#i'll do anything if i was dared to do it. in general.

[17020]

gn reader, reader is older than 18, younger than aizawa. suggestive.

having shota aizawa as your situationship (?) when you're coworkers is... weird. at first, at least. he feels weird not because you're a tad younger, but because he finds himself doing irrational things for you every day.

because why on god's beautiful earth is he sneaking around the teacher dorms just to get to your room in the wee hours of the night? the upturned corners of his lips have him pondering too—why he has the tiniest smile on his face whenever your surname pops up on his notifications, the world does not know.

your coworkers notice the change in behavior, yet nobody says anything directly to your face. probably because aizawa's almost never touches anyone yet his body is found gravitating towards yours, his fingers grazing yours when he and you exchange papers to grade, or his leg tangling itself with yours during teacher conferences.

but when there's no one else around? he can feel himself loosen up a bit, his hand cradling your jaw and caressing it oh-so softly with the excuse of there being a strand of hair in the way. or when he asks you, his teaching assistant, to dinner—to discuss the upcoming training for class 1-a, of course. or when he knows you've had a hard day and he's suddenly pushing your head into his chest, grumbling about how you need to let it all out in order to focus on other things later on. when the two of you are alone, he sighs whenever you address him, only two words daring to escape his lips.

"it's shota."

and sure, he pushes his feelings aside at first. because it's not rational to have feelings for his coworker. his conventionally young, hot and very smart coworker. the coworker who looks out for him more than any of his other coworkers do, the one who his class has basically accepted as their confidant, tutor, and loving parent.

aizawa feels ridiculous whenever you pop in his mind. because deep down he knows he's throwing all logic away whenever he's with you. the rule to never date a coworker goes in one ear and out the other when the war settles in. it's now or never, right? what if he doesn't get to live another day, what if you don't?

perhaps it's the fact that it's his birthday that has him overthinking. that must be it.

the thought to put a label on what you have never crosses his mind. it's his old man brain kicking in. he doesn't see a rush to label anything. he's yours, and you're his. what's the problem? does the whole world need to know your business?

unfortunately, they do. because his attraction for you goes unnoticed by the ones who aren't on inside his bubble. including ms. joke, who has your eye twitching from jealousy as her mouth seems to move in slow motion as she asks for his hand in marriage for what seems like the fifth time today.

and your mind runs. it goes on and on, you start feeling dizzy. it's not until later in the night when the homemade birthday cupcake with the candle is long forgotten in his nighstand, his hands desperately gripping your thighs as your hips roll against his. you sigh as your swollen lips part from his, gaze fixated on his lap as you try to avoid his eyes.

when he asks what's wrong, you simply shrug. "i know it's not my business since we're not exclusive, but what's the deal with you and joke?" aizawa can tell there's inconformity in your voice as his eyebrows furrow.

"we're not?"

shota aizawa is an idiot. an old, stupid idiot. is this the generational gap at work? you looked at him bewildered, "well, you never said anything about it, so i figured..."

his grip on you tightens. "who else are you seeing, y/n?"

you giggle as you shake your head. "no one else, you big goof. just you." it's during this moment when he feels like he can breathe again. he recomposes himself before replying, "joke likes to run her mouth. doesn't mean i'll concede her every word."

you smile before pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. "do you want to be exclusive, shota? or perhaps are you building your own avengers roster?"

"see, when you put it like that..."

you gasp, playfully slapping his arm. his low, borderline sexy chuckle sends shivers down your spine as he raises his hand to cradle your jaw. "kidding. don't tire your pretty brain for things like that. tell you what, i don't pay any mind to joke—or anyone—because they're not you."

your whole body heats up from his statement. you stare at him in awe as he continues, "you're making me live a life i never lived in my youth."

smiling, you feel your eyes flutter close as your head unconsciously leans towards his chest. he's quick to get you off his lap and tuck you into his bed with him. how in the hell can you get sleepy in the middle of a—

"shota, i can still go on" you whine, a yawn betraying your plea. he shakes his head as his hands fiddle with the rubber band on his hair to let it loose. after switching off the lamp on his nightstand, he turns to you. "i'm a grown man, y/n. your needs come first, and you need sleep."

you smile at him as he lays down at your side, pulling the blanket to cover you both, leaving only your heads to be seen. "happy birthday, shota" you whisper, to which he smiles.

"i l... appreciate you, y/n. very much."

he's not revealing he's utterly lovesick. not anytime soon.

taglist (open): @stunies @hayatoseyepatch @okkotsushi @maruflix @nyxypoo

i'll add a banner later on maybe i'm too lazy. happy early birthday to aizawa sorry if he's ooc. first bnha work in like 4 years. not proofread i'm gonna hit the hay like aizawa and y/n.

[inor-8]

Regarding Lily's top 20 Pokemon video (Part 2):

Ok so most of my individual posts from the video are from this section. So, I'm gonna try my best to articulate my thoughts as well as I can.

Again, as much as we disagree with her, all her favourites are valid as everyone deserves an opinion. Even Lily Orchard.

So without further ado....

Number 10: Froslass

Ok so we start her top 10 and how does she begin this section? By complaining about gender specific evolutions, especially, Gallade.

I don't know how but Lily seems to have conjured up this crowd of "90's Pokemon fans" that hate Gardevoir because it's strong and feminine. And also that GameFreak has made Gallade specifically to appease this crowd.

And to that I say: Huh???? Lillian Orchard are you delusional??? As far as I've seen there's no one complaining about Gardevoir's feminity ever! In fact the whole community seems to love it. And you think Gardevoir being male is gonna deter fans? Lily??? Do you know how popular femboys are??? Male Gardevoirs are a treat for them if anything.

And I find it bizarre that she she seems male Gardevoirs can somehow not exist anymore? You do know that getting a Gallade needs a rare evolution stone right?

But moving on from that, let's get to Froslass. Now, as Lily hates gender specific evos, she also initially disliked her. But what made her warm up to the Pokemon is very disturbing to me. She seems to like it because it eats the souls of men. Now, don't get me wrong. She does mention her love for snow and ghosts but still... Hearing her say "It eats men!!!" with such glee is disgusting to me. I always suspected she was like those puritan twitter rad fems but this has just made my suspicions stronger. You really hate men, don't you? You little misandrist!

And what makes me sas is I love Froslass' design and the lore behind it. It's based on a yokai (a supernatural spirit in Japanese folklore) called Yuuki-Onna (snow woman). If you've grown up with Japanese cartoons like Doraemon, Shin-Chan or Ninja Hatori like I did, you'd have seen glimpses of this yokai in the episodes featuring snowstorms.

Yuuki-Onna is the spirit of a woman who died in a snowstorm and now hunts for travels who get lost in the snow. I absolutely love it. I even used it in Platinum and it one-shot Cynthia's Garchomp. It's so sad to see it reduced to "violent man eater".

Anyways moving on...

Number 9: Pidgeot

Now, there's really nothing to say here. She just explains why she likes it and honestly it's a solid mon.

Number 8: Magmortar

Same as Pidgeot, nothing really to day here.

So instead I'll leave you with a fun fact: Magmortar's Japanese name is Booburn.

Number 7: Sceptile

Now, this is where Lily's "I'm not like other girls" attitude shows up again and this time her victim are the other evolved starters of Ash.

I don't know what you've heard Lily but Sceptile is veeery popular and an awesome one of Ash's Pokemon. But you somehow take it not being the second coming of Pikachu as a crime.

She calls Charizard "Mr. Overrated". Cope and seethe, Lily. This is Charizard nation.

And Infernape as an "angry monkey man". Well, Lily as for why Infernape is so popular is because he had a whole arc about him. His initial trainer, Paul abandoning him for being weak, to Ash rescuing and training him, to him defeating Paul and proving his strength. That's why people love Infernape.

As for Greninja, I don't know man I didn't watch that far into the anime. Ask @voidshogun the number one Greninja fanatic.

Number 6: Agron

Now again, nothing out of the ordinary. Except the fact that Lily has only changed her rooster 5 times in 7 generations. Yeah we could tell, Lilian.

Number 5: Lilligant

Now, as is expected of her, Lily shits on gen 5's story. Wow You're so different and cool Lily!

Then, she says that Petlil needed to have an introductory scene like ralts because the whole area was filled with Sewaddle (how dare you belittle sewaddle in your video Lily?!?) And then she complained about a dex entry.

Now here comes another "I'm not like other girls" moment. She mentions how she doesn't use competitively viable Pokemon because she values design and trains her Pokemon like a real trainer should. Wow, Lily? People playing with their favourites? Who would have thought?!? God you're soooo cool!

Number 4: Milotic

Another garbage take of "GameFreak took gen one's shitty edgy adolescent designs and made them better in gen three!" No they didn't Lily, you're hallucinating.

This is where the whole "gyarados is a result of 90's gritty toxic masculinity" take is from. No it isn't, Lily. You purposefully ignore the lore behind these designs and undermine them. God i hate this woman. I've already said what I wanted to about the Gyarados comparison in a previous post, so I'll leave it there.

And then she says she's one of those weirdos that enjoys Pokemon contests. Oh wow! You're so #quirky🤪 for enjoying a feature that is in the game for you to enjoy. Real special thing you've got going on there, Lily.

Number 3: Mismagius

She complains about gen 2. Lily, ma'am you would have gotten to play with Misdreavous in Crystal, if you played fucking Kanto!!!

And then she says what a stubborn little bitch she was for playing competitive with her favourites instead of researching builds....

I'm not even gonna say it this time. How many "I'm not like other girls" moment have we had so far?

Number 2: Butterfree

More of "Oh! She's weak but I love her! Aren't I do different and cool!?"

She actually mentions Madhouse in this segment, so archive this video in case she decides to lie about it and deny she made that too. Not like having proof would make her admit she made it.

Now, to no one's surprise....

Number 1: Gardevoir

Oh I don't have much to say about this one.

Just look at some of my observations from this segment:

(i) Lily can't shut the fuck up about how powerful and mighty and strong Gardevoir is.

(ii) Lily depicts Gardevoir as a monstrous banshee because she's an edgelord and thinks it's cool instead of using it's canon depiction of a loyal protector as pointed out by @manilovescp166 in my asks.

(iii) Lily is so obsessed with Gardevoir that she bases her purchase of a Pokemon game on how easily and early she can get a ralts in said game.

(iv) Lily thinks Gardevoirs as a species have the deepest bonds with their trainers and are the best companions. (Okay, I guess?)

(v) Lily genuinely believes that "She (Gardevoir) is lowkey implied to be the single most powerful Pokemon in existence. Given that they have the ability to create black holes if they're desparate enough." (Sure buddy)

(vi) Lily believes that there's this insecure crowd of Gardevoir haters that hate it because it's feminine. (She made them up in her head)

(vii) Lily thinks it's shiny is bad, also she hates all shinies so there's one consistent thing I guess?

*Sigh* this is genuinely disturbing.... Just how fucking obsessed are you with Gardevoir, Lily?! I don't even have words. Honestly I think the observations are enough to tell you how deranged this woman is when it comes to Gardevoir.

[yellowocaballero]

Anyway.

How many works do you have on AO3? 54. Hm. I don't remember writing 54 fics. That's weird. But I've been posting since 2017 so when you THINK about it 54 fics over 7 years isn't weird at all.

What’s your total AO3 word count? 2.4 million. What's your point.

What fandoms do you write for? A fuckton. I write both things I'm hyperfixated on and for random shit that comes in my head. I was into TMA for like two years so I have the most TMA fic (16), but most of my fandoms are 3-5 fics maximum. There's also a lot of random-ass fics for random-ass fandoms that just jumped in my head. Artemis Fowl, Beetlejuice, Animorphs...demons that overtook me for two weeks or so and never bothered me again.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? The Great Gender Heist (Artemis Fowl, no surprise there.), stay out of trouble (Detroit: Become Human, I reliably forget that one exists and I'm still mystefied as to why so many people read it), meek shall inherit (I'm constantly attempting to forget the Be More Chill phase ever happened), someone will remember us (Batman, fic's not great, am still very fond of that au) and dead or alive (DBH, mediocre). Why the hell are the two Detroit: Become Human fics so popular? I hate DBH so much. I was so angry while writing those.

Do you respond to comments? I am absolutely terrible about responding to comments. I am sorry. I do read and appreciate all of them. It's because I always need to give a dialectical so comments take ages to write. If you do want to hear my thoughts on something, my inbox is your best bet for a way too lengthy response.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hope, Etc for certain. I try really hard to write bittersweet at worst endings, and even the sad endings in my fics have hope in them. Hope, Etc definitely ends in a better place than where it began. But it's still very sad. I was thinking about a lot of lost loved ones while writing it. Fishhooks and reel to reel also have downer endings but that is because they are LITERALLY Star Wars.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Uhhhh. The ending of Solitaire (and the MLM/WLW hostility series in general) is very sweet. It's meaningful because it demonstrates so much growth from everybody with very little cost. I almost said Go Straight At The Cul De Sac, because it showcases a happier world where horrible historical events were averted, but the ending will always be a little bittersweet because we understand how much Protag sacrificed to create that better world.

Do you get hate on fics? Sometimes people are kind of weird. The worst of it is usually just useless comments, though. I had somebody get pedantic about how briefly mentioning an SUV would be historically inaccurate, and how I should have mentioned a minivan instead - like, did you read that fic and think I was from the suburbs? Do I look like I know what a minivan is? Lol? If I've received any actual more severe stuff I have no idea, since I delete the comment and delete it from my memory. I've never gotten anything too bad. I've been called ablest like three times, which is objectively hilarious.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? If I could write smut I'd be making bank on Kindle Unlimited right now.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Probably the FE3H/BNHA one I'm writing right now that will never see the light of day. Just kidding. I don't actually think I've posted any real crossovers - I DO write them, I just kind of feel like they're cringe so I never post them. I write a lot of cringe shit that never sees the light of day.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not nearly popular enough for that.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Several people have mentioned wanting to do that, but nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not technically. But I do want to give due honors to all of the friends who are SO instrumental in the building of the AUs, stories, characters, etc, that they've had a huge impact on the story itself. I try to recognize them by name in the fics themselves but my stories would look completely different if it wasn't for my friends. Definitely much worse.

What’s your all time favorite ship? I'll differentiate favorite ships and favorite fictional romances. For ships, it's much less about the ship and more about the role in the story. I tend not to pay a lot of attention to that while writing, but sometimes I get lost in my own sauce and I drive myself a bit nuts. I am very fond of Hanyookim, especially in my own ORV story. For romances? My top ten list of fictional romances is as follows: number one: naturally, Sasunaru -

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? If it's up on AO3, it's done (with one or two very small exceptions - The Ending of Han Sooyoung epilogue I'll get to you I PROMISE). There's plenty of unfinished docs on my drive that I'll never finish, but that's because I decided that they weren't worth finishing.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and characterization. That's always been the case. I'm also pretty funny.

What are your writing weaknesses? Plotting. Action. Having stories that are not entirely dialogue. Where things happen and it's more than just people walking around talking. You know. Real stories -

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Always valid. I remember reading one Hispanic author talking about how he doesn't like italicizing the Spanish in his stories because it's otherizing, and I agreed enough with him that I don't tend to italicize other languages either. Sometimes I do. I try to do it purposefully, and to convey something that can only be conveyed through the extra language. I'll also only do it if I can have a friend who speaks that language write it out for me, since gtranslate sucks and I want to ask the friend how such a thing would actually be said and colloquialize it. I like using ASL in fics, and I am just in general begging people to a) write it like any other language, and b) understand that it's different from other languages and can't be written exactly the same. If your Star Wars fanfiction has so much gratuitous Mando'a that I can't understand anything the clones or Mandos are saying I hate you.

First fandom you wrote for? Batman Beyond. Yes, I have a FFN account somewhere. Yes, I was eleven. Yes, it was Batman Beyond.

Favorite fic you’ve written? The best thing I've written is Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge. Favorite is New Wave. That sucker took two years to write (INSANELY long for me) and it is exactly the story I wanted to write. Stephanie's a character I've been writing since I was 15, and the feeling of writing Stephanie and NAILING her for the very first time was so satisfying.

Tagging @usaigi and uh any other writer mutuals you all know who you are.

[eigong]

… I WOULD LIKE TO FORMALLY APOLOGIZE FOR STARTING THE CHAIN OF EVENTS THAT ARE CURRENTLY FUCKING UP YOUR QUALITY OF LIFE.

UH.

YEAH.

I DO NOT FEEL REMORSE BUT I CANNOT HELP BUT REGRET WHAT I HAVE DONE AFTER THIS RATHER PITIFUL DISPLAY OF.. ALMOST BEING DEAD FOR SEVERAL DAYS ON END.

👋👋

🏃‍♂️

I have felt it before, that certainty, that death knell of the self. Knowing, because you are being warned by your own body as it barely fights to stay alive, that you could close your eyes and never open them again. Drift off as easily as falling into sleep, or perhaps easier.

That young woman I used to be, I recall her—disoriented and bloody, head wrapped in bandages, laid upon a clinic bed. Resting there in the nothingness that resides between two life-changing points, the stretch of time after the infliction of a terrible hurt but before the healing. Survival. Being struck with that profound numbness.

How dare I be put through this again?

Anyway apology acceptead i appreciate it

[grimgrinnrs]

Chat help it's 14 degrees outside-

[anakinstwinklebunny]

DILF!ANAKIN HEADCANONS 🍷

TW: at some point it contains crazy sexual content, so if you're feeling uncomfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort 💓 shout-out to @slutforfinnickodair that helped me, check her blog out! She's amazing (just like my every mutual 😼) obvious age gap (reader is younger), pet names like..you'll see yourself, ALSO BUNNY COSTUME EVERYONE!!

Dilf!Anakin who was very desperate to have you. The first time he had seen you was in the luxury restaurant he and his friends went and he'd be lying if his eyes weren't wandering towards your moving body through the tables. And since that time he decided to make you his

Dilf!Anakin who came to this restaurant way to many times so he could see you

Dilf!Anakin who, when found out where you live, send bouquets of crimson red roses with small notes (after, of course, you had a few interacts with him due to his often appearance at your work place)

Dilf!Anakin who spoils you rotten after you two got together

Dilf!Anakin who obviously doesn't care about the age gap between you two but he sees it in daily life; you using phrases he doesn't heard of or doesn't understand

Dilf!Anakin who is more experienced in finances than you so you use his help a lot

Dilf!Anakin who's extremely protective. Would make sure you're okay wherever you go and that no man dares to touch you or speak to you in a way that makes you uncomfortable

Dilf!Anakin who's a way better cook than you are (at least not in cookies, cakes and things that in general are sweet)

Dilf!Anakin who's the best cuddler; you often fall asleep in his arms/on his lap

Dilf!Anakin who makes you absolutely needy after leaving for business trip;

anakin gasped in surprise, taken back by the intensity of your sudden kiss. He just got home from the three day trip. He knew you've missed him dearly (like always) and he knew he left you in..specific state. But what he didn't know was that you're gonna throw yourself on him the second he opens the doors

your hands pulled on his tie to bring him closer and he had to hold back a groan. A surge of desire ran through him as he returned the kiss with equal fervor, your lips hungrily exploring each other

"wait--" he chuckled, breaking the kiss briefly. he took a step back, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment before fully closing the doors. His eyes fell back at your desperate and impatient self, wearing specific (but his favorite) costume. He clenched his jaw at the sight before taking off his outside clothes

"i can't wait more" you whined, desperately reaching for his black tie again

anakin couldn't help but give in to your needy plea, unable to resist you. Just looking at your wide, helpless eyes was enough to make him agree on anything. Especially when you were practically begging for it. You may didn't know this, but the power you held over him was insane. His heart and stomach flipped at the sight of you in your bunny costume once more before he chuckled

"naughty bunny" he murmured teasingly "i haven't even been inside for five minutes, and you're already all over me"

"please" you whined again and pulled on his tie to bring your lips together once more

your desperate whine went straight to his core, making him groan softly. He reluctantly gave in to the growing ache for you "you're gonna ruin my tie, bunny" he murmured against your lips

"you have so many more of them" you retorted

his deep chuckle filled your ears and your cheeks flushed "such a needy, greedy bunny" his lips trailed down your jaw. It did not help with the throbbing feeling that appeared down your body "what should i do with you, hm?"

"touch me..please" you pleaded

leaning down, he brought his lips to your ear and whispered in a low, sensual voice "oh sweetheart..i'll touch you everywhere"

anakin's long fingers worked to untie your bunny costume. But for your liking, he was doing it awfully long "just hurry up" you urged

he grinned with the chuckle following right behind it "patience.." he finally removed the last knot "i like unwrapping my gifts with care.."

Dilf!Anakin who has beautifully hot morning voice;

It was early Saturday morning, six a.m. Anakin was already up and in the kitchen, his curls a tousled mess and he was still dressed in his pajamas. It was awful to wake up at such hour in the weekend but he completely forgot to turn off his everyday alarm. He did try to fall asleep once more, however he couldn't. And it was killing him.

Opening the fridge, he scanned the shelves but found nothing appealing. He moved to the food cabinet, rifling through various boxes and cans, but nothing seemed to catch his eye. Maybe he just didn't have an appetite? Even if, his movements were slow and groggy, the early hour weighing heavily on him. The sudden burst of need for caffeine became, in time, undeniable.

With a sigh of resignation, Anakin decided to go with something he actually had a craving for. He filled the kettle, set it to boil, and prepared the coffee grounds, the familiar routine helping to shake off the last remnants of sleep. The rich aroma began to fill the kitchen, offering the promise of wakefulness and a clearer mind to tackle the search for breakfast.

When he heard the steps against the wooden floor, his head twisted towards the sound. His expression immediately softened at the sight of you; still sleepy and half-awake. He smiled softly, thinking to himself how adorable you looked when you were just waking up. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Anakin greeted you in a raspy, deep voice, his eyes lingering on your beautiful figure.

That voice was one of the many things you were obsessed about. It was undeniably one of the hottest things about him. He leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. You didn’t say anything back and wrapped your arms around his waist while he grabbed his coffee.

“Feeling needy this morning, hm?” he teased gently as you let yourself nuzzle to his chest. You were tired, you were hungry and such combo only made you clinger than you often are

His lips curled into a small smirk when his free arm wrapped around your waist. His lips (before taking a sip from his mug) pressed a kiss on the top of your head “Such a needy little girl…” he murmured affectionately

"Can I have a sip?" you looked up at him, your chin pressing against his chest.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement, glancing back down at you. “You hate my coffee,” he chuckled, his thumb caressing your waist over your pajamas.

“Yeah, I hate your bitter coffee,” you admitted with a playful smile

His arms wrapped gently around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. His lips brushed softly against the side of your neck, and his nose nuzzled there, taking in your familiar, comforting scent. It was something he loved inhaling deeply, a scent that seemed to ground him and give him strength to face the day.

“Anything interesting in the fridge?” his breath warm on your skin before he placed a tender kiss there.

And again, this damn voice..

"Maybe scrambled eggs? Or pancakes... Are you hungry?" you cleared your throat to shake away your dirty thoughts. His voice really could do magic on you, like nothing else

He hummed in thought, contemplating your suggestion before placing another kiss. Then another, and another “For you? Always,” he joked, gently spinning you around to face him, to which you gasped at the sudden situation; the fridge's doors closing smoothly behind you

"You know I didn't mean that"

He smirked, a chuckle escaping him, and you could see his adam apple going up and down.

Gods..

Leaning down to your ear, his lips lightly brushed the edge of it “But I did,” he said in a low, deep voice, filled with innuendo.

"ani--" you shivered after his large hands slid under your shirt to grope on your breasts

"shh..relax..let me have my breakfast" he whispered

"you're impossible"

He used the closed fridge doors and pressed you against them to lean back towards your neck

so that's how you're gonna spend your morning

you let out a small moan when his lips touched the sweet spot on your skin and reached with your hands to tangle your fingers in his curls "that's how we're gonna spend our breakfast?"

"absolutely" his voice dripping with mischief "and lunch.." his mouth traveled up to your jaw "..and dinner"

"what about dessert?"

"dessert is definitely included"

Dilf!Anakin who prided himself on making the best hot chocolate; it was a small tradition passed down from his mother who often made him one when he was a kid

Dilf!Anakin who's work ends the second you step into his office

Dilf!Anakin who takes you shopping;

Anakin was sitting on the leather couch in Victoria's Secret's changing room, dressed sharply in his business suit as he waited for you to try on the set of lingerie you had picked out.

Usually, Anakin found these stores mind-numbingly boring, but this time was different. This time, anticipation thrummed through him as he waited for you to step out of the dressing room and show him the lingerie and make the experience far more entertaining.

you pushed the curtain aside, revealing yourself in the tight, black lingerie that hugged your curves perfectly and accentuated your cleavage

anakin's eyes moved to your body, to which his breath hitched at the sight. For a moment, he was speechless. Simply swallowing the growing arousal he began feeling "you look...gorgeous" he finally managed to say, though the word felt like a massive understatement in his eyes

your smile widened "yeah? What about the backside?" you turned around so his eyes could catch the sight of your plump bottom perfectly highlighted by the dark material

anakin was rendered speechless again; his eyes roved over your figure once more but for him, it wasn't enough. He wanted to just sit peacefully and watch you even for an entire day and he would never get tired "gorgeous, absolutely beautiful"

he stood up, stepping inside your small changing space. He closed the curtain behind him and moved closer, taking, one more time, the sight of your incredible body in mirror's reflection. His intense gaze made your cheeks flush and you felt his arms wrap around your waist before his chin rested on your shoulder

"how could i resist you like this?" he murmured and began brushing his lips against your shoulder "look at you..such a beautiful girl..do you like it?"

"it's pretty..i like the material"

"it looks amazing on you" he complimented

"yeah?" you grinned

he hummed "it shows your curves so well" his large hands began to move up to your chest, his thumbs caressing the delicate skin of your cleavage that only ignited the fire up to your cheeks

his fingers then moved to the straps of the lingerie, pulling on them back and forth "you want it? i can buy it for you..or do you want something else?" he tried to keep his focus on you and not your body

you turned around to face him "what about this lacy bra?" you suggested with your eyes sparkling with mix of excitement and mischief as your hands rested on his chest

his lips tugged into a smirk and he raised his brow "yeah? you want that?"

"can i?"

"you can have everything you want" he gently squeezed your hips to emphasize his words "you know i can't say no to you, sweetheart"

Dilf!Anakin who often takes a shower with you. When you're too tired to do anything, he helps you clean yourself. Or things just get spicy under the running water

Dilf!Anakin who 'hates' when you tease him during the important calls/meetings (mostly online)

Dilf!Anakin who you tease at the family dinner;

It was Anakin's family dinner, and of course, you were invited. His family was amazing and they loved you as their own. However, the conversations sometimes became a bit dull for you. Remembering the intimate pictures you once had taken, you quietly took out your phone and decided to tease the love of your life.

Anakin was in the middle of an animated discussion when his phone suddenly buzzed. He furrowed his brows slightly as he discreetly reached into his pocket and pulled it out after saying the small 'im sorry'. Unlocking it with his passcode, he glanced at the new message. At first, he thought it was from work, he awaited the message about another contract with big company. However when he saw it was your name at the notification, he was confused. Couldn't you just say it to him right now? But when he saw the provocative picture, his expression shifted instantly to the one of flushed pink

He looked up at you from across the table with his eyes widening with surprise and a spark of excitement. You caught his gaze and tried to hide your mischievous smile with your hand

He was trying so hard not to get distracted, but that picture did something to him. He didn't know if it was the fact that everyone was around and he couldn't do anything or the fact that you had sent him something like that, knowing it would drive him crazy.

He did his best to act normal, keeping the conversation going, but in reality, he was dying to get his hands on you as soon as possible.

Setting his phone back down, he tried to act cool but he couldn't keep his heart from pounding in his chest. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table, and he stole glances at you time to time

Achieving your main goal, you sent another picture, this one even more provocative to make him even more desperate to end this dinner

Anakin almost choked on his water as the image appeared on his phone. His breath hitched as he took in the sight. Seeing you sitting so casually across the table, acting as if nothing had happened, was driving him insane.

"Ani, is everything alright?" Shmi, his mother, asked worriedly.

Anakin swallowed the liquid and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself once more "I'm-I'm alright. Just swallowed the wrong way," he said, his voice a bit strained. He discreetly put his phone back into his pocket and shot you a sharp look across the table, almost as if promising retribution.

Anakin tried to focus on the conversation, he really did. But it was impossible with the second picture. His thoughts were consumed by you and the images you had sent, leaving him barely able to pay attention. His expression betrayed his frustration with his mind slowly unraveling.

You were proud of yourself. Making your lovely man in such conflict with himself was more pleasant than you thought it would. So, as your mother kept saying - 'three times a charm' - you snuck in yet another picture, this one much spicier, with your hands squeezing your full breasts and your legs spread

Anakin almost immediately opened the message. His eyes widened, and he almost flinched at the photo. He looked at you again, the fire in his eyes growing darker "I—Excuse me for a second," he said quickly, rising from his seat. His steps were quick as he walked away from the table, heading to the bathroom to cool down.

Everyone watched Anakin leave, and Shmi's face was filled with worry for her son.

"Is he alright?" Shmi asked, concern evident in her voice.

"He must have just needed some air," you replied with a casual smile, masking your smirk with a glass of water.

Anakin walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He pulled out his phone again and looked at the latest text he received. He let out a shaky breath, trying to calm down, but the picture made it nearly impossible. His breathing was shallow, and his body was reacting intensely to the image. "You damn little tease," he muttered through his teeth, his hands gripping the sink to control himself.

Shmi turned to you with her concern evident. "Sweetie, maybe you should check if everything's alright. He looked pale."

"Of course," you replied, rising from your seat to head upstairs where Anakin had gone. When you reached the bathroom door, you knocked softly. "Ani, are you alright?" you asked

But before you could finish, he pulled you inside and pinned you to the wall. Anakin quickly closed the door behind you, trapping you between the wall and his tall, broad frame. His eyes were dark with desire and frustration "You," he said, your name leaving his lips like a curse and a plea, "You damn tease."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," you mumbled innocently.

"Bullshit. Yes you do."

His face was just inches away from yours and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"You knew damn well what you were doing, didn't you?" he growled, his hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

"I--"

"You knew exactly what you were doing" his voice low and heated. His hand slid up from your waist to cup your jaw. His fingers were gentle, yet squeezing your jaw in a little firm way "sending me those pictures while i was sitting at the table, trying to act as if nothing's happening. You saw how frustrated and bothered i was, and yet you loved every second of it, didn't you?" he continued, his blue eyes burning into yours, making you shiver. it was so intense, your knees felt weak

you couldn't help anymore and curled your lips into a smirk "i--well--yes" you admitted almost too proudly

his eyes moved to the exposed skin of your neck and you could see something swich in them. He leaned forward so that his breath touched your face; it looked like he was about to press his lips to yours so you parted them to give him better access, for him to only lean to your neck to brush his lips against your delicate skin

your eyes closed and you casually tilted your head to give him even more access to your neck. He inhaled your scent deeply: it was driving him insane, not being able to take you right there against the wall. However somehow the anticicpation made the experience even more exhilarating. So to pour his need and desire for you, he bit down on your neck lighty, sending the pleasant shiver through your body before speaking:

"you're a little devil in disguise, aren't you, sweetheart?" his voice a mix of frustraition and admiration

you moaned quietly, not wanting anyone to find out about what's happening in the bathroom. But suddenly he pulled away, daring himself to leave you breathless and confused

"wh-where are you going?" you stammered, pushing away from the wall

He chuckled at the whine in your voice, smirking as he walked toward the door. "Back downstairs to the table. The rest of the family will get suspicious if we stay here too long."

"That's mean—and unfair," you protested with disappointment in your tone

He paused with his hand on the door "And you were fair during dinner? Sending me those pictures, teasing me the entire time, and not letting me do anything about it?"

And with that, he left you in the bedroom alone. All needy and desperate for him

in the evening, as you were sitting with anakin's stepdad and stepbrother that had his arm around his wife on the couch, anakin walked into the living room with his hands in his pocket. His eyes lingered on your form before he followed your gaze on tv screen.

just a few hours ago, you had been pinned against the bathroom wall by him, and the memory of both situations (the pictures he replied almost every ten minutes) filled his mind with all sinful thoughts

he walked over to the couch, taking his hands out of his pockets to rest them on the backrest and lean down to whisper in your ear "c'mon, we're going for a ride"

you stirred a little at his words. you were so focused on the movie that you hadn't even noticed him stepping inside the rooom. You turned to face him and raised your brow in confusion

your gaze met and his eyes were completely different from yours; were sharp with a mix of lust. His urge to drag you to the car was growing stronger witch each passing minute "let's go" his head nodded toward the hallway

"Where are you guys going?" Anakin's stepdad chimed in

"For a quick ride, we won't take long," he replied quickly, but the look in his eyes conveyed far more than his words.

"Just be careful, Ani," Shmi added, her voice filled with gentle concern.

"We will," Then he quickly turned his gaze back to you "C'mon, sweetheart."

You swallowed hard, recognizing the look in his eyes, and quickly followed him out of the room. You knew what was about to happen, you knew what he was about to do..

anakin strode out of the door, you following closely behind. Once outside, he grabbed your hand and lead you to the car. You felt his firm yet somehow gentle grib against your skin, as if he was still concerned to hurt you

the cool evening air did little to cool the fire between you, this nervous aura ignited in your stomach and quickly after enveloped your body. You just followed him like a puppy as he swiftly opened the passenger door for you "get in" he instructed with urgency and light sharpness

you immediately slipped into the seat, heart racing, the tension between you almost tangible (which obviously didn't help at all). Anakin then closed the door with a decisive click and hurried around to the driver's side. Sliding in, he started the engine with a quick, practiced motion, the sound coming with a low growl

he barely waited for the gates to fully open before driving out of his family's driveway, to which you exhaled nervously. The normally calm, controlled anakin was now tense. At least that's what you could tell from his clenched jaw and the veins that popped out on his forearms from his tight grip on the steering wheel

feeling the weight of his silence, you couldn't help but ask softly "is everything okay?"

he remained silent for a moment with his gaze unwavering on the road before slowly, his hand left the gear stick to slid it down on your thigh. Your eyes moved down when his fingertips traced lightly along the bare skin. Did it help to ease your nervousness and excitement? Absolutely no, especially when he gave you a firm squeeze

"everything will be soon" his low, deep voice gave you shivers

"where are we going?" you asked with sudden boldness

"you'll see" he replied "dont worry about it"

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

he parked the car in a secluded spot, surrounded by nothing but trees visible through the window "get into the backseat" he commanded

the sudden command and his tone only increased the deep blush painting on your cheeks (which thankfully he didn't see due to the late hour)

"c'mon, or i'll just drag you in there myself" he said impatiently, turning to face you more directly

"it was just a-a jo-oke--" you tried to say between moans from his thick member pounding into you from behind "i-i swe-ar!"

"a joke huh?" his tone sounded breathless as his curls were a mess (just like you were), falling on his right eye. He let his large hand run from your spine down to your hip to thrust deeper into you "i don't think it was a joke, sweetheart..i think you just like to tease me, drive me insane"

the car swayed to the sides from your crazy love making and the forest echoed in both of your moans. His lips tugged into a smirk when his hand went down to slap your ass, which gave you the pleasant sting cover your cheek "that's right, baby, you just love to make me all crazy, huh?"

"ye-yeah" you said through half-linged eyes

his proud, smoldering gaze moved to your enticing backside, drinking in the sight of your cheeks jingling with each relentless thrust "you're such a naughty girl, teasing me like that.." his long fingers sink into your flesh, kneading and massaging the plump globes of your ass. The rough, insistent pressure sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, making your toes curl and your inner walls clench around him

"need to--gonna--co-ome" you whimpered out

he groaned, his hips snapping forward with a particularly deep thrust that made you gasp. His fingers dig into your ass even more from the building feeling down his body "not yet, sweetheart..i'm not done with you yet"

Dilf!Anakin who sometimes teased you about dating older men;

"youre such a pretty girl..so innocent" he murmured directly to your ear while adding second finger inside of you "but i bet you like being handled by a man who's experienced, who knows exactly how to make you feel good, hm?" you whimpered at his words "I guess good girls don't fuck guys my age, right princess?" you mewled in response "atta girl" he grinned "--so you are a bad girl after all..and bad girls need some punishment, don't you think baby? Do you want your punishment?"

Dilf!Anakin who loves watching you ride him

Dilf!Anakin who often plays with your breasts; running his thumb over swollen skin to harden your nipples and intensively memorize how your face twists in pleasure

Dilf!Anakin who always does aftercare after love making; he would not move to do anything without that

I apologize for it being so long 🙈, wanted to include everything I had in mind (which still wasn't everything). Also was too impatient to wait six days to show you guys my latest works (if you don't know what I mean check my earlier post)

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @fuckmyskywalker

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[yvvxs]

Creeps...

‎ ↪ ft. argenti. aventurine. blade. boothill. caelus. dr ratio. jing yuan. warnings: creeps, stalkers, the such.

"I understand you want to admire their beauty and know them better, but could you please step away?" Argenti asks in a kind, yet stern voice as he steps in between you and a weirdo who was persistent in trying to get your phone number. The person sighs, looking upset as they resign, reluctantly leaving from your side. He asks about your condition, whether they tried anything, as he's worried for you after you experienced such a thing.

Aventurine wraps his arm around your waist, interrupting the awkward and unpleasant conversation you were having with the creep, who was asking weird and personal questions. "Who are you? Why are you touching them?" They asked, upset by his actions and acting all protective of you despite the true intent in their actions. "I'm their boyfriend." He gives them a smile, and they look at you, who nods in confirmation. They furrow their brows, leaving upset that they couldn't have you. Unfortunately, you were already taken by your dear Kakavasha, and no one could tear you away from him.

Blade only has to give whoever was stalking you from a distance a glare, and they run and hide away like the scaredy-cats that they were. If looks could kill, your boyfriend probably would have a higher bounty than he already had. Any stalkers or creeps that even tried to follow you would go away with one wrong look from Blade, as he looked too threatening for anyone to even think of messing with. At least you were safe from any weirdos when you were with him.

When a creep even dares to bother you, you don't have to worry about it as long as you have Boothill by your side. He'd go swearing his mouth off at them. If his Synesthesia Beacon wasn't censoring him with every word, his threats would be more scary than they already were. He would usually pipe it down when dealing with other people.. But he was running his mouth off angrily, more than when he would be with any IPC members. He loved you so much, and swore to protect you, even from any people who dared to come close like this.

"Don't you know that I'm the famous Galactic Baseballer?" Caelus boasts proudly, chest puffed up proudly and his hands on his hips. The weirdo that was trying to pursue you awkwardly looked at the man, trying to understand what nonsense was being spat out of this.. raccoon-looking person. Eventually, bored and confused by whatever he was saying, they decided to leave, thinking that it wasn't worth the effort trying to even get your name when someone like this was in your way. You thank him with a smile, and can't help but smile at the 'tactic' Caelus used to deter them.

Dr. Ratio clears his throat, sending a glare at the student in his lecture who was staring at you for a bit too long now. The person who dared to look at his love in that way wasn't going to get away with it. He decided to call them up, asking them a question about the topic they were just talking about. Leaving them embarrassed and ashamed as they were unable to answer, proving that they weren't listening, but rather, focusing on you. He scolds them with a frown, continuing to work as they finally listen to his words, not wanting to go through that again.

"Leave them alone." Jing Yuan just has to say one word, as the creep realizes that the General himself was stepping into the scene. They respectfully bow as if they weren't doing anything previously, though the three of you know the truth about what was happening. They awkwardly leave you be, not wanting to mess with Jing Yuan.. Who knows what trouble they would have gone through if they were to anger him..

↪ When Jiaoqiu releases I'll release the next love language post.

Masterlist || Do not repost nor feed to AI. Reblogs & Comments are much appreciated.

[yeoobiii]

hello, can I ask you to write a mini story about Heeseung, where he teaches Y/n how to kiss 🙏🏻

⋆｡°✩ 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙

꩜ bestfriend!heeseung x gn!reader

꩜ best friends to lovers (?), first kisses

꩜ during a game of truth or dare you admit to all your friends for the first time that you've never been kissed and that you're frankly scared you'll mess up once the situation presents itself. Heeseung sees a perfect opportinity to help you out with that.

or: Heeseung teaches his best friend how to kiss and both of you get a bit lost in it

wc: 5.1k (this has gotten a bit longer than I intended to but honestly I just went with the flow and here we are.)

warnings: consumption of alcohol

a/n: thank you for the request, anon! btw requests are open if you'd like me to write something specific, I can't promise you anything on how quickly I'll get it done or if it's something I'm up to writing but like the link is in my bio :)

I hope you like this, anon!

There’s a few things none of your college friends knew about you. Despite knowing most of them for over three years now, some things just never came up naturally in conversation. Like the fact that you’ve not had your first kiss yet.

Why make a big deal out of it? You’ve also never been in love before. You didn’t feel the urge to inform everyone about these things, especially since most of your friends have a rather active dating life. You wanted to do these things at your own pace and didn’t want anyone involved in how you could “solve that problem”. You simply never intended on telling them. That is until last weekend happened and somehow your roommates were able to convince you to participate in a game of truth or dare.

It was a Thursday night and your roommate told you that they were having a few friends over for a cozy hang out and you were definitely down to chill with them because the both of you were friends with similar people and got along great in general, so having a few drinks with your friends in your dorm room seemed like a nice way to spend the evening.

And everything went smoothly enough, people were trickling in and out, the overall vibe very casual and comfortable. That is however until your friend Sofia suggested a game of truth or dare. To be fair, the overall intake of alcohol increased as the evening was progressing. It was almost inevitable that a suggestion like that would arouse sooner or later.

Before you even properly thought about it, you agreed to play and sat down in a circle with around five other tipsy college students.

Only later on did your brain register that Heeseung was one of the few chosen ones. For a split second you even wondered when he had arrived, but then you remembered that he greeted you with a friendly embrace when he first arrived about half an hour ago.

Technically, there was nothing wrong with him participating in the same game, the both of you were friends after all.

You met Heeseung pretty much the first day college started, you were both in stats together and happened to be sitting next to each other on the first day and it’s been like that ever since. However, you guys didn’t hit it off right away, you were friendly with each other, sure, but that mostly also out of convenience and occasionally you shared your notes with each other or he was making sure you didn’t fall asleep in class. It was all really casual and you would have considered him more like a colleague than a friend.

That was the case until one particular night that was destined to shape the kind of friendship the two of you would have with each other forever.

It was one of your first frat parties, the first semester was about to end and freshmen with various kinds of majors gathered to celebrate this collective milestone. Safe to say the liquor was being poured without much hesitation.

It wasn’t the first time you’ve run into Heeseung at a frat party either. Usually you’d shoot each other the occasional nod, acknowledging the other’s presence and moving on with your night and that’s all there was to it.

However, fate had other plans for this particular night.

At one point you excused yourself from the dance floor and went out the back door into the small garden to catch some fresh air, to your surprise not many people were out there, just you and a small group of three people maybe, who seemed to be passing around a blunt.

It took you a second glance to not only see your roommate but also Heeseung being part of that group, your roommate immediately greeting you enthusiastically upon locking eyes with you and beckoning for you to sit with them.

Shortly after you were sitting on your ass, your roommate's arm interlocked with yours, being pulled into the conversation easily.

Heeseung sent a brief smile of acknowledgement your way, before taking a hit from the joint. You returned his smile and also greeted the fourth person sitting with you who was eventually introduced as Heeseung’s friend Jake.

The joint was being passed around and eventually landed in your hand as well and afterwards the conversation seemed to flow effortlessly. You joked and laughed along to whatever your company was saying but were also emerged in the more heated discussions.

At one point you were so deep into the conversation with Jake that you didn’t even realize your roommate getting up and going back inside and like ten minutes later, Jakes excused himself to the bathroom and didn’t seem to return anymore.

Which only left Heeseung and you.

Now, you’d be lying if you’d say being in such close proximity with a cute guy like Heeseung, all by yourselves in this somewhat intimate setting left you completely unaffected. You could feel yourself growing slightly flustered at nothing in particular, but you eventually catched yourself when Heeseung asked.

“So, what’s your favorite dinosaur?”

You fell into comfortable conversation after that and the longer the night went on, the more intense the topics got.

Whenever you think back to that one particular part of the evening it kinda feels like Heeseung and you were the only two things existing at the moment. Your brain didn’t register the people stepping in and out of the garden as the hours passed by. 

It was well past 3am when you checked your phone for the time since sitting down. You told Heeseung and he was just as shocked as you were at how quickly the time had passed, almost apologizing for taking up so much of your time, but you assured him you were enjoying yourself.

“It has been a while since I sat down like that and was able to talk to someone for hours about whatever popped into my head.” You admitted to him and he seemed satisfied with that judging by the smile that graced his lips.

“Me too.”

And you could swear by the way his eyes shimmered in that moment that there was something – whatever that may have been – between the both of you. Or maybe it was just the weed.

Regardless of what you guys shared was something different than what you thought it might have been, you grew close very quickly after that evening. Heeseung started to joke around with you in class, you eventually asked him for his number and social media, he started sending you memes occasionally, you started to hang out outside of class in your little friend group.

At one point you were convinced he was actively seeking you out at parties, because ever since that evening, you always bumped into each other sooner or later during the night.

And whatever there might have been that one evening, nothing came of it. However, it almost seemed like you grew closer to Heeseung than all your other friends. People in your friend group would casually call you best friends and the more time passed the more that statement became true.

All occurrences in the past have led you to playing truth or dare on a Thursday night on the floor of your dorm room with each other. And usually that wouldn’t be an issue. Heeseung and you have progressed to a stage in your friendship where you knew almost everything about each other; almost.

You could feel the alcohol running in your system and were sincerely hoping you wouldn’t say something that you’d eventually regret. You just crossed your fingers and hoped for the best.

For the most part the game did run smoothly, it was fun and you had a good time, the only dare you had to do was show them your most embarrassing dance move.

That is until your roommate asked you truth or dare.

“Truth” you chose this time

“What was your first kiss like and who was it with?”

The question in and of itself was harmless, it matched the vibe of the very easy going game they had going on, Nonetheless, you felt put on the spot and before you could stop yourself – because you can’t pull off a lie for the life of you – you blurt out that you’ve never been kissed.

None of your friends seemed super unfazed by this seeing how you’ve not dated one person since you started college but Sofia’s eyes grew double in size.

“Not even a peck on the lips or something?” she questioned a bit bewildered.

You just shook your head, seeing from the corner of your eye how your roommate gave Sofia a light nudge at even asking such a question.

You couldn’t help but risk a short glance at Heeseung and were almost a bit startled when his eyes met yours instantly. He sent you a soft smile upon locking eyes with you. Was that pity you saw in his eyes? Your stomach turned itself upside down.

You really wish you could say it didn’t bother you at all, that at the age of 21 you’ve never kissed someone before. You didn’t want it to be a big deal, it really shouldn’t be a big deal.

But you couldn’t help but think that you lacked something or were one step behind everyone. It felt like missing out on an experience that usually people have in their late teens and early twenties.

You don’t know why it hasn’t happened for you yet. It’s not even that you want it to be with someone really special, the moment has simply never presented itself before and you usually take this for what it is, but right now – Heeseung’s expression burned into your skull – you suddenly feel a bit small.

“It’s not just that” you eventually start to break the silence, not yet realizing that you were about to make this so much worse, “it’s also the fact that even if I’d want to kiss someone, I wouldn’t know how.”

It took your drunken mind a hot minute to catch up with what you just said. Something within you simply wanted to fill the silence but the fact that your filter was basically non-existent due to your tipsy state was not taken into consideration the moment you opened your mouth.

You mentally slapped yourself across the face, this time not having the courage to even glance into Heeseung’s direction.

“It’s not that hard, I can show you!” Your roommate offered enthusiastically, intentions pure.

Your face flushed at the suggestion and you cringed a bit, more out of embarrassment that you ended up in this situation in the first place than by the proposal itself.

“I’ll let you know if I ever want to take you up on that suggestion.” You reply as nonchalantly as you can muster.

It’s not like the thought of asking a friend how to properly kiss has occurred to you before, but you could never quite bring yourself to get the request past your lips.

Your friends laugh at your response and easily move on with the conversation, taking the attention off of you. And that was that. Or at least that’s what you thought…

Two weeks later you enter the lecture hall and already spot Heeseung sitting in his usual spot and just like on autopilot you placed yourself next to him and the both of you exchanged greetings, just like you usually would. You’d also catch up about your weekends and shortly after the lecture started, taking up both of your attention.

It wasn’t until halfway through the lecture that Heeseung poked your shoulder, extending his notebook to you, clearly wanting to show you something.

With blue ink he has written on the page:

“You want me to teach you?”

Your eyebrows furrow, confused at what he meant.

You write down below him:

“Teach me what?” Confusion clear on your face as you watch him write something else.

“How to kiss”

You choked on your own spit.

Heeseung chuckled next to you. You could smack him across the head right now and you made a mental note to do just that once class is over.

Once you collected yourself, you took the pen from Heeseung and wrote three question marks under his proposal.

Why would he offer to teach you in the first place and out of all the places to suggest this to you he chose the middle of your lecture? Why?

He grinned at your question marks and if you didn’t know him any better you thought he was making fun of you. Had any other person done this to you, you’d probably actually have been hurt but first of all you still didn’t know if he was serious and second of all it was Heeseung. You knew him well enough to know he’d never use such a situation to make fun of you.

At that moment the professor seemed to notice your lack of attention and decided to ask you a question directly, returning your attention to the lecture where it stayed until you were dismissed.

The topic didn’t arise again between Heeseung and you even though the whole scenario didn’t seem to be able to leave your mind. At lunch you stared at Heesung making conversation with Jake over something you did not pay attention to, trying to figure him out.

In your head the puzzle pieces were just not fitting. Why would he suggest that all of a sudden? And why was it so hard for you to find an answer to his question…

After the whole frat party thing where you originally became friends, you had developed a small crush on Heeseung that gradually developed as time went by. It’s just after some time had passed and neither of you made any advances towards the other you eventually abandoned the idea of getting with Heeseung and were left with two options, getting over your crush or having to live with your unrequited feelings.

You chose the first option. It took you quite some time but you managed to accept the fact that Heeseung was simply a really good friend and your feelings faded as seasons changed.

You’d be lying saying they ever went away completely. There’s no reason denying that Heeseung was painfully your type and that no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t like him like that anymore, you were attracted to him.

So, saying his suggestion to teach you how to kiss took you by surprise was the understatement of the century.

He probably just tried to be a good friend, right? Your roommate had suggested to teach you as well back then and there were no other intentions behind that, you were certain of that. So, why are you questioning Heeseung so much?

The topic didn’t come up again until one day you were hanging out in your dorm room. Just your roommate, Heeseung and yourself. It was often like that, sometimes Jake was also around but today it was just the three of you, that is at least until your roommate told you that they were heading out for dinner at around six and didn’t know when they’d be back.

Once they left, it was just Heeseung and you left.

Ever since he made his suggestion in class, you dreaded being alone with him, because you didn’t know if the topic would come up again or if you even wanted it to.

Heeseung was lying on your bed, his feet resting on your lap, while you were sitting at the end of the bed, back resting against the wall. Heeseung was scrolling through his phone when you decided to address the elephant in the room, because you figured if he wasn’t the one to bring it up, why shouldn’t you?

“Were you serious?” you simply said, not in any particular tone, just wanting to clear the haze in your head.

“Do you mean about the kissing thing?” He said without looking away from his face. The fact that he instantly knew what you were talking about indicated enough that he was aware it’s been eating at you.

You nod.

He locked his phone and threw it to the side, moving to sit up and also lean his back against the wall so that he can face you.

“I was and I still am.” He said, no trace of irony to be found.

“Why?” You couldn’t help but ask.

He shrugged his shoulders, “It seemed like it bothered you that day. You know, when you told everyone how you’re scared you’d mess up if it comes down to the real thing?”

He teased at you being so open due to liquid courage, a small smile forming on his face as you rolled your eyes at him.

“I was put on the spot and that was the only thing my brain provided at the moment to fill the silence.” You whine more frustrated with yourself than anyone else.

“So, you’re not worried about that?” He asked in return.

It was silent for a moment as you contemplated his question. You could easily dig yourself a way out of this by denying it, convincing him it was mainly the liquor talking. But you and Heeseung were never really the type to lie to each other.

“I am” you eventually admit, not meeting his eyes “I don’t know… It’s a bit silly but like I don’t know anyone my age who hasn’t been kissed before and I feel like it’s gonna be really awkward if the situation arises and I chicken out because I have no idea how to actually kiss someone.”

Heeseung listened to you and took your words in before answering.

“But you know, most first kisses are kinda awkward, I think.”

“Was your first kiss weird at all?” You asked him.

“Yeah, very.” He chuckled, sitting up more on the bed, “it was kinda too much of everything, too much teeth, too much spit, just entirely too much.”

He shuddered a bit, recollecting his first kiss.

“See? And I’d have no idea about any of that.” You said almost a bit frustrated.

“Then let me show you.” He insisted, your eyes meeting.

The way he says it so casually makes you want to rip your hair out.

“It’s just a kiss, right? And it’s me! You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.” He said, eyebrows slightly raised, trying to ease your mind.

You look at him. He looks cozy in his oversized sweatshirt, his body language his usual relaxed self. It was still a bit fascinating how he could take this all so lightly but then again, it really was just a kiss for him.

And you know you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t kiss Heeseung. In fact, your head is screaming at you not to kiss him, because the risk of buried feelings resurfacing is simply too big. But you’d also be lying to yourself if you’d say you weren’t curious what his lips would feel like against yours and it were thoughts like this that’d mean certain doom for you sooner or later.

At your silence Heeseung added “Look, there’s really no pressure at all. I just thought maybe you’d like to know a few things that will help ease your mind, but of course you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

And of course he would say that. Of course he’d go out of his way to reassure you that you’re safe with him and that he respected your choice no matter what. Maybe sharing your first kiss with Heeseung wasn’t that bad of an idea after all. At least like that you could make sure it’s someone who respects you and your boundaries, someone who makes sure you feel safe and comfortable no matter what.

Maybe you could allow yourself this. Maybe having this as the memory of your first kiss wasn’t too bad.

“Like, right now?” You asked, which seemed to surprise Heeseung a little. He must have been convinced you’d turn him down.

“I mean, whenever is fine.” He responded suddenly you could see his cool demeanor crack, spotting a few hints of nervousness behind the cracks.

“I think, I’d be down.” You eventually say after contemplating for another minute.

“Really?” Heeseung’s eyebrows were almost at his hairline.

“Lee Heeseung, if you tell me right now that all of this has been a sick joke of yours after all, I’m ending this friendship right now.”

Panic flashed in his eyes.

“No! No, of course not. I was being serious. I just didn’t think…. I didn’t think you’d agree.” he admitted.

“So, how does this work?” you ask, not knowing where to even start.

“Oh, so you really want to do it right now, I see.” Heeseung mumbled more to himself than anyone in particular.

He scooted slightly closer to you.

“Well, first we gotta get closer.” He moves to sit next to you on the bed, shoulders touching.

You watch him, fascinated at how quickly his shyness has been replaced by his cool, nonchalant demeanours once again.

Heeseung and you have cuddled on more than one occasion before, but this feels different, you’re hyper aware of the place where his shoulder is bumping into yours and your tights are touching. This close, you could smell his cologne and shampoo.

“It’s not that complicated really” he starts explaining.

“If you want to just have a small, simple kiss. We’d both tilt our heads slightly as we get closer. Let me show you.”

He turns towards you, his eyes meeting yours. And you could swear there it was again. That shimmer from the first night the both of you actually talked to each other. You push that thought to the back of your head, the indications behind that too overwhelming for what’s about to happen right now.

His hand hovers above your cheek and you nod, allowing him to gently grab you by the jaw and tilt your head into one direction. The distance between his and your face shrinks as he does so, the pace of your heartbeat picking up in the process.

You could feel his breath against your lips as he spoke again.

“This is usually the point most people close their eyes and then you just… kiss.”

You close your eyes and a moment later you felt the sensation of Heeseung’s lips softly pressing against yours. All thoughts seem to leave your head the instant your lips touched, your heart basically beating out of your chest. It took you a moment to actually process the sensation and just as you were about to lose yourself in the feeling, Heeseung pulled back slightly.

“You know, this is the part where you kiss me back.” He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine and maybe it was all in your head but you could swear his voice sounded different then just a second ago; a bit deeper, maybe even a bit flustered.

“My bad” you said, making Heeseung throw his head back with laughter, making you giggle as well.

It eases your anxiety a bit that even in stations like this, you were able to just laugh with him and easing the tension so easily.

“No worries” he laughed “Wanna try again?”

Again?

What did he mean again? Wasn’t that it?

Despite yourself, you nod.

“Okay, this time make sure to reciprocate the pressure I put against your lips, got it?”

“Got it” you kept your replies fairly short, afraid your voice would fail you otherwise.

Before you knew it, Heeseung was leaning in again.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

You close your eyes and soon after you feel the now familiar pressure of his lips again, this time making sure to kiss him back. Without thinking about it, your hand found its way onto Heeseung’s neck, where your fingers absentmindedly played with hair as you were kissing him.

This kiss lasted longer than the first one, you could feel Heeseung moving against you and followed his lead. It was easier to flow into the rhythm than you’d have thought, his lips soft and gentle against yours.

You were starting to feel lightheaded as he pulled away again and you had to resist the urge to chase after his lips.

“That was pretty good” he said, slightly out of breath, his pupils slightly dilated, his gaze fixed on your lips before he looked up at you.

“Also the thing you did with your hand, it seems like you’re a natural.” He chucked.

That’s when you saw your hand still resting against his neck, you instantly pulled it away once your brain caught up to what he was saying.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize…”

For a second there was a silence between the both of you; a silence that wasn’t quiet at all. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him and neither could he. You could probably cut the tension with a knife.

“And what if… what if I’d want it to get more intense, you know?”

Heeseung’s eyebrows shot up.

“More intense?” He said, knowing very well what you were implying.

“I get how just kissing someone on the lips like that might not be that hard but what if– what if it goes further?”

Heeseung cleared his throat at your words and sat up straighter.

“You mean, if you would want to deepen the kiss?” He inquired.

You just nod, looking up at him, not failing to notice the light blush that’s starting to form on his cheeks, matching your own flusteredness.

“You want me to show you as well?”

You nod. Something about how his lips feel against yours was addictive, making you throw all your previous reservations out of the window.

“It’s kinda hard to explain though. I’d just have to show you?” He said, a bit unsure.

“That’s okay.”

“Okay so, basically you start with a kiss just like we shared before. You’ll just have to let me lead, okay?”

Something about the way he said that sent a shiver down your spine, words refusing to leave your mouth so you just nod.

Soon enough, his lips were on yours again and even though you were only separated for a few minutes, you already started to miss the sensation and the tingle it made you feel in your stomach and chest. Naturally, your hand found its way back into his hair.

Suddenly, you felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip and your heart took a leap. Instinctively, you opened your mouth for him. A few moments pass and he starts licking gently into your mouth.

You actively have to suppress sounds that were starting to build in the back of your throat at the sensation.

You could also feel one of his hands pressing against your waist while the other one was busy cupping your cheek.

Without much thinking you pressed forward, wanting to match his eagerness, which led to your teeth clinking against each other to which Heeseung pulled back slightly, chuckling.

“Take it slow, yeah?” He said, his face still incredibly close to yours.

As you nod at his remark he dives back in, taking you by surprise a bit. You were welcoming the touch of lips nonetheless.

This time you tried to dial down your eagerness and gently let his tongue guide yours, your insides turning into mush in the process.

Without thinking you slightly pulled at his hair, making him hum against your lips. 

He must like that? you think to yourself. 

Your stomach did a 360 at the thought of stirring him on further.

At this point your tongues were dancing with each other gently, no trance of any kind of hesitation left, the feeling leaving your head dizzy and your heart fluttering.

The way Heeseung kept pulling you in by your jaw and how his grip on your hip was getting tighter.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time.” He suddenly blurts out in between kisses and if you wouldn’t be so lost in the feeling of his lips on yours you’d stop to question his statement, but right now your heart simply leaped in your chest.

Overcome by a sudden wave of braveness, you swung one of your legs across his lap, straddling him. Heeseung looked at you starstruck, his hands instantly finding their way to your hips caressing them.

You took the time to look at him for a moment, his pupils were practically blown out and he looked so pretty with kiss swollen lips, glistering with both of your spit.

This was the first time you initiated the kiss, he easily reciprocated.

The kisses were sometimes still a bit sloppy but neither you nor Heeseung seemed to care, too lost in the feeling of each other’s bodies pressed against each other.

His hands were traveling up your sides and down your tights again and you were drowning in this feeling, of his hands touching you; exploring you. Soon enough, him trying to teach you how to kiss turned into a full on make out session.

That was until your roommate burst into the room without any announcement, making you jump off of Heeseung in an instant, cursing your body for immediately missing his closeness.

You both looked guilty and flustered as your roommate looked the both of you up and down.

“My bad, I’m just here to grab my charger. Continue with what you’ve been doing. It was only a matter of time until this happened anyway.”

They said and were gone as quickly as they had arrived.

You and Heeseung looked at each other for a second. Both of you burst into laughter shortly after.

“I think at some point we should really have a conversation about what exactly this is between us.” He gestured between the both of you after recovering from the sudden interruption.

And you were glad he brought it up because you think your heart would have been shattered into a hundred pieces if this didn’t have the same effect on him as it had on you; making your stomach flutter, turning your insides into mush, craving more.

“Better sooner than later, right?” you smile at him, hope filling your heart.

feel free to let me know your thoughts <3

[ashwhowrites]

An idea that popped in my head before bed. I hope you guys enjoy it! Been a bit since I've written my own Robin idea so I hope it's worth the read 🫶🏻🩷

Robin writes a love note for Vickie but accidentally puts it in Readers locker

Wrong locker

Robin has been trying to figure out the best way to confess her feelings to Vickie. Robin figured since she couldn't even speak a word to the pretty redhead in general, writing down her feelings would be best. But Robin didn't want to sound like a crazy stalker so she settled for a simple love note.

Robin took a deep breath as she walked to Vickie's locker, she slipped the pink paper in the small cracks. She held her breath as the note dropped in. The sound of the bell had her racing to the other side of the hallway. She tried to look busy but kept her eye on the locker.

She smiled as Vickie walked up, but her stomach dropped when she noticed Vickie was opening the locker next to the one with the note. Robin panicked, whose locker was the note in?

Fear filled Robin's bones as Y/N walked up. The girl's atmosphere was terrifying. Her leather jacket smelled of cigarettes and perfume. Her healed black boots echoed down the halls. Her tight jeans framed her body along with her tight band T-shirt. She was intimating, and she liked to be. Her sharp eyes glared at anyone who looked at her. A snarl on her lips if anyone bothered to talk near her.

Robin felt like she wanted to die when Y/N opened her locker, the pink note falling to Y/N's feet. Robin prayed she wouldn't pick it up, maybe stomp on it and move on.

But no, Y/N picked up the note. Robin was stuck in her spot, she needed to run but she couldn't move.

Y/N tried to keep the smile off her face. No one has seen her smile and that wasn't going to change. But she couldn't help but feel her heart flutter at the sweet note. She knew she was intimidating and scared people off. But she's never had someone see her in such a romantic way.

She knew of Robin Buckley, the cute bandgirl. Y/N played on the volleyball team and the band always played at their games. Was Robin watching her the whole time?

Y/N put the note in her pocket, closing her locker. She turned around to walk to class when she spotted Robin staring. Once they made eye contact, Robin looked down at her shoes.

Please don't walk up to me

Please please please

"Hey Buckley," Y/N's voice ran shivers up Robin's spine. She gulped and looked up. Y/N stood in front of her, her confident frame stood tall.

"I'm sorry! The note was-" Robin went to explain what happened but Y/N cut her off.

"The note was very sweet. Thank you, it made my day. I'll call you." Y/N said, a smirk on her face as she took in Robin's nervous frame.

Robin didn't dare to breath until Y/N strutted off.

~~~

"And turns out it was the wrong locker!" Robin explained, her voice wavering between pitches. Her nervous hands were shaking as she told the story to Steve.

Steve nodded along with his arms crossed. Robin tended to talk throughout their shifts and not do any work. So Steve picked up the slack. But the place was dead so gossip time took full attention.

"Whose did it end up in?" Steve asked, he uncrossed his arms as he reached to grab his drink.

"Y/N."

Steve's eyes went wide and his water flew out of his mouth. Steve was a grade above Y/N throughout high school, and even he was terrified of her. He prayed he'd never run into her after graduation. Her sneer and hard eyes kept him up at night. He still has nightmares about the day he ran into her, his hot coffee staining her shirt. Steve could almost feel the bruises on his cheek forming again.

"You're fucked!" Steve said.

"Dingus! Don't you think I know that? She said she was going to call me! What the hell do I do?" Robin panicked.

"Maybe she won't call you! Let's not stress about anything yet." Steve said

~~~

Robin sighed in relief when she crawled into bed, not a single phone call from Y/N. Maybe Y/N just wanted to make Robin nervous and never planned to do anything about the note.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Robin gulped as she picked up the phone, she hoped more than anything that Steve was calling about his lame date.

"Sorry, gorgeous. Volleyball went very late." Y/N's voice traveled through the phone, and it still made Robin nervous.

"It's okay." Robin gulped, her fingers playing with the telephone cord.

"I know this place downtown, maybe Friday night after the game, we can go?"

Robin tried to say no, all she had to do was explain the mix-up. But she was scared of Y/N's reaction. One date couldn't hurt, maybe Y/N would realize how boring Robin was and wouldn't be interested.

~~~

Robin packed up her instrument, talking with Vickie about the game. Robin tried her best to keep the conversation going.

"Ready gorgeous?" Y/N asked. Robin couldn't help but blush at the nickname being said to her face. Y/N was sweaty and panting from the game, and Robin couldn't help but find it hot.

"Yeah just gotta pack up." Robin rushed out, her eyes meeting Y/N's for one quick second.

"Okay. I'm going to change then I'll meet you in the parking lot?" Y/N suggested. Robin nodded and felt the air return to her lungs when she walked away.

"What's going on?" Vickie asked, she didn't bother to hide how shocked she was.

"She kinda asked me out." Robin shrugged.

"Oh, cool," Vickie said, but Robin couldn't help but notice how displeased Vickie looked about the news. Was she jealous?

~~~

Robin tried not to stare at Y/N as they walked into the bar, but Y/N looked hot in her tight black jeans, tank top, and signature leather jacket. Robin tried to ignore how sweaty her palms were.

Robin was confused about why they'd go to a bar when they weren't of age, but Y/N knew the bartender it seemed. Y/N walked to the back booth, near a pool table.

Y/N had a beer and Robin had an iced tea. Y/N made good conversation and Robin was surprised by the things they had in common. Robin found herself enjoying Y/N's presence.

A few hours passed and Robin swung her feet as Y/N played pool. Robin didn't know how to play and she did not want to look like an idiot in front of Y/N.

"Come here and just try!" Y/N encouraged, she's been trying to get Robin to play for the last hour. But Robin kept shaking her head.

Y/N gave up on convincing Robin, instead, she'd make Robin do it.

Robin gulped as Y/N grabbed her hand and lifted her off the stool.

"No, I'm not any good!" Robin tried but Y/N shushed her. Y/N placed the stick in Robin's hand, stood behind her, and corrected her form. Robin couldn't help but feel slightly turned on as Y/N's body was pressed against her back. The feeling of Y/N's breath against her ear, and Y/N's arms wrapped around her, made Robin feel fuzzy.

Robin took a deep breath, letting Y/N guide her to hit the small white ball. Robin watched as the stick hit the ball, it rolled and rolled until it smacked into a red ball, disappearing into the corner.

"You did it!" Y/N cheered, Robin couldn't help but get lost in her dazzling smile. At that moment Y/N didn't seem so scary and intimidating. She looked beautiful and happy.

~~~

A few weeks passed and Robin cursed herself for leading Y/N on. Robin couldn't help but be swept up in all the dates and how special Y/N made her feel. It made Robin wonder why she never looked at Y/N in the first place.

But Robin was tugged between Vickie as well. The girl the note was made for. It seemed Vickie was jealous of all the dates between Robin and Y/N. Robin remembered the hard look in Vickie's eyes when she showed up in Y/N's jacket.

"Are you cold?" Y/N asked, her hand laced with Robin's as they walked through the carnival. Robin wore a thin long sleeve, not expecting the wind to be chilly.

"No, I'm fine!" Robin argued, but the shivering of her teeth and tight shoulders gave her up.

Y/N smiled and took off her jacket, placing the warm leather over Robin's shoulders. Immediately lacing their hands together again.

A jacket Robin still hasn't given back. She wore it every day to school. To make Vickie jealous? Or to have pride she got Y/N to go soft? She wasn't sure.

She felt torn between both girls.

~~~

"Do you like her?" Steve asked, he felt bad for the situation Robin got herself in.

"I think so? But I don't know if I like her because she makes Vickie jealous." Robin explained. She was stuck in her personal hell.

"Well if Vickie's jealous, it means she has feelings for you. So you have your answer. Vickie is interested and single. Do you want to go after her? Or stay with Y/N?"

"I think I want Vickie. I mean the note was meant for her but I'm afraid if Y/N finds out the note was for Vickie, she'll snap me in half " Or maybe she was worried it would snap Y/N in half.

~~~

Robin sat across Y/N as she sipped on a milkshake. Robin's stomach hurt too much to enjoy the sweetness.

"Are you okay? You look like you might be sick." Y/N said, her milkshake pushed to the side as she reached across for Robin's hand. Robin gulped as Y/N's soft thumb rubbed her skin.

Just say it, Robin repeated in her head. She needed to tell the truth before Y/N truly fell for Robin.

"I need to tell you something," Robin said, her free hand gripping the leather jacket by her lap. Y/N encouraged her with a small smile.

"Remember the note?"

"Of course I do." Y/N smiled

"I put it in the wrong locker," Robin said quickly, wincing as the words finally were put into the air.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, her head turned as she tried to understand.

"I wrote the note for Vickie and I was scared to tell you. " Robin looked up to catch Y/N's reaction. The smile turned upside down as a frown covered its place. Robin has never seen so much emotion on Y/N's face. And just like she feared, the terrifying hard mask appeared on Y/N's face.

Robin tried not to flinch as Y/N removed her hand and moved it quickly into her lap. Robin's palm smacked the table. As always, Robin ran her mouth until she made it worse.

"And I just didn't want to hurt you! And I was a little scared you'd break me in half. So I went along with the date, not expecting you'd like me! Because like I'm me and I'm so boring compared to you. I figured you'd see dating me was blah and wouldn't be interested. But then you asked for more dates and I was-"

"Scared to say no, yeah got it." Y/N barked. She was an idiot to believe someone saw her as something else than a scary monster that lurked in the halls. All this time, she thought Robin saw something in her, something worth liking and learning to love. But no, Robin was scared just like everyone else.

Y/N refused to let how upset she was shown on her face. She shook it off and grabbed her wallet. She slammed down some bills on the table, the harsh air hitting Robin's hand, she flinched again.

Robin was scared to look up as Y/N stood up. She was too scared to see the look on Y/N's face.

"Look at me," Y/N growled, Robin swallowed nervously and looked up. But there was a softness in Y/N's eyes.

"You're not boring, and you're not blah. You're funny, fun, and beautiful. Don't think so low of yourself. Next time, make sure the note goes in the right locker. I'll see you around Buckley."

Robin didn't know what to say. Y/N walked off, leaving her jacket with Robin.

~~~

Robin barely slept that night. She felt so guilty, and not all relieved. She thought telling Y/N would take the weight off her shoulders, but it was the opposite. The weight on her shoulders now crushed down on her chest.

Y/N's jacket thrown over Robin's desk chair was a painful reminder she had to see Y/N again.

The next morning, Robin held the jacket in her arms as she walked up to Y/N's locker.

"Um hey," Robin said quietly, Y/N and Vickie looked up at the sound of her voice. Robin shrunk under the gaze of both girls.

Y/N figured she was talking to Vickie so she turned back around to her locker.

Robin couldn't help but feel like she was slapped in the face as Y/N ignored her completely.

"I have your jacket." She said, tapping Y/N's shoulder. Y/N turned around, grabbed the jacket, and slipped it back on her body. In a way Robin felt a weird feeling of pride. She knew it was Y/N's jacket in the first place, but Robin wore it for weeks to where it almost felt like hers. It felt like Y/N was wearing Robin's jacket.

"Thanks," Y/N muttered the locker behind her slammed shut as she quickly walked off. Y/N couldn't watch Robin and Vickie talk about their feelings.

"Yikes, she's back to cold." Vickie observed.

"Yeah I kinda broke things off," Robin explained, a feeling in her stomach as Vickie tried to fight off a smile.

"Oh that's too bad!" Vickie said, but Robin could hear the excitement in her voice. "What happened?"

"I wrote this note to ask you out and I accidentally put it in her locker. I've been too scared to tell her but I finally did. And I think she hates me." Robin said, looking over her shoulder but Y/N was long gone.

"Ask me out?" Vickie asked, a smile on her face.

"Yeah," Robin said with a smile. Her face warmed when Vickie reached forward to lace their hands together. Robin couldn't help but notice Vickie's grip wasn't as tight and safe as Y/N's. Robin didn't feel like she was protected like the way she did in Y/N's hands.

"I'd love to!" Vickie cheered, both girls sharing a bright smile.

But Robin couldn't help but feel an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

~~~

It didn't take long for Robin and Vickie to officially be together. Steve was proud of Robin for finally making a choice, but even he couldn't help but feel like it was the wrong one.

Robin spent every minute with Vickie, searching for the fluttering in her stomach that she had with Y/N. Robin thought it was fear but maybe it was excitement.

Robin tried to fight off the frown on her face when Y/N passed her in the halls. No more warm smile sent her way. Just a hard look, the same look she gave everyone else.

Was Vickie the right choice?

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 FRANCESCA

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: fate will always find a way. {wordcount: 22.1k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow guys i can't believe it's over. i won't lie this chapter was an absolute monster to write, i cried and rewrote several times, but i think it came out the way i was hoping. i'll leave some more notes at the bottom so as to not spoil, but i hope you enjoy, it's been such a crazy ride, ily all lots. as always, reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: mcd. dissociation. explicit mentions of past self-harm & suicide attempts. dazai describes his scars as "gross" and "ugly". implications of child abuse. suicide. i believe that's all, if there's any i'm missing, pls let me know, this is a heavy chapter obviously.

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“... You said you have a brother?” 

You look up from where your head is resting on Dazai’s chest, peering at him with furrowed brows. He raises his eyebrows, hoping the curiosity on his face comes across as innocent. In his defense, it mostly is—Dazai only wants to know because he’s wondering if he’s correct in assuming the mentions of your brother were in the present tense because he’s still alive. 

If that’s the case, then that’s another first in this universe, he thinks. As far as Dazai is aware, in every other universe, your brother has been long dead by the time Dazai meets you and if that’s changed, it had to have been because of something Dazai unwittingly did, otherwise what else would’ve led to such a drastic change from the norm.

He doesn’t recall if you ever mentioned anything of significance about your brother in any of the other universes. The most he remembers is that in some, he passed away when you were sixteen and that he was involved with some shady business. You claimed that it was something to do with underground rings but if Dazai’s right in assuming that he is still alive, then Dazai thinks that the underground ring business was a cover for Port Mafia business, because the only thing that so drastically changed in the years your brother would have died was Dazai coming into contact with the Book and upending the Port Mafia’s operations.

“I do,” you say, shifting to prop your chin up on his shoulder, you lean in to brush your lips against his jaw and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut, lifting his hand to caress the small of your back. “We don’t speak anymore.”

God, Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, watching as you lean into his touch. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed to tilt his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He can feel you smile against his and he swears his heart is in his throat, hand sliding to hold the back of your head as he lets his fall back against the pillows. You settle back against his chest and Dazai cards his fingers through your hair as his mind spins.

It’s been two weeks since the event, and while the upcoming conflict with the House of the Dead and their allies has been eerily quiet, Dazai thinks it might be for the best because things with you have not been quiet. The past two weeks have been tense and strained, once the fog of the night the two of you spent together finally disappeared, the realization of your situation hit you hard. 

It’s been cycle after cycle of you shutting yourself off from him—curling up in the corner of his bedroom and staring out the window before sending yourself into a steep spiral of fear and paranoia. You haven’t dared to leave the headquarters in two weeks, even when Chuuya and Atsushi and half the Black Lizards offer to escort you, too scared to even step out of his apartment and go down to the lower floors. Sometimes you lash out at him, angry and accusatory; other times, you just cry, terrified sobs that rip Dazai’s heart right out of his chest, and he can only hold you until it passes. And it does pass, it always passes, and he gets a day or two with you like this, peaceful and pleasant. He can pretend that the two of you are just a normal couple in love with each other and not have to face reality.

He hasn’t been much better off. Every day that passes, the corners of the pages of the Book edge further into his vision. He knows it’s coming—his face-off against Dostoevsky, the first trial he has to face to ensure you can live in this universe—and he knows he can’t let himself falter even once or make a single mistake. He’s good at putting up a front around the executives—although he’s sure that Chuuya and Kouyou are realizing just how anxious Dazai really is—but he has to keep his hands beneath the table to hide the way his fingers tremble. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this, he doesn’t know why the timeline sped up so much in this life.

He tries to distract himself from the growing fear by keeping his attention focused on you because you need him right now. Desperately. He’s never seen you like this before. And it’s his fault, he knows it. In most of the other universes, you never knew his enemies were hunting you down; and in the ones that you did know, you’d been eased into a life with him already, you’d known what you were getting into. He threw you into this life without any regard for how it might affect you, like tossing someone who doesn’t know how to swim into stormy waters.  

Guilt claws at his throat again, as it always does when his mind drifts to what he’s dragged you into, so he forces his mind back to the conversation at hand. Another welcome distraction from the anxiety, a way to keep his fear at bay—trying to figure out who your brother is, a mystery that he hasn’t solved in any other universe. It’s easier to actively avoid the creeping fear than to face it upfront, especially when he’s not sure he’ll be able to overcome it.

“Why is that?” he finally asks, and then after a moment adds, “... I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but he can hear the strain in your voice and Dazai understands that it’s entirely not fine, and if your brother does happen to be part of the Port Mafia, Dazai is going to put him through the most excruciating and uncomfortable missions before forcing him back into your life because how dare he make you feel this way. “It’s been like this for like six years now. He cut off contact with me, I don’t know why, he never explained. He still sends me money but I don’t care for any of that, I just want to see him.”

Interesting. Six years ago. When he usually would have died in all of the other universes. Dazai’s mind spins as he tries to narrow it down. So many things happened that year. The Dragon’s Head Conflict, the incident with Verlaine-

The incident with Verlaine.

No.

Dazai shifts a bit and you instantly shoot him a disgruntled look, the apologetic smile he gives you in return is only half-hearted. He ghosts his lips across the top of your head before wrapping an arm tighter around you, fingers rubbing absent circles against your bare skin.

Of all of the events that occurred after Dazai came in contact with the Book, the incident with Verlaine had been the one that changed the most. Dazai had gone out of his way to ensure that the Flags survived the incident so Chuuya would still have people after Dazai finished the final stage of his plan, just like how he made sure to put things in place for Atsushi and Kyouka, Gin, pushing Akutagawa to the Armed Detective Agency. Everything would fall into place after the final stage, everyone could have their mostly happy ending.

Everyone but him.

His mind drifts a bit at the thought of his original plan, the phases that he’d enacted to ensure the preservation of this world—long, happy lives for you and Odasaku. Dragging you into his life shattered that and he still hasn’t figured out how exactly he needs to adjust everything to account for this.

You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow

Your words ring through his head. His eyes slide shut and the reminder of Phase Five flashes before his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on already, his throat swelling with frustration. No. Now’s not the time to focus on this. 

The incident with Verlaine. The Flags. Is it possible…?

It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of the Flags. He’s sure that dozens upon dozens of subordinates managed to live in this universe with the Flags still around, Doc especially, butterfly effect and all, but Dazai can’t help but hesitate, a gut feeling drawing him to them. You didn’t recognize Albatross or Piano Man, obviously it can’t be Lippmann. That only leaves Doc and Iceman. Doc doesn’t have a family, Dazai remembers the man mentioning it offhandedly after he was wrangled down into the infirmary for a checkup a few years ago, but Iceman…

“Nah, Iceman ain’t gonna be around this weekend, his kid sister’s graduating uni. He’s going to the ceremony. Hit me with whatever you needed him for, I’ll get it done.”

Albatross’s words from a year and a half ago echo through Dazai’s head. He fully sits up this time, eyes widening, ignoring the way he jostles you around. You scowl at him and shift into a sitting position yourself but Dazai is already fumbling for his phone. You claim you haven’t seen your brother since you were sixteen, and Dazai supposes that doesn’t entirely fit in with the fact that if his theory is right, Iceman went to your graduation, but he also supposes that the man didn’t necessarily have to make himself known to you to attend your graduation.

What other pieces is he missing?

Dazai should have recognized Iceman in the picture on your wall, shouldn’t he have? 

Not necessarily, he thinks—you and your brother had been young in the picture, no older than ten and fourteen, and Dazai doesn’t even deal personally with Iceman anyway. The man reports to Piano Man, and Piano Man reports to Dazai as the middle-man. He hardly sees Iceman more than once or twice a year, if even that. 

And…

Oh.

Dazai exhales, realizing that Iceman being your brother might explain more things than just some oddities in this universe. His mind races as he tries to mentally flip through the pages of the Book, remembering some of the stranger universes out there. Some are so distinct from this one that there are hardly any similarities to this one—universes where the world is still being torn apart by the Great War, universes where you and he had been born hundreds of years prior during an era of warring feudal lords, universes where the world is entirely flooded and universes where the world has become a wasteland.

But there are other universes so similar to this one, with just a few distinct differences, that Dazai struggles to understand what makes them turn out so outrageously different. Everything is functionally the same until the two of you are thirteen or fourteen, where it’s as if the timeline abruptly branches off into countless routes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, he ends up with Odasaku rather than Mori, but in that same universe, you somehow end up with the Port Mafia. In other universes, he ends up with the government as a member of the Hunting Dogs, you end up with the Port Mafia too in that one. Sometimes you have an ability that manifests, sometimes—like in this universe—you don’t. 

He never understood what causes the timelines to go down these routes when everything else is fundamentally the same. He assumed that he was somehow the root of it: it was a decision that he unwittingly made that caused the abrupt branching off of the timeline, but he was never entirely convinced of it because he couldn’t make sense of how him ending up somewhere other than the Mafia led to you joining the Mafia, or triggering the manifestation of your ability.

It makes a lot more sense if you already have a connection to the Mafia that he was unaware of.

That would leave your brother as the variable affecting where you end up, and whether or not your ability manifests. Not Dazai.

“What’re you doing?” you complain, flopping back onto the bed and tugging at his shirt as he puts together the mystery that’s been plaguing him for almost seven years.

“Gimme a second,” Dazai murmurs, only half-listening as he shoots a text toward Piano Man, telling him to summon Iceman back to headquarters from where he’s been dealing with a slippery target abroad for months, not bothering to wait for a response as he tosses his phone back onto his dresser and returns his attention to you, significantly more pleased than he was moments before.

The best way to test his theory is to drag Iceman back to base and see the man’s reaction to you being here. Is it smart? Maybe not, but Dazai doesn’t really care.

“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” you ask, eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion.

Dazai’s lips tilt upward as he leans down, half-rolling on top of you as he ghosts his lips against your forehead, nose, and then your lips before resting his head on your chest. “I’m spending my day with a beautiful woman.” He tilts his face up to kiss your jaw, relishing in the giggle you let out. “Of course, I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” you ask, nuzzling your face into his hair as you wrap your arms around him. Dazai thinks that if he died now, he would die in a state of bliss—tucked away in your arms with no threat of the outside world to weigh over him. You trace over the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, drawing absent patterns over with the tip of your finger, up his chest to his shoulder, trailing down his arm.

“Mhm,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he basks in your touch. He glances back down again when he feels your finger brush over the bandages covering his forearms, hesitating for a moment.

He peers up at you through his lashes, watching the curious expression cross your face as you look down at them, not noticing that he’s caught you staring—he knows what you’re thinking, how could he not? He’d known this was going to come sooner or later, that one day you’d wonder what was beneath the rest of the bandages. You’d never looked at him differently for it in any other life, but Dazai can’t help the lump that rises to his throat as he prepares for you to ask.

You don’t.

Instead, your gaze lifts back to his and you lean down to press your lips to his forehead. He hums lightly and tilts his head up, waiting to see if you’ll say something, but you only lift your hand to brush your fingers through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut again as you trace your fingers over his face, drawing along the slope of his nose down to his lips.

“I don’t plan to, no,” you say lightly, smiling as Dazai nips at your finger when you press it against his lips lightly.

“Why not?” he asks, gaze lidded as he looks up at you again. He almost frowns, wondering if you don’t want to see what’s beneath the bandages, but that would be ludicrous and makes him feel a bit insecure, so he waits for your answer instead.

“Because I figure you’ll show me on your own when you’re ready,” you tell him and the lump returns to his throat, bigger this time as he catches sight of the soft expression on your face.

He’ll never get used to it, he thinks again, breathless.

“What if I’m never ready?” Dazai questions quietly, watching your face carefully for a response.

You’re entirely unbothered by the prospect. 

“I hope one day you will be, but if you’re not, that’s okay,” you say as your arms tighten around him, leaning down to bury your face in his hair again—he can feel you smile against the top of his head.

His lips part to respond but no words leave them. Instead, he lets out a sigh and takes one of your hands into his, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “What did I do to deserve you?” he says more to himself than anything else as he lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles.

His eyes flutter shut for a second as he considers what to do, but before he can make a decision, he feels you shifting a bit behind him. He glances back at you, brows furrowing in confusion when he catches the sudden conflict plaguing your expression. He twists around to face you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, frowning at the downcast look in your eyes as you lean into his touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, wondering if he said something wrong but he has a feeling that it’s something running deeper than that. He keeps his voice soft as he searches your eyes for an answer. You don’t respond at first, and Dazai feels significantly more concerned, shifting to his knees to kneel on the bed next to you, tilting your face to make you look at him. “Talk to me.”

“... I have orientation in a few days,” you finally say and Dazai instantly knows what has you suddenly on edge, swallowing thickly. “For school. On Friday. I can’t not go.”

He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping that the small smile on his face does not convey the nerves that eat at him—he doesn’t need to stress you out any more than you already are. A part of him wants to curse himself for being so selfish; none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to live out your life happily without this weight hanging over you; you were supposed to go to school and graduate, not be so scared to leave the bedroom that you hardly even want to go anymore.

God, the guilt is suffocating; it takes all of Dazai’s self control to keep himself grounded here with you and not lose himself in regret.

“Sounds exciting,” Dazai hums, careful to keep his voice light. “You’ll meet all of your new classmates, you better not forget about me.”

He finds a small victory in the way your eyes turn up slightly at his comment, but it’s only brief, returning back to that downcast expression that makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach. He brushes his lips between your brows before pulling back to look at you again, the tips of his fingers running through your hair.

“I’m scared,” you admit softly, “what if-”

“Don’t be,” Dazai cuts you off, doesn’t even let you finish the what if that’s been haunting his thoughts since he came in contact with the Book all of those years ago. If you voice it out loud, he’s scared that it’ll shatter the dam that’s been holding back all of the fear threatening to consume him. “You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say, trying to look away, but he forces you to look at him again. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees the way your eyes have welled with tears, one spilling over to trickle down your cheek—he leans down to kiss it away, trailing his lips up to the corner of your eye before hovering over you.

“I can,” he corrects gently. He tells himself the same thing he told you the night he decided to see you again—he has the knowledge, power, and resources, and Dazai is never as motivated when he has you as an incentive. Already, his mind is racing, making plans to get his own men into the building, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action to maybe have Chuuya pose as another enrolled student so he can keep someone close to you. “I can.”

You don’t look convinced, your bottom lip wobbles as you look up at him doubtfully and Dazai is instantly leaning down to press his against yours. Softly. Gently. It’s an innocent kiss, a plea for you to trust him to protect you because he will protect you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks and then falters instantly, reminded of the argument the two of you had two weeks ago. He amends the question and instead asks, “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

You stare at him for a moment and for a terrible second, Dazai thinks you might be about to say no, but after what feels like an eternity, you nod, and Dazai lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He has to go talk to Kouyou, and the Black Lizards, and Chuuya. He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns this into the Mafia’s biggest operation since the Dragon’s Head Conflict, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe. 

Dostoevsky won’t win—not this time.

When he comes back to the penthouse after spending nearly the whole day trying to work out plans for your orientation on Friday, he can already tell that you’re teetering off of the edge. Dazai lingers in the door frame for a moment, the corners of his lips turning down and all thoughts of the upcoming operation fizzling away as he lets out a soft puff of air, studying you.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window blankly, hands sitting loosely in your lap. You’re still wearing the pajamas he’d left you in this morning, but there are stains on the front of it—he wonders if you tried to cook something but gave up halfway, it would explain the sudden influx of dirty dishes in the sink. 

You look beautiful—you always do, even when you’re littered with stains and half out of it—but you look so fragile that it makes Dazai sick to his stomach. He’s never seen you look so fragile before than he has the past two weeks. You’ve always been willful, the most fearless and headstrong person that Dazai has ever known. Seeing you like this because of him, nonetheless, breaks something in Dazai that he didn’t even know was still capable of being broken.

“I’m back,” he says quietly, so as to not startle you, but you don’t react to his words anyway. 

In fact, you don’t acknowledge his presence or even blink as he brushes his hand against your shoulder before coming to kneel in front of you, eyes searching your face. His throat tightens as he reaches up to cup your cheek and it’s only then that your gaze tracks down to him, but he can tell from the distant look in your eyes that you’re probably not even really seeing him.

“What’d you try to make earlier?” he hums, resting his free hand on your knee, drawing absent circles over your skin.

You stare at him for a moment and when your lips part to respond, he can barely hold back the sigh of relief—if you’re still responsive, maybe he can catch it before you steep down into your spiral, he just has to figure out how. He needs to distract you, obviously, drag you back from the ledge as you’ve done for him—not him—so many times before. 

“… Cupcakes,” you finally tell him softly. “They burned.”

His lips curl upward into a smile, hand sliding up your thigh to grab your hand, lifting it to press a kiss upon your palm. “We can try to make them together later, hm?” he offers. “I’ve never made them before.”

“... Okay,” you respond quietly after a few seconds of silence, and Dazai considers it a win—or, well, he does until you start speaking again: “I don’t think I should go on Friday, Osamu. Maybe I should just unenroll… at least until things calm down, then I can figure it out. I’ll just start later. It’s fine. A lot of people do it.”

Dazai’s eyes slide shut. He holds your hand to his face and rests his forehead against your knuckles—this time he can’t hold back the sigh that slips from his lips. This is his fault, he did this to you. In a world where you’re supposed to be free of the dark, fulfilling all of the dreams you couldn’t because of him in other lives, you’re too scared to even start school, wanting to drop out rather than step outside his penthouse.

God, what has he done?

He drops your hand back to your lap and looks back up to you, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he looks up at you. Your expression hardly shifts, watching him absently as you wait for a response, but he doesn’t know how to convince you yet so instead he gives you a soft smile that he’s sure doesn’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t think you notice in your distant state. 

“Come take a bath with me,” he says, half a request, half a plea as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You avert your gaze from his again, but you nod, so Dazai considers it another win. He stands up quickly, helping you to your feet before guiding you into the bathroom. You’d do this for him sometimes in the other universes; when he goes through really bad slumps and can barely bring himself to eat or move, you’ll coax him out of bed and into the bathtub, bringing him a tray of breakfast and letting him rest against your chest as he soaks in the hot water and picks at his food. Sometimes it brings him out of the slumps, sometimes it doesn’t, but it never fails to make him feel less alone so he figures it’s about time he’s able to return the favor to you. 

He hums a familiar jaunty tune as he leans over to get the water running in the tub—hot, you always like the water just a bit less scalding than he usually has it—before turning to you. He crosses the bathroom in three long steps, standing in front of where you’re still leaning against the counter. He cups your cheeks and purposely smushes them so he can lean down and place an obnoxious kiss right upon your squished lips. You don’t look amused by his dramatics, but your eyes are tracking him now—another win. He’s on a roll now, maybe he’ll be able to pull you out of this before it spirals.

“Let me help you get undressed?” he proposes, smiling as he lifts a finger to his cheek and waits for your response. 

“Okay,” you agree—a quicker response than the last ‘okay,’ a good sign. 

Dazai doesn’t waste time as he presses his lips to your forehead, fingers curling around the hem of your soft cotton shirt. He carefully pulls it up above your head, placing it on the counter behind you. You’re not wearing a bra beneath it, so Dazai only lets his hands settle on your hips before he props his chin up on the top of your head.

He lets out a soft breath, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your back in the mirror before he lets them flutter shut. Just as he’s about to kneel down and slip off your shorts and panties so he can get you in the tub, he feels your arms wrap around his waist, and oh. Dazai’s throat tightens as you lean your head against his chest and press your bare body against his clothed one; one of his arms curl around you, large palm splayed against your lower back, while the other cradles the back of your head.

Dazai would do anything for you. Build empires or burn them. He’d gift you the sun and the moon and the stars. He can feel your body trembling against his and he knows that he’d rot in the depths of hell if it meant keeping you safe. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to. His arms tighten around you and he presses his lips back to the top of your head, letting out a shaky breath.

Fyodor Dostoevsky will die. Agatha Christie will die. Both of their organizations will burn. Anyone who’s a threat to you—whether it’s ten bodies or ten thousand, he doesn’t care.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “let’s get you in there.”

He feels you nod against his chest and with much reluctance, his arms drop from where they’re wrapped around you as he kneels in front of you. He kisses your navel as his fingers curl around the hem of your shorts; he pulls them down until they’re loose on the floor around your ankles. When he scoops you into his arms, your eyes widen and he tosses you a playful wink before easing you down into the tub.

Once you’re mostly submerged in the water, you draw your knees to your chest and prop your chin on top of them, staring ahead. Whatever light had managed to return to your eyes fizzles out almost instantly and Dazai bites back a sigh, intent on getting into the tub with you and distracting you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. He slips off his jacket and drops it onto the floor, pulling off his tie haphazardly. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt and-

Oh.

Oh.

Dazai has made a fatal mistake.

His vision tunnels in on the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, envisioning the mess of ridged scars that stain the skin beneath them. Slowly, his gaze draws back to you. To the tub. To the water. If he wants to get in with you then-

You don’t seem to notice his sudden predicament, too focused on whatever spot on the wall you’ve been staring at since he set you down, but Dazai thinks that his world might be on the verge of collapse because he loves you, he does, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to take off the bandages. Not yet. Maybe the fear is irrational, maybe it’s not—you’ve already done things in this universe that you’ve never done in any other, and he’s terrified that when you see the deep, ugly scars that litter his skin, you’ll look at him differently.

Shit.

His eyes slide shut, trying to figure out what to do.

He could leave the bandages on—he could, but they’ll become soggy and loose and they’ll probably slip off anyway, not to mention it’ll irritate his skin. And he’ll feel gross after. And he’s sure you’ll take notice of the fact that he won’t even take the bandages off to take a bath with you. He’s evaded it pretty casually up until now and the conversation yesterday morning, but this would be so glaring that there would be no denying that he’s actively trying to not let you see beneath the bandages. Yes, that is what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need you to be aware of that, though distantly, he notes that you probably are already at this point.

Or he could just… take them off. He’s going to eventually, he knows that; he’s not going to hide his body from you forever, but he thought he’d put it off for as long as possible. But maybe this is for the best—it happening now. Him putting it off for as long as possible is exactly what he tried to do with telling you about his position in the Mafia and that obviously blew up in his face—not only did it not happen on his own terms but it happened in the worst way possible. At least now, he can control the situation.

It is with great reluctance and severe anxiety that he finally starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a few times, fingers feeling extra clunky, but he pushes through because his comfort doesn’t matter right now, helping you does. He reminds himself of that over and over again. He can hardly even count the number of times that you’ve put aside your own comfort for him in all of the other universes, even in this one; he shouldn’t even hesitate to do the same for you. His shirt hits the floor and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, the first plate of his armor shed. His pants are next, and Dazai feels sick with nerves as his fingers brush the pin holding the bandages of his left arm in place.

Just do it.

His fingers work to unfasten the pin—he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. That this is you. He wears his bandages like armor, a shield to hide himself from the rest of the world, but you’ve always been exempt from the ‘rest of the world.’ You’re you, the woman he’s loved since he laid hands on the Book when he was fifteen, the only person in the world who has accepted him for all of the good and bad and-

“How could I accept any of this?”

Your words from two weeks ago ring through his head and Dazai freezes from where he’s about to unwrap the bandages. Doubt sweeps through him—fear, cold and debilitating because he really doesn’t think he can handle your rejection. Not now, not ever, especially about this.

You won’t reject him, he insists again and forces himself to continue, but instead of looking down at the scars that line his arm, deep and discolored, lumpy to the touch—gross, he thinks again, ugly—he looks at you. You’re still staring ahead, oblivious to his rising anxiety and Dazai uses it as motivation to keep unwinding the bandages, letting them fall to the ground carelessly. 

First, his arms, then the bandages around his calves and thighs, his abdomen and chest, and finally his neck—he grimaces as his fingers graze the rough scar that circles his neck, one of the more prominent ones that mar his body, a reminder of his near-successful attempt at fifteen after he first got his hands on the Book and couldn’t cope with all of the knowledge of the different universes. With the knowledge of Odasaku. With the knowledge of you. He was fifteen. Lonely. In the worst mental state of his life, desperately searching for a reason to live and only finding more and more reasons why he should die. He’d found out he was just as isolated from the world in every other life as he was in this one, just as empty—and that the only people who could fill the gaping hole in his chest died because of him in every other universe. 

He was fifteen. It had been too much.

It’s still too much.

His gaze tracks down to the floor again, a heavy feeling settling over him. He’s second-guessing himself again, he’s feeling guilty again. He’s tired.

He’s so tired.

When he moves forward to join you in the tub, he’s hardly present; his body is moving on autopilot and it’s only when his toes dip into the hot water—a few degrees short of his liking, but the perfect temperature for you—that he’s finally drawn back to reality. He’s already in motion, so he can’t stop himself from joining you in the tub, but he is very hyper-aware now of the scars on his body, making an active effort to not let them brush your skin so as to not draw attention to them.

Luckily, his tub is large enough that you can sit comfortably between his legs without being too squeezed between them, so the deep scars that are littered across his inner thighs are not necessarily pressed against your outer thighs. But… the scars on his chest and abdomen are not as easy to evade, nor are the ones that line his wrists. His fingers brush your shoulder from where he was about to pull you back to lay against him and wrap his arms around you, eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s no way you won’t notice them when you lay back.

The largest scar that mars his body runs from his shoulder to his opposite hip—he doesn’t remember how he obtained it. It was from before he found himself in Mori’s hands, and everything before his time with the Port Mafia is vague and blurry, if not entirely blank. Either way, it’s deep and ridged, discolored. Gross. And there’s no way for you to lay against him without feeling it rough against your skin.

He barely withholds the sigh that nearly escapes his lips, but he forces himself to close his fingers around your shoulder to pull you into him. He reminds himself that your comfort comes before his insecurity, you’ve put your own wellbeing to the side for him so many times before—it should not be so hard for him to do it once for you.

For better or for worse, you don’t react when your back lays flush against his chest. For better because you didn’t have an adverse reaction to feeling the worst of his scars against your bare skin. For worse because he thinks it might only be because you’re still half spiraling into a dissociative state. He presses his lips against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your body, and instantly he flinches because he realizes that he’s just rubbed the scars on his forearms right against you and that has seemed to catch your attention. For better or for worse.

He’s frozen when he feels you shift against him, head turning down toward where his arm is tucked against you. He’s angled it so that you can’t see them, hidden in the water and against your skin, but you’re undeterred and Dazai can hardly bring himself to breathe when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, gently easing his arm off of you to cradle it between your hands like it’s something fragile, turning over so you can look at scars that litter his skin.

He can’t see your face. A part of him is glad, still plagued with the terrible fear that you’re going to see the scars and be disgusted, but the larger part of him wants to know, wants to see you, wants to-

His breath hitches when you bring one finger to his skin. Soft, gentle, you trace your finger across the ridged lines. Dazai’s lips part to speak, he has the distinct urge to say something, to explain even though you haven’t spoken a word, but he doesn’t know how to explain the emptiness that has plagued him ever since he was a child, that only became even more exacerbated once he made contact with the Book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he was so desperate to feel something that he resorted to this to distract himself from the void. He doesn’t know how to explain that the only reason he never actually killed himself was because he knew he had to survive to ensure you and Odasaku’s survival in this universe. 

But he doesn’t have to speak, because all of the air in his lungs whooshes right out of them when he feels you lift his arm up out of the water to your face—you brush your lips against the pulse point on his wrist before settling back against him, wrapping his arm back around you and covering his hands with your own. 

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly feel wet—it was a simple action, short and sweet, you didn’t even say anything, and he doesn’t know why it affects him the way it does. He should have expected this, right? You’ve never looked at his scars and found them off-putting, you’ve always accepted him for how he is but-

“How could I accept any of this?”

“No amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily.”

Again, your words shatter his thoughts and Dazai has to force himself not to physically react. As if you can sense his distress, you shift in his arms a bit to tilt your head back to ghost your lips against his jawline before settling back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His arms tighten around you, heart steadying in pace to match yours. He rests forehead against the top of your head, shivering when he feels you nuzzle your face into his skin, nose brushing the wretched scar that mars his neck.

“Osamu,” you finally say, voice soft. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “What I said the night of the event…”

Dazai’s throat spasms. He swallows thickly and tries to play off your words with another soft hum and a brush of his lips against your temple. He’s careful to keep his voice light as he speaks. “You had every right to be upset, I-”

“I… have had a lot of time to think the past two weeks.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence and Dazai is suddenly frozen, no air gets to his lungs as he waits for you to speak. “What I said that night… it doesn’t reflect how I actually feel. I said them in the heat of the moment.”

“… Yeah?” Dazai’s voice is too raspy, too quiet, the vulnerability in the single word is so palpable that it almost makes him want to curl in on himself. Without his bandages, without his masks, he feels as if he’s been stripped bare to his core, his rotted heart laying in your gentle hands, thumping erratically as he awaits your judgment.

“The past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been since my brother left,” you admit, lacing your fingers with his. “No matter what happens, I wouldn’t give this up for anything. If I could go back in time and redo all of this, I’d still choose to meet you that night at the club, and every time after that.”

He’s grateful that you’re not looking up at him now. He stares ahead at the wall blankly, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. His chest is warm, breath a bit shaky, and he thinks he might be holding you too tightly but you don’t complain.

“Nothing will happen,” Dazai promises you, voice cracking. “Nothing.”

“I know,” you say quietly, and he can feel the small smile on your lips as you kiss his neck gently, right over his scar. “I trust you.”

“I’m so nervous,” you laugh as you smooth out the dress shirt you’re wearing. Dazai watches as you keep glancing at yourself through the window of the elevator leading down to the first floor. He smiles to himself as he leans against the wall, observing you. “Are you sure I look okay? I don’t even know what the dress code is for this thing, they didn’t say in the email. What if people are just wearing jeans? I’ll look dumb all dressed up.”

“You look beautiful,” Dazai murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You worry too much.”

“I’m not the best at making friends,” you say, voice quick and riddled with anxiety. Dazai raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up because he thinks that might be the silliest thing he’s ever heard you say. “I hope I can at least find a few people to talk to. I hate going to events where I don’t know anyone. I wish you could come with me. What if they all hate me?”

Dazai has an answer to that question, but he doesn’t think you’ll like it, so instead he hums softly, fingers brushing your cheek and smiling lightly to himself as you lean into his touch. “I wish I could come with you too. If only to make sure you don’t forget about me when you find yourself surrounded by all your new friends.”

Dazai wishes that he could tell you that you’re worrying over nothing. That in every other universe, you were quite literally the center of your class. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, Dazai sometimes struggled to get you away from people because you always had someone wanting to grab coffee with you. Struggled even more to understand why you wanted him when you could have any man of your choice. But he can’t say that, and he’s definitely not going to be pleased if he suddenly loses all of his time with you to a bunch of undeserving nobodies, so he resigns himself to just making you feel better.

“Dazai Osamu,” you giggle as you turn your attention toward him. “Nothing in this world would ever make me forget you.”

Dazai’s cheeks heat up, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze from you. You grin at him and hook your arms around his waist, tilting your head up to look at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, letting out a pleased sigh against your lips when he feels you kiss him back, smiling against him.

You’ve been better the past few days, a bit more excited over starting school, spent all of yesterday trying on new clothes for him to pick out something to wear for today. Dazai, on the other hand, has been a nervous wreck, although he’s been doing his best to ensure you don’t realize that. 

Everything has been put in place—Chuuya should be waiting at the train station already, Albatross will be driving you there, the Black Lizards are going to escort you into Tokyo, and Mishima offered to have his men do sweeps of the streets to scope out for any enemies before your arrival. As long as everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. The riskiest part will be the train station with how busy it is, it’ll be easy for you to get separated from your escorts, but so long as Chuuya gets to you, no one will be able to touch you.

“Everything will be fine,” he unintentionally says out loud as he separates his lips from yours to kiss your forehead.

You look up at him, eyes searching his face for something, and he prays you can’t see his growing anxiety. Finally, you say without any doubt, “I know.”

Dazai lets out a soft breath as his eyes slide shut, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his as the elevator comes to a stop at the first floor. He leads you out of the elevator and across the vast lobby, various lower-ranked members still linger around the room, but much less than there usually is considering he’s sent almost all of them out to ensure everything goes according to plan. For a moment, Dazai’s head throbs painfully—there are so many variables. He starts to question his decision of making this such a large operation but he knows that this is the only way. 

He knows Dostoevsky. He knows that he’ll leap onto this opportunity. Keeping this a small, secret operation would do more harm than help when Dazai is sure that Dostoevsky is about to use the full force of the Three Deaths, the Pale Flame and the House of the Dead to make his move. He’d be shooting himself in the foot if he didn’t use all of his available resources to keep you safe.

“Can I ask a silly question?” you suddenly ask, playing with his fingers as the two of you walk across the lobby.

“Ask away,” he says.

“Do you think there are other universes out there?”

Dazai almost laughs, but he refrains. “I do,” he agrees, and then smiles a bit to himself, repeating words spoken to another him by a different you, a joke only he’s privy to. “String theory, multiverse. I think the world’s a lot bigger than just ours.”

“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, a soft expression on your face. “Do you think we’re together in all of them?” 

This time Dazai does laugh, squeezing your hand gently when you jolt in surprise, giving him a dirty look. “I’m sure of it,” he says, trying to push away the smile that keeps threatening to rise to his lips. 

Your smile softens at the edges, gaze averting from him, but before he can ask what’s wrong, you ask: “Do you think there’s maybe one where things aren’t so hard?”

Dazai suddenly has no inclination to laugh, smile falling and throat swelling. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to.

Kouyou and Piano Man are waiting at the entrance of the building, both having remained behind to guard him while most of the Mafia’s other forces are elsewhere. Kouyou doesn’t look pleased, Dazai can see it in the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are tight, but Piano Man still has the same easygoing expression on his face that he always has, gaze focused on you.

“Lippmann told me to pass along his regards,” Piano Man sighs. “He’s been lamenting all morning not being able to be here himself to send you off. The struggles of celebrity life, I suppose.”

You laugh. Dazai can tell from the way your lashes flutter that you’re flustered by the comment. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s only orientation. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“It’s exciting though,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “We never have normal things to be excited about around here. It’s only ever bloodbath after bloodbath. It’s a nice change of pace.”

Dazai’s smile tightens and thins, eye twitching at Piano Man’s blase reminder of their occupation, noticing how you cringe a bit. Piano Man catches wind of Dazai’s irritation and his casual smile widens a bit.

“Sorry,” Piano Man hums, sounding not at all sorry and entirely amused. “But honestly, if you think this is bad, wait until your graduation. Iceman didn’t let any of us attend his kid sister’s graduation, we’ve all been dying to see what one’s like. I’m sure Lippmann and Albatross are already plotting out some type of party.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you complain, but you look a bit giddy and Dazai can’t help but let his gaze linger on your soft smile, one rising to his own lips as he observes you. “It’s so far out. It’s a three year program.”

“I think they plan on making it the grandest event of the year, so it’s never too early to start planning,” Piano Man says easily, tossing you a wink before focusing his gaze on Dazai. “Speaking of Iceman, he’s on the way back now. Should be back in Yokohama in the next hour or so. Are you going to deign us with the reasoning as to why he’s been called back so abruptly?”

“Nope,” Dazai says dismissively, letting go of your hand to press his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of the building and toward the sleek, black car waiting for you.

Albatross instantly is rolling down the window, grinning wildly. “There ya are, doll. C’mon, let’s get out of here. We gotta make it to the train in ten.”

You suddenly look a bit nervous, turning back to look at Dazai as Tachihara steps out of the car and holds the door open for you to slide in the middle seat between him and Hirotsu. Dazai tilts his head, questioning as he lifts his hands to cup your cheeks gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. “I just wish you could come.”

Dazai leans in to kiss your forehead one last time, hands settling on your hips, ignoring all of the gazes of his subordinates watching the two of you. “I know, I do too.”

Dazai thinks that the next six hours are going to be the worst of his life, only able to sit back in the meeting room with Kouyou and Piano Man and watch the CCTV, unable to do anything if something happens to go wrong.

“Stay with Hirotsu and Tachihara,” he finally tells you, voice taking a more serious tone. “They’ll stick with you the whole time. Chuuya is at the station already, went early to scope things out, he’s going to meet you there.”

“Mkay,” you agree, giving him one last long look before making your way into the car.

Tachihara nods deeply at Dazai before entering the car and shutting it behind him. Dazai feels a weight on his chest as soon as you’re out of sight, and he stands there waiting for the car to pull off.

It doesn’t.

After a few moments, the window rolls down, and Dazai watches fondly as you lean over Tachihara to prop yourself outside of it.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, leaning out the window of the car with a soft smile. For the first time in weeks, you look alive. Your eyes are shining, your lips curved upward, and Dazai falls in love with you all over again. The smile on your lips takes a more teasing edge as you push yourself out the window a bit more to grab his tie and drag him closer so you can brush your lips against his and whisper, “I love you.”

Dazai’s eyes shoot open, lips parting to speak but no words leave them, your words leave him caught off guard and dizzy, hardly even registering in his head. You let out a giggle and before he can even think of formulating a response, you let yourself fall back into the car, urging Albatross to start driving already. 

“To think I’d ever see the day that the infamous Demon Prodigy is ever rendered lovesick,” Kouyou hums, fanning herself as she watches Dazai curiously. “You’re actually happy now, aren’t you?” 

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Piano Man sighs. “Now, we don’t have to worry about being shot in the head if he has a sudden mood swing.”

Dazai looks to the side to give Piano Man a look so withering that it has him instantly giggling to himself.

“Or maybe we do,” he sings, retracting his words. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s gross out today.”

Piano Man instantly starts making his way back into the building. Dazai sighs as he casts one last long look to where the car is disappearing around the bend in the direction of the train station, gaze lingering before he turns his attention back to Kouyou, who’s still watching him with a contemplative look. Dazai is suddenly reminded of her late lover, who the old boss had killed after Kouyou tried to escape with him, and Dazai wonders if she’s feeling bitter.

As if she can hear his train of thought, she shakes her head and says, “I’m glad you’ve found someone, boy.” Then hesitates before adding, “For all of our sakes, I hope it lasts.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he frowns and turns to make his way inside, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s freezing midstep, the sound of a familiar engine roaring down the street in the direction of the main tower reaching his ears. At once, everything tunnels around him, vision blurring and body stiffening. He can’t even bring himself to turn around. Distantly, he hears Kouyou asking him what’s wrong, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He swears that his bones creak and ache as he physically forces himself to look over his shoulder, unfocused vision falling upon a familiar head of fiery red hair skidding to a stop in front of the building. Chuuya doesn’t even bother to turn his motorcycle off or prop it up, it thuds hard against the ground, metal screeching against the pavement as he rushes toward them.

“Chuuya,” Kouyou asks, as confused and caught off guard as Dazai feels. “What are you-”

“Get him inside,” Chuuya shouts. “Get him inside now.”

“Why are you here?” Dazai speaks the words so quietly that he doesn’t think anybody hears him. He feels Kouyou grab his wrist, Chuuya reaches them and pushes Dazai from behind, but their touches only feel like faint tingles. His chest suddenly feels cold, numbness spreading from his core to his limbs. “Why are you here?”

“Tolstoy just blew up our main port, Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, and just before Dazai’s shoved into the safety of the building, a bullet whizzes past his head, lodging into the sign behind him. Only a graze, but it stings, and Dazai can feel the blood seeping through the bandages of his left eye, sticky and uncomfortable. “This is happening now. I thought I could make it before they left. All cell lines are fucking down. That rat bastard Dostoevsky did something.”

No, Dazai thinks, head twisting to the side to look back toward the road you disappeared down with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu, but before he can even force any words from his lips, he’s pushed into the building, listening as Chuuya gives sharp orders to immediately lock it down.

Dazai shakes his spinning head, body on autopilot as he’s ushered to the elevator and up to the most protected floor of the building. He tells himself to think, that now is not the time for him to start slipping up, for him to freeze. You’re out there—in danger—he has to think, he can’t afford to make a single mistake. 

“You have to go. Chuuya, you’re supposed to be at the station,” Dazai says, finally focusing his attention on the one person who is not supposed to be here. The one person he trusted to protect you. 

“You’ve sent three quarters of our forces out on a protection detail for her. She’ll be fine,” Chuuya spits, eyes wild as he turns to face Dazai. “You’re here in this building alone with a handful of men, Ane-san and Piano Man. You’re the one in danger right now. I told you—your head is mine to take one day. I’m not fuckin’ letting you go off and get yourself killed because you’re hyper-focused on your girl.”

“Get to the train station,” Dazai repeats, voice low and cold and entirely too steady compared to the way his mind is falling apart.

It’s happening.

It’s happening.

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew this was coming. He knew Dostoevsky would take this opportunity to make his move, that’s why he had everything planned so carefully. That’s why he sent everyone out. That’s why Chuuya was supposed to be with you, because Dazai isn’t Dostoevsky’s target. He never is. You are.

Chuuya ignores him, stepping into the executive meeting room. Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. Fear begins spreading through him, cold and debilitating. The mindkiller. He needs to focus, he can’t let himself freeze up. Not now.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says. “That’s a direct order. Go back to the train station now.”

At that, Chuuya finally turns a furious look into him. “Me not being there isn’t going to make a difference. Me not being here might. You’re all but fucking defenseless and Tolstoy and Nabokov are coming now. We don’t have time to argue about this. Hirotsu and Tachihara, Atsushi and Kyouka, all of the fuckin’ Black Lizards—they’re all with her or at the train station, she’ll be fine.”

If Dazai was any less riddled with fear and rage, he might laugh or maybe even cry, or both—he feels close to hysterics, really—because of course now, of all times, is when Chuuya decides to grow a fucking brain for himself. 

“And if you’re wrong?” Dazai doesn’t even want to speak those words, but Chuuya leaves him no choice. “If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master? What then, Chuuya?”

Chuuya all but snarls at him, taking a step forward, but before he can say anything else, Kouyou clears her throat.

“Boys,” she calls quietly, eyes trained on one of the screens streaming the city’s CCTV feeds

Dazai follows her gaze.

On the top left corner of the wall of screens, one of the live footage is flooded with static—gray, shifting into a deep purple before a familiar symbol flashes onto it. The coldness in his chest spreads so quickly that Dazai almost shivers, dread anchoring his feet to the ground.

Dazai doesn’t have to look at the screen to know what’s coming next. 

Oda Sakunosuke is a patient man.

He is. He really is. It’s just that Ranpo Edogawa enjoys testing the boundaries of said patience. He bites back another sigh, watching as the man—man, he questions—complains loudly about an ‘entitled mother’ who had the nerve to ask for his candy to calm her upset child down. Oda has half a mind to step away out of embarrassment, acutely aware of all of the eyes on them, but he knows that if he steps away even for a second, Ranpo is going to find himself lost and then Oda is going to have to track him down again.

Oda sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head up to look at the ceiling, listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, signaling the arrival of the next train. Two minutes until it pulls into the station, an hour to get to Tokyo—gives him plenty of time to go back over the files for the mission. Should be a quick in-and-out case, probably won’t even have to stay the night in the city; a string of ability-user murders in Tokyo that have the TMPD in shambles trying to figure out, so they reached out to the Agency to come take care of it.

Oda doubts it’ll take more than half a minute for Ranpo to put the pieces together once given the known evidence by the TMPD, but the issue will be actually getting the ability user in custody. From what Ranpo theorizes, he has some type of invisibility ability that makes him slippery. 

With Oda there, it’ll be an easy grab—with his ability, speed and reflexes, few people can outmaneuver him—but it’s just a matter of when he decides to show himself.

Oda frowns when he notices that Ranpo suddenly stopped rambling, gaze cutting to make sure that he didn’t wander off again, but he’s hardly able to turn his head halfway to the side before his ability is activated. Everything blurs out around him, watching as a girl a few years younger than him—panicked and not looking where she’s going—crashes right into Oda while he’s already off-balanced reaching for Ranpo, sending the both of them hurdling over the edge of the platform and into the tracks just as the bullet train comes barreling into the station.

Oda’s jaw tightens as he’s flung back into reality, surroundings reappearing. His head snaps over to where the girl had appeared from and he catches sight of you just as you’re about to throw yourself out of the crowd, eyes wild and anxious. He watches you trip, hands darting out to steady you before you crash into him; you look up at him, eyes wide and a bit starstruck, lips parting to speak but no words leave them.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice a low monotone as he helps you stand back up straight on your own feet. His head tilts to the side curiously as he watches the way you stand a bit closer to him, eyes peering around as if you’re reaching for someone. “Hm?”

��Oh!” you suddenly say, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. Sorry. That was so rude of me. I… got separated from my friends. It’s really busy today, isn’t it? It’s not usually so busy.”

Oda hums, looking around curiously. It is a bit busier than it usually is—Friday trains are usually busy, but midday like this, people are usually at work. The late night trains are the ones typically packed and impossible to get on, people leaving from work and traveling for the weekend. Today’s not a holiday either, as far as he’s aware.

“It is, isn’t it?” Oda says, scanning the crowd once more before letting his gaze settle back on you. “You look rattled, is everything okay?”

Your smile wavers at the edges, and Oda frowns, eyes trailing over to Ranpo, who’s already frowning, green eyes squinted and trained on you.

“I’m just… not used to traveling alone! I’m nervous,” you answer, a blatant lie, but you don’t seem like a threat. In fact, you seem more scared than anything else. “I want to find my friends.”

“Is someone bothering you?” Oda asks carefully.

You hesitate, smile straining. Your eyes flicker around again, seeking someone out and Oda can see the despair in them when you don’t find whoever you’re looking for. 

“I’m okay,” you say finally, nodding. “I’m trying to get to Tokyo. I have orientation today for grad school. I don’t like traveling alone.”

Oda tilts his head to the side, he takes a step closer to Ranpo than you as an experiment, watching as you immediately match his step, sticking close to him as you continue seeking out your ‘friends.’ You don’t seem like a threat, and his ability has yet to be triggered, but it wouldn’t be the first time underground organizations use civilians as decoys to set up traps for the Agency. He spares another look at Ranpo, knowing the man must’ve figured out whatever is going on, only to find him staring at you with a tight jaw and an uneasy expression.

“What school are you attending?” Oda asks in an attempt to calm your nerves and hopefully get some answers out of you. 

You look at him, a bit more clarity in your eyes and smile more steady as you say. “Waseda,” you say, brighter now, more relaxed. “Their school of political science.”

“You tryna go into politics?” Oda asks curiously.

You nod. “One day, hopefully,” you say with an easy smile before giving him your name. “What’s your name?”

“Oda Sakunosuke,” he greets. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re heading to Tokyo too?” you ask curiously, and Oda doesn’t sense any ill intent behind the question so he answers.

“Yes,” he says. “Going there for work.” 

“Oh? What do you do for work?”

Oda pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully on the off-chance this is some sort of setup, before saying: “I’m trying to write a novel.”

You light up. “Really?” you ask, delighted. “That’s so impressive, what about?”

“… Humans. The human experience,” Oda answers, glancing back at Ranpo again with furrowed brows, but the man hardly budges, gaze pinned on you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, the smile on your lips becomes a bit teasing. Oda finds his own lips twitching up in amusement. “What’s your take on the human experience then, Oda Sakunosuke? Will your story have a happy ending?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells you honestly, and then tilts his head to the side and asks curiously, “How would you end it?”

You click your tongue as if to chide him. “Shame on you, Oda Sakunosuke, trying to poach ideas from broke grad students,” you say, voice taking a dramatic lilt, but there’s a light to your eyes that hadn’t been there before, so Oda thinks his plan at least partially worked.

“Almost grad students,” Oda corrects, matching your tone as he lets his eyes drift around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly had you so frightened before running into him. “Take pity on an old man plagued with writer’s block, won’t you?”

“I suppose I can grace you with my boundless wisdom,” you quip, and Oda snorts to himself, eyes drifting back down to you as you grin up at him. After a few moments, your smile falls a bit. “I think a happy ending is nice to imagine… We like to indulge in such fantasies because real life is never so easy. I think if you’re going for an accurate telling of the human experience, a bittersweet ending would be more realistic.”

“Bittersweet?” Oda questions.

“Bittersweet,” you agree. “I think many people die content, or even happy… I don’t think many people die without regrets. So, I think a story on an accurate telling of the human experience should have a bittersweet ending to reflect that.”

“Hm,” Oda hums, considering you in a new light now, the way your eyes are a bit sadder, the smile on your lips soft on the edges. He finds himself far more into this conversation than he expected to be, so absorbed that he hardly even realized that the train has finally pulled into the station. “What about you, then? Do you think you’ll die with regrets?”

“Who’s to say?” You shrug with another bright smile. “I think if I were to die right now, I’d die with one regret. But I’d be happy.”

“Only one?”

“Only one,” you confirm. “I… wish I’d met someone sooner. That’s all. What about you, Oda Sakunosuke? If you died right now, would you die with regrets?”

“Countless,” Oda says quietly. “... But I think I would also be happy.”

“See.” You wink. “Bittersweet.”

Oda’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile, lips parting to speak, but suddenly someone is calling your name frantically, loudly from across the train platform. You light up, head twisting in that direction and Oda follows your gaze to where a young man with short orange hair is waving his hand, perched up on a garbage can, looking around for you.

“That’s one of my friends,” you say, looking relieved. “I’m going to head over to him. It was nice meeting you, Oda Sakunosuke.”

“Nice meeting you too,” he replies.

You toss him another wide smile before turning to leave, but before you can even take the first step, Ranpo finally moves, fingers curling around your wrist to stop you in place. Oda looks down at him, alarmed, and you look back, surprised.

“You should… be careful,” Ranpo tells you, more serious than Oda has ever seen him before, and Oda feels a sinking feeling in his gut as Ranpo lets go of your wrist.

You look a bit disturbed, but you nod. “I-I will. Thank you.”

“What was that?” Oda asks, voice low and concerned as he looks down at Ranpo, whose brows are still furrowed. He still looks uncertain, and Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ranpo Edogawa uncertain before.

Dread weighs heavily on Oda’s chest, his gaze turns back to where you’ve started to quickly make your way across the platform along the yellow line in the direction of your friend, who has finally caught sight of you and is rushing toward you, looking too panicked for someone who’d just found someone they lost.

“Something is wrong,” Oda murmurs more to himself than Ranpo, and at once, he activates his ability.

The world slows and grays out around him, but his gaze remains focused on you. He watches. 

One second passes, you take another step forward, your friend is still too far away. 

Another second passes, another step forward. 

A third second, and something is shimmering right next to you, a gold circle to your left, swirling with patterns—an ability.

A fourth second passes, and you turn, eyes wide and fear painted on your face as a gloved hand darts from the circle and wraps around your wrist; your friend reaches down to his waistband, revealing the gun strapped to his side. 

A fifth second passes, and you’re gone. 

His ability fades away, leaving him back reeling in reality, ready to act on what he’d seen. He rushes forward, heart racing in his chest, and he can hear Ranpo giving chase after him.

One second passes—you’re still too far away, you’ve made it across half of the platform already, Oda knows he won’t get to you in time, but he tries anyway.

Another second passes—Ranpo is yelling for him, Oda ignores him. 

A third second passes—the swirling gold circle appears to your left, and Oda knows that it’s too late.

Oda Sakunosuke is fast, but this time, he is not fast enough.

Chuuya knows that this is his fault.

The sickening scene taking place on the screens set up in the executive meeting room has his stomach turning inside out. He has to manually force himself to breathe, slow and steady, because if he doesn’t, he won’t get any air to his lungs. Next to him, Kouyou stands stiffly, gaze trained on the damning video and on his other side, Piano Man looks resigned, head turned to the side, attention focused on the blacked out windows looking over the city. 

Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s expression from where he’s standing, and he’s glad for it. 

You’re sitting at a table with Dostoevsky. It’s a small, square table in an equally small, unassuming room. Tiled walls, a thick steel door, no windows—it’s an abandoned office room down in the lower floors of the metro, emptied out besides the table, two seats, and you and Dostoevsky.

A small room. Unassuming. Enclosed and suffocatingly confined. Cold and damp. There is no sun, no warmth, and no life.

Not a place where anyone should die, much less someone as bright as you.

“Ah, there we go!” Dostoevsky smiles as if this is all some big game to him and Chuuya’s temper spikes, blood simmering in his veins and eye twitching as he glares at the Russian. “The cameras should now be connected.”

Chuuya did not hold you in high regard for a long time. He thought you were a pretty face, but more than that, you were a distraction. You showed up one day and suddenly Dazai couldn’t focus on anything but you. He evaded important meetings, and the ones that he attended were spent either zoning out or tapping away at his phone talking to you. It left Chuuya as the one to pick up the slack, so yeah, he certainly did not hold you in high regard, and he’s not entirely sure when it began to change.

Or, maybe that’s a lie.

He thinks back to the day he ran into you coming out of the elevator, when you dragged him around half of the city looking for a very particular brand of white chocolate for whatever sugary concoction you wanted to make Dazai; and the way you pouted and begged and pleaded with him to try some when you make it for Dazai to the point that he wanted to agree, if Dazai wouldn’t have tried to blow his head off for intruding on his time with you. 

He thinks that’s when his view on you started to shift, because it’s not often that Chuuya is treated like an actual human being, a twenty-two year old with a love for fine wine and music, instead of the mafia executive he is, a weapon of war that can bring down nations. As irritated as he was having to take time out of his day to babysit Dazai’s new plaything, he found you made for good conversation and that it was nice talking about things other than missions, politics and violence. 

You like talking about music with him and you ramble a lot about conspiracy theories and history—he thinks he’s learned more about the classical era of Europe and the Sengoku period the past few weeks joining you on outings than he’s learned in his entire life. Chuuya thinks you might be the first real friend he’s made since the Flags. You have more life in you than anyone Chuuya has ever met before, and Chuuya thinks it’s fucking sick that you’ll be drained of it by the likes of a soulless bastard like Dostoevsky. 

Chuuya also thinks, again, that this is entirely his fault.

“I had a nice talk with your lover, Dazai,” Dostoevsky says with a facetious smile. “She’s quite enchanting. It’s a shame that she ended up with the likes of you.”

Chuuya thought he’d be able to make it in time. He really thought he did. He thought he’d be fast enough to get back before you took off with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu; he thought he’d be able to drag you with him and Dazai, lock the two of you up in the most well-protected room in the headquarters to wait out the assault of Dostoevsky’s tripartite alliance; he can still hear the gunfire now as they bombard the lower floors of the building. Chuuya should be down there helping his subordinates but he can’t bring himself to move, staring at what his decision had caused with a heavy heart and more guilt than his mind can come to terms with. It was never his intention to leave you out there to die. 

He wouldn’t do that to you.

He wouldn’t do that to Dazai. No matter how much he can’t stand the asshole, he wouldn’t fucking do that.

“I have offered a deal to her, Dazai,” Dostoevsky muses, head tilted to the side as he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, thin fingers wrapped neatly around your wrist. “A fair exchange. But I leave it in her hands, not yours. Either way, I will get what I want.”

How the hell does that work? 

Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, gaze flickering over to Kouyou, who stares at the screen with a tight expression, brows drawn together and lips cut downward. He can hardly bring himself to look at Dazai, but he forces himself to shift to the side, looking down to where Dazai is sitting in front of the wall of screens, eyes trained on where you’re sitting with Dostoevsky.

Dazai’s expression is eerily blank, more so than Chuuya has ever seen it before. It makes his throat swell, the air to his lungs catching in his windpipe. He’s seen Dazai distraught before—the night on the roof years ago when he was drunk and screaming at Chuuya to just let him jump. He’s seen Dazai upset before—a few months after his sixteenth birthday, before the Dragon’s Head Conflict commenced, when he returned to headquarters with an expression so haunted that Chuuya didn’t dare utter a single snarky word to him.

He’s never seen him like this before. Visible eye entirely void of life as if whatever part of him that had been reanimated by your arrival in his life has been killed off. As if he knows exactly what’s about to happen, as if he knows there’s no stopping it. But Chuuya can see the way the corner of Dazai is pinched, the way his face, while blank, is hard, and Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know exactly what that means: that if there’s any chance of preventing this, Dazai is going to do whatever it takes.

“Fair exchange is a funny way of saying I’ll die either way,” you say softly. Your voice is bitter; you’re not looking at Dostoevsky or the camera, instead your gaze is set on the wall next to you, an unreadable expression on your face. 

Dostoevsky turns his attention back to you, eyes curious. “I am no liar, I gave you my word that you’ll leave this room alive, myshka,” Dostoevsky hums, lips curved up into an entertained smile. Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Go on and tell Dazai what I ask for in exchange… I am quite curious to see how far he’s willing to go for you.”

How far? 

Even Chuuya knows the answer to that, and from the expression on Dostoevsky’s face, he must know the answer too.

Ah, Chuuya realizes, his own question now answered. How does that work? Dostoevsky tells you the deal, and you have to make the decision of whether or not to tell Dazai. If you tell Dazai, there’s no lengths he wouldn’t go to fulfill Dostoevsky’s demands if it means saving you. And Chuuya suddenly understands why Kouyou looks so grave, because there’s only one thing Dostoevsky wants: Yokohama and the Port Mafia out of his way. Dazai out of the way. 

Dazai would hand it all to him on a silver platter if it meant saving your life. Yokohama. The Port Mafia. He’d let Dostoevsky put a bullet through his head if it meant you’d get to live.

“Dazai,” Kouyou begins, and her voice wavers. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouyou’s voice waver in the seven years he’s known her. “You cannot-”

Kouyou doesn’t finish her sentence. Doesn’t need to. They all know what she’s going to say, and Chuuya doubts that Dazai is listening anyway. He looks at Kouyou from the corner of his eye and she meets his gaze, a heavy expression on her face.

“You gave me your word that I’d leave this room alive. What happens when I step outside?” you ask with a sigh, looking back over to meet Dostoevsky’s eyes. “You’ll get what you want from Dazai and kill me anyway.”

You look tired and Chuuya’s stomach weighs down with guilt again. God, what the fuck has he done? You were on your way to your fucking grad school orientation and Chuuya signed your goddamn death warrant. You had so much ahead of you. You never belonged in this shitty world, and an instinctual part of Chuuya wants to curse Dazai for it, for dragging you into this and putting you into this situation.

But even as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it away, because how the fuck is he supposed to condemn Dazai for clinging to the only damn thing that makes him happy as if Chuuya doesn’t do the same? His gaze turns back down to Dazai, frowning when he sees that he’s no longer staring at the screen intently. He’s leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen but his eyes are glazed over, as if he’s not fully present.

As if he’s given up.

“So meticulous,” Dostoevsky murmurs, he reaches to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The noise that Chuuya lets out is close to a snarl when he sees the way your lips tighten in disgust as you turn your face away from him only for him to pinch your chin between his fingers to force you to look at him. He glances down at Dazai, only to find that he’s hardly even reacted to what’s happening. “You are very intelligent… I would have loved to have a woman like you at my side.”

“People like you are fated to be alone, Fyodor Dostoevsky,” you reply, lips curved down as you stare at him. “What a terrible fate. I’d always prefer a short and fulfilling life than a long and solitary one.”

Your gaze draws back up to the camera as if you’re desperately trying to convey something to Dazai: I don’t regret this. If I had the choice, I’d do it all the same.

Chuuya doesn’t even think Dazai can understand it in the state he’s in.

Chuuya’s stomach twists and turns, he has to take a step away, breathing in a shuddered breath as he pulls his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and the black coffee he’d downed before heading over to the train station is threatening to come right up his throat.

And if you’re wrong? 

Dostoevsky’s hand drops from your face, but his other remains wrapped around your wrist. He smiles as if telling a joke that only he understands. “Maybe in another universe you and I can work together.”

Dazai jolts at the words and Chuuya looks at him again, watching the way he draws in a sharp, shuddered breath. Chuuya’s lips part. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or force himself to breathe, but his eyes land on Dazai just as the man finally breaks.

If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master?

It’s brief. His expression crumbles and he quietly wheezes for air, hand flying to his chest as if trying to claw his own heart out, as if his brain has only finally registered what was happening. Kouyou and Piano Man are too focused on you and Dostoevsky to notice, but Chuuya thinks if he stares any longer at the screen, he might fall apart. His expression smooths out again immediately after it shatters, his eye takes that distant look again, as if he’s totally separated himself from reality.

“Is that your decision then, myshka?” Dostoevsky asks, voice deceptively soft. Chuuya has to drag his eyes back to the screen, teeth grinding together when Dostoevsky’s hand leaves your wrist to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

To your credit, you don’t look scared and for a second, Chuuya doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Dazai would do anything for you, give up anything, you have to know that. All you have to do is say what Dostoevsky wants and Dazai will do it no matter the cost. The irrational part of him, the one riddled with guilt and regret, almost wants you to just say what Dostoevsky wants, tell them and maybe they can figure something out, buy enough time to get you out of there. 

(Another part of him, deep down, knows that it’s hopeless. With Dostoevsky’s hand in contact with you, your fate is sealed. No one will get there fast enough to get you away from him before he can trigger his ability.)

Chuuya realizes, a bit dully, maybe you do know that and maybe that’s exactly why you’re not saying anything. Whatever Dostoevsky wants of Dazai is not something that you can allow him to give up.

Chuuya also realizes, chest sinking, that Dazai probably knows you well enough to know this too. To know that you’d give up your life for his. He looks over at Dazai, the vacant look in his eye and the hopeless air about him. He knew this would happen the moment Chuuya showed back up on base, desperately trying to get him to go back to you.

A crash against the heavy metal door leading to the room that you and Dostoevsky are sitting in shocks Chuuya out of his thoughts, gaze snapping up as Dostoevsky lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“It appears our time is up,” Dostoevsky hums. “What a pity. I would have liked to talk with you more.”

What then, Chuuya?

Chuuya’s vision spins as Atsushi and Kyouka burst into the room you’re being held in. Atsushi, half-transformed, throws himself at you, trying to get you away from Dostoevsky. Kyouka, with her cell to her ear, commands Demon Snow to sever Dostoevsky’s hand from where he’s touching you, trying to sever the physical connection between the two of you before he can activate his ability. 

Behind Dostoevsky, a gold swirl appears, a hand reaching out to grab his arm.

For a moment, Chuuya’s chest swells with hope, breath catching as watches raptly.

And they do it. 

Dostoevsky’s expression twists as Demon Snow cuts through his elbow, severing his lower arm from the rest of his body, Atsushi’s arms wrap around you as he tackles you away from the Russian onto the ground. Dostoevsky is dragged backward into the gold swirl—Gogol, the teleportation ability—and Kyouka and Atsushi focus their attention on you.

He watches with bated breath, waiting as Atsushi fumbles to shift you into a more comfortable position. He leans forward, eyes a bit wild and nails digging into the palms of his hands.

Kyouka kneels next to Atsushi, blue eyes wide, and Atsushi’s expression crumbles as he finally turns you over in his lap. Chuuya’s breath slows, he takes a step back as he shakes his head. 

What then, Chuuya?

Blood stains the corner of your lips, eyes empty, body limp in Atsushi’s arms. No one is faster than the triggering of an ability. Chuuya knew this. How many people have tried to kill him only to be thwarted in a split second by Tainted Sorrow? Still, he had allowed the hope to claw its way up into his chest, clinging to the thinnest thread that maybe, just maybe, his decision won’t have cost you your life, and in an instant, that hope is stripped and Chuuya is forced to face the consequences of his actions. 

Next to Chuuya, Piano Man lets out a shaky breath, turning away from the screen and pacing over to the window. Kouyou makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, eyes sliding shut.

Chuuya’s eyes drag from the screen back down to Dazai. Dazai stares ahead blankly, eye so black and void of light that if Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring into the eye of a corpse. 

Dostoevsky might’ve been your executioner, but Chuuya had been the judge to impose the death sentence.

Onto you, and onto Dazai.

You thought that you would be scared of dying.

Your mind is distant and dazed as you fall backward to the ground, familiar hands wrap around one of your arms and your waist as you’re dragged away from Dostoevsky. You taste iron in your mouth, red tints the corner of your vision, you don’t feel any pain but from the way your limbs become numb and heavy, you know what’s happening.

Maybe you’re just in shock, mind unable to comprehend what’s happening, but you don’t think that’s it. You’d known what was going to happen the moment you were pulled through that ability into this room, the moment Fyodor Dostoevsky told you the only way you’d make it out of here alive is if Dazai offered his own life in exchange.

Dazai would’ve done it. You know he would have. He would’ve accepted the deal and laid his life down for yours in an instant, but you couldn’t let him do that. He’d face pushback from his executives, they might even lock him up to prevent him from following through, and then he’d have to live with the fact that he had the chance to save you but failed. 

You couldn’t force that choice on him.

Your vision blurs and tunnels, eyes fluttering shut, but your body jolts as someone flips you around, hazy gaze focusing in on someone kneeling next to you, whoever is holding you in his lap. Two vaguely familiar wide swirls of violet, gold, and blue hover above you and your surroundings start to bleed out, the white tiles of the walls around you and the two people who’d barged into the room disappear, the violets and golds and blues spread across your vision, melding into a sunrise painted across the early morning sky.

The hand on your body falls limply to the ground next to you, the tips of your fingers brushing through soft white sand. Your head tilts to the side, something warm trickling down your cheek from the corner of your eye. 

You let out a weak breath, your vision clouds red and for a second, you swear there’s a figure laying next to you—lips curved up into a small, sad smile, dark eyes soft as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Dazai wears tan instead of the black you’re used to, both eyes uncovered as admires you. You can feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, warm and familiar.

Osamu… 

You can hear the commotion around you, more people bursting into the room. You can feel your body weakening, but all you can think of is him.

Maybe in the next life.

Dazai doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know when he is. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know who he’s with. Doesn’t know who he is.

Every step he takes, every second that passes, his surroundings become more and more indecipherable. He can hear the vague sounds of Chuuya, Kouyou and Piano Man talking around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying or what’s going on. He finds himself walking but he feels like he’s trudging through slush, as if time has slowed around him and he’s trying to impossibly push through it.

“Pull yourself together,” Piano Man murmurs as Dazai mindlessly moves forward, unsure of where he’s even being led to. 

Every time his eyes slide shut, he’s faced with the image of you in that room with Dostoevsky, the sight of his fingers on your skin. He turns to look at Piano Man and for a moment, he’s lost, wondering how a dead man is standing before him. His lips part to speak but no words leave them, the black walls fade into the vaguely familiar tan and brown walls of the Agency, the coat he wears lightens and Piano Man’s face morphs into Yosano Akiko’s as she tries to snap him out of the stunned stupor he’s left in after finding your body in your apartment. He’d figured out Christie’s plot, but he’d been too late, and his mind had been entirely unable to come to terms with it. Because Dazai never fails, everyone relies on him to know what to do but-

But when it comes to you he just can’t win. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never enough. He’s never quick enough. Never smart enough. Never enough. 

“...ey, hey, boss, are you even listening?” 

Dazai blinks, gaze focusing back on Piano Man and he notices that he’s in the elevator, heading down. Chuuya and Kouyou are watching him carefully but Chuuya doesn’t meet his eyes. Dazai realizes Piano Man must have said something—asked something—but he doesn’t know what.

“We’re heading down to the first floor,” Piano Man finally says again. “The onslaught from Tolstoy and Nabakov ended-” Of course it has, Dostoevsky got what he wanted. “Albatross and-Albatross and the others are on the way back… We must be there to meet them.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. Doesn’t think he’d be able to if he wanted to. His brain is slow, still hasn’t comprehended what happened, still doesn’t entirely know where he is. The pages of the Book keep piling around him, endless and suffocating. He jumps from one reality to the rest, each time seeing the same scene in different fonts. He sees Piano Man and Kouyou exchange a look with one another but Dazai’s gaze is already pointed ahead again, staring through the reflective surface of the elevator doors.

Dazai doesn’t even recognize himself.

They still talk around him but all of the words sound muffled and faraway, like he’s underwater and they’re speaking above the surface. As Dazai stares into the doors, he swears he can almost picture you standing next to him, tucked beneath his arm and leaning into his side as the two of you wait for the elevator to reach the first floor. You smile up at him, he watches it through the reflection, heart in his throat as you lean up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw and he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips, the warmth.

But then the elevator doors slide open and the illusion of you is shattered.

Dazai’s breath shakes as he forces himself forward but he’s careful to keep his expression flat, ignoring the lines of subordinates already awaiting his arrival. They kneel as he walks past but Dazai hardly takes notice of them, eyes trained ahead.

And then-

And then Dazai sees it.

Hirotsu is holding you, your body is limp and lifeless. Dazai stops dead in his tracks. You look small in his arms and Dazai feels bile rise to the back of his throat, threatening to burst from his lips. Even from a distance, he can see the blood staining the corners of your lips and eyes, can see the way one of your arms dangle loosely from your body, can see how you’ve been entirely drained of life by Dostoevsky.

He wants to move forward, wants to pull you in his arms and shield you from all of the prying eyes around you, hates the way everyone is staring at you, wants to scream and curse the gods above who play with human lives like they’re some sort of game, who are laughing at Dazai for thinking he could get away with defying fate.

Most of all, he’s tired, and he wants to be with you.

The crowds of subordinates who’ve gathered on the lower floor of the building whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, who havent seen you around the base with him, are trying to figure out who you are. Others, who know exactly who you are to Dazai, let out low murmurs as they watch Dazai carefully, waiting for some type of reaction from him. A few, likely those who’ve spoken to you personally, lower their heads in respect.

Dazai tries to make himself take another step forward, pull you away from Hirotsu into his arms, hold you close, stop them from taking you away, but his feet are rooted to the ground.

One voice rises above the whispering crowds.

“What the fuck?”

Dazai’s gaze slides slowly to the side, watching as a vaguely familiar figure pushes to the front of the crowd, walking in the direction of you and Hirotsu. He blinks slowly, not recognizing who it is until Chuuya and Piano Man start moving toward him, both with furrowed brows and concerned words.

Ah, he realizes. Iceman.

Dazai had called him back to headquarters from abroad—but why? The cogs in his mind move slowly as he tries to remember why he brought Iceman back, why the man is having such an adverse reaction to the sight of-

To the sight of you.

Dazai’s eye shifts back to you, all of the air pushes out from his lungs when he notices the way your head has fallen to the side. Your eyes are shut but your face is tilted toward him and you look so-

You look so dead.

Everything around Dazai begins to tunnel and crumble. The buildings around him blurting into indistinct blobs and all of the crowds of his subordinates melding into the background. Iceman’s arrival, Chuuya and Piano Man trying to settle him down, it all becomes white noise as Dazai stares at you blankly.

How did this happen?

He’d-

He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d done everything to make sure you would be protected. He’d clawed his way to the position of boss, annihilated all of the Mafia’s enemies to ensure that Yokohama would be safe for you. He’d sacrificed everything, how did it still turn out like this?

The white noise, the buzz of people around him, it all slowly shifts to laughter. The sight of Hirotsu holding your body turns into Dazai—a different Dazai—hunched over your limp form screaming his throat raw in your apartment. It turns into him sprinting through knee deep water with Yosano Akiko at his heels to get to your lifeless form floating face down in the water of the same beach you met him at. It turns into Chuuya catapulting himself through the air, desperately trying to get to you as you fall because Dazai can do nothing but watch—he fails. It turns into Mori stepping out of the hospital room he was treating you in, Dazai can’t hear what he’s saying but he knows—then Mori turns into Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa into Ango, all the same grave expressions, all the same fate. 

It was never the Port Mafia’s enemies that were at fault for your death. Wasn’t Mimic or an affiliation with the Mafia, like it was for Odasaku. Wasn’t Dostoevsky. Wasn’t Christie.

It was Dazai.

Dazai is the reason you die in every universe. 

The only way for him to save you from your fate is to stay away from you, and he couldn’t even do that. The only chance for him to give you a normal life—a long life—squandered because of his own selfishness.

The laughter gets louder, more manic—they laughed at him when you stumbled into him at the bar, when he tried to stay away, when he gave in to meeting you again. They laugh louder now that things have played out exactly as they knew it would. Dazai danced along perfectly to their marionette strings, as they knew he would from the beginning.

Fate. 

Fatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefate.

The word that’s haunted him since he was fifteen years old tears apart his mind, claws open his rotted heart from the dark crevice it’s slipped into the past thirty minutes. His vision goes spotty and his head feels light. He knew better. He knew this would happen. He knew-

“That’s my sister.” Again, Iceman’s voice rises above the laughter, a broken gasp that jolts Dazai from his spiraling thoughts. “That’s my sister—what the fuck?”

Ah. Dazai suddenly remembers why he called Iceman back to headquarters. Remembers laying in bed with you a few mornings ago—you were in his arms, warm and happy and alive, and Dazai was excited, figured out the mystery that’s been plaguing him for years. He put together who your brother was, wanted to give you the chance to see him again. Wanted to do something good for you.

And now-

Iceman whirls around, eye wild and expression feral as he focuses on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya and Piano Man told him, but whatever it was has the man unhinged as he pushes Piano Man hard out of the way to throw himself at Dazai.

“What did you do?” Iceman roars. “What did you do?”

He reaches for the gun at his side, pulls it out and clicks off the safety in a split second—quick and efficient, as expected of the Port Mafia’s best assassin. Around Dazai, other members of the mafia raise their guns in defense of the boss, Dazai only distantly has the mind to raise his hand to order them to lower their weapons.

Chuuya stops Iceman before he can steady the gun at Dazai’s head and pull the trigger. He wrangles the larger man to the ground, using his ability to keep him down, yelling at him to calm the fuck down and explain himself. Iceman clearly has no intention of doing that from the way he futilely tries to throw off Chuuya and go for his gun again.

Dazai watches absently until Kouyou ushers him back into the building, not even giving Dazai the chance to hold you one last time. His chest caves in as soon as you’re out of sight, breath weak and ragged. Kouyou pinches his arm hard.

“Pull yourself together, boy,” she warns. “You cannot let them see you weak.”

Dazai wishes that Iceman had pulled the trigger.

Iceman has never been a good brother. 

He was four years old when you came into his life, and when his mother tried to introduce him to his newborn sister, he’d turned his nose up and pouted, upset at no longer being the only child. 

He was nine years old when his mother died, sacrificing herself to save a child in Motomachi Shopping Center when a drunk driver barreled down the sidewalk. When you tried to cling to him and cry, he pushed you away to mourn by himself, angry and grieving.

He was eleven years old when his father started to see his mother in you, taking out the bitterness he felt for her decision on you with cruel words and crueler hands when he would come home drunk after a long night of gambling away all of his money. A good brother would have stepped in to protect his little sister, but Iceman chose to turn a cheek and plug his ears when you would curl in bed at night and cry.

He was thirteen years old when he came home to you physically hurt for the first time, blood trickling down from a split lip as you curled in the corner of your shared room. Iceman had already started involving himself with the underworld by the point, so it only took a few sniffles and your fingers curling around his wrist for him to stay up all night, waiting for his father to fall asleep so he could press a pillow to his face, smothering him to death and leaving the two of you homeless without a dollar to your name.

He was fifteen years old when he officially joined the Port Mafia, desperate to get a roof over your head. Sixteen when he killed his second man. You never asked questions when he came home covered in blood and wounds, even though you definitely should have. He lied and told you he’d joined an underground fighting ring to try to make some money for you. You took care of him in a way that he never did for you, patching up his wounds with an easy smile and tender hands.

He was eighteen when he met the rest of the Flags after making a name for himself as one of the Mafia’s best assassins. He stopped coming around as much, spending his time at bars with the Flags, afraid that one day you’d figure out what he’s been doing for money, afraid that you would start to see him as a monster instead of the brother you still loved for whatever god forsaken reason.

He was twenty when he cut you off. After his near death experience at the hands of Verlaine, Iceman realized his life was much too dangerous to keep you in it. To provide for you and give you the life you deserve, he had to abandon his name and leave you behind, otherwise you would forever be at risk of people trying to kill you to get to him.

The best thing Iceman ever did for you as an older brother was cutting you off to let you live a long, fulfilling life away from the dark. Away from him.

And for what?

Iceman sighs as he fumbles in his pocket for another cigarette, already on his second pack of the day. He tilts his head back against the tree he’s leaning against, the muddy ground staining his pants. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, tilting his head down as a heavy feeling sweeps over him.

And for what?

It’s been two and a half weeks since he came back to Yokohama.

Two and a half weeks since your death.

Your death, the words still make him sick to his stomach, make him feel as if the world is collapsing around you. Iceman had always been sure of the two of you, he’d be the one to go first. The thought of outliving you—his little sister, the one person in the world he’d sacrifice everything to protect—was never even an option in his mind.

He’s spent just about every waking hour with you, trying to make up for the times he didn’t while you were still alive. You’d always hated the dark; he used to bitch and complain when the two of you shared a bedroom because you couldn’t sleep without a night light, and now he feels sick to his stomach thinking of you stuck out here in the dirt alone and in the dark. 

The Flags have tried to drag him away, Lippmann pleading with him to come inside and sleep and Piano Man trying to coax him back with promises of drinks and fine food, but Iceman refused to budge. Chuuya sometimes joins him, brings a nice bottle of wine, cracks it open and after three glasses, starts choking over air, apologizing and begging for forgiveness—sometimes to Iceman, sometimes in front of your headstone. 

Iceman enjoys their company—he does—but he thinks he prefers to be alone with you.

Which, unfortunately, seems to be a rare occurrence.

He sighs as he hears leaves crunching on the path leading up to your grave, gaze drawing to the side. At first, he figures it must be Chuuya dragging himself back to your grave, ready for another round of drinks and regret, but he pauses when he recognizes the long black cloak and red scarf donning the figure making his way over to your grave.

His fingers twitch down to the gun holstered down to his side, resentment and anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.

Dazai Osamu kneels in front of your grave for the first time since your death. He did not attend your funeral. Didn’t come to see you laid into the ground. Didn’t pay respects. He’s spent two and a half weeks holed up on the top floor of the centermost building of headquarters with only Chuuya and Kouyou as company. 

Iceman thinks he has some fucking nerve, being the reason that you’re six feet under and not even bothering to come see you.

His first reaction is to make himself known, rise to his feet and pull out his gun—an offense worthy of execution in the eyes of the rest of the Mafia, pulling a gun on its boss, but Iceman’s self-preservation was thrown out the window the moment he came back to headquarters to see you dead in Hirotsu’s arms and Dazai Osamu standing there like an emotionless statute as if he didn’t cause this.

But he hesitates when he sees the expression on Dazai’s face, lips trembling and visible eye glassy. Iceman doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boss in such a sorry state before—his bandages are yellowed and grimy as if he hasn’t changed them in weeks, his coat is wrinkled, scarf dirty, lips chapped and cracked. Dazai Osamu is a man that most people see as untouchable and unflappable, and even Iceman, riddled with grief and fury, can’t help but pause at the sight of him breaking.

“I thought I could stop it,” Dazai breathes out. Iceman startles a bit, irrationally thinking that the man is talking to him, but settles down when he realizes that he’s talking to you, eyes slid shut as he kneels before your headstone. “I tried so hard. I tried so hard to stop it.”

Iceman’s eyes lower at the sheer pain in Dazai’s voice, the hoarseness of grief that has his throat red and raw, has him stripped him bare to the bone. From where Iceman is sitting out of sight, he can see the way Dazai’s fingers are trembling in his lap, shoulders shaking.

“All of this was for you,” Dazai’s voice wavers as he speaks, cracking over his words. “All of it was for you-I don’t-what am I supposed to do now? Shit. What do I do? It’s all gone to waste, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have-”

The noise that escapes Dazai’s throat is more belonging of a wounded animal than of a human. He curls over at his waist, blunt nails digging into the marble of your headstone, forehead resting against the cool stone. 

Iceman squeezes his eyes shut, throat swollen, letting out a full body shiver at the sound. He forces himself to his feet, fingers enclosing around the grip of his gun, and makes his way over to where Dazai is kneeling. The man stiffens when he hears Iceman approach, straightening and tilting his head to the side to look at Iceman from the corner of his eye. His mouth dries a bit when he sees the tear streaking down Dazai’s pale skin.

“Are you here to kill me?” Dazai asks, voice raspy and throat sore. There’s a mocking edge to it that makes Iceman’s jaw click, as if Dazai is purposely trying to antagonize him. “Go on then, I left Chuuya behind. There’s no one to stop you this time.”

“You think you deserve to go see her already?” Iceman asks coldly.

He stares down at Dazai, watching as the facade cracks at Iceman’s words. The corner of Dazai’s lips twitch downward and his eye goes a bit hazy as it tracks back down to your headstone. He takes in another shuddered breath and Dazai’s shoulders finally slump over, lashes fluttering.

“I knew this would happen,” Dazai finally croaks out, voice weak and wavering. Iceman’s lips tightens at his words, flicking the safety off on his gun and pulling it from his holster. “I knew this would happen and I still sought her out.”

“Even a blind person could’ve seen how this would turn out,” Iceman spits out, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Dazai’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t react at all. A part of Iceman wonders if this is what he wants—to be put out of his misery. “This is on you.”

“I know,” Dazai says hoarsely. “... I know.”

Iceman knows that you loved Dazai Osamu for whatever fucked up reason. The same fucked up reason you probably still loved Iceman even after all of the bullshit that he did, and didn’t do, during your childhood. He forced Chuuya to get him the tape after he’d calmed down, watched the way you sat there with Dostoevsky, accepting your fate. Heard that you were given a choice, and the choice you made. He hadn’t been able to understand it at first—you’ve always been so full of life, excited for the future even at your lowest, he couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly made you so accepting of death.

So he dug further, got Piano Man and Lippmann and Albatross roped up in his schemes. Heard the way you would act with Dazai, how happy you were and how happy he was. Forced Piano Man to get him tapes from around the base; he saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you. 

You loved Dazai Osamu, and Dazai Osamu—a man that everyone had been convinced was incapable of emotion, a demon without a heart or conscious—loved you.

He takes in the dark bag beneath Dazai’s tired eye, the glassiness and lack of life within them, the sickly pallor of his skin, and the dirtiness of his clothes. His nails bleed from where he dragged them against the marble of your headstone and he can see a murky redness staining his yellowed bandages, peeking out from where his coat rode up his arm.

Iceman has not been the only one grieving you.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Dazai finally rasps out. Less of a question, more of a beg, a far cry from the cold and brutal mafia boss that Iceman has come to know, and Iceman knows that Dazai Osamu died in the same moment you did, only a walking corpse remains in his place.

Iceman scoffs, holstering his gun. “Nah,” he says. “Whatever you’re doin’ to yourself. That’s worse than death.”

“…oss. Boss.”

Dazai’s gaze drags from the photo on his desk to where Chuuya has entered his office, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever he came here to say. Chuuya hesitates and Dazai’s jaw tightens in annoyance. He’s been like this since you-

For three and a half weeks. He’s been like this for three and a half weeks. Constantly hovering, afraid to leave Dazai alone for too long. If Chuuya isn’t hovering, Kouyou is. Dazai can hardly get a moment alone and it’s becoming increasingly hard to continue the preparation for phase five, the final part of his plan. Everything is set in place, if all goes according to plan, tomorrow morning will be the long awaited moment. 

In a little over twelve hours, he’ll be able to be with you again at last.

Four hours until Atsushi is to go to the Armed Detective Agency with the files that will antagonize Akutagawa into attacking the Mafia headquarters. Dazai expects that by three in the morning, the Agency would have managed to fully infiltrate the building, and Atsushi and Akutagawa will be clashing on the roof of the headquarters. 

By dawn, it’ll be time.

But one major obstacle remains. 

Dazai’s gaze draws back to Chuuya, who’s still standing in the door of his office, becoming increasingly more irritated by Dazai’s lack of a response. As long as Chuuya is around, Dazai is going to have trouble following through with the final step. The executive will do whatever it takes to prevent Dazai’s death, so Dazai needs to get him out of the way.

“Chuuya,” Dazai hums, “Wh-”

“We’ve captured Gogol.”

Dazai halts, fingers pausing from where they’d been thrumming against the desk as he thought. His gaze sharpens as he tilts his head to the side, “Is that so?”

Gogol. Gogol. The one who captured you, handed you to Dostoevsky on a silver platter. Dazai might’ve been the cause of your-

Dazai might’ve been the one at fault for all of this, but that doesn’t mean he can let your executioners get off scot-free. He rises to his feet, the pads of his fingers pressing into the dark wood of his desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his ears ring and his eyes slide shut. Dazai didn’t think he’d get the chance to handle either of them—he’d resigned himself to accepting that he would have to forfeit personal vengeance to ensure that at least Odasaku will be able to live out his life in this world.

But now…

From the corner of his eye, Dazai swears he can see you barge into his office from his apartment, a wild smile on your face as you wave around the TV remote, claiming you found a good movie for the two of you to watch. It’s only for a split second, but Dazai’s heart leaps from his throat, breath catching. He hasn’t dared step foot in the apartment since… everything happened—it’s too big now, too empty. Your coffee mug still sits on his kitchen table, clothes strewn across his room from where you’d been having a fit trying to find the perfect outfit for orientation.

“Dazai.”

Chuuya speaks and the mirage of you is gone. Dazai lets out a heavy breath before shaking his head and making his way toward Chuuya. Neither of them speak again as they make their way into the elevator—they’ve hardly had a full conversation with one another since… since Chuuya chose to disobey orders—heading down to the belly of the headquarters where Gogol will be held. Dazai’s mind spins, lashes fluttering as he thinks.

He knew that Dostoevsky would be well out of reach, that he would have to leave your justice for when the Russian makes his real move in the hands of Odasaku, Akutagawa and the Agency, in the hands of Chuuya, Iceman and Atsushi. There’s no way that Dazai would be able to get his hands on the man in a timely manner, and Dazai can’t risk being in this world any longer than he’s already been. The longer he remains, the more Odasaku is at risk of meeting the same fate you did, and then all Dazai has done and sacrificed over the past seven years would be for nought. The only chance he had to protect the two of you squandered because of his own selfishness and incapability.

But Gogol. He hadn’t dared hope—Dazai lost any semblance of hope the moment he saw Chuuya show up at the Port Mafia headquarters—but he couldn’t help but want.

Kouyou and Piano Man are already waiting in the torture chambers when Dazai and Chuuya finally arrive. Gogol has silver shackles around his wrists, military-grade ability nullifying cuffs that the Mafia had stolen from a government shipment a few months back, and when he sees Dazai, he laughs wildly as if he’s just been told a hilarious joke.

“It’s really you,” Gogol cackles. “Dostoy thought for sure you’d have offed yourself by now.”

Dazai hums, but otherwise doesn’t react to the words. He supposes that they’re not too off the mark, Gogol is only unlucky in that he managed to get himself captured the day before it’s meant to take place.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gogol coos. “Avenge your pretty little thing? Not many people manage to catch Dostoy’s attention, y’know? I was so curious about her.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles thinly, a cold one that makes Gogol look impossibly more entertained.

“I hear that you enjoy freedom,” Dazai says more to himself than to Gogol, but finds a bit of sadistic pleasure in the way Gogol hesitates. “What makes you think I’d ever give you the mercy of death? The ultimate freedom?”

Gogol does not respond, so Dazai continues, “So long as you live—and you will live—you’ll never take another breath of fresh air or feel the wind against your skin ever again. My men will ensure you live to a ripe old age. They will feed you when you try to starve yourself, force water down your throat when you refuse to drink, they’ll heal you when you try to kill yourself to free yourself of this prison. For the rest of your life, until you rot of old age, you’ll be caged in the basement of this building. A bird clipped of its wings, trapped forever behind gilded bars… I think that’s quite the fitting fate for you.”

Dazai relishes in the way that Gogol freezes at his words, but even that is not enough to heal the gaping wound in his chest caused by your absence. The pleasure is hollow, like the hole you left in him. Dazai is so tired, he just wants to get back to his office so he can finish finalizing the last step for the final phase.

He just wants to be with you.

Dazai turns to leave, motioning for Chuuya to join him, but as soon as he turns his back, Gogol is speaking again, letting out another manic laugh: “Aren’t you curious as to what the deal was? I can tell you.”

Dazai stills, Gogol laughs louder. 

“It was a life for a life. Your life for hers. I thought Dostoy was crazy for it, I mean, who would think a random girl’s life would be equal to that of the boss of the Port Mafia,” Gogol snickers. “But looking at you now?” 

Dazai’s jaw tightens, he looks over his shoulder as Gogol doubles over laughing and then says quietly, “Her life was worth ten of mine.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time as he walks back toward the elevator, ignoring the way Gogol howls with laughter even as Piano Man has his men drag Gogol back into the most secure cell in the Mafia headquarters. Chuuya follows behind Dazai dutifully, and it’s only when they reenter the elevator does he finally speak.

“You sure you don’t just want him killed?” Chuuya asks, voice a bit stunted and awkward.

Dazai doesn’t respond. “I have a mission for you.”

“Hah?” Chuuya demands. “Now? What’re you talking about?” 

“A meeting with Goldoni of the Family in Rome, he’s insistent that it’s done in person. It’s essential that it takes place as soon as possible. I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in two hours.”

“Two hours?” Chuuya hisses. “What are you planning, Dazai?”

Dazai doesn’t respond again. Instead, he turns his head to the side, looking at Chuuya dead on. “That’s a direct order, Chuuya.”

Chuuya draws back as if he’s been slapped, but he doesn’t speak up after that, and Dazai knows that he’s won. By the time Chuuya lands in Rome, everything will be over—the last step of the plan will be complete. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back against the wall of the elevator; he feels a type of contentedness that he hasn’t felt since he watched you drive off with Albatross, Hirotsu, and Tachihara.

Soon, he sighs to himself softly, eyes reopening to focus on his reflection. He swears he can see you again, feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as your fingers lace with his. All he has left to do is talk to Odasaku, and then he can be with you again. 

We can watch one last sunrise together.

“I had someone once, y’know?” Dazai Osamu says, expression distorted and eyes distant, drawing to invisible figures sitting at the stools with them. Oda stares curiously, watching as he opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to figure out what to say. “It was hard. Without you and her, everything was so much harder. I tried so hard to do things right, to protect this world; I did what I could, but I couldn’t stay away from her.”

Dazai’s words disappear with his ragged breathing, dozens of emotions crossing over his face as he stares at his lap. Oda doesn’t speak, trying to put together whatever piece he’s missing—figure out who this her is that Dazai is referring to so that he can understand what’s going on. He keeps his gun steady, pointed at the boss of the Port Mafia in case this whole thing turns out to be a trap even if he’s slowly starting to doubt it.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Dazai says airly, talking more to himself than to Oda. “She said she’d see me later. Told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Do you think she knew, Odasaku?” 

The man in question chooses his words carefully when Dazai looks at him, black eye wide and imploring, much like a child seeking out advice from a trusted adult. After a few moments, Oda finally says, “Women are a lot more intuitive than men. If she said it, I’m sure she knew you felt the same.”

Dazai lets out a quiet laugh, a soft smile on his lips and a fond, but faraway expression on his face. “You always know what to say, Odasaku,” he murmurs softly, saying that odd nickname again. Oda frowns, but Dazai only continues. “She was good. A lot better than me… Deserved better than me. She was so smart, Odasaku, I think you would’ve liked her. She got into one of the best grad schools in the country, y’know? Was on her way to orientation when-”

Dazai stops talking suddenly, takes in a sharp and stunted breath, eye going a bit wild as if he can’t even force out the words. Oda is suddenly frowning, recognition sparking in his head as he remembers you, the sharp girl from the train station that he’d failed to save; the one who's been haunting his mind since the moment that golden swirl appeared and dragged you away. Ranpo had deduced it was mafia business rather quickly, but Oda couldn’t convince himself of it because he couldn’t figure out how someone like you was affiliated with the mafia.

This… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Still, Oda couldn’t imagine you with someone like the man sitting before him, or maybe he could, he reconsiders, watching the adoring expression that paints the mafia boss’s face as he talks about you, the smile on his lips and the enamored look in his eye, the pride. Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen a man look so entirely lovesick before.

Dazai looks at him curiously, must have caught the spark of recognition on his face. “Do you know her?”

Oda pauses, trying to figure out what to say. He doesn’t know if he should admit to seeing you in the moments before you were killed; Dazai Osamu is clearly not stable, fickle and capricious with his emotions, Oda worries that the mafia boss might abruptly turn on him, become hostile when he realizes Oda could have saved her but failed. 

“You did,” Dazai breathes out, excited suddenly, eye lit up like a child who has been told Christmas is coming early. “You knew her, you did, didn’t you? How did you meet? Wasn’t she incredible? Tell me.”

Oda inhales slowly, testing the words on his tongue before he says: “... I met her at the train station… that day.” Dazai’s smile wobbles at the edges, a glassy look in his eye like he’s looking right through Oda. Oda continues speaking quickly, “She was brilliant. She gave me a good idea on how to end the book I’ve been writing.”

Dazai’s smile softens, the childish appearance disappears as he looks down at his drink. “Will you use it?”

Oda responds honestly, “I think I will.”

Dazai looks as if he’s been given a precious gift and for a moment, Oda hesitates, gaze lingering on the expression that is somehow both sorrowful and content at the same time.

“It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?” Dazai says, a bit distantly. Oda watches carefully as an unfocused look clouds Dazai’s black eye, his head turning to look out the window of the bar. “She loved sunrises… I promised her we would watch one more together.”

The sun breaks the horizon in the distance, Dazai smiles wistfully as the colors spread across the morning sky. Endless pink clouds dance in the dawn, orange paints the skies; he stands at the edge of the roof where you sat with him that first morning, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watch all of the shapes the clouds make.

“Doesn’t that one look like a cat?”

Dazai hums in agreement as his gaze traces the sky; he’s never been able to see all of the figures you point out in the clouds, but he likes listening to you talk. Sometimes, you’d spin stories as you rest on his chest, and he’d doze off to the sound of your voice. He wants to look down to where you’d normally be sitting, but he’s afraid that if he looks, he’ll find you disappointed—sad eyes staring at him as if you know what he’s about to do. 

Worse, he’s scared that if he looks, you won’t be there.

Distantly, he can hear Atsushi and Akutagawa still arguing with one another, shouting questions at Dazai, but it all sounds distant and muffled—he couldn’t make out the words if he tried. He’s hyper focused on the sound of your voice in the billowing wind; he can almost imagine that each brush of the gusts against his skin is your touch.

He waits, even as he hears Atsushi creeping toward him, trying to get to him before he lets himself fall over the edge. He promised you one last sunrise, and it would be remiss of him to not stay long enough for you to watch your favorite part.

“She loved sunrises,” Dazai repeats again, this time for Atsushi and Akutagawa to hear. Atsushi halts at the words and he can hear a wavering ‘boss’ escape Atsushi’s lips. He closes his eyes and he can picture you in front of him, a soft expression on your face, lips curved up, and a dreamy smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve waited for this moment so long. I’m pleased, I really am… I just wish things had turned out differently. I wanted her to live, and I wanted to read his novel when he finished it, but I guess what I want doesn’t matter anymore… It’s enough to know that they were able to meet here.”

“Please wait,” Atsushi cries out, and Dazai can hear him moving again, stumbling as he tries to get closer. “Dazai-san, wait!”

“Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says. He opens his eyes again, watching as the sun finally crosses the horizon in its entirety, basking the world in an ethereal morning glow. His breath catches, and Dazai sees you again standing before him, haloed by the light. He reaches out hesitantly, but draws his hand back before his fingers can graze you, not wanting to taint you with his touch. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Dazai takes a step forward closer to you. He ignores Atsushi’s screams and Akutagawa’s shout. His eyes slide shut as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears and ripping the air from his lungs, but Dazai feels at peace for the first time in weeks. A smile curls to his lips, he swears that he feels your arms wrap around his waist, the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest. 

Dazai hopes, maybe a bit irrationally, that there might be a universe out there that he missed, one where the two of you are able to live out your lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, Odasaku will be around too. He’ll have finished the novel with your help, just like in this universe; and Dazai will pout and whine whenever you push him out of the room to brainstorm with the older man, but he’ll always smile as soon as he’s out of sight, content, happy. He’ll get to read the novel once it’s published—you refuse to let him get any peeks until it’s done and you yell at him and Odasaku when Dazai tries to guilt him into showing him it—and he’ll get to be with you.

He’ll get to be with you.

Find me again. Next time, I’ll make it right. 

I promise.

GUYSSSSSS WATERLOO IS OVER I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY. this series has been my baby for so long i don't even know what i'm going to do with myself now that it's over. :(

some notes to share with u guys:

fyodor's ability. SIGH. the past few chapters fucked up my plans, so we're going to imagine that that his ability is still the kill on touch for the sake of my sanity. or maybe he used someone else's ability to kill her. who knows. i had this scene set in mind from waterloo day one so i didn't want to change it.

THE ODASAKU-READER CONVERSATION WAS ACTUALLY SO ANTICIPATED, i had the idea from side a when dazai chose to bring her to his grave, and then i was like ... wait, what if in side b... and i think it's a neat tie in to the beast movie too, because if i rmr correctly, he sought out fyodor later on and i think witnessing reader's capture & not being able to prevent her would give him even more of a reason to go after the man.

uu!chuuya hurts my heart truly. he really did care sm about reader the more he got to know her, and he blamed himself so much for her death. and then dazai uses the fact that he disobeyed orders and got her killed against him to make him leave so that dazai can kill himself. poor man will never not blame himself for everything

ICEMAN AS READER'S BROTHER. look, i know a lot of you wanted odasaku but it just didn't fit. she would've recognized his name in side a

badlands!reader -> i fear she is dead and gone, as you all probably have come to terms with by now at the end of the uu. but i want to add in HOW she dies because it's touched on in this chapter & i posted an ask about it a few weeks ago.

in badlands universe, fyodor isn't actually the one to kill reader, it's agatha christie when the order of the clocktower finally makes their move on yokohama for the book. for this, i also have to get into christie and what i think her ability might be - obviously we know it's based on "and then there were none" which is the mystery novel that involves 10 people w various accusations against them being killed/dying according to a nursery rhyme. i dont know exactly how i want the ability to be executed, but i know for the purposes of the fic that involves 10 ppl dying in various ways according to how they died in the book. christie targets various ppl that have been close to the agency/pm and reader is one of them. so over the course of 10 hours, the 10 people start dying. it takes to the 5th hour for them to realize that this is an ability user and not coincidences because by that point 2 ppl affiliated with the pm and 2 ppl that have close ties with the ada die and the two organizations approach each other about it, and obviously ranpo figures out during that meeting that it's an ability targeting ppl affiliated with both organizations. and that's when dazai starts getting a really bad feeling, tries to call her but she doesn't pick up, and then ends up ditching the meeting to go find her but </333 he doesn't get to her in time. her death is the death on the 5th hour and it parallels emily brent from the book: injected with cyanide after drinking poisoned coffee. dazai finds her in their apartment </3 he is too late to save her.

also a fun side note about badlands: reader and dazai were, in fact, engaged.

anyways, i love you all, thanks for sticking along the ride with me

(。♡ ‿ ♡。)

[blarshwritezz]

Yandere jock x male reader forced boyfriend. Jock forced you to be his boyfriend and tried everything he could to have sex with you, you refused, leaving him needy and horny. So he drugs the food with aphrodisiac when he gives you a snack

Yandere Jock x Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW, drugging, dubcon, semi-public sex

You had to be the unluckiest guy in the world. Things were supposed to be fine. Your plan was to just fly under the radar until graduation, and you almost made it.

Until he came along.

People envied you, getting to date the hot, popular jock despite not being not very popular yourself. But none of them realize how hellish it is! You never even liked him in the first place! The only reason you two were dating was because of some stupid blackmail he had.

The two of you couldn't even have one conversation without him practically begging to fuck you. But there was no way you'd ever let him! You'd rather let him spill your secrets!

Other than that (and the jealousy issues, and the possessiveness, and the threats, and everything else awful about him) he was sometimes kind of nice. It wasn't uncommon for him to bring you snacks or drinks.

So one morning when he came to you with a bottle of water a granola bar, you didn't think much of it. You didn't have breakfast that day anyway.

But you quickly realized something was wrong. Very wrong.

The whole morning after eating that stupid little granola bar your mind has been fuzzy, your body needy. The only thing you could seem to think of was how much your cock needed attention.

You couldn't even make it to lunch. While everyone else enjoyed their break and ate the world's worst food, you were hiding in a bathroom stall jerking off. It was pathetic. One hand covered your mouth as the other desperately fisted your cock.

You didn't even stop when you heard someone coming in. You just bit your hand and tried harder to hold back your pathetic moans.

Until you heard his voice.

"I know you're in there, darling. Let me in so I can help you out."

How did he know?! This finally made you stop your actions, pre-cum making your hand sticky.

"If you don't let me in, I'll just crawl under the stall door. I'm not afraid to get a little dirty. I've waited too damn long for you to finally be ready for me."

He pounded on the door, making it rattle. What were you supposed to do? You didn't want him...but you probably needed some help with this, and if he's going to come in anyway, you might as well not struggle too much...

Barely pulling your pants back up, you shakily unlocked and opened the stall door. He barged in and closed the door again, making sure to lock it. He didn't waste a second in connecting his lips with yours harshly as he pushed you against the cold wall and pulled your pants down, making sure they dropped to your ankles.

"Look who's needy now..." He lowered his own pants just enough for his erection to spring free, and it was larger than you had anticipated. As if the world would end if he didn't penetrate you fast enough, he turned you around so your back was facing him and forced his way into your ass.

He let out a loud moan as your warmth enveloped him. "Now you listen here. Don't you dare let me miss out on hearing your moans, got it? Be loud. I want everyone to know who you belong to."

With that, he thrust into you at a brutal pace. One of his hands found its way around your body to hold you by the neck, just tight enough so you could really feel it without choking.

His free hand caressed your ass cheeks gently, then slapped them hard enough to leave a mark. Even if it weren't for him demanding you not muffle yourself, you weren't sure if you could. It was impossible not to moan and scream with pleasure and he caressed and used your sensitive body.

If you could think straight, you'd be more concerned about all the noise. Surely anyone would hear if they simply walked past. But it was impossible to think of anything except how his cock was rearranging your guts.

"Fuck, you look so damn good like this...! You have no clue how long I've been waiting for this moment..." He leaned in and gently nibbled your earlobe, moving down to bite and kiss your shoulders.

His hand, previously on your ass, moved around to your twitching cock. He fisted you, his pace very slow compared to the intense and desperate way he was demolishing your hole.

"Cum for me, I know you want to."

And oh lord did you. You swear you've never shot such a large load. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac?

Feeling your hot cum coat his hand, he soon filled you with his own seed, the grip he had on your neck tightening.

How you wished you could say that was the end...

Okay, this one I think is probably good!

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [7]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 6 | Fic Masterlist | Part 8

"Has anyone seen the mistress?" Seonghwa inquired, having lost sight of you since breakfast that morning.

He had combed through almost the entire estate, searching for you in the House of Lotus and with Eunsook, but to no avail. He had even gone as far as to check Yunho's temporary quarters, only to find the physician alone and engrossed in his work.

The general felt a twinge of embarrassment as he recalled asking the doctor, "Do you have any clue where my wife is?" only to have the taller man furrow his brows in confusion and reply, "Wha— not to be rude, but how would I know that, my lord?"

Your husband cleared his throat loudly, looking away and feigning nonchalance, "Don't get clever with me; I'm just asking. If you don't know, just say so."

Yunho lowered his head and suppressed a laugh, "You're right. My apologies, my lord. I hope you find Lady Park soon. Her next dose of medicine is almost ready. It would be best if she takes it while it's hot; the taste is slightly more bearable."

"Right, I'll find her soon. Don't worry."

The physician nodded, "I have no doubt that you will, my lord."

With that, Seonghwa hastily exited the room, questioning his decision to come there in the first place. He couldn't fathom why he assumed you would be with the handsome doctor. Even though he hadn't found you yet, there was a sense of relief in knowing that at least you weren't anywhere near Yunho, as he had feared.

And that's how he ended up back at your quarters, interrogating the servants responsible for maintaining your garden. A frown etched on his face as they shook their heads in response, "No, master. Mistress hasn't returned here since leaving for breakfast this morning."

Worry crept in as his mind conjured up wild scenarios. What if you had been taken away? What if you got hurt somewhere, unnoticed by anyone? What if—

His eyes landed on the pavilion in your garden, and it struck him. Remembering your determination to learn lady etiquette, he chastised himself for not thinking to check his own study. He had searched almost every corner of the estate except the very place he frequented the most.

Please, let her be there.

Fingers crossed, he hurried towards the study. If he didn't find you there, he might have to organise a search party.

"There you are."

His words escaped in a breathless whisper as he spotted you standing amidst his numerous shelves, completely engrossed in the book cradled in your hands. Instant relief washed over him, and he struggled to look away. Bathed in sunlight by the window, you appeared almost ethereal in that spot, your side profile captivating.

The marks on your skin had started to fade a little, with the help of Yunho's ointment, proving its effectiveness. For your comfort, the maids were instructed not to apply makeup if you weren't leaving the estate. Besides, no one here would dare consider you anything less than beautiful; you were adored by all. Your scars only strengthened everyone's determination to protect you, not just your husband.

He continued to quietly admire you from his corner, hesitant to disturb you. As you finished one book and reached for the next on a top shelf, he chuckled at your determination, especially when you went on your toes, biting your lip in concentration.

Eventually, he sighed and approached you, reaching effortlessly for the book you were attempting to get. You gasped as you felt his presence and saw his hand beside yours, "Y-you're here, Seonghwa."

Both your breaths hitched, and your eyes widened as you turned around to face him, realising the closeness. Surprised, you stumbled backwards, and his reflexes kicked in, his arm circling your back immediately, pulling you close. Frozen, your hands rested on his chest to steady yourself.

"Yes, I'm here." He murmured, his eyes shifting to see you biting your lips shyly again, the action reigniting his desire to kiss you. You stood still as a plank, heart pounding as he slowly closed the space between you. You held your breath when feeling his nose touch yours. Never having been kissed or wanted in your life, you didn't know how to react or what to do. Was this what married couples normally do?

Maybe now you'll find out.

A chill ran down your spine when you felt his lips brush lightly against yours, "Can I..." He muttered in his deep voice, gazing down at you with hooded eyes.

Before you could form a response, the door to the study slammed open, startling the two of you, and causing you to jump apart as if caught doing something scandalous.

Damn it, so close!

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to interrupt; it's just that—" Jongho was a mess as he stumbled in, panting and sputtering his apology.

You quickly waved to the assistant to signal it was fine before bowing to the general, "No, please, don't worry! I was just leaving anyway. I'll see you at dinner, Seonghwa."

Smiling at you, your husband nodded, "Yes. See you, my dear," The smile disappeared as soon as you left the room, causing Jongho to gulp nervously, "This better be good."

The assistant quickly collected himself, "Oh, it will be good, sir. I can promise you that." He said, rushing to make sure the doors were shut tightly before going back to debrief his master on his latest findings.

Eunsook heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing you, her concern evident as she observed you pressing your palms against your red cheeks, "Mistress, are you feeling alright?" She inquired, checking your forehead for any signs of fever.

You nodded, "I-I'm fine," attempting to calm your rapid heartbeat. The almost-lost moment with your husband lingered continuously in your mind; your first kiss had come perilously close to happening just moments ago.

"Thank goodness, you're alright. We've been looking everywhere for you. Where were you?" She questioned, and you replied, "You were looking for me? I was just reading in Seonghwa's study."

The elderly woman continued, "Yes, your medicine is ready. Physician Jung suggested taking it while it's hot," With an obedient nod, you followed her into your room. As she fed you the herbal soup, she casually asked, "You were in the master's study, you say? Did he find you there? He was searching frantically for you."

Your blush returned as you recalled the sensation of his lips brushing against yours, "Y-yes, he knows I'm safe. Don't worry." You reassured her while the head maid beamed, unaware of the fluttering in your heart as you tried to compose yourself.

Unlike you, the general did not have the luxury to linger on thoughts of your intimate moment. He vowed to himself that once your family received the retribution they deserved, he would dedicate all his attention to you. He turned serious the moment Jongho began speaking, updating him on the latest intel gathered about your family.

"What? Do those fools actually believe I'd swap my wife for one of them? Not even in their wildest dreams will that ever happen." Seonghwa scoffed in disbelief. The mere thought of your stepsisters was enough to repulse him, and he couldn't wait to send them to an early grave.

He pulled out the Jang family records again, asking, "And as for this... are there any updates? We only have a few days left until I return to work."

Jongho nodded proudly, presenting a couple of documents obtained in a not-so-honest manner, "You were right, sir. Your suspicions were accurate. We found just the thing to prove it. With this, we can finalise the plans and finally set them into motion."

"Good job, Jongho. How about that private investigator of yours?" The general inquired, his mind already buzzing with excitement as he plotted your family's demise.

The assistant bowed in gratitude, "He's still maintaining his cover in the Jang estate. He expressed his desire to assist us with the plan. Apparently, he's a huge admirer of yours, sir. That seemed to be his primary motivation for readily accepting my offer."

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes, his mistrust evident, "Is he now? Have you done a background check on him?"

"I have, sir. He's in the clear; I can vouch for him. I'm confident he harbours no ulterior motives other than a genuine admiration for you; he wants nothing more than to be recognised by you."

The general nodded, picking up the newly retrieved documents, "If you say so, I guess it won't hurt to have an extra helping hand. Make sure to pay him handsomely. Now, go get some rest; we'll be getting busy soon." His heart was immediately eased by his aide's assurance. If Jongho trusted this person, there must be a good reason.

"Yes, sir."

In the days that followed, Seonghwa appeared awfully busy, often confined to his study with Jongho for endless meetings. The next morning, you found a collection of your lady etiquette books delivered to your doorstep, with a servant mentioning that the study was required for important discussions between your husband and his assistant.

Assuming he was loaded with work after taking several days off, you didn't dwell on it much. While the general focused on perfecting his plans, you spent your days refining your etiquette with the head maid's help, working on correcting your posture, walking, table manners, and way of speaking.

The two of you only had brief encounters twice a day, during breakfast and dinner. Seonghwa apologised repeatedly, promising to spend more time with you once he completed his current project, and you reassured him that you were fine.

Time passed quickly, and before you knew it, a new week had begun, marking your husband's return to work. After your customary breakfast together, you walked him to the entrance of the estate, where his carriage awaited to transport him to the palace for the morning assembly with His Majesty, the King.

"This is as far as you'll see me off. It's cold out here, so don't spend too much time outdoors, okay? Head back to my study if you want, and take your medicine on time." He reminded sweetly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You smiled appreciatively, assuring him, "I will, Seonghwa. Don't worry about me. Have a good day at work." His heart melted at your words, and the sense of being husband and wife settled in. Having someone waiting for him at home felt unexpectedly warm, and he realised he could get used to it.

That's right, just keep smiling like that.

Rubbing his thumbs over your hands, he pressed a kiss onto your knuckles, saying, "I'll see you later, my dear."

Eunsook and Jongho exchanged knowing grins as they guided their master and mistress in opposite directions—Seonghwa into his carriage and you back to your quarters.

Carrying you in his thoughts, the general commenced his journey to the royal palace. He had always harboured disdain for the Minister of Military Affairs, but it had never been potent enough to instigate his downfall. However, circumstances had taken a drastic turn with your arrival. Your father had gravely miscalculated if he believed this union between you was a wise decision; in reality, it paved the way for his own undoing.

Unfazed by the attention, he arrived at the assembly, becoming the centre of attention for all the ministers and officials. Their curiosity was stirred by the general who had adamantly refused marriage, yet now found himself wedded against his will. Speculation abounded about whether he would cause a scene, as all members had been notified of his special agenda.

Your husband, however, remained unaffected by the scrutiny. He anticipated the spotlight, fully aware that these old fools relished nothing more than witnessing his misery. Despite his recognised achievements, it didn't automatically translate into wholehearted acceptance from these higher-ups. Their displeasure was palpable, harbouring reservations about his young age and the potential threat he posed to their established ranks.

The revelation of his marriage to you only fueled their satisfaction, as they believed that being tied to the Minister of Military Affairs would ensure Seonghwa's perpetual subordination, always a step below his father-in-law in rank.

"Good morning, General Park. You seem to be in quite a good mood." Your husband felt his eye twitch, hearing the voice he wasn't looking forward to.

Speak of the devil.

Facing your father, he smirked, "Good morning, Minister Jang. I can't deny that I am feeling quite good." It satisfied him to see your father's grin falter slightly, knowing the old man probably didn't know what to expect, but it surely wasn't this. The last thing they all expected was for him to appear... pleased.

Before the minister could voice any questions, the King entered the hall. Along with everyone else, the general knelt and bowed deeply, performing the formal greeting. In unison, they chanted, "Your Majesty, may you live a long and prosperous life. We wish for you ten thousand years of life and reign."

"You may all rise," declared His Majesty before expressing joy at the presence of his favourite subject, "Seonghwa, my boy! You're finally back! Oh, I cannot wait to hear all about your week off."

The minister raised a smug brow, eyeing your husband and presuming that his week could not have been too pleasant with you around. While he was almost certain of that, it seemed the general was adept at keeping up the act. Your father eagerly anticipated hearing about this important agenda without delay.

"Tell me, my boy. Is your wife as beautiful as we all speculated? There must have been a good reason for the minister to keep her so well hidden all these years." The King inquired, his excitement evident as he leaned forward in his seat.

Seonghwa chuckled, "Your Majesty, perhaps it wouldn't be too appropriate for us to engage in idle chatter in this meeting. After all, I'm sure all the ministers and officials here have more pressing matters to discuss and probably care little for the details of my marriage." He was merely teasing at this point, knowing full well that everyone was eager to hear about his past week.

"Nonsense! What could possibly be more important than your recent wedding? If anyone here has no interest in what General Park has to share, you are welcome to leave the assembly."

While leaving the assembly might seem like a simple option, it practically equated to a death sentence. Without the King's explicit permission, no one would be allowed to exit on their own. This implied that whoever refused to listen to what your husband had to say might as well be choosing a path leading to their demise.

All the higher-ups immediately bowed their heads low with clenched fists as they voiced in unison, "Of course not! We wouldn't dare, Your Majesty!" They were well aware of Seonghwa's subtle assertion of power over the King. Regardless of their high positions or ranks, he would always be the favourite. While it might go unnoticed by the less perceptive, it was a clear demonstration of authority, a warning not to cross him.

"Very well, I suppose I'll divulge a bit about my wife since you're all so eager to hear about her," The general couldn't conceal his shit-eating grin, pleased to have put these elderly men in their rightful places. The King applauded enthusiastically, "Please do!"

Minister Jang's earlier arrogance evaporated with your husband's unmistakable show of power, and he could only suppress his irritation as he waited to hear what Seonghwa would say about you.

"To answer your question, Your Majesty, she is even more stunning than you all might imagine, perhaps the most beautiful woman in all of Joseon, both inside and out, at least in my eyes. And you were right, my King, she truly is perfect for me. For that, I'd like to express my gratitude for sending her to me."

The entire room stood at a standstill as everyone tried to process his words. It was almost surreal that the formidable General Park, who had always been so adamant about never marrying and was coerced into this union without a choice, openly expressed his admiration for his new wife. Apart from the King, who genuinely relished hearing it, the rest of the assembly remained sceptical, wondering what game Seonghwa was playing.

"And because of that, I regret my earlier decision of not having a proper wedding ceremony. I now know my wife deserves only the best, which brings me to the important matter I'd like to address today, Your Majesty. I was hoping you would grant me permission to fix that. I'd like to plan a grand wedding to make up to her."

Your father narrowed his eyes dangerously; this was the furthest thing from what he had expected. He would rather die than give you a grand wedding. He thought he was finally done with you, believing you could have perished for all he cared. Yet, here your husband was, requesting to host a grand wedding? And for you?

Over my dead body.

His Majesty couldn't contain his joy, letting out a surprised laugh, "Oh my, Seonghwa! I'm so proud of you; I was beginning to grow worried you'd never allow yourself to love again. And of course, you can have a grand wedding! We shall host one as grand as a royal wedding if need be! Heavens, I cannot wait to meet this new Lady Park of yours; she must be something for you to have changed this much!"

Minister Jang cleared his throat, "Your Majesty, if I may cut in."

The King nodded, "Why, of course. It's your daughter we're discussing; do you have any ideas for the ceremony?"

Your father shook his head, "N-no, my King. I was hoping to remind the general that my daughter prefers simplicity and that this would not be necessary—"

With a smirk, Seonghwa cut him off, "Well then, minister, it would seem you do not know your daughter well enough, or at all."

The Minister of Military Affairs stilled at that; obviously, the general knew more than he let on, "Wha— that's not true! My eldest has always been one for frugality and would never ask for much, let alone a grand wedding; she might find that burdensome."

"Has she really not asked for much, or has she not been permitted to have a voice at all?" Your husband pressed, watching expectantly as the minister sputtered lame excuses, caught off guard.

Not oblivious to the fact that Seonghwa was attempting to convey something, the King raised a brow at Minister Jang's defensive demeanour, "What is it that you wish to say, my boy?"

Panicked, your father gulped, afraid of what the general might reveal. Not once did he think the heartless General Park would ever care about what happened to you. He assumed that, just like all the members of his family and estate, your new husband would also cast you aside and not bat an eyelash if you died, as had happened with all his previous marriage candidates.

"Your Majesty, even though Minister Jang is now my father-in-law, I feel compelled to speak out against the injustice I perceive for my wife," The minister did not dare to look up as he felt cold sweat dripping down his back, listening anxiously to what Seonghwa was going to disclose, "No matter how much he thinks she prefers simplicity, it just wasn't right for him to have sent her to me all alone on our wedding day."

With a frown, His Majesty eyed your father judgementally, "All alone? Please elaborate, Seonghwa."

Suppressing his sly grin, your husband continued, "My assistant found her wandering all by herself by the entrance of my estate, without a chaperone, any servants or palanquin bearers. And what's worse, she barely had anything on her, only carrying an empty duffel bag. Tell me, Your Majesty, who would believe her to be a noblewoman from a powerful house? I simply cannot understand why the minister could do this to his precious daughter."

"Is that true, Minister Jang?" The King's emotionless voice rang across the hall, and the minister shivered from the chill running down his spine, "W-well, yes, but—"

Everyone jumped when His Majesty slammed his fist against the handle of his throne, "That is simply unacceptable! It doesn't matter how much you insist your daughter favours simplicity; what you've done is completely ridiculous. Can you even call yourself her father? Oh, the poor girl."

Your father bowed all the way down immediately, pressing his forehead against the floor as he begged for forgiveness, embarrassed to have his wrongdoings exposed at assembly for everyone to listen like this, "Please, Your Majesty! Forgive this old fool for taking my kind daughter for granted! I will do anything to make up to her as you wish, a grand wedding if you will."

As if seeking Seonghwa's approval, the King looked at the general, "Would that suffice?"

Shrugging, your husband pressed his lips into a line, "I suppose I do have one condition, though," His Majesty nodded, "Name it."

The general smiled, "I've troubled you enough with concerns regarding my marital matters, Your Majesty. For this wedding of mine, I'd like to personally make the arrangements with the minister and his family, preferably at his estate."

"At his estate and not here? Why is that, Seonghwa?" The King asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I just want to see where my beloved wife spent all her childhood; I'm curious about the environment that made her so precious."

As the King showered praise on your husband for his apparent sweetness and saw it merely as Seonghwa being hopelessly in love with you, Minister Jang knew better than that he had an ulterior motive, and it couldn't bode well. The general clearly has something up his sleeves, but in the presence of His Majesty, your father found himself with little choice but to comply.

What do you want from me, Park Seonghwa?

« Preview of Part 8 »

"What?! A grand wedding for that useless thing? Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Jinah screeched, her frustration evident as she pulled at her hair.

Jinhee, in disbelief, glared at your old prison cell of a room from a distance. Servants had been ordered to fill it up with things to make it seem like a storeroom in preparation for Seonghwa's visit, "Maybe we've underestimated her. It seems she actually got the general wrapped around her finger."

Minister Jang had nothing to say except to hold his head in his hands. He couldn't forget the King's disapproving looks directed at him all throughout the assembly after what your husband had revealed. Not just His Majesty; but even the other ministers and officials had been staring at him weirdly, not understanding him for what he did to his own daughter.

Jinjoo stomped around like a brat, "Father, you promised us that marrying her to him would bring us satisfaction! What the hell is this?! I refuse to accept this!"

Having had enough of their whining, the minister threw the wine glass beside him onto the floor, "Be quiet, all of you! Do you honestly think the wedding is what matters now? My position could very well be in danger, and you care about that? Fools! Get out of my sight!"

The three were taken aback by the minister's unexpected fit of anger, and their mother quickly gestured for them to leave the living hall at once. Once they were gone, Lady Jang sat down beside her husband, "What is it, dear? What's wrong?"

"Park Seonghwa knows something, I'm sure of it. He said some things today that could make me look suspicious, and if anyone starts digging around, I fear they might find out what we've been trying to hide..."

Woohoo, shit's about to go down! Are y'all excited? HAHAHA🤭

I'm also shook that I'm like 20 followers away from reaching 1k! Thank you all so much; I just want you to know that it's your encouraging messages and replies that have been motivating me to update as quick as I can, really appreciate it!

As always, hope you enjoyed and let me know all your thoughts! <3

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[sweetbeagaming]

After two vanilla perfection runs (and 1/2 a run heavily modded which I hated), I've found that I really enjoy the game as it is. I've put these mods into three categories: beginners, post-perfection, and bonus. This is because I truly recommend doing a completely vanilla run to perfection before modding. This game is a gem already! These are my must-haves to enhance Vanilla game play, rather than replace it.

Beginners 🌱 Getting started w/ mods article here and a video.

SMAPI- This framework will be needed

Content Patcher, Generic Mod Config and other framework mods When you download a mod at Nexus a pop-up will show if these are required and you can download from there.

Dynamic Night Time Adds sunsets and sunrises

Automatic Gates You'll never have to open or close a gate manually which the is second to only vanilla game mechanic I truly hate.

No Fence Decay Fixes the first game mechanic that I truly hate

Data Layers Shows the range of sprinklers, scarecrows, etc.

Billboard Anywhere Now you can look at the calendar whenever you need

Passable Crops

Pony W**ght Loss Program Really gross name, very helpful mod. Makes it so your horse can pass through areas you previously couldn't.

Post-Perfection 🌿

Clint Rewritten You should experience Clint as he is written at least once. After that overwrite him lmao

Rustic Traveling Cart

Better Friendship and Better Ranching Do your first play through without these mods, just use a guide if you need. Trust me it's part of the fun!

Chests Anywhere Access your chests anywhere you need. First play through should be partially about learning to manage IMO, which is why I recc for second.

Look Up Anything Don't you dare put this in your first play through, I will haunt you. I'm serious!!! Use a guide.

NPC map locations Say it with me... FIRST TIME, USE A GUIDE.

Bonus (mostly cosmetic) 🍄

Reshade of your choice I'm using Faedew currently because it doesn't drastically alter the OG coloring. The bright colors are part of the charm though unless you can't handle them or just want a general change.

Sweet Skin Tones Wider variety of natural skintones for your farmer

Shardust's Hair Styles Cute hairs for your farmer, including several textured hair options

Hats Won't Mess Up Hair- to keep your cute styles

Elle's Cuter Animals Just makes animals cuter. Comes in: Coop-Barn-Horses-Dogs-Cats

Toddlers Like Parents Genetics for your kids but in a one sided way

Seasonal Outfits (slightly cuter aesthetic) Gives characters a wider variety of seasonal clothing options. Pretty customizable to your desires.

Eventually I might make another list for super cosmetic or more intense mods, such as what I use with Fashion Sense which focuses on farmer customization, or asset replacement mods. These are super unnecessary and I'll likely only be playing the new patch with these above. Enjoy!

[n3ptoonz]

BEGGING you to make more sub mk men content 😭 they're always dom in all the other hc's and it's refreshing to see something that's my cup of tea lol

oh? like this? throws this post behind me like a bouquet toss earthrealm guys here

mk1 hcs: how the outworld guys react to you riding them

y'all sure do love headcanons LMFAOO

i always try my best for most of the outworld cast cause i'm truly an earthrealm girly, but i got yall. yall really challenge me 😵‍💫

Shang Tsung

This sly mf. He thought when you suggested riding, he'd be the one watching you writhe, but it's quite the opposite. Little did you know it was all an act. A fib; fairytale. He wants power, of course, but in the bedroom it's entirely different

Nothing will get him to submit fast than treating him like a common harlot. He's in desperate need of hair pulling, degradation, maybe even act like you're trying to kill him. He's into that shit! He's an aggressive man, so he should be treated as such

I'm talking fully dog this man out while you ride him. It'll drive him mad and make him crave it. Hell, slap him around and call him names and his gasps, groans, and deep whimpers will clear the air in no time! If you add small weapons to the mix or like a role play thing it's ON

He's literally the meme "don't bully me i'll cum" so do with that what you will!

Rain

Rain sexy ass...OOF. That smug "i am a demigod" attitude is punted out the window when you ride him. One single stroke of his hair and a caress of the jaw and just like that he's a slut!

Give him praises. He wouldn't handle degradation too well. On the outside he appears to have his shit together and doesn't have a care in the world about anybody else but his studies (and you), but he likes to be taken care of

If you want to be rougher or if he asks you to, really just pull his hair/give him love bites. idk it might just be me but i just wanna bite him sooo we're gonna say he likes bites! He's also super handsy but mostly when he's close

He's not very vocal but when he is i can see him as the kinda man that like...purrs, if that makes sense? If it don't i say he's a grunter and from groan city: population him

Reiko

Reiko has a hard time being submissive, but you just make it a little easier for him. You kinda have to coax him into it before every time you get intimate because he's made it clear he can do both and wants to try submitting more to the person he loves

It was your suggestion after a long time away for a mission. Poor dude was stressed da hell out! He's like Rain, a sucker for praise. Now that i'm really picturing it he'd prob be down to smother his face into your chest cause like, that's hot to him

When he's feeling particularly spicy definitely tie him down so he can't pull free no matter how much brute strength he uses. Hold his face and never break eye contact, he's all yours! If you call him any name that has the word "strong" in it he's like puddy in your hands

Prime grunt man here. He ain't whimpering unless you deny him of something, even then it goes from a coarse tone to soft

General Shao

Siiggghhhh 🙄 Shao likes the riding position the most. That's all thanks for coming to my Ted talk

LOL JUST KIDDING😹 He would appear like he's incapable of submission but like, this is YOU we're talking about. And he'd do anything for you. Literally.

A little birdy told me he loves when you grab his horns. Grab his horns. Grab them and make him look at you. This unbreakable wall of man yearns to be conquered by someone like you. Someone who dared to challenge him and never back down? By the Gods he has a breeding knk whether you can have kids or not. oh yeah, he'd beg. plead. he's gasping for air like pls just don't stop riding him LMAO he needs his mind off taking the throne for a few hours

whimpering little bitch which eventually turn into growls and grunts. takes a bow

Reptile

Syzoth is so subby I literally cannot picture him dominating a soul. Ashrah got that man on hold fr but anyway this about you

Typa dude to tear up when you ride him. You just look so damn good, and you make him feel so damn good. Dizzy eyes that he can barely keep open; I feel like he'd go brain numb from how fast he feels pleasure

I'm talking like because he's not originally human he's more sensitive. Now hear me out guys...two dicks....AHEM. DONT SHOOT THE MESSENGER!! Both his dicks are very sensitive OHHHHHHHHH Reduce him to a sobbing, stuttering, gasping, mess. He needs it, wants it, loves it. It's up to you if you'd ride him in his og form ya nasty. He'd also have a tendency to leave bite marks on you like your chest, neck, and shoulders

Mister whimper over here there's nothing else he does but whimper and cry jesus almighty somebody give this man a HUG (hug him while you fuck him dumb/busts)

Havik

Banging my head against the wall rn lemme tap in...ok we here let's go.

Another kombatant who peruses power, but also very much attracted to it. He definitely likes to be dominated. He'd be into some real kinky shit too i know it. Literally all the above he don't wanna think about SHIT

He would thoroughly enjoy being completely helpless at your disposal as you ride him. He likes degradation more than praises but if you do give him the kind of praise that inflates his already massive ego. shoot down his arrogance while also maintaining it he fucking lives for it. he likes being choked or slapped too keep that in mind

This bitch growls and that's it. bro ain't got the lips to really make different sounds LMAO?? get yo fuckin dog bitch!!!

Baraka

You might be insane but we love that haha...! Monster fucker certificate checked at the door i understand i do

Absolutely no degradation here DO NOT!! Mf might start crying or give a monologue either way, steer clear. Be nice to him!!

He likes to be held, and he likes holding his partner. If this was confident Baraka from the previous timeline I'd say he likes fast and crazy over slow and romantic but that's not the case. Be immersed and in the moment with him, he clings onto the human interactions he got stripped from him 😞

Growls but that's mostly bc he deadass don't have lips either LMFAO😭

a/n: tearing my skin off rn I DID IT GUYS I DID IT TELL ME IM GREAT😎author likes praise too.

[heartfullofleeches]

Maybe a better idea..... Farmer Flemish giant rabbit Yan catches Foxboy reader, but gives reader the choice that if he becomes the yans malewife he can live.

(That was the plan to some extent in the long run, but the chase is fun, no? Regardless, here's a blurb of the two lovebirds)

Male Flemish Rabbit Yan + Foxboy Reader

Warnings: Imprisonment, kidnapping. Reader's pronouns are not mentioned, but they are thought of as male. The term Wife is used.

-

That bastard....

"Let me out! Let. Me. Out!"

Rearing your legs as far back as the tight space would grant, your knees bump into your chest as you kick out. Metal grates dig at your arms with every slight turn and jostle of your body. Dirt and moulted feathers mat your fur, yet there isn't any poultry in sight for you to feast and console yourself upon.

Damn it... You knew it was too good to be true. That farmer was a fool, but a watchful and cautious one at that. He'd never leave the door to his pens open unless he was sick or injured. Maybe part of you had prayed that he was. Wrong as it may be to wish ill on someone making a living for himself, you were just trying to survive too.

"Let me out.... please.." Your voice wavers as the pains of hunger and stress exhaust what little strength you have left. Your balled fists slap pathetically against the metal cages as tears well in your eyes, daring to spill. You won't let them. You won't let him win.

"I said...GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

The gravel outside your wooden prison shifts.

"In due time, Love. We've got a deal to make first."

Dread consumes the emptiness in your stomach, pinning your limbs to the dirt covered floor as he at sinks to his knees. Your knees curl into your chest once more, body and mind subconsciously making yourself smaller as his larger figure draws into view - blocking your sight of the forest beyond his land. Your home. You don't even realize your crying till his fingers brush the wetness from your cheek. You have half a mind to bite them off as they get stuck between the grates.

You snarl- "If you wanted me gone you could've asked..."

The farmer presses a strong hand to his mouth, suppressing a laugh. "If I wanted ya gone, I would'a taken the sheriff's generous offer of a shotgun the last time I had him over. You know how he is about outsiders."

The bite in your stare remains - still, your legs quiver at the mention. "You aren't going to turn me over to him, are you?

He can't. The farmer is lenient towards your crimes, but that man.. That rabbit... He'll have you hanging from the town hall by nightfall.

"Please... I'll...I'll do anything...I'll work off my debt day and night, I-"

"Sweetheart...." The farmer rest a hand on the steel wall of the coop, gently petting its bars as he would your fuzzy little head once you agreed to be his. "It's okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you or make you do any hard labor."

"Then-" Your cracked tongue wets your splitting lips. "What do you want from me?"

The farmer cranes his head, meeting you eye to eye. The bags beneath his eyes seemed heavier than usual. How long had been out here waiting for you to return?"

"Cute little fox like yourself shouldn't be out here scrounging around for scraps or the occasional unattended hen. You should have a roof over your head, a comfy bed, all the food you could ever want."

What's he going on about? Another trap?... "If I'm not going to work for it... How does this deal benefit you?"

"I want you to be my wife."

"Wha?!- Ouch!-" Your head shoots up, ramming into the low hanging support beams. "Are you crazy?"

The farmer lets a chuckle slip. "Heh, I'd have to have lost my mind not falling for ya. Think about it this way, Sweetheart. You come home with me and I fill that belly of yours full of food. Or I call up the sheriff and he fills it with lead. Your choice."

Your howling stomach betrays any fight you have remaining. You don't have many options in this scenario. Push come to shove, you could possibly make your escape in the dead of night when he least expects it - taking as many of his hens as your arms could carry.

"Okay... I'll.. be your wife."

"Smart fox." The farmer stands - rounding the corner to the front of the henhouse. He lifts the wooden board that had fallen into place as you crawling inside hours ago. Your legs are too cramped and spent from all that kicking to fight him as he pulls you out by your tail and into his well built arms. The farmer presses his nose to your face, nuzzling your cheek as he walks off towards his home - carrying you bridal style.

"Welcome home, Hun."

[nortonluv]

norton and his hunter counterpart trying to fight for reader’s attention pls pls

Right my first attempt back into writing.. life is still crumbling but im hyperfixated on idv rn, hopefully I'll live..

W

Pairing/s: Norton Campbell (Hunter and Surv) x GN! reader

Warnings: none, just silly

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This happens every damn time. Don't get me wrong, I love Norton. Both sides of him. The second we're all in a match together though, chaos ensues and its not because Fool's Gold is particularly ciolent around me; I say me because he definitely does not hesitate to chair his survivor counterpart.

No, no, it's worse than that. I feel bad for the other two survivors who got paired with me and Norton. The second that Fool's finds out that I am here, he generally turns into a guard dog of sorts. Not wanting me to work so he wanders around with me, other survivors know that once hes latched onto me, they can pretty much run free as long as they dont come into his sights. He's like my sweet guard dog who is still trying to kill my friends but won't go out of his way to do it right now because he deems himself too preoccupied with me.

We are walking around the sacred heart hospital when I notice a certain prospectors magnet dropped on the floor. Unluckily, Fools does not see it and gets caught in its pull. Norton must be around the corner and drags Fools to it, making him hit his head. Dazed, he stands with a hand holding his head. Before I could check on him, though, I'm lifted over Norton's shoulder making me yell out in minor panic.

"Ah! Norton put me down! He wasn't going to do anything to me, you're just causing more trouble for yourself!" He grunts at me and runs away from the dazed rocky version of himself. Quickly hopping over a wall and ducking down while also forcing me to crouch with him. At least my feet are on the ground now..

Before I could fully register what was happening, I was shoved forward slightly just out of Fools Gold's collapse area. Norton however not so lucky and took enough damage for it to be a full hit. He gives me a quick peck to the cheek and an ever speedier "I love you, be safe." Before sprinting off to begin a kite against Fools Gold.

The hunter himself hops the same ledge we just arrived to this spot over, he picks me up off the floor and dusts off my shoulders before mimicking his survivors counterpart's actions. "I love you. I'll make sure he doesn't disturb us anymore. Dont you dare try to save him whenni chair him. You know I won't hit you." He scowls before kissing my forehead and making a quick dash towards where Norton just was.

What an idiot.

"Are they gone...?" I turn back and see a frightened Frederick peaking past a corner. This makes me laugh and nod at the confused composer. "Good, I'm partially afraid of both of them, especially around you."

-♡-

Done! Not my best work but something silly and fun to imagine. Also if anyone would be willing to commission me for any art or fanfics in exchange for skins/items on idv let me know and we can see about sorting something out