wasn't" He says firmly, looking in your eyes.

"Ok, whatever you say. I'm sure you weren't even listening to me about-" You're cut off by Matt leaning over the counter to put his lips on yours, shutting you up. He pulls away and shushs you, lightly sighing when he sees your coffee cup is empty. You're left in shock as he walks over to grab the coffee pot once more. The kiss was very brief but it left you wanting more. Matt tries to pour more coffee in your mug but you stop him, lightly pushing the pot away.

"I don't think I need a whole 'nother cup" You whisper, looking up at him with a slight smirk.

"You sure you can't wait till tonight? Look around, this my busiest hour" Matt states, motioning to all the tables filled with customers. It is late morning in a coffee shop, so lots of people are waking up to get their breakfast.

"Ok fine, you win" You smile before grabbing your purse to pay for the coffee.

"Oh, don't worry Y/n, it's on the house" Matt says like it's the most obvious thing ever.

You look up and stop digging in your purse with a small smile. "Matt, you can't do that everytime I come in" You say as you zip up your purse.

"Um, yes I can. Alright, I'll see ya tonight?" He says, leaning over then counter for another kiss.

"Yes you will, I'll meet you here" You says giving him a small peck before hopping off the barstool and walking away. Matt watches you through the window as you walk down the street. his attention theb turns back towards the customers. His waitress, Lane, looks like she's struggling a bit with all the tables so he decides to help her out. He won't admit it but he is very excited for the night ahead.

Tags: @sluts4matt @franticroads @fratbrochrisgf @khalei-20 @stete-ss

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut

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fraugwinska · 5 months ago

Note

Since your the queen of fluff, I had to make this request.

It’s more an angst/comfort/fluff, but I want to see Alastor dealing with his girlfriend/lover having body dysmorphia. The comfort in O Mother Mine for him was beautifully portrayed and I want Alastor to provide comfort back. Cant wait to see what you write🩷💖❤️

This was - and still is - an ask that hit very much home for me. Struggling with my self image and a long, very taxing time living with an ED since my teens, I had to take my time writing this - Because with all this history weighing in my own back pocket, I wanted to write something my younger self would've found comfort in reading. Which is why there's a lot of my own experiences woven in. Thank you for this ask, my dear. And to all who fight the fight against their own head each day - I see you. And you are worthy of every bit and piece of love, external and internal. I let our dear deer take it from here.

TW: Explicit depictions & mentions of ED and body dysmorphia - 3k words

“Why don't you want one? Do they look bad? Don't you like my chocolate chip cookies?”

Niffty stared at you, her one big eye glazed and watery, and you felt that at her whining remark all eyes were on you. Shit.

You had been at Charlie's group therapy activities for hours by now, everyone was exhausted and hangry enough for Vaggie to intervene and propose a lunch break. You managed to discreetly dodge every dish that was going around the table, making sure to have an alibi piece of bread and a few leaves of salad on your plate, just in case anyone would look at you funny, and it was good that you did. You glanced around the table to find Alastor of all people staring at you from the other side, and pretending obliviousness you turned to Angel with a smile, laughing at whatever he said, and shoved a few bits of salad into your mouth. ‘See, I'm eating, all good.’

You thought the worst was over when the others pushed their dishes into the middle of the table with content sighs and filled bellies. But then Niffty had been hopping around, offering everyone the masses of cookies she had been baking with Pentious the evening before, and Niffty was just not dodgeable.

“Aw Niff, of course I do, and they look amazing! But I'm so full, stuffed, I really can't take another bite.” Perhaps you imagined it, but you thought you heard a static crack of feedback and you shot a quick glance over to Alastor, but he was drinking his After-Lunch coffee with closed eyes, detached and apparently trying to drown out the babbling sinners around him. Irritated, you turned to the little, pouting cyclops girl again, your voice purposely louder as you said “Tell you what, I'll take one now and save it for later, okay? I can't pass up on your delicious treats, can I?”

That seemed to do the trick, and when you wrapped the cookie you took from a beaming Niffty into a napkin and slid it in your pocket, she and everyone else seemed satisfied and they turned their attention elsewhere - At least you hoped they were.

Another few long, dragging hours later Charlie finally released you all, and the communal groan of relief was only overlapped by the pitter-patter of multiple pairs of feet rushing behind Husk to the bar in desperate need for a strong drink. You were contemplating to join them, even if it was just for a glass of water, but that thought was instantly buried when Angel called over to you.

“Oy, toots, come on and drag ‘ya fat ass over here, I need ‘ya to tell sourpuss here to let me pluck his overgrown eyebrows. Bitch is starting to look like Frieda Kahlo.”

It was an innocent, friendly-meant remark. You knew that. Angel was your friend, you knew that. The laughter that followed his call was a reaction to his crassness. You knew that. But your already aching stomach twisted, and it took everything in you to keep your face from crumbling, and the smile on your lips felt fragile when you answered.

“No can do, Ange, I’m heading to my room. I feel a headache coming up. See you guys later.”

You hurried out the hall as fast as you allowed yourself without looking like you’re fleeing, passing Charlie in vivid conversation with Alastor, throwing her a dismissive wave of the hand when she broke off in the middle of her sentence to ask if you needed anything and ignored the red eyes that were burning your back as you speeded to the lift.

For a moment you felt safe inside the elevator, closing your eyes and leaning back against the wall to deeply breathe in and out to calm your racing thoughts when the doors closed. But then you opened them again, your reflection was staring back at you from the mirrored wide wall of the lift cabin. You stared blankly at the hated body in front of you, eyes mapping every curve that was too wide, every point your clothes wrinkled over a roll of fat.

Oy toots, get your fat ass over here…Fat ass..Fat...

You ran out of the cabin the moment the 'ding' announced your arrival at your floor and the doors opened, vision blurry from the pooling tears. As soon as you slammed the door to your room shut and turned the key in the lock behind you, you sobbed, leaning your head on the hard wood of your bedroom door. Tears were streaking your face as you sank down to sit on the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, shoulders shaking from suppressed and failed attempts to cry silently. The room was silent, but your head was loud. Too loud.

Honey, you can't go to school like that, you look like a stuffed sausage. Go back and change…

No, pumpkin, the hamburger is for daddy. You’ll eat a salad, like mommy. Don’t you want to be as beautiful as mommy…

A Bikini? Wow, someone's feeling brave today...

You'd look so beautiful babe, if you'd only lose a few pounds...

Oy toots, get your fat ass over here...

"Shut up, shut up, shut up." It was no use. Begging them to stop never helped. Your hands pressed down on your ears but they couldn’t silence the insistent, ghostly voices inside, louder and louder and louder, repeating the same sentences over and over again and you wanted to rip them off, just to maybe get them out, deafen them, make them…

“Stop that now, Darling." Two hands that were not your own were on yours, long fingers peeling them away from your ears and taking them in tender but firm grips to pull your arms apart. Those foreign hands were dark and warm and much bigger than yours, holding you by the wrists as they pulled you away from the door and back onto your feet. Without releasing them, you felt a chest pressing against your back as the hands on your wrists guided them into an embrace, cageing you with crossed arms in front of you in warmth and the firm, humming body of Alastor. "There now, that's much better isn't it. Now breathe, dearest, with me. Do it with me."

Your mind was a haze of scattered and pained thoughts and fears that were struggling and lashing out to the surface, but they quieted into soft whimpers and whizzing like a dying steam train with every steady, deep inhale Alastor took with you, his chest rising against your back and his breath steady in your ears. He waited a few moments after he had made you breathe normally again before letting go and gently turning you to face him, hands now on your shoulders as you avoided his eyes, but when he looked at your face and your tear streaked cheeks he wiped the wetness away from your skin with the pad of his thumb.

"Why did you come?" You sounded husk and defeated. You knew your jig was up. You've been found out. At last.

"How did I not come sooner would be the better question, darling." Alastor answered, leaving his hand cupped on your cheek, thumb still in mid-stroke as he talked to your averted face. His voice was clear, even-keel, just loud enough for you to hear. And you heard him all the better for not facing him, his signature transatlantic accent and theatrical flourish in his tone, always so strong and prominent, was missing entirely as he continued. "For a few weeks now I've suspected that something was not right with you, my dear. Though I didn't want to press the matter, today has confirmed this. You've not eaten any of the food prepared, spare the few bits of greenery that wouldn't even nourish the roaches that pester this hotel, and we both know you only did because you knew you were being watched."

Watched by him. You sighed quietly at the accuracy, finally turning to look at him, awaiting to find judgment and ridicule, though the red deer demon didn't move at all. He just carried on his stroke with the thumb under your eyes, which started tearing up again, his expression strangely soft.

"My shadows reported that you were hiding food given to you just to throw it away later, and I took notice how you constantly avoided reflective surfaces. Darling, your image must haunt you and I cannot imagine the reason why. I find myself asking: What would drive you to starve yourself, to hide from mirrors and cut your eyes to any remarks looking for underlying maliciousness?"

What a loaded question, asked so simply. And he seemed honestly confused. No smirk, no tilted head. You paused for a long while before answering him.

"You... you won't understand, Alastor."

"Then help me to, darling." He coaxed you, now moving both his hands to hold your face and pull your head closer to lean his forehead to yours, looking firmly in your eyes. And it dawned on you then that the radio demon, the overlord who never revealed weakness, never showed real emotions or shared much with anyone, the one demon who walked these halls smiling and sneering with menace and mystery and endless pride, was purposely and genuinely showing you that he cared.

Maybe it was the fatigue and the despair finally getting the best of your defense system. Maybe it was because he wasn't just anybody. Alastor was so many things but most importantly, he was your friend, had been ever since you and him found mutual interests in each other in countless nights that were spent in quiet by the fireplace in the hall. He liked your level-headedness, your ability to listen, really listen, patiently and actively. You liked his vivaciousness, the vast knowledge of him that he could share when one was just willing to let him talk. Yes, the others were nice, and yes, you felt close to all of them after a few months. But you felt the closest to him, proven by the fact that not Charlie knocked on your door, or Angel noticed you were paler and thinner than weeks ago. But Alastor. Maybe you just needed that final push and he had given it to you.

So you spilled. Through sobs, tears and sighs, you told him everything:

From your family that wouldn't stop comparing you with your thinner friends, fostering a hatred for food because of misguided care. You shared that your health became less and less important with every diet and lost pound, seeing your aching stomach as a sign of sucess. How you'd hate yourself for lack of discipline when you starved yourself so much your brain snapped and you ate any- and everything you found until you felt sick and disgusting. How your friends while alive were never intentionally hurtful, yet dismissive about your insecurities, complaining to you about their sizes while you felt like they were mocking you, being stick thin and conventionally beautiful. And you told him about your one and only boyfriend, who accepted the relationship under the pretense that you'd change to fit his preferences, always waiting for you to drop weight he saw as too much, to shape you the way he wanted you to be, threatening to keep you secret from his friends and family until you did. And you did. But you paid the bitter price - got cheated on while you counted calories, and when you finally reached the set weight he dictated, he left. Leaving you hungry and confused, thin and sick and so, so lost.

With every word his hold on you grew tighter and tighter. But so did yours on him. This time, it was him who listened quietly, never interrupting, and only at the mention of that asshole ex is when he made a sound, his ears went flat against his skull as a low growl rumbled in his throat, but his expression remained perfectly stoic, absorbing your words quietly. After you finished you leaned heavily against Alastors chest and hid your face there, feeling drained and guilty for soaking his expensive coat with your pitiful tears. Your entire body was numb with exhaustion and pain, so was the emptiness inside of you that your self-deprecating thoughts have been inhabiting for years, and you dreaded the response Alastor could give to your pathetic life-story.

"All those people have proven to you to be thoroughly disappointing." was what Alastor said first, speaking very softly with his chin leaning against your scalp. "It makes the blood call for revenge when thinking about the throes you've had to put up with. You don't owe anybody to change anything about yourself that you do not wish to."

You couldn't hold back another tear that rolled down your nose and onto Alastor's shirt, clinging tighter to him and shaking your head against his shoulder, nuzzling his shirt in desperate and trained denial of comforting words.

"Aren't they right though? I'm not like Charlie, or Angel, or even you. I'm not...they are so… just... look at me." You muttered and tried to push out of the hug to avoid looking him in the eye, but the demon didn't give.

"Oh, I am." He gave you a stern stare, unintimidating and almost tender as he pulled you back closer. "Darling, I am looking at you, more than you think. And all I see is a strong, intelligent and beautiful little sinner, so willing to give everyone more grace and gentleness than herself that she hides from every compliment she deems unworthy of her, ashamed of her lovely shape that was the source of so much torment." Alastor sighed, cupping your face in a loose grip, shaking his head in disbelief. "Everyone of us has flaws, we are inherently imperfect creatures, some more than others, and yet you've managed to convince yourself those flaws and imperfections define you in their entirety."

Your instincts told you to flee, to run from this kindness that was offered to you so alluringly. It has to be a trap, your head told you, don't trust those words, don't give in. And you almost tried to, your muscles tensed as if to bolt, your breath quickened as if about to run, your heart pounded as if preparing to fight his arms for release. But you didn't.

Maybe, a long forgotten voice spoke in your mind, maybe it wasn't a trick. Maybe he was earnest, like he had been the past couple months in your company. He's here now, isn't he? Holding you and reassuring you and calming you in a way no one ever had. He hadn't put an inch between him and you to allow your doubts space to creep back in, keeping you at his side - not just now, but over the last weeks continuously, had never spoken ill of you or tried to change you, had no agenda, nothing to gain from lying to you.

Alastor smiled when you sank back into his arms, and this time when he stroked your tears away, he let his fingers come to rest at your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. And without a word he leaned forward, eyes half closed, and kissed you on your cheek. His lips lingered for a moment, as if to wait for your reaction, asking a question without words. And you answered it ever so silently, turning your head to meet them with your own.

The kiss was a revelation of truth. Because he was kissing you the way you always longed to be kissed.

There wasn't passion in it, it wasn't hungry and fast or hard and demanding. It wasn't meant to make you hot or make your legs weak, but to tell you that you were cared for, that you were accepted exactly the way you were, imperfections included, and that all the days you've suffered for the wrong reasons were gone with the past and needn't to be re-visited. That you were enough. You always have been.

When he parted from you, Alastor looked content. More than that, actually. Not smiling wide as usually but with eyes sparkling in mirth that could have easily matched that of Charlie on a particularly good day. When he leaned into you again, you almost expected another kiss, but he reached into your pocket, pulling the napkin with Niffty's cookie inside out of your pocket, holding it up expectantly.

"Now, I think it's high time you feed yourself, darling - and you did promise our little Niffty you'd enjoy this later, which it is now."

You stared, first at Alastor, then at the baked good, the guilty conscience you've nursed for so many years creeping back into your thoughts.

"Alastor, I don't know... if I can."

He tilted his head contemplating, turning the cookie in his hand before he snapped it in half, handing you one half while he brought the other to his mouth and raised a brow.

"We'll share it then."

This gesture was everything. It was everything, because you knew he really didn't care for sweet treats. But he cared for you.

You took your half from his hands, feeling the corners of your lips pull into a small smile at the way he scrunched his nose at the sticky thing in his hands when you both bit in. But his free hand found yours, entwining your fingers as he suffered through his bite, and as you watched him him struggling to keep an unfazed expression, you thought that - while Niffty might've put in her best efforts - nothing she or anyone could make could ever sate your hunger more than his lips could.

Tagging my lovely testreaders @bapple117 and @macabr3-barbi3, who really encouraged and reassured me. I love you both, as well as the others in Bapples discord server (TRUST US and join NOW) who never tire of lifting me up when I'm struggling <3

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel husk #Habin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel alastor #body dysmorphia #eating disorder #quickfic #angst and fluff #soft alastor #you are worthy #you are loved #you are not alone

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nightlyrequiem · 12 days ago

Text

Scream

A new serial killer has been terrorizing the streets of Las Almas. You have an... interesting encounter with her one night while working your first shift at the morgue.

New Part Every Thursday

Masterlist AO3

A/N- I wanted to be a medical examiner when I was twelve. That's not something in my future anymore sadly. Also, no matter how often I write smut I feel goofy doing it, but I think this turned out okay.

Tags/Warnings: Slasher Valeria, Violence, Blood, WLW, Dubcon, FINGERING, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content

There's been another murder. A man found in his car with his throat sliced open. You're starting to wonder if Las Almas was the right town to move to. The fall air is only slightly cooler than the summer air but not enough to count. It's mid-October yet you're still wearing shorts and a tank top. You stand among other bystanders as police and coroners investigate the crime scene. The body was moved a while ago. At first everyone had assumed the murders were related to the ever-growing cartel located right in the town but a video on a victim's phone showed a glimpse of a figure in a white mask. Eyes drooping, mouth elongated into a soundless scream, and realised this was something else entirely.

A man in an official looking suit strides up to the crowd standing at the police tape.

"Go home." He says sternly. "This is real life, not one of those little perverse true crime podcasts." He scolds. The group slowly dissipates. Nobody feeling truly guilty for gawking. You reluctantly turn away and leave as well. Not wanting to be the only person still there. You head back home. You should get some rest anyway. You start your first shift at the morgue tonight.

You groan irritably as your phone alarm blares right beside your ear. Shrill and annoying. You make quick work of turning it off. For a few minutes you lay there on your mattress - you don't have a bedframe yet - and fight back frustration. You can't believe this is what you have to do every day. You're just so tired. You can't fathom having to do this for the next forty-fifty years of your life. Despite the evil voice in your head telling you not to get up, you do. You throw on a simple shirt and pants combo. It doesn't matter because you'll have to suit up anyway. You debate putting on makeup as well but you're so tired and the only people around to see you will be your mentor and a corpse. Those dark circles under your eyes will fit right in.

The drive to the morgue is short. The streets of Las Almas are deserted at night. Dim yellow streetlights adding to the eerie atmosphere. Of course nobody wants to be out at night here. There's an operating cartel and a serial killer on the loose. Your eyes drift to your rear mirror. Just to make sure no ghastly figures are lurking about in your backseat. You park and get out. Grabbing your bag and walking inside. The bright fluorescent lights buzz and threaten to give you a headache and you swallow down the dread at having to spend nine hours here. You didn't take all those medical classes just to give up. Down in the basement your mentor is already suited up. Setting up the tray of tools. He turns and smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. He's an older man. Short and going gray.

"Glad to see you." He greets. "Your scrubs are in that locker over there, get suited up and come join me and I'll go over the basics."

You struggled a bit with putting on the apron and gloves but finally got the hang of it. You walk over to him and do your best to listen as he goes over the tools and their uses. Scalpel, bone saw, enterotome, rib shears. You already know all about them, but it doesn't hurt to get a refresher. It's been a few years since you were in school.

"Okay. Let's go get the body." The man nods. He leads you to the back and you shiver at the drop in temperature. You don't care for it, although you know it's necessary to keep the bodies fresh. The more decayed it is, the harder and more dangerous for you it is to do an autopsy. He shows you how to take the body out from the columbarium and wheels him back to the examining room.

The man's eyes are still open. His lifeless stare creeps you out a bit.

"What do we do first?" Your mentor asks. Staring at you expectantly. You weren't expecting him to ask and you hesitate. Mind blanking.

"Um... we- we drain him." You answer.

"No, we note down any external marks and wounds." He corrects. You mentally facepalm. Of course. That's the obvious answer. You blame it on the dissociative state you're in.

"Right. Sorry." You say.

"It's alright." He says kindly, handing you a notebook and pen.

You walk up to the cadaver and realise just how surreal this is. This man was a person. A son, a child at one point. He had a favourite food, colour. None of that matters anymore.

"I write down his name right?" You ask. Your mentor nods. you shakily scratch down his name. You look him over. There's a scratch on his right wrist. There's a deep, obvious gash along his throat. You inspect the jagged edges of his skin. "... I think this was made with a hunting knife?" You guess. Looking to your mentor. He approaches and inspects him too. Nodding in agreement.

"Correct, anything else?"

You stare at the cadaver. What else are you supposed to look at? Right, his nails. You lift up his big hands gingerly and check under his nails. No visible evidence of skin or blood. You jot down your findings.

One-inch-long shallow scratch, right wrist. Three-inch-long gash along throat, jagged edges, suggests it was done with hunting knife. No other visible external injuries.

You stare at the body and at your notes. Maybe you should check him once more.

"I need to use the washroom." Your mentor mumbles, degloving. He walks out of the room, leaving you alone in this cold, unfamiliar place with a body. You stand around awkwardly for a few moments, your only company being the dead man. You feel suffocated by the weight of the future. What if you never get the hang of this? What if you can't do it? You take a few seconds to breathe. You got your bachelor's degree. You got hired at the morgue. You remind yourself you felt overwhelmed and scared of driving at first too, and now you can do it just fine. If you can navigate college, you can navigate a corpse.

You check him over one more time to see if you were accurate. As you're setting his hand down you stop and look closer. A very short, fine black thread is caught under his thumbnail. You jot it down and carefully pull it out, holding it up to your face. Up close you see it's not thread but a strand of hair. you set it down on the counter in a tray to be looked at later. You shamble closer and stare at him uncertainly. Do you cut him open now or is there something you're forgetting? You look up. Your mentor still hasn't returned. You'll wait before you do anything. The last thing you want to do is mess up an autopsy.

Twenty minutes later he still hasn't returned. You frown and debate with yourself. He could be unwell, and you'd feel awkward about disturbing him while he's on the toilet, but you need to learn, and you can't proceed without him to guide you. You walk out of the room and down the hall. Doors are closed along the walls. The lights out in those rooms. It's quiet. Where are the bathrooms again? You turn down another hallway. Peering down it. You walk towards an opening. Not the bathrooms. Instead, there are tables lined up with cover sheets. All are barren except for one. If a body isn't being examined, it needs to be put away. You put aside your search for your mentor and begin to wheel the body to the body storage area. Your skin prickles into goosebumps. The body's feet are the only part sticking out from under the blanket. It still has shoes on. You stop. You're pretty sure all cadavers are to be stripped of their clothing once they arrive. You'll do that at the columbarium.

You leave him in there and hurry back to the examining room to retrieve fabric sheers. You gasp as something dark darts across the hall.

"Hello?" You call instinctively, then mentally facepalm. What is wrong with you? It's nothing, you decide. Because you aren't sure what you'd do if it was something. You feel uneasy at the silence and your mentor still being gone but you push those fears aside. Morgues hold dead people, of course you're wary. It's no different to a hospital though, both are medical buildings. One's for the living, the other for the dead.

Back in the storage room you approach the body. You grab ahold of the edge of the sheet and pull it off, freezing in place. Your hands tremble and you drop the black plastic sheet. It flutters to the ground. Dark red blooms through his white scrubs on his chest. A clean wound entering and exiting his body. Your mentor stares at the ceiling unblinkingly. Your brain takes a few seconds to comprehend what you're seeing. Your mentor is dead, and he was murdered. You whip around to face the doorway. The hallway is brightly lit. What's the likelihood of his killer still being in the building? Pretty fucking high. The buzzing of the lights and the otherwise silence feels threatening. You grip the fabric shears tightly. Too afraid to move. You picture the murderer standing just beside the door frame, knife poised, waiting to plunge it into your heart.

The body can lose fourteen percent of its blood without much consequence. Fifteen to thirty percent and you risk passing out - although you know that's much lower for you because you cut open your foot one time and almost passed out after losing maybe five percent at most. Forty percent and you die. It depends where your cut or stabbed too. The body has twenty arteries. Any of those get punctured and you'll be dead within five minutes.

You creep forward. Shears raised in defense. You psyche yourself up to look around the corner. Imagining the tip of a wicked blade sinking into your eye socket. Popping that fragile ball of jelly. You look quickly. Seeing an empty hall on both sides. You need to get back to the examining room to get your phone. Call the police. Barricade yourself in the room until they arrive. Your feet softly hit the clean linoleum floors with every step. You make it to the examining room without issue. You quickly rush to your locker and root through your bag for your phone. a sob wells up in your throat, it's not there. You know for certain you put it there.

People are sometimes able to feel when someone else enters a room before seeing them. A shift in the air, a tingle in the spine. Your feel sick with fear. You don't want to turn around, but you don't want to keep your back to the open door. Slowly you turn. In the doorway stands the murderer. Adequately called Ghostface by the public. They're all dressed up. White mask, black hood and tattered robe and all. You two stare at each other for what feels like forever.

"Forget your phone?" Their voice is muffled and gravely and mocking. Almost electronic sounding, like someone talking through a walkie talkie. You watch in horror as they hold out your phone, dropping it to the ground. They raise one foot and stomp down with their heel, shattering the screen and your hopes of getting out of here. "Aren't you pretty." They walk forward and shut the door. Reaching behind themselves to lock it. Your eyes dart towards the tool table. Distressed to find it cleared. All you have are the fabric shears.

You back up, raising them slightly. A show of aggression. Not a good one, but one nonetheless. The figure tilts their head at you.

"What do you think you'll be able to do with those?"

"... Kill you." You rasp. Ghostface just chuckles. "I haven't seen your face, I won't tell the cops anything, please don't kill me." Your voice breaks at the end. Ghostface observes you silently. Looking like the grim reaper. You watch on in confusion as they raise a gloved hand slowly and grip the edge of their mask. Lifting it to reveal the face beneath. A woman in her thirties. Dark brows and eyes that stare right through you.

"Now you have." She murmurs. Sounding far less robotic. She pulls the mask back over her face. "But I don't think I want to kill you just yet."

She rushes at you, throwing the table to the side. You scream and raise your hands to protect your face. The woman grabs you by the shoulders and roughly throws you to the floor, winding you. You gasp and try to crawl away, shears clutched uselessly in your hand. She throws herself on top of you. Straddling your lower back and pressing your pelvis into the hard floor uncomfortably. One gloved hand wraps around the front of your throat and pulls your head back, making it harder to breath. Your back and neck arching in the process.

"Poor thing, all alone." Valeria coos. Index finger rubbing your throat mockingly. "These scrubs are so unflattering."

The sound of tearing makes you cringe. "What are you doing?" You ask shakily. She doesn't answer as she cuts away at your scrubs. Pulling the torn fabric to the side. Her fingers trace along your ribs and waist, making you shiver.

"You're so pretty." She mutters to herself.

She violently tugs down your sweats, exposing your ass to the cool air. Your heart flutters and you flinch. You don't feel as afraid as you should and that alone frightens you. Her palm smooths over your cheeks. Massaging the skin. You breathe heavily, feeling like you're going to pass out. Her hand dips between your cheeks. Prodding along your clothed asshole and cunt. You wore light coloured underwear and know she can see the damp spot beginning to form. Not that it matters, because you can feel the cotton sticking to your wet folds, moulding to their shape. She hums in interest.

"... You're already wet?" She comments. Stroking you gently. "Don't tell me you get off on this."

Your face warms with embarrassment. "I'm not... It's not... get the hell off of me!" It's not death that arouses you. You aren't into dying, or corpses. You don't know why being pinned to the cold floor by a murderer is making your clit throb.

She doesn't get off of you. Instead, she roughly pushes your head down. Your cheek presses against the ground.

"Shut the fuck up." She demands. Rubbing her hand through your folds, soaking your panties even more. She cuts away at your underwear without a care. The air makes contact with your slick unpleasantly. Chilling your weeping core. A leather clad finger prods at your entrance and to your shame you don't protest. Prioritizing your desire to be filled more than the need to flee and call for help. Her finger slips in. The unfamiliar texture of the leather makes you squirm as your spongy walls pull it deeper. She adds another finger, curling them upwards and hitting that sweet spot inside of you.

You tense and gasp. Jerking upwards at the feeling. She sets a fast pace. Pumping her fingers into you with an intensity. Your pussy practically sings her praises as it squelches. You press your face into the floor to hide your shame. Valeria isn't having any of that. She grabs ahold of your hair and yanks your head back.

"You're enjoying this." She taunts. "Sick little freak."

You clench around her fingers. "No I'm - not." You whimper. She gives you a hard thrust in response, pushing a loud whine from the back of your throat.

"You're dripping all over my hand." Valeria retorts, moving her other hand from the back of your head to the nape of your neck.

As if to punish you for your insolence, she presses down and roughly pumps her fingers into you. Droplets of your slick hitting the floor. You feel like a monster for even slightly enjoying this and you do your best to stave off the impending orgasm quickly approaching. It's one thing to enjoy what's happening - it's another to get off on it. Valeria is relentless. Leaning over you and breathing in your ear. You whine and clench around her fingers. Toes curling in your shoes.

"Fuck." You mutter with defeat. You came on a murderer's fingers.

The woman slowly pulls her fingers out, gathering up your wetness. She holds it out in front of your face and spreads her fingers. Translucent strings connecting them, evidence of your debauchery.

"Open your mouth." She murmurs. "C'mon, sweet thing, open your mouth." She forces her fingers between your lips. The taste of blood, leather, and your own juices hit your tongue. You gag as she shoves them deeper into your mouth. When she finally pulls them away, she gives your cheek a quick tap and stands, leaving you on the floor in a puddle of your own release.

"Are you going to kill me?" You whisper.

"Maybe." She hums. "If you aren't useful."

Now that the high is wearing off your left with a cavernous pit in your stomach. Your mentor was murdered, and you happily let the killer finger you. "What? How can I be useful?"

She scoffs. "You're a medical examiner are you not?" She replies impatiently, she leans against the counter and lifts her mask again.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a box of cigarettes and lights one.

"You're not supposed to smoke down here." You mutter.

"I don't care." She says, lighting one and putting it to her hips. "You're going to tamper with the bodies, or lie about how they died, or whatever it is you do."

You close your eyes. "That's... that's so unethical, I can't do that."

She grins at you. "Cumming around a murderer's hand - in a morgue no less - is pretty unethical."

She approaches and squats down, grabbing your chin and making you face her.

"If you don't want me to fucking gut you," She murmurs softly. "then you'll do what I say."

You don't want that. You're of the opinion that your insides belong inside of you. "Okay." You say weakly. You don't have much of a choice.

"Good girl." Valeria hums. she stands and walks towards the doorway, pausing to look at you over her shoulder. "I'll be seeing you again very soon."

#valeria garza #cod mw2 #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x fem!reader #modern warefare ii

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