#if u need i can elaborate more on any of these. or anything. it's been a Busy past few days

[apollos-boyfriend]

I have been gone for 4 whole days stuck in a car on a roadtrip, so obviously I need to know what the Hell went on in qsmp. Celbit evil arc even more?? Tazercraft chaos?? Are the cubitos ok??

okay SO

qcellbit is NOT in his evil arc. he revealed that it was all an elaborate double-cross in order to get into the federation to take it down from the inside. shit's backfired though and now he's been taken by the federation felps-style rip

tazercraft are just. they're tazercraft. they found out they can use clara (their drill they used to dig out their hide-and-seek arena) to break server-protected blocks and instantly used that power to break the prison built into the wall three times in a row. they also managed to rope the census bureau into a game of hide-and-seek and won, so it had to tell them a secret. which i think is the most anyone has gotten out of the census bureau without extreme trauma. they stay sily w it :3

absolutely not

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 TO THINK THAT WE COULD STAY THE SAME

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: after your night out goes terribly wrong in every possible way, you find yourself at a strange house. you don't know if this is real or some elaborate trick of an ability—worse, you don't know which will hurt you more in the long run. you don't know how you're supposed to survive this. if you can survive this.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: YAYAAYAYAAAAYYYYYY PART TWO GUYS I HOPE U ENJOY <3333. reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, beast!dazai, tragedy, angst, canon compliant.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: lots of whiplash and confusion & lots of frustration. unprotected sex. oral (m->f).

SEE: TWO SLOW DANCERS SERIES MASTERLIST

You expect to wake up in a damp basement tied to a chair, cramped and uncomfortable. You hardly remember what happened last night—you remember drinking in Chuuya’s penthouse, the two of you sprawled out on top of each other in his bed after cracking open his nicest wine, and you remember Albatross’s incessant texts beckoning you guys to the bar. You vaguely remember getting to the bar and an argument breaking out between you and Iceman, but you can’t really remember what was said—maybe that’s for the best. 

And you remember the man that attacked you outside of the bar—not his face, but the panic that spread through your chest, the sharp scent of the rag placed over your mouth, the way your vision went dark.

Shit, you think, slowly coming to. You instinctively lift your hand to your head and then frown when you realize you can lift your hand. You’re not tied up… more than that, you’re not in pain. If anything, you’re comfortable. Your lashes flutter open, squinting at the early morning sun that’s rising directly in your eyes—you’re not underground either, clearly. You seem to be lying on some sort of couch—what is going on?

You’re careful not to make any noise as you slowly regain your bearings. You’re in a small room—a living room or something—you see a fireplace directly across from where you’re lying, a coffee table in front of you, your head is resting on a pillow that someone must have laid beneath you, and there’s a soft blanket pulled over you. You exhale softly, riddled with confusion as you try to figure out what’s going on. You wonder maybe if Chuuya or one of the Flags had figured out what was going on and intercepted the kidnapping before they could get you somewhere, or maybe Itou and Klaus were able to track you down, but this place doesn’t look reminiscent to any of the safehouses you guys use.

You’re uncertain as you sit up, looking around hesitantly as you try to pinpoint where you might be. You see a window to your left and make note of it if you need to escape, but you’re more curious about the view outside of it. You’re on the coastline? Your lips part, looking around the small area for any hints to where you may be, but the place is extraordinarily plain. There are no trinkets on the coffee table, no pictures on the walls—it looks like a freshly bought house, but you can see dust on the far cabinet, signaling that nobody has been here for a long time. If it were freshly bought, the real estate agents would’ve been sure to make sure it was spotless.

You turn your head to the left and find your breath catching at the sight of someone sitting at the kitchen table. Someone almost familiar, but your brain refuses to accept who it is that’s sitting there with your back to you. He’s hunched over the table, furiously writing away at something—it’s Dazai. Though you could only see the back of his head, you could recognize him anywhere. The dark hair, the bandages peeking out from under it, but he’s not wearing his black jacket. He’s dressed in a cozy gray sweatshirt and sweatpants—the sight is so disconcerting, so strange, that you almost think you might be hallucinating, you might be being affected by some sort of ability.

“Dazai?” you whisper softly, voice raspy. 

His head snaps to the side at the sound of your voice, and his dark eye is unusually warm as it focuses on you. He folds the paper he was writing on and puts it in his pocket, rising to his feet. His lips curl up into a soft smile, and you struggle to breathe. You’re confused, too hopeful for your liking, and still mostly convinced that this is some figment of your imagination.

“You’re awake,” he says quietly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, unsure. “What… is this? What is going on? The man who kidnapped me… You intercepted?”

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly go pink, gaze falling to the ground, and you’re baffled by it. You haven’t seen him so red in the face since you were eighteen and teasing him while the two of you were curled up in bed. You feel sick—if this is a joke, a trick, an ability, then there’s none as cruel as this, showing you the boy you loved, everything you’ve ever wanted. The number of times you’ve imagined escaping the Port Mafia with him, living a quiet life in the countryside; how many times have you wondered what life would’ve been like if you’d gotten to Mori’s office in time, if he never took over as boss, if he never became what he has. 

It’s too cruel—crueler than any words Dazai has ever spoken to you, crueler than what your life has become over the past four years.

“Uh, no,” Dazai says awkwardly. “That was me.”

“What?”

“I sent him.”

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?” he suddenly asks, clearly trying to evade the subject. 

Your expression twists in frustration but instantly smooths when he takes a few steps closer to you. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead before letting his hand drop to your cheek. He caresses your cheek gently, thumb running along your cheekbone. 

You stare up at him, lips parted in shock. You’re not imagining the love in his gaze, not this time—it’s so plain that it has your chest painfully tight, it has your breath shaky, it has your eyes welling with tears that you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold back. You can’t help the way you lean into his touch, and that only makes his expression soften impossibly more. You don’t understand what’s going on, you don’t understand what’s caused this change, you don’t understand any of this.

You don’t realize that the tears have spilled over until you feel him wiping them away.

“I don’t understand,” you say, voice cracking as you take in a wet breath. “I don’t—is this real? I don't understand—”

“It’s real,” he tells you quietly, fingers gliding gently over your cheeks to wipe your tears before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s real.”

You know that’s something your mind would say to soothe your doubts, but his touch is so real. His fingers are warm, they’re callused from his gun, they’re so achingly familiar that you can hardly breathe—you want to believe that this is real, you so badly want to believe that this is real, but how could it be?

“I don’t understand, Dazai,” you whisper, shaking your head and pulling your face away from him. He doesn’t let you, his hand sliding to the back of your head to hold you in place. You can’t think straight with his hands on you, you’ve never been able to, but especially not like this, not when they’re so gentle, not when they’re everything you’ve ever wanted. Your voice comes out too much like a plea when you say his name, “Dazai, stop please—I don’t—what is this? Why are you…?”

Why are you dressed like this?

Why are you acting like this?

Why are you treating me like this?

What is going on?

You don’t even know what you want to ask, and you don’t know if you want to know the answer. A part of you just wants to bask in this—whether it’s a trick of your mind or an ability, you should take it as a blessing. You should bask in the time you have with your Dazai before you’re tossed back into your cruel reality, but the bigger part of you needs to know. If this is a trick or an ability, you don’t think you’ll survive being taunted with this only to have it ripped away.

Dazai’s expression twists, uncertainty in his eye as he looks down at you, like he doesn’t know what to say or how to explain it. His lips part to speak, but no words leave them. He lets out a shaky breath and then lets his gaze drop to your body. You realize you’re still wearing the dress from yesterday, albeit dirty and wrinkled now; his hand drops your face and you feel too cold without his touch, but you can at least think a bit more clearly now.

“What is going on?” you ask, voice steadier. “Where am I? Why are you here? Where are your guards? Is this place secure?”

Dazai looks at the ground, a resigned expression on his face. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, which has frustration bubbling in your chest along with a little mania, you have no idea what’s going on, you have no idea where you and Dazai are, you have no idea if this place is safe, you don’t see any of his guards standing watch, you don’t have your phone with you to call Chuuya or the Flags, you–

“You should get changed,” Dazai says quietly, much to your exasperation.

Your expression twists. “Dazai—”

“If it’s alright,” Dazai interrupts, voice unsteady, gaze still trained on the floor, “while we’re here, can you call me Osamu?”

Your mouth dries at the request, studying Dazai’s face as best as you can, but you come up infuriatingly blank as you try to figure out what might be going through his head right now. He almost looks like a kid again, back when you first met, sixteen and fumbling, unsure how to act around you but wanting desperately to be in your presence. He would force himself into your space and try to initiate conversation but would visibly get anxious as soon as he did, second-guessing his every word.

“Osamu,” you correct, and you don’t like how unfamiliar his given name is now on your tongue. It used to roll off easily, like it belonged there. Dazai’s shoulders slump in relief, gaze flickering up to meet yours. His eye looks like a pool of honey under the early morning sun, nothing like the black pit you’re used to. “Will you tell me what’s going on? At least if we’re safe here.”

“We’re safe here,” he confirms, swallowing thickly, and then repeats, “You should… get changed.”

You sigh as you look over to the bedroom he keeps glancing over at and then say, “Fine, but then you’re explaining.”

“Okay,” he agrees, voice unnervingly wobbly, but you only give him one last long, semi-suspicious look before making your way over to the bedroom. 

You don’t realize how much his presence has fogged your mind until you’re in the bedroom with the door shut behind you. You can suddenly breathe, you can suddenly see—you press your hands to your face as you sit on the edge of the bed and try to get ahold of yourself. You’re still not entirely sure that this is real; it could easily be a figment of your imagination, it could be a dream, it could be an ability. 

You exhale shakily—first and foremost, you need to figure out if this is real.

Your gaze lifts to the window in the bedroom. If this is an ability and you’re being taunted with your deepest desires, then you likely won’t be able to feel the fresh air. You’d be held in an enclosed area that’s masquerading as this beach house, there would be no wind or breeze when you try to step outside because you’re not actually outside. Holding your breath, you take a step forward—the window gets stuck a little as you try to push it up, but once you get it up, you’re immediately met with a fresh breeze from the bay. You can smell the faint scent of saltwater in the air, you can feel the warmth of the rising sun—it’s too real to be an ability.

Shit, you think, even more confused. Your gaze snaps up to the clock on the wall, watching the second-hand tick—you can read it just fine. Not a dream. What is going on?

You shake your head as you make your way over to the closet, sliding open the door to figure out what exactly Dazai wants you to change into. You pause when you see two outfits hanging up—one is casual loungewear, a matching set to what he’s wearing, and the other is one of your suits.

It’s a choice, you realize, throat tight as you take in a shuddered breath. He’s letting you choose whether you’re going to stay with him or if you’re going to go to the meeting with the Red Chamber.

Fuck, you think, rubbing your face hard, staring hard at the two outfits. You still don’t understand what’s going on, and you want to stay with Dazai. You really do, more than anything. You want answers, and you want to indulge, but you’re scared. You know that if you stay with him, indulge in whatever this is… you know it won’t last, and when you inevitably have to go back to reality, it’ll just make things hurt so much worse.

Your fingers graze the familiar fabric of your suit jacket, and for a second, you imagine going out there in it. You imagine the way Dazai’s expression will fall when he realizes you didn’t choose him. You imagine the way his throat will spasm as he nods in resignation and calls for a car so the two of you can leave. You imagine the hurt in his eyes, and it’s almost enough for you to choose to leave. The vindictiveness is tempting, the prospect of hurting him even a fraction as much as he’s hurt you the past four years is too enticing, but more than revenge, you want answers. You want to know what spurred this because you have a bad feeling in your gut about it. 

After a moment’s hesitation, you yank the loungewear off the hanger, slipping out of the dress you’ve been wearing for far too long to slide the thin sweatshirt over your head and pull on the shorts. They’re comfortable, the cotton is soft against your skin, and for some reason, it causes a heavy feeling to settle on your chest. You shake your head and leave the room before you can second-guess yourself.

Dazai is sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched over, back to you, head tilted toward the ground. He doesn’t hear you when you exit the bedroom; he doesn’t even look up until you clear your throat. When you do, his head snaps around instantly. There’s an uncertain expression on his face that quickly fades into relief when he realizes what you’re wearing.

“No,” you say immediately, glad that your voice comes out harsh instead of wavering. “You don’t get to look relieved. I want answers. What is this?” 

Dazai rises to his feet. His lips part, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what. His brows furrow, and he looks down at the ground as he says, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Frustrated, you snap, “Well, figure it out, Dazai.” Dazai has the audacity to withdraw, and you let out an exasperated sigh before correcting quietly, “Osamu.”

“I can’t—”

“You have to,” you say, raising your voice and taking a step forward. Dazai takes a step backward, expression falling. “I’ve dreamt of this, Osamu. Of waking up one day and things were suddenly the same again, like they were. I thought I would be happy, but I am so fucking angry. You don’t get to do this after everything you’ve put me through, not without an explanation.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, voice pitched, rising in distress. “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t—this was a mistake, I can’t—”

Dazai suddenly looks like he’s about to cry, and you hate how all of the anger immediately drains from you. He looks so much younger dressed like this in a sweatshirt too big for his thin shoulders, without his jacket acting like a shield from the rest of the world, without Mori’s scarf hanging around his shoulders, a reminder of all that he’s done. He looks like he’s sixteen again, startled awake from a nightmare, too lost and too alone, and just like back then, your instinct is to try to calm him down. 

“I don’t understand,” you say helplessly.

“You can’t understand,” he replies shrilly. “I shouldn't be here, you shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”

He cuts himself off suddenly, and you watch as his expression hardens in an instant. His voice goes cold, and he says, “Forget it. We should go. I’m going to—”

“No,” you say harshly, reaching out to grab his wrist to stop him from walking past you. You shove your forearm against his chest to push back against the wall. He doesn’t fight back. When his back hits the wall, he only stares down at you, his visible eye wide and swirling with too many emotions. “You’re going to explain what’s happening. Please, Osamu.”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “We shouldn’t be here, I never meant—I just wanted—”

You sigh as you step away from him, looking away. You’re getting nowhere—you need to take a different route, you’re not going to get any answers from him this way. After a few moments, you ask, “What happened with the meeting with the Red Chamber? Who is going? What happened to the plan to assassinate Baoyu Jia?”

This is obviously the wrong question because Dazai looks embarrassed again as he looks away. “Lippmann is handling the meeting,” he says after a moment. 

“Lippmann doesn’t do assassinations,” you reply.

His gaze lowers. “He’s not killing him.”

You let your eyes slide shut, trying to calm yourself down. “You never planned to have me kill him,” you realize.

“No.”

“You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dazai doesn’t meet your gaze as he stares to the side. “I planned to have you kidnapped on the way to the meeting. I figured it would be easier if you were thrown off and focused on an unusual mission. I only ended up doing it last night because…”

Because of how things went down yesterday, you finish for him silently. 

You rub your face as you step away. “Why did you kidnap me?” you ask flatly.

Dazai looks as if he doesn’t want to answer. His throat spasms and he almost looks like he wants to run away, but he knows you’ll be quick to stop him. As he realizes that fleeing is not an option, he starts to get visibly upset again.

“I just wanted one day—” he begins, his voice pitched again. Wobbly. He rubs at his face harshly, first his cheeks and then over his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, and his body tenses like he’s going to bolt. You brace yourself to stop him, but his shoulders slump suddenly, and his head hangs forward. He says softly, “I’m so tired. I just wanted one day where things could be normal again.”

You swallow as you stare at Dazai. He looks… incredibly fragile right now, more so than you’ve ever seen him before. Even those nights when you woke to him screaming and sobbing, the night you raced to the rooftop to stop him from jumping—none of it compares to right now. His eye looks like glass, ready to shatter at a moment’s notice, and his lips are trembling; it’s only a thread that’s holding him together right now, and you could so easily pull it apart. 

All it would take is a single word.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, a bullet loaded in the chamber and ready to let fly. You could do it, and a part of you wants to. You want to hurt him—the vindictiveness you felt in the bedroom returns with a vengeance. You want to rip that thread away and watch him fall apart, you want him to shatter, you want him to hurt. 

“I—” You start to say, but the words die on your tongue when his gaze lifts to meet yours. The expression on his face is resigned, defeated, like he already knows what you’re going to say, like he knows that one day of normalcy could never be an option. And you can’t bring yourself to do it, can’t bring yourself to hurt him the same way he’s hurt you so much over the last four years. “You didn’t have to kidnap me, Osamu. You could’ve just asked me to come. I would have.”

You’re weak, you think bitterly. Dazai deserves your anger. He deserves your cruelty. He deserves your hatred. He’s treated you horribly over the last four years, and the moment he puts on a sad face, you fold for him. You should walk away, leave him here to break down on his own. You don’t give a fuck if he’s tired, you’re tired. You’re tired of the four years of hell your life has been, you’re tired of clinging to the past, you’re tired of Dazai. 

Your life would be so much easier if you could just hate him and move on, but you’ll never move on from Dazai Osamu. Your souls have been inexplicably entwined since the day the two of you met six years ago, so entangled that you no longer know where yours ends and his begins; there’s no world for you without him, and if that means letting him drag you through hell, if it means letting him ruin you, ruin everything you had with him, then you would let him. 

“Would you have really come?” he asks solemnly, like maybe he knows what you’re thinking.

You look away and answer, maybe a bit too bitterly, “I always come, don’t I?” 

“It doesn’t matter. It had to be this way,” Dazai responds after a moment.

“It had to be a kidnapping?” you ask dryly.

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“... You wouldn’t understand.”

You let out yet another exasperated sigh, head falling back as you will yourself the patience because, of course, it’s back to this.

“Then help me understand,” you say tightly. “Osamu, would you please stop being difficult?”

“I can’t,” he repeats, much to your frustration. “I just—I can’t.”

You don’t respond this time, shaking your head and looking away. You don’t know if you’ll be able to indulge him the way he wants without an explanation. You want to know what’s going on—you need to know what’s going on. You have to understand what triggered this, you have to understand what has him so wound up. Just as you’re about to ask, he asks softly:

“Can we go to the cliffside?” 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Is this place even secure? I know you want one day to be normal, but you’re still you. You have billions of yen on your head, we can’t—”

“It’s secure,” he interrupts, looking uncomfortable by the reminder. Your gaze softens. You thought maybe you would be relieved with solid proof that the boy who loved you was still here, but it only makes you feel strange now. Bitter, maybe, hurt—if he’s still here, why has he hurt you so much in the past four years? A part of you wonders if maybe it would’ve been better if Chuuya was right; if Dazai was better off dead. “Please, let’s go out there.”

“Okay,” you agree, shoving your hands in your pockets and making your way over to the slippers Dazai left out for you before walking over to the back door. 

He trails after you slowly, remaining a pace behind you as you walk up the dirt path leading to the clifftop. The early morning sea breeze is cool against your skin, and the rising sun casts a pretty glow over the bay. Your hands are stuffed in your pockets as you drag your feet against the dirt—you don’t dare look back at Dazai.

You try to piece together all that you know. Something has Dazai highly distressed and emotionally unstable, you aren’t sure what. This place, for some reason, is special to him—he can’t seem to handle any form of coldness or cruelty from you while here. He can’t explain to you what’s going on, and he can’t explain why he can’t explain to you. This was evidently a whole plot he’d been planning for a while now, what with using the meeting with the Red Chamber and already having the house and property around it secured. It’s all too confusing, and you have a feeling you’re going to come out of this more hurt than you were to begin with.

You come to a stop at the cliff’s edge, but you don’t sit down. Dazai comes to stand next to you, shoulder brushing yours as the two of you look over the bay. 

“It’s my birthday today.”

Your head snaps to the side as you look up at him, eyes wide, “What?” 

“You know, in another universe, you found the files when you and Chuuya went looking for them,” Dazai says with a wry smile. 

Your lips part when he looks down at you—he looks stunning under the early morning sun, he looks alive, and you don’t think you’ve seen him look so at ease in four years. There are still bags visible under his eye, but his expression is smooth otherwise, his lips are curled up softly, and his dark eye looks golden under the rays of the sun. 

“You knew about that?” you ask quietly, voice coming out a bit more breathless than you mean for it to.

“… I know a lot of things,” he answers cryptically. “I made sure you couldn’t get your hands on them this time, though.”

In another universe, this time—his words finally start to register, and you frown, trying to piece together what he means. 

“Why?” you ask carefully.

There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he gazes out to the bay, like he’s looking at something that’s not really there. “I fell in love with you many times, but that night was always the night I fell the hardest. I was scared.” 

You let out a shaky breath as you stare up at him. You don’t know what he’s talking about, you don’t know what he means, but he’s saying what you’ve only dreamed of hearing from him, and it leaves you at a loss. You can only see the side of his face, but the corner of his lip is twitching down again, his brown eye soft beneath the sunlight. 

“Scared?”

“Scared,” he confirms quietly. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to follow through with what needed to be done… I… I wasn’t supposed to get close to you at all. I knew it would make things more difficult.”

What needed to be done—did he mean killing Mori? Did he have that planned for that long? How hadn’t you known?

You don’t know what to say—not because you’re at a loss for words now, but because you’re scared that if you ask the wrong thing, he’ll clam up again. You don’t know what he means, talking about another universe and ‘this time’ and how he wasn’t supposed ‘to get close to you’—he’s talking like he knows everything that was supposed to happen, everything that has happened in another life. It’s too strange, you don’t know if Dazai has genuinely gone off the deep end or if he’s been hiding something from you since the moment you met him. Both explanations are disconcerting.

“Then why?” you finally settle on. “Why did you get close to me? Why did you—”

Why did you fall in love with me?

Why did you make me fall in love with you?

If you knew how things were going to turn out, why would you put me through this?

Dazai looks down now, gaze trained on the rocks below as the water crashes against them. He looks sad. Your hand twitches to reach out for his, but you refrain, if only barely. 

“What if I told you it was to use you?” he asks quietly. “To make you love me so that you could make the power transition easier because I knew people wouldn’t question me if I had Mori’s daughter’s support.”

“I would call you a liar,” you reply. “Tell me why.”

“Because I love you,” he whispers, lips trembling, throat spasming. “I love you so much that I can barely breathe when you’re in the room. That I can’t think straight when you’re around, even when you’re not around. I become stupid, reckless—I don’t think at all. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I tried so hard to stay away to protect you. I told myself it over and over again leading up to the day we met, but then I saw you, and I just—I couldn’t do it… I couldn’t do it.”

Dazai’s eye is glassy as he stares down at the water, and his fingers tremble in front of his body. He twists them awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with himself—the same way he did when he fumbled over words when you guys were seventeen and he was trying to ask you out on a date. 

This time, you do reach out. You brush your fingers against his, at first hesitantly, and then when he doesn’t immediately pull away, you slide your hands into his, entwining your fingers together. His grip on your hand is tight, like he’s afraid to let go in fear that you might disappear. Like he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. 

“I don’t understand, Osamu,” you say quietly, grip tightening on his hand in case he decides to bolt once he hears your question. “Then why did you push me away so much? Why were you so…”

Cruel.

He grimaces like you spoke the word, incapable of looking you in the eye. He indeed tenses like he’s going to run, but then his shoulders slump. “Because I—I wasn’t supposed to—you’re not supposed to—you don’t understand, I can’t—”

“Help me understand,” you insist, frustration starting to pull at you again. “Osamu, please, I—”

“You were never supposed to be the price of this world,” Dazai finally blurts out, voice shrill again. He tries to pull away, but you don’t let him; he takes in a ragged breath, and your lips part in shock when you realize that the tears that had been welling in his visible eye have started to spill over. Again, he tries to yank his hand away and nearly sends himself careening off the side of the cliff, it’s only your quick reaction to tug him hard toward you that prevents him from tumbling back. The two of you crash backward onto the ground. “I’ve ruined everything, I’ve ruined you, I ruin everything I touch. Everything was supposed to work out perfectly for everyone, but I ruined it. I was supposed to stay away from you; I was supposed to let you live without me, but I couldn’t stay away. I was selfish, I’ve always been selfish, and it’s always at your expense. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and Dazai buries his face into the crook of your neck. He’s shaking terribly, and he feels so small wrapped up in your arms like this. He’s too thin, his shoulders feel frail—Dazai has never been good at taking care of himself, but you can���t help but wonder when the last time he’s eaten, if he’s eaten, with no one looking after him anymore. Your hand slides up to cradle the back of his head, and Dazai sobs, his whole body shudders, you can feel him clinging to the back of your sweatshirt desperately.

And you don’t know what to say to calm him down. You don’t know what he’s talking about, you can’t understand any of this. You don’t know if he’s gone crazy, and you don’t know what to do if he has because people are already starting to question his decisions. There are rumors spreading that something’s not right with Dazai—ever since all of this unnecessary tension with the Armed Detective Agency began a few weeks ago, there have been whispers, even among your closest confidants, that maybe Dazai’s reign as boss has come to an end, that maybe it’s time for a new regime to take his place. 

The Flags are eager, Itou and Klaus are ready for it, and Chuuya is resigned. He’s waiting for you to give up on Dazai so he can finally put his old partner out of his misery—or that’s what he’s telling himself, anyway.

But a small part of you wonders if there’s any truth to what he’s saying. 

Dazai has always been smart, but there were times when you questioned whether his intelligence was the product of his own natural instincts and skill or if maybe there was something else going on because sometimes he predicted things that he shouldn’t have possibly been able to predict. 

He knew about an assassination attempt on your life before anyone in the Port Mafia caught wind of it—not any of Verlaine’s girls, none of your contacts, none of Mori or Kouyou’s contacts, but somehow he knew. He knew that there was a trap laid out in Kyoto for you and Itou, and that’s why he was so insistent on being the one to go in your stead. Not only that, but he knew things about you before you ever told him—your interests, your fears, your desires. Sometimes, he would let you tell him them, but you could tell that you were only confirming what he already knew.

It never made any sense to you, but if he somehow knew what happened in other worlds and used that knowledge here… that would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?

But how? 

How would he have had that knowledge?

And why didn’t he tell you? Chuuya? Anyone?

He’s still talking, but you can’t make out any of the words he’s saying anymore. His voice is muffled against your skin, and he’s heaving over sobs. You wonder when the last time Dazai let himself cry like this—if he ever has.

“This was a mistake.” You finally make out the ragged words as he presses his face harder into your neck, like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to be here. I’m going to ruin everything, I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”

“It’s already ruined,” you say suddenly, feeling Dazai still in your arms as soon as your words register. “It’s ruined, I’m here. There’s no taking that back. So, why don’t we just enjoy your birthday, and we can figure everything else out tomorrow, okay?”

Dazai pulls back so he can look at you. His eye is still wet, and his cheek is smeared with tears, but they’re no longer steadily rolling over it. You lift your hand to caress his cheek, using your thumb to wipe his cheek gently. His lashes flutter shut as he instinctively leans into your touch, turning his face a little to the side so he can kiss your palm. When his eye reopens, the adoration swimming within it takes your breath away.

He hasn’t looked at you like this in years, and it makes your chest feel like it’s going to cave in—you’re not doing this to indulge, you tell yourself. Sure, you’re not going to complain about it; you’ve dreamt about this before, but it’s more important that you figure out what exactly is going on with him. You still don’t know what he means and haven’t managed to get a single answer out of Dazai. If anything, you have more questions. Your head has gone dizzy with all the possible explanations swimming around in your mind. The first thing you need to do is get Dazai to calm down, you’re not going to get anything out of him in this state, and then, you can try to figure out the best plan of attack for getting some answers.

“It’ll make everything worse,” he replies softly. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have—it’s just going to make everything worse, and—”

“Can it really get worse, Osamu?” you ask with a wry smile.

Dazai’s gaze lowers to the ground, the expression on his face is resigned, so you know that you’ve won, but his words still unsettle you deeply:

“Yeah,” he says. “It can.”

———

You thought maybe that once Dazai calmed down, you’d be able to get answers from him. That was a mistake, of course, because once Dazai calmed down, he became even more careful with his words. A part of you knows that you should’ve expected this—it’s Dazai, for fuck’s sake—but you can’t blame yourself for not thinking straight, all thing’s considered. Every time you tried to broach the topic, he expertly evaded with a soft smile and a change of subject; you were starting to get frustrated, but you were doing your best at not letting it show on your face.

The two of you are sitting on the beach now, shoulders brushing as you look out at the bay. The sand is soft between your fingers, the bay water cool against your toes as you bask in each other’s presence—you almost feel at peace. You want to feel at peace, but you can’t with the nagging fear that something is seriously wrong. You can’t with Dazai sitting next to you and not explaining why he treated you so cruelly for four years. Having to stay away isn’t an explanation, not enough for you to be at ease.

You need to understand. You need the truth.

Instead of going about it in a convoluted, sneaky manner, you decide to be upfront this time and quietly say, “I need to know why, Osamu.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to you, and when you glance at him, you find him looking down at his lap, a resigned expression on his face. His jaw tenses like he’s going to reply, but then his lashes flutter as he turns his face away—you’re so close, you can tell he’s on the brink of giving in. He wants to tell you, but something is stopping him, and you just have to get him to that point where the desire to explain overwhelms all of his common sense. 

You can do that.

“You hurt me,” you tell him. Your voice cracks, you don’t need to fake the pain that he’s made you feel over the last four years. You can only see the corners of his eye and his lips, but you can see the way they tighten at your words. “Do you even know how bad you hurt me, Osamu?”

“I do,” he whispers, his voice just as weak as yours is. “I—”

“You don’t,” you interrupt. “You don’t know because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to sit here with me and not give me an explanation.” 

Dazai doesn’t respond now, so you take the opportunity to continue.

“At first, I convinced myself it was because you loved me,” you say quietly, staring down at your lap. “You didn’t want people to think I conspired against Mori in case the coup went poorly. You didn’t want to put me in the middle and force me to choose. You were cruel because you were putting on a show for the rest of the Port Mafia because you loved me and didn’t want your actions to come crashing down on me if things took a turn for the worse.”

You still don’t look at Dazai; you can't bear to; you don’t want to know what he’s thinking. It’s taking all of your energy to keep yourself together as you speak all of this out loud for the first time. You think you’ll break if you look at him.

“We didn’t see each other for days because you were busy consolidating power, and I was busy in Tokyo with our allies. I made so many excuses for what you’d done during that time separated that I drowned myself in them; I couldn’t speak to Chuuya or Itou or the Flags without getting into an argument with them because I defended you after you murdered the closest thing I had to a father and taunted me about it.” 

The first time you and Chuuya got into a screaming match over Dazai was in the immediate aftermath of the coup. Chuuya had been just as blindsided as you, and he had been with you when you got up to Mori’s office and saw Dazai sitting at his desk. He heard what he said to you, how he treated you, and would’ve killed him on the spot if you hadn't been there to see it happen if he did. 

You were both drunk a few days after everything happened. It was a long day of talks with Mishima Yukio, and you guys were trying to relax, but the topic of Dazai came up, and everything went to shit. You couldn’t handle what Chuuya was implying when he was venting about Dazai going behind your backs for the coup, and you started voicing all of the excuses you’d been gathering in the back of your head, and things escalated until they blew up, as it always did whenever Dazai was brought up the past four years. 

“I defended you so much that I really believed it, Osamu,” you tell him, voice cracking again. You take in a wet breath, desperately trying to calm yourself down. You rub your face harshly, but it only bothers you more because the sand grates your skin. “When I came back to Yokohama after things settled with Mishima, I thought maybe I would get an explanation now that things had calmed down. After everything you did, I thought maybe there was still a chance that things could go back to normal. I thought there could still be a normal.”

You were ashamed of it. You can’t stop the sob that tumbles from your lips now, so you press your hand to your mouth to try to muffle it. Chuuya had never looked down on you the way he did when he realized what you were hoping for; it was the only time he didn’t get angry when Dazai was brought up after the coup. He walked away from you, and that was somehow worse.

Itou and the Flags—they never voiced their disapproval, but you knew they lost respect for you when they realized you were still clinging to Dazai after what he’d done. And it hurt, but it didn’t hurt quite as much as the thought of losing Dazai entirely, so you pushed through it and clung to your hope even if it was killing you.

“And then you called me to your office for the first time.”

You hear Dazai take in a sharp, shaky breath; he lets out a noise as he exhales—a whimper or the beginnings of a sob, you can’t tell. You think he wants to tell you to stop, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to.

“I think I understand now—you were angry at yourself, weren’t you? You were trying to push me away, but you couldn’t, so you were hoping that I wouldn’t come when you called, and when I did, you were angry. At yourself, at me, at the situation,” you continue, finally turning your head to the side so you can look at him. He’s buried his face in his hands like a coward, so you shake your head and look ahead again. “But I didn’t understand back then, Osamu.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out so quietly that you barely hear him. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you whisper, helplessly looking up at the sky. “I really don’t, but it wasn’t that. Of everyone, I really thought you would be the last to use me like that, but even then, I thought that if this was the only way I could have you now, then I would be okay with it. I would let you ruin me. Ruin us.”

You don’t even know where you’re going with this anymore. You forgot how this started, forgot what you were getting at, but you think there’s something relieving getting all of this off your chest to the person who caused all of your distress.

“And then you fucking sent me away,” you spit, angry suddenly as you turn to look at him again. “You sent me away, Osamu. Not even twenty-four hours after you fucked me over Mori’s desk after you killed him. You had the audacity to send me abroad for a year.”

“I had to—”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply, raising your voice. “What did you think would change? Did you think that after a year away, when I came back, I wouldn’t come when you called for me? I always come when you call. Always. It was just more fucking humiliating crawling back to you like a dog after you sent me away.”

“It wasn’t like that—” Dazai tries to protest, voice cracking. “It wasn’t—”

“How am I supposed to know what it was like? You never explain anything, all I knew was that you sent me away with no explanation after you fucked me in the most degrading way possible, and the moment I came back to Yokohama, you had me bent over that desk again,” you snap. “Do you even know what people say about me? Do you even care?”

“How could you even ask that?” Dazai demands, voice ragged as he finally turns to face you. His dark eye is glassy with tears that roll over his cheek steadily—you can’t even find pleasure in it. “How could you—”

“How could I?” you repeat loudly, so frustrated that you almost want to grab him and shake him, hit him, anything. “How could I, Osamu? Because you treated me exactly the way they said. Like a fucking whore.”

“Please—”

“The shit you said to me, the way you mocked me because you were too fucking weak to let me go, so you wanted to force me into being the one to cut you off,” you interrupt him, pulling your knees to your chest as you take in another sharp breath. “You knew I would never, you had to have known.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, ashamed, regretful, but is it enough?

“If you’re sorry, then explain,” you insist, looking up at him again, but he’s turned his head away. “Look me in the eye and tell me after all of that you still can’t explain, Osamu.”

After what feels like an eternity, he drags his gaze to yours, and with tears rolling over his cheek, regret and sorrow swimming in his dark eye, he shakes his head and whispers, “I can’t.”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sob you don’t want to let out; you feel sick to your stomach, nauseous, but there’s nothing in you to throw up. Your hands are shaking—you think your whole body may be shaking—you feel defeated, resigned to the fact that you’ll never get a clear answer from Dazai as to why he did this to you.

“At least tell me if it’s worth it.” You hate that you’re begging him even now, but you need to know. “Even if it’s a lie, just tell me it’s worth it. Whatever you’re trying to do that cost us everything we had, tell me it’s worth it.”

You don’t look at him when he says shakily, “It is,” you don’t want to know if he's lying.

After a few moments of silence, he speaks again, voice just as resigned as you feel. “If you only stayed to get answers, you can still leave.”

Please, leave—you can see the desperation plain on his face when you look at him. 

Leave this time, he pleads, don’t stay. Let me go.

But what’s the point of leaving now? The damage has been done—there’s no coming back from this, there’s no shielding yourself from getting hurt any more than you already have. No matter what happens after this conversation, when things inevitably go back to how they were before he brought you here, it will destroy you. He will destroy you.

So, instead of leaving, you ask quietly, “Will you kiss me?”

Dazai doesn’t waste a second. 

For the first time in four years, his lips touch yours—you can taste the saltiness of his tears, the familiar mixture of tobacco and whiskey, the hint of iron. They quiver against yours terribly, his fingers tremble in his lap until he lifts them to cradle your face gently. Dazai kisses you like he’s afraid that you’ll disappear, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you before it’s too late. It’s desperate, reverent. An apology. 

His breath catches as he pulls you closer, and you decide that just for today, you’ll let yourself pretend that this is enough. That his hands caressing your body and the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters is enough to rewrite four years of heartache, enough to undo all of the pain he’s caused that led you here. 

Just for today, it will be enough.

———

Dazai is in the shower. 

He’s been oddly antsy since dusk has fallen, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s because he’s realizing the day is ending and that when the sun rises tomorrow, things are going to have to go back to how they were. It certainly has you antsy—each passing second is a reminder that your time with him is limited, that this was never meant to last.

He’s also been oddly… distant. Maybe not emotionally, but physically—a total 180 from the past four years when you could only be close to him physically. Besides the kisses on the beach, Dazai has hardly touched you. When you made lunch, he hovered just close enough that you could almost imagine that his skin was brushing yours; when the two of you were lounging on the couch after a few hours in the sun, he subtly shifted away whenever your thighs touched. 

It’s strange, you think that maybe it has to do with your words from earlier: every time he touches you, he cringes away in a reminder of how he treated you the past four years. When his fingers brush your wrist, he’s reminded of the way your arms must’ve ached when he pinned your wrists to the small of your back after bending you over his desk; when his thigh touched yours, he glances down and sees fading purplish hue on your thighs from where the edge of his desk had dug a bit too deep into your skin with each thrust.

You want to remind him that you knew what you were getting into when you chose to go up to his office, you knew his touches weren’t going to be gentle, and you knew his words wouldn’t be kind. You went because you wanted him in any way you could have him, but you don’t think that will make him feel any better. You don’t know if you want him to feel better. A part of you is relishing in the agony he feels over how he’s treated you the past few years.

You’re snooping now. This is a different bedroom from the one you changed in; it’s not quite as empty as the rest of the house. There are little trinkets scattered on top of the dressers, and the dressers are actually full. Most of the clothes in them seem to just be more casual loungewear for Dazai. You thought that this place was unused at first glance, but now you can’t help but wonder how often he comes here. He used to disappear for days at a time before he took over as boss, and no matter how much you and Chuuya looked for him in his usual spots, you couldn’t find him.

Was he coming here?

You slide open another drawer and pause when you see clothes that are decidedly not loungewear and decidedly not Dazai’s. You tilt your head to the side as you skim your fingers against the silk lingerie—they’re soft under your touch, the tags still clipped on, your size. Your throat swells with something indecipherable. Fondness, maybe? Sadness? Both? Neither? You’re not sure. 

How long has he been planning to bring you here?

When you hear the bathroom door creak open, you ask lightly, “How many women have you brought here, hm? Am I one of many?”

You hear Dazai let out a huff of laughter, and you turn to face him, lips parting instinctively at the sight of him. He’s mostly rewound his bandages around his body—legs, arms, and torso all covered by the gauze—and his towel hangs low on his hips, but he hasn’t rewrapped his bandages around the left side of his face yet.

For the first time since you’ve known him when your gaze tracks up to his face, your eyes meet both of his. His gaze is soft as he looks over you, a longing expression on his face. Dazai is usually quick to school his expression around you, but he’s been disconcertingly open with you since you woke up here. Obviously, he’s still keeping things from you because he’s not explaining everything, but he’s not hiding anything. He’s not masking his emotions, he’s not hitting you with flimsy excuses to dodge the conversation. He’s been open—more open than Dazai Osamu has ever been with anyone. 

“Oh yes,” he drawls, giving you a languid smile before reaching over to grab a sweatshirt and pants. “Many women.”

You side-eye him. “Don’t even joke about that.”

He raises his eyebrows, looking unbearably amused, and then he murmurs, “You know you’re the only woman for me.”

You let out a pleased huff and raise your chin, giving him a simpering smile before he steps back into the bathroom to get his clothes on. As soon as he does, you’re looking back down at the lingerie, and with only enough time for a split second to make a decision, you glance back at the closed bathroom door, yank the set out of the drawer, and change into it as quickly as you can.

You’d like to see him keep his hands off of you while you’re dressed in this. 

You toss yourself on the bed, humming to yourself as you stretch, making sure the lingerie is fitted properly while you wait for him to get out of the bathroom. You don’t actually know if this is a good idea—the conversations you’ve had with him, the emotional intimacy, it’s a lot for one day, and a part of you is worried that he’s been avoiding physical intimacy because it would just be too much. How are either of you supposed to go back to how things were once you’ve fully indulged in what could be?

That’s also part of the reason why you need to seduce him. You need to show him that he doesn’t have to go back to how things were, that this could be the new norm if he just allowed it. You’re already not sure if you’ll be able to handle going back to how things used to be tomorrow, but you’re in too deep already that you may as well fully indulge. You may as well use this time to try to make him really understand what he could have if he just allowed it.

When you hear the bathroom door creak open, you don’t lift your head to look at him. You know the exact moment he notices you because he’s mid, “Do you want—” when his voice abruptly cuts off.

You hold your breath when you don’t immediately hear him walk in your direction, uncertainty rising in your chest when he also doesn’t speak. It’s an agonizing few seconds as you wait for him to do something. Eventually, you hear his feet padding against the ground as he makes his way over to you.

You don’t know if he’s approaching from behind your head or from your side, and you don’t want to crane your neck around to look. It’s only when you see movement from the corner of your eye as he reaches out to trace his finger up your body, starting from the valley between your breasts up to the middle of your throat. His touch burns, and you can’t think as he drags his finger against your skin. When he finally gets to your throat, he rests it there, and it feels like a brand, searing and heavy as if he’s pressing his claim into your skin with just the pads of his fingers. The air feels thick, suffocating, and you realize you’ve stopped breathing entirely. His pupils are blown wide as he stares down at you silently, gaze running up and down your body intensely, but his fingertips linger on that one spot at the center of your throat—unmoving, heavy, possessive.

You’ve succeeded, but at what cost?

“Tease,” he finally breathes out. The word is shaky, and his finger tenses on your neck before he drags it up to your cheek so he can caress your face. “You’re beautiful.”

You press your face into his hand, looking up at him through your lashes as you say softly, “I’m yours.”

He draws his hand back like he’s been burned, but he doesn’t move away, staring down at you with an expression that you just can’t place. After a few long moments, he whispers, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you repeat, pushing yourself up and shifting on your knees so you can look at him, sitting back on your heels. His throat spasms as he swallows, hardly able to keep his gaze on your face. “I’m yours. I always have been, always will be, you must know that by now.”

“You need to move on,” he tells you, voice wavering. His hand twitches like he wants to reach out again, but he stops himself. “You need to let me go. Please.”

Your lips curve up into a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “That’s not an option, Osamu.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, thick and suffocating. His jaw clenches, and his eyes are dark with something unreadable. He exhales sharply before looking away, shaking his head like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hands curl into fists against his thighs, his breath shuddering as if he’s trying to steady himself.

Then, almost too quietly, he says, “You have no idea what you do to me. You don’t understand.”

His voice is hoarse; this time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out. His fingers tremble as they brush against your cheek. You swallow thickly and then give him a teasing smile to try to lighten the mood, winking as you say, “I can imagine.”

“You can't,” he replies, throat bobbing terribly as he looks at you with the same expression you imagine a condemned man wears to the gallows. “You can’t. I don’t even understand it. It’s… unfathomable—it consumes me, corrodes me from the inside out. What I feel for you, I feel it in my bones, in my blood. It’s unbearable. I tried to rid myself of it; I tried to rid myself of you to make things easier on both of us, but I couldn't.”

“Osamu—”

“I tried to make sense of it. I thought maybe understanding what I feel for you would help me learn how to be apart from you,” he interrupts, voice taking on a more manic tone. His eyes are glassy now as his gaze flits away for a moment, like he’s trying to regain some semblance of control over himself but fails. “I tried so hard, but it was impossible. You twist me up inside, whether you’re around or not. You—you haunted me. Haunt me. You’re alive—whether it’s a city away, ten floors down, or across the sea—but you haunt me. You’re in my every thought, seared behind my eyelids, a ghost in the mirror behind me. I can’t escape you, and I don’t want to escape you—you’re here when I close my eyes, and when I open them, I search for you without meaning to. I knew I would ruin you, I knew how things were going to end from the beginning, but being apart from you was… it was agonizing.”

You don’t know what to say as you stare up at him. His eyes—wild, dark, desperate—search yours as if looking for something that might make this easier, that might make it make sense. He wants you to understand, you realize, but how could you understand what he doesn’t even understand himself?

“I’ve known so much pain,” he continues quietly. His voice shakes, raw with something too heavy to name. His thumb brushes over your cheek. His hand is trembling, his touch adoring and aching, like he’s memorizing the feeling of your skin against his, like he’s afraid that you’re a mirage that will disappear if he presses down too hard. “More than you could ever know. So many lifetimes of it, I saw them all—lives of other mes and other yous. I’ve seen you die over and over again, I’ve felt death myself more times than I can count. None of that pain compared to the prospect of a single life without you in it.”

He swallows hard, and for a second, it looks like he might say more. Instead, he lets out a breathless laugh, humorless and tired. “You don’t understand,” he repeats, softer now, almost to himself, as he caresses your cheek. “You can’t… Maybe it’s for the best.”

“I want to understand,” you insist. When he tries to pull his hand away, you lift yours to grab it, entwining your fingers with his and holding it close. “Help me understand. Please.”

He looks down, and you think he’s about to say no. You see the conflicted expression on his face, the reluctance, but just as you’re going to sigh and look away, something changes. He looks up at you again, searching your eyes for some sort of answer, and whatever it is, he finds it. Your mouth dries when you see the small smile that curves to the corner of his lips, when you see the way his gaze softens. The mattress shifts as he comes to kneel next to you, and when he lifts his hand to cradle your face again, there’s no hesitation in his touch.

“In another life, you were my wife,” he breathes out softly, thumb running along your cheekbone as he commits your face to his memory. “In every other life, you were my wife. I wish it could’ve been this one, too.”

Your breath catches, heart stuttering in your chest as you stare up at him. You search his face for a lie, for madness, for anything to cling to that’s not hope, but all you find is truth. You don’t understand it. Dazai’s not explaining, but he fully believes in what he’s saying, and you want to, as well. You want to believe that there are lives out there where the two of you had been able to live happily and in love, but that would mean accepting that it was possible in this one, but Dazai didn’t allow it, and he won’t tell you why. 

Like he can see thoughts running through your head, his expression becomes a bit more solemn, the smile on his lips fading as he looks down. “I know I have no right to ask you this, but please, for the rest of the night, can we pretend?”

You should say no. You should demand more of an explanation. How can he say this—how can he call you his wife, how can he tell you all of this and not explain how he knows? How can he not explain why it couldn’t be this life, too? How can he not help you understand? But Dazai is begging you with the same expression he wore before—that of a condemned man, like he knows a dark fate is awaiting him and wants one last mercy from the woman he loves.

So again, you ask quietly, “Will you kiss me?”

Unlike on the beach, Dazai doesn’t kiss you immediately. His dark gaze remains trained on your face, and his expression is almost sad as his thumb gently caresses your skin. He looks at you and touches you like you’re something fragile, something precious, something he knows he shouldn’t be indulging in but can’t bring himself to stop.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You’re frustrated because you still don’t know what he’s apologizing for. You don’t know why he’s so against being with you; you don’t know what he knows from these other lives he’s supposedly witnessed, and you don’t know how it affects the two of you. He doesn’t give you the chance to ask, though. All of your frustration and confusion wash away as soon as his lips touch yours.

He kisses you as gently as he cradles your face; it’s not nearly as intense as the kiss you shared on the beach. His lips move slowly against yours, savoring the moment, memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you breathe against him. There’s no sense of urgency, no desperation—just quiet devotion, worship, a type of tenderness that makes your chest ache. His fingers cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your cheek as he deepens the kiss slightly.

It’s another apology.

“I don’t understand,” you gasp again as his lips glide to the corner of yours, down to your jaw, down to your neck. You can hardly breathe, and your hands are trembling as you lift them. You rest one on his shoulder and slide the other to the back of his head, fingers carding through his dark hair. “Osamu, I don’t understand.”

“I know,” he says softly. Your lashes flutter shut as he kisses the underside of your jaw again and then your pulse point. “I know, I’m sorry. You were never meant to understand, I’m scared now that you will.”

“Osamu—” you try again, voice pleading, but his name cuts off into a shaky moan when his hands slide down your body. Your breath wavers as he kisses down to your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin. You think he’ll maybe unhook the top piece of the lingerie, but he only pulls back so he can look at it more carefully, eyes dark and breath unsteady before he continues kissing down your chest. “I—”

His hands settle on your hips as his lips trail down to your navel, each kiss lingering, and your head feels foggy. Your fingers dig into the sheets, back arching as Dazai’s lips brush right above the red silk of your panties. He pulls back just a few centimeters, warm breath fanning across your skin. 

“You’ll never forgive me,” he whispers. “I know that, but I’m so selfish to want you to.”

You want to ask him to explain again, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Your breath catches when his hands slide from your hips to your thighs. You expect him to pull them off of you, but he only hooks a finger beneath them to pull them to the side. You try to say his name again, but it dies on your tongue when you see the intense expression on his face as he stares down at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. His eyes slide shut as he kisses your inner thigh. Each kiss is reverent, like he’s trying to convey to you through actions, everything he can’t possibly articulate in words. “You’ve always deserved better than me. I’ve never understood…”

“You’re all I want,” you tell him shakily, brushing your fingers against his cheek. 

He looks up at you, and his lips curl up into a solemn smile. He says regretfully, “I know. I wish I weren’t.”

Your lips part to question him, but Dazai seems to sense the question on your lips because he finally stops teasing. A gasp tears from your lips as Dazai’s tongue dips into your cunt; he drags a long line between your folds before sucking gently on your clit.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, thighs trembling as Dazai’s tongue moves slowly, tracing patterns against your cunt—letters, maybe? You can’t tell. His hands are warm and steady as he keeps you open for him, lapping at you gently.

He hums against you, the vibration making you shudder. Each flick of his tongue has your body hot and fuzzy—just enough to keep you at the edge but never quite enough to push you over it. His mouth works over you like he’s savoring every reaction, relishing in every twitch of your hips as he holds you in place.

“You’re a drug,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. You forcibly lift your head so that you can look at him; he’s already looking up at you, his eyes dark and full of something you can’t place. “I can never get enough of you. Can never stay away. I tried so hard.”

His lashes flutter shut again as he returns to devote his attention to your pleasure. A needy moan spills from your lips when he seals his lips around your clit again, this time letting his teeth graze it before he sucks hard. His hands shoot from your thighs to your hips to hold you down when you try to grind your hips against his face.

Dazai hasn’t gone down on you at all in the last four years, and you’ve almost forgotten how good he is with his tongue. He knows your body like the back of his hand—he always has, but there’s something now that’s different. He’s just as skilled as you remember, but it’s not just that practiced expertise now—it’s desperation, hunger, a type of need that makes your whole body tremble. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you still, but there’s a tremor to them, like he’s physically having to hold himself back.

You won’t survive tonight, you think, head fuzzy as Dazai’s tongue swirls around you faster.

“Osamu,” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. He moans against you, lashes fluttering as he sucks hard, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. Your thighs quiver around his head, but he only hums in warning, the vibration sending you closer to that edge.

You expect a teasing remark or a smug comment, but Dazai is completely focused on making you come undone on his tongue—you can only hear the sound of your breathy moans and the lewd slide of his mouth against your cunt. The heat in your abdomen becomes unbearable, almost painful, and when he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them just right as he rolls your clit between his teeth, your whole body tenses.

“That’s it,” he breathes against you, voice pitched with need. “Let go for me, baby.”

And you do. You shatter as he holds you in his arms, coming apart on his tongue and fingers. Your eyes knock back as you take in a choked breath that shifts into a cry of his name, and when your back arches off the bed, Dazai’s free hand slides up and down your side soothingly. He rides out your high, fingers slowly pumping in and out of your cunt, before he pulls them out to replace it with his tongue, lapping up your cum with the eagerness of a man starved. He lets out a low groan, and your body spasms as pleasure shifts into overstimulation.

“Osamu,” you choke out again, trying to push at his head when he doesn’t relent. Your gaze is still blurry and dancing with spots when you try to look down at him again, but it’s like he doesn’t hear or feel you. His hips grind against the bed as he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging you closer so he can devour you. Your body is hot, too hot, and twitches uncontrollably as he fucks his tongue deep into your sensitive cunt. “I ca—haaah, fuck, ‘samu, please—”

“S’okay, baby,” he gasps, voice ragged. “I know your limits, you can give me another.”

You almost sob when you say, “I can’t,” but even as you say it, your head is lolling back, vision darkening as your hips jerk against his face. You think he lets out an obscenely lewd moan when he feels your walls tighten around his tongue, but your ears are ringing, your body on fire as you finish a second time within a matter of moments. 

You don’t know how long it takes you to settle down, you think you might’ve blacked out for a few seconds because you only really start to register what’s happening when you feel Dazai kissing back up your body. Your hand is trembling as you reach up to rest it on his shoulder; your breath shudders when he kisses your neck, deceptively gentle.

“Osamu,” you whisper weakly when he lifts his head to look at you. His dark eyes have a hazy look to them, and his lips curl up into a sweet smile as he reaches up to wipe away the drool pooling at the corner of your lips. 

“Lookit you,” he coos, but his voice is rough with need as he kisses your cheek. “So fucked out, and we’ve barely even done anything yet.”

I love you, you want to say, lifting a trembling hand to brush your fingers against his cheekbone. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. This is all you’ve ever wanted, you think—your eyes blur again, but this time, instead of from pleasure, it’s with tears. You realize you were wrong before, you hadn’t been in too deep at the beach or even after the conversation when he got out of the shower, but now… this… 

Your heart clenches as you stare up at him, throat tightening over a sob—you know this isn’t going to last. You should’ve left when you had the chance to survive this.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, wiping away your tears. “I’m sorry, I know this was a lot for one day. We can stop.”

“No,” you say immediately, reaching up to hold his hand to your cheek. “Please.”

He searches your face like he doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. His fingers twitch against your skin, expression flickering between hesitation and something more vulnerable.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quiet as he cradles your cheek gently. 

You nod, throat spasming as you swallow. “I’m sure.”

Dazai exhales slowly, thumb stroking your cheekbone, tracing the damp trail your tears left behind. His gaze softens, and then he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before trailing his lips down over the bridge of your nose, brushing against the corner of your mouth. He pauses there, waiting, giving you one last chance to change your mind.

But you don’t. You tilt your head up to close the distance between the two of you, and when your lips meet his, he melts into you with a soft sigh. You taste yourself on his lips; he kisses you slowly and threads his fingers through yours, holding your hand against his chest, right over the frantic beat of his heart, like he’s offering you a piece of himself that he’s never been able to before.

“At first, I wanted to run away,” he admits, voice shaking. You don’t know what he’s referring to, but you find yourself lost in his words anyway. “I was fifteen, and it was so much—too much—I just couldn’t handle it. I wanted to run, I bought this place because I was scared. It was the only place I could go where I felt like everything was… bearable. I felt less lonely here.”

His breath fans against your lips as he speaks. His expression is so frail—on the verge of breaking—that you can hardly bear to look at him. He seems to have more to say, so you stay quiet as you wait for him to speak.

“I bought it for us,” he whispers, throat bobbing as his eyes slide shut and he rests his forehead against yours. “I wanted to run away here with you.”

Your breath catches.

“We still can,” you say weakly, lifting your hands to cup his cheeks. His eyes slide back open so he can look at you—they’re warm, familiar, sad. You know his answer before he speaks it, but you try anyway. “We still can, Osamu. We don’t have to go back.”

“You still don’t understand,” he breathes out, lifting his hand to cradle the back of yours, holding it against his face. “I hope you never do.”

A heavy silence lingers between the two of you, thick with everything he refuses to tell you. His skin is warm, thumb stroking the back of your hand idly. Your fingers slip from his cheek, trailing down the sharp edge of his jaw, brushing along the column of his throat. His pulse thrums beneath your touch, quick and unsteady, and his eyes are dark and intense, and something about it—about the way he watches you, like he’s still holding himself back—makes that heat return low in your stomach.

“I love you,” you tell him, one last desperate plea for him to change his mind. “I’ve always loved you. I’ll never not love you, Osamu.”

“I know,” he murmurs, brown eyes glassy and expression distraught as he looks to the side. “I know, I’m so sorry. It was never supposed to be this way.”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a sob, your chest tightening with the weight of his unspoken answer—your love for him isn’t enough. It never was and never will be. He says nothing, but you feel him brush your hair behind your ear, caressing your skin. His touch lingers, warm and gentle, and then a soft, wet drop lands against your skin. Then another.

Dazai is crying.

“Kiss me,” you say again.

Dazai inhales sharply, fingers stilling against your cheek. His breath is warm and uneven against your lips, but he doesn’t move. Your chest aches. You’ve never seen him like this—so unsure, so vulnerable. His walls have always been impossibly high, even before he took over as boss, but now they’re crumbling right in front of you.

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your head up, your lips barely brushing his. “Just kiss me.”

A shudder runs through his body, and then, his lips crash into yours. There’s nothing slow or unhurried about this kiss—it’s desperate, frantic, like he’s trying to consume you. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangling into your hair—you can hardly breathe, slipping your own hands beneath his sweatshirt to slide against the bandages wrapped around his torso.

“Please,” you beg again, unsure of what exactly you’re begging for this time. His teeth graze your lower lip, and a soft whimper spills from your lips, swallowed immediately by his mouth. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, but you can still taste the saltiness of your combined tears on your lips. “I’ve got you, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you tell him, voice shaky as your grip on his waist tightens. You want him—it’s always been him, only been him. From the day you met him, he was all you ever wanted. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he says, voice low and rough. He presses his forehead to yours again, the weight of his touch grounding you. “You’ve always had me. I’ve always been yours. Heart, body, and soul—I’m yours.”

“But it’s not enough,” you gasp. “It’s not enough, is it?” 

Dazai swallows as he shakes his head. “It’s not enough.”

You don’t ask him this time when you lean up to kiss him again, desperate to muffle the sob that threatens to spill from your lips. You make your intentions quite clear when you slide your leg up his body to hook it around his waist—you need to pretend just for tonight that you’re enough.

“Please,” you murmur against his lips, letting out a breathy moan when he kisses the underside of your jaw, hand dropping down to your thigh. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, even though you know it’s only for tonight. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” 

The word hitches into a quiet whine when he rocks his hips against yours, biting down over your pulse point just hard enough to draw a gasp from your lips. The sharp sting melts into pleasure when his tongue soothes over his mark, breath hot against your skin. His grip on your hip tightens, the hand on your thigh sliding up and down soothingly.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he groans against your throat, voice low and wrecked. “Fuck.”

He grinds his clothed cock against you again, slower this time. He kisses up and down your neck as his hand drops from your hip down to the waistband of his pants. He lets out a grunt as he yanks them down, and you lift one hand to his head so you can pull his face up to yours, pressing your lips to his right as he rolls his hips, cock sliding between your folds. 

“I’ve always been so selfish when it comes to you,” he gasps. You’re barely able to hold your eyes open as your body trembles in anticipation for the familiar feeling of his cock stretching you out—his tip presses against your entrance, but he doesn’t push in yet. His forehead presses against yours, breath hot and heavy. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. Your voice is shaky, barely more than a breath as your hand slides from the back of his head to his cheek again. “It’s okay, you can be selfish. Please, be selfish.”

Another groan rips from his throat; this one is more ragged, like your words break something inside of him. His eyes are glassy with tears again—the hand on your thigh is tight, but the one cradling your face is gentle.

“It was never supposed to be like this,” he whispers. “You were never supposed to be the price.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Osamu,” you tell him again, voice breaking.

“I know,” he breathes out. “I hope you never do.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to reply as he finally sinks into you. Your breath catches, head falling back against the pillows, eyes half-rolled back at the familiar stretch of him. A broken moan escapes your lips, fingers trembling against his waist and shoulders, digging into the bandages covering his skin to try to pull him impossibly closer. His breath is hot against your throat, ragged and uneven, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Fuck,” he gasps, voice strained as he buries himself to the hilt. He drags his lips from your neck up to your cheek, panting as he tries to maintain some semblance of control. “You feel—you’re perfect. You’re perfect. I’m sorry.”

Your hand slides back into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you force him to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his expression torn with regret and need. You tilt your hips up slightly, urging him to move, and he inhales sharply, lips brushing yours as his eyes slide shut.

“Please,” you breathe for the last time, and his restraint finally snaps.

He pulls back only to thrust forward again. He’s barely moved at all, and you’re already desperately trying to keep control of yourself. You’re drunk off the feeling of him inside of you again, the feeling of being whole is intoxicating. You tilt your head up to brush your lips against his jaw, and he instantly turns his face down to you, pressing his lips sloppily against yours to muffle the pitched moan that almost escapes him as he rocks his hips into you again.

His pace is nothing like you’re used to—he fucks you slow, each thrust deep and steady. Like he wants you to feel every inch of him. Like he’s trying to mold himself inside of you, dragging it out until you’re gasping, whining his name, writhing against him. It’s overwhelming—the way he holds you, the way his breath hitches with each roll of his hips, the way his fingers tighten on your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

His forehead stays pressed against yours, his lips brushing over yours in fleeting, teasing kisses. “I’m scared,” he confesses, hips stilling, voice trembling. “I’m so scared of what comes next. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I act like I do, but I don’t, and I’m scared I’ve done everything wrong, and this was all for nothing.”

You cradle his cheek again, lifting his face so that he’s looking at you. “You’re Dazai Osamu—you’re the smartest and most infuriating man I’ve ever met,” you say, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips when you see the pain and fear in his eyes. “I trust you, and I don’t know what your plan is, but I know you, and I know things always work out the way you want them to.”

“Not always,” he whispers. “You have too much faith in me.”

“You don’t have enough faith in yourself,” you counter, carding your fingers gently through his hair. “I love you.”

A strangled sound escapes him, something caught between a sigh and a sob, and then his lips crash to yours again. 

“I love you,” he gasps against your lips, picking up the pace of his hips. He lets out another moan into your mouth, lashes fluttering, dark eyes glazed over, hardly able to keep them open as he fucks you harder, pace quickening as he desperately chases his release. “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry.”

You can’t even say it back now, head falling back against the pillow, lips parted in a noiseless moan. Each thrust jolts your body further up the bed, the tip of his cock bullies so deep inside of you that it has you half-convinced that you can feel him up in your stomach. Your head spins, drowning in the obscene sound of Dazai’s cock driving in and out of you and the lewd slapping of skin-on-skin, lost in the incoherent babbles of I love yous, and I’m sorrys that keep spilling from his lips. Even before he took over as boss, Dazai had never been particularly loud when he fucks you, but he is now as he moans your name alongside the jumbled words, gasping and panting and cursing each time he feels your walls convulse around him.

“I—” 

You start to speak, but you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. Were you warning him that you were about to cum? Were you trying to say I love you too? Were you just speaking to speak? Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision dancing with too many spots. Every time you try to breathe, you choke over another moan—he doesn’t even have his hand around your throat, and you just can’t get any air to your lungs.

One last thrust pushes you over the edge for a third time. When you cum on his cock, gasping over what you think is his name, there’s no question about whether you blacked out because, this time, you feel the sudden numbness that spreads through your body as your head lolls back. Dazai’s still fucking you through your orgasm by the time you come back to, lashes fluttering and gaze unfocused on the ceiling—you can feel his grip tight on your thigh, keeping it snug around his waist as he snaps his hips into yours even when you can’t hold it up yourself anymore, and his lips on your neck, breath warm as he pants against your skin, murmuring something you can’t quite grasp as he chases the last of his pleasure.

“Kiss me,” you try to say, unsure if the words are even comprehensible. Even if they aren’t, Dazai seems to get the gist of what you’re saying because he pulls his face from your neck. Even through your blurry, unfocused vision, Dazai is beautiful—his dark hair is matted to his forehead, his lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed pink, eyes glazed over, and half rolled back—he’s so lost in the haze of pleasure that he seems to forget what you said almost immediately, so you take what you want instead.

Your hand trembles as you lift it to cup his cheek, dragging his face down so you can press your lips against his. As soon as you do, Dazai is wrecked, moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against yours as he cums deep inside of you—you think you might’ve finished again, too, because your body spasms beneath his, hips jerking and eyes knocking back for a split second when you feel his cum filling you up, warm, thick, sticky. Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around his sensitive cock, rolling his hips against yours slowly as he fucks his cum deep inside of you.

The grip on your thigh loosens until he’s sliding his hand up and down it soothingly; his free hand comes up to cup your cheek as he slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, mapping out the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You’re not sure how long you lay there with him; your hands eventually drop back down to his waist, settling on his bandaged hips as he kisses you. 

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. His thumb strokes your cheekbone as he gazes at you, dark eyes swimming with too many emotions for you to name.

“I love you,” he says softly, voice aching as he traces your face with his fingers longingly. “More than you can ever imagine.”

Your chest tightens at the words you’ve been dying to hear for four years, but you find no relief in them. You only find resignation because you know his love for you doesn’t change reality.

“But it’s not enough.” Your voice is weak, cracking over the words as you look up at him, searching his face desperately for a different answer but not finding one. “It’s not enough, is it?” 

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, lashes fluttering shut momentarily.

“No,” he breathes. “It’s not enough.”

[dreamersparacosm]

under the checkered flag - epilogue blurb 3!

prompt ; in which you take a ride (literally and figuratively.)

warnings ; this is straight up you riding him in his race car. that’s all folks.

request ; linked here

part of the under the checkered flag universe

Jungkook’s racecar wasn’t made for comfort—not with its stiff leather seats and unforgiving angles—but that’s the last thing on your mind when his lips are on yours, your body slotted on top of his in the driver’s seat of his Ferrari F40. The car smells like leather and gasoline, with the lingering remnants of burnt rubber from earlier races, his cologne lingering in the upholstery, invading your nostrils and bloodstream.

It’s like something out of an elaborate Fast and Furious AO3 fanfiction (and you’re pulling some inspiration from them in this moment.)

It all started like this: Jungkook had pulled his racecar into his driveway, the low purr of the engine settling into silence as he parked, fingers still drumming against the wheel like he wasn’t ready to let go of the rush just yet. And maybe you should have let him have his moment when you stepped out of the house to welcome him, but when you had seen the bright red vehicle, the sleek body practically begging to be taken back onto the road, the words were tumbling out of your mouth.

“Can I ride in it?”

And of course, he could never say no to you.

Not when you were standing there in that damn sundress, soft fabric brushing against your thighs, looking at him with those eyes that made him weak in the knees.

He had just sighed, a little dramatically, like he had to pretend he wasn’t already unlocking the passenger side door.

“One ride,” he had muttered, but you didn’t miss the smirk playing on his lips as he added, “Don’t get any ideas.”

And yet, here you are now: straddling him in the front seat, chair reclined as far back as it can go, getting all the wrong ideas.

He’s so damn hot like this, half-lidded eyes watching you through dark lashes, tousled hair begging for your fingers, his grip flexing against your skin every time you shift. You, however, feel like a teenage girl sneaking kisses with the bad boy behind the school bleachers.

It’s laughable how desperate you are for him, how insanely good he looks in the most casual outfit yet it’s doing so much to you. Your lips trail down, moving from his mouth to his jaw, your faded lip gloss leaving shiny marks on his golden skin.

He’s close to giving in — you can tell by the way his breathing is more strained than ever, the way his tattooed hand tightens on the back of your head as your lips wander, the way your name falls from his mouth like he’s begging himself to not give into you. He cannot afford to explain to his manager why he so desperately needs to clean the inside of his car.

“What are you doing?” His voice is low, laced with amusement and disbelief, despite him knowing damn well what you are alluding to.

But you don’t hesitate, your mind already made up, voice muffled against his pulse. You are a woman on a mission. “We are fucking in this car.”

Jungkook is short-circuiting. There’s no other way to explain it. Because you, his sweet, sweet girlfriend, the one who used to trip over her own words just talking to him, who blushed if he so much as teased you, who once nearly choked on a sip of wine when he casually mentioned how good you looked in red, just looked him dead in the eye and said, “we are fucking in this car.”

Like you hadn’t just sent his brain into a full system reboot.

He blinks at you. Once. Twice. A third time for good measure.

“I—” he starts, then stops, swallows hard, shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear it. He’s trying to think of something, anything about how this car is worth more than a small house, about how many races it’s won, about how it’s been with him through every victory, every moment of his career.

But then he really looks at you. The straps of your sundress are slipping slightly off your shoulders, the fabric bunched up around your thighs, exposing more skin than should be legal, your breasts sitting perfectly, rising and falling with every heavy breath you take. Your lips are swollen, slick and pink from his kisses, your eyes glazed over.

Suddenly, Jungkook doesn’t give a shit about the car. Doesn’t care about the fine leather seats, the pristine dashboard, the million-dollar vehicle that built his career. Doesn’t care about anything but being inside you.

“Fuck it,” he breathes against your mouth, his voice hoarse. “You wanna fuck in this car? We’ll fuck in this car.”

Jungkook’s lips are hot, open-mouthed, trailing down your throat, the metal of his lip ring cool against your burning hot skin. “You look so good right now,” He moans wantonly, making no effort to hide behind his usual stone-cold appearance.

He pulls your tits free, the fabric of your dress pooling around your waist, leaving you exposed to the parking garage in his house (because, well… you two never even made it out of the driveway) and Jungkook loses his mind. See, the thing about sundresses, they’re deceivingly innocent. A little fabric, a little flowy, a whisper of fabric against the skin. But on you? On you, they’re a goddamn hazard. You don’t wear them like normal people do. No, you wear them around the house, barefoot, hair tossed up like you couldn’t be bothered, and, most egregiously, with nothing underneath. This is one of those times where he’s questioning where the fuck your underwear is.

His mouth is on you in an instant, lips closing around your nipple, tongue laving over the sensitive bud. His eyes meet yours as he shucks just hard enough to make you dig your nails into his scalp and beg for more. “Jungkook, ah—“

“You like that, baby?” He murmurs against your skin, his voice so cocky, so smug. He’s sucking his way across your chest to your other breast, making sure to devote just as much attention to it. He pulls off with a wet pop, his lips bright pink, his breath heavy.

You roll your hips slowly, dragging yourself against the throbbing bulge beneath his pants, every press of your soaked core against him. “Didn’t know my car turned you on so much,” He teases.

You have fully lost the ability to speak, no words exiting as you drag your clitoris against the rough fabric of his jeans. Anything, something, to feel some kind of stimulation and relief.

His hands fly to his belt, fumbling and pulling at the leather strap, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet of the car. His chest heaves as he yanks it free, all the while you giggle breathlessly, still rolling your hips against him, making it so much worse, but also making it so much better. “God, I cannot wait to be inside you,” He mutters, mostly to himself.

His jaw clenches as he finally manages to shove his pants down enough to free himself, his cock springing up, his tip red from how much he’s been holding back. “You’re really about to ride me in my fucking car?” He exhales, his pupils blown so dark that they swallow up every trace of color in his irises.

“What?” Your lips curve into a wicked little smile, tilting your head, mock innocence dripping from your voice. “You scared?”

That little act you have going on really does it for him. “Never, baby.” He grits out.

You lift yourself just slightly, aligning yourself with him, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. The stretch is so intoxicating that you need to muffle your moans into the palm of your hand, mewling from the immense burn as you bury him deep inside you. His hands move down to the curve of your ass, his large hands leaving prints on your skin.

“Fuuuck,” His head falls back against the headrest of his seat, right against the Ferrari logo. “Why are you always so fucking tight?”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” You nearly cry out, hands flying to his clothed chest to try and stabilize yourself. You lean down, pressing your bare tits against him, the space inside the car trickling with humidity.

Jungkook is watching you like a man possessed, gripping the soft flesh at your hips so tight it borders on bruising.

But, you don’t care. You don’t care about the way your head keeps bumping against the top of the roof, don’t care about the way your thighs burn, don’t care about anything except how good he feels inside you, how every little bounce sends shocks of pleasure up your spine.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants, “Riding me so good like you always do, yeah?”

“S-so good, Kook,” You gasp, the only sound in the car being your head repeatedly slamming against the roof you’re certain there’s a concussion in your future.

“Careful, baby,” he mocks, but his tone is shaky, uneven, “Gonna break my car if you keep hitting your head like that.”

You huff, frustration bubbling, but you won’t stop, not until you get what you need. “Don’t care,” You whimper, moving quicker, the wet sound of your juices coating his cock filling the small space, drowning out everything else.

Your hands cup his face, fingers threading through his damp hair, trying to kiss him, needing to taste him, but every time your lips get close, your consistent bouncing only allows for you to brush your lips against his. “Holy shit, you look so sexy right now,” He moans against your mouth. “You’re so perfect, so so so perfect.”

Your walls tighten around him because he means it. His words aren’t just filthy whispers in the void. They’re real, honest, it’s unfiltered adoration poured into you. “Can tell you’re close, baby. God, you look so hot when you cum.”

Jungkook nearly cums right then and there with how tightly your walls are clinging around him. He can tell you’re close, eyes nearly rolled back into your pretty little head. Usually, he’s good about holding out. Really good. He can last for ages, a result of all the fucking you two have been doing ever since you began dating and he realized his girl was nothing short of a freak. But something about how you struggle to hold his gaze, hips frantically moving up, down, in figure-eights, eyes fluttering shut, tits bouncing near his throat where he’s holding back a string of curse words… well, it’s fucking hot. He realizes he might cum before you, and his hand reaches down, finding your clit with ease and rubbing the bud with the pad of his thumb.

Your whole body jolts at the added intensity, the pleasure hitting like a freight train, thighs trembling violently“I, fuck, I can’t—I’m—”

You can’t even finish the sentence, your orgasm ripping through you so hard it almost hurts, your entire body convulsing as you scream his name. And you don’t even realize he’s finishing too, caught up in your own haze, until you feel a rush of warmth inside you as he finally spills into you.

The car reeks of sex, the windows fogged up. Your body just kinda.. collapses on top of him, heartbeats slamming against their respective ribcages. His arms stay lazily wrapped around you, fingers tracing nonsense patterns along your spine, cock slowly softening inside you.

“You know,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, his voice lazy, “I’m gonna have to spend a stupid amount of money getting this car deep-cleaned now.”

You groan against his chest, swatting weakly at his arm. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

He laughs, “I’m serious, baby. This is a million dollar car. Do you know how much of a pain it is to clean the upholstery?”

You lift your head, propping your chin on his chest to glare at him, “You’re literally a millionaire. You’ll survive.”

Jungkook hums, pretending to mull it over. “Yeah, but I’d rather spend my money on spoiling my girl, not on my car.”

You groan again, hiding your face in his warmth, and he chuckles, full and satisfied.

And yeah, maybe you did just ruin his precious racecar, but if the way he’s still holding onto you is anything to go by, you’re pretty certain he doesn’t mind.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[toxycodone]

oviposition anon teehee i wanted to elaborate more last night but i was tired as fuck and zooted off the penjamin. but like getting separated from the rest of the party and encountering the slime creacher alone with Laios.... you think he'd tell you what the thing is? im sure he knows alllll about it, like he has a private little list of all the most fuckable monsters and of course the damn oviposition slime is on there. do u think he just dives right in head first, or does he try to create some kind of plausibly deniable situation in battle? youre terrified cause you cant make heads or tails of this creature in order to kill it and arent strong with fire magic but.... why does he look like he's having fun? and is that his clothes getting dissolved in there....? and why is he so hot all helpless suspended in the pink gel (ive just now decided the slime is pink), shuddering with pleasure as each near transparent egg enters his body? if you were to get caught by it without knowing what it is i dont think he'd leave you in there, but when he pulls you out of the goop his raging hard on is impossible to ignore and just BEGS questioning.... maybe you need to go seek out another one? or maybe i need to get writing

LISTEN TO ME. ANON YOU ARE ONE HUNDRED PERCENT ONTO SOMETHING. (And I would 100% be down to read something full about this bc oh my god???) and pink slime is the superior color you’re based.

contents: monster fucking, mutual masturbation? if you can call it that?

When you two encounter the slime, Laios is oddly…excited? I mean, he’s always excited to see monsters, but this. Is different. He doesn’t brandish his weapon or look stiff at all when you two encounter it, so you put away yours and you’re like…what the fuck is the deal man??

Laios looks between you and the slime. After a few moments, he casually walks to you.

“Well…um…this slime. They’re usually aggressive, but, you can tell by the color that it’s breeding season. And they’re unusually docile when this occurs…”

So you’re like? Okay. Awesome. No fight required. Let’s get out of here.

But Laios taps his fingers. He looks away a little as he plays with his thumbs.

“You see…it’s docile. But it doesn’t mean we can just leave. Unless we want to find another route. But it’s going to keep going until it eventually finds an adventurer…to use as a host….”

And you’re kinda like um? So do you wanna kill it? Or

And Laios is like “I HAVE AN IDEA. So…the secretions of this slime numb pain and promote healing. If we help this slime out…we can get some of those. It may be useful when Marcille’s out of mana….” Laios then puts his hands on your shoulders and looks at you seriously. “I PROPOSE…we let this slime use us as hosts. And in return, we collect its secretions and save any other unaware adventurer an encounter with it!”

And you’re floored. But once he explains to you, it’s just eggs (they lay them in adventurers to spread their kind to other floors). And it’ll feel *good*. You put your hands on your hips.

“Let me guess. You’ve been waiting for us to encounter this monster, huh….?”

*Cue that iconic Laios blushing panel.*

Anyways, you accept. Laios gives you the rundown from his guide and notes from his journal. First, you have to remove your clothing. The slime will get them soaked and likely tear them to shreds anyways, and if you don’t have a spare you’re screwed. Then, the slime’s secretions will coax you into relaxation. You’ll feel yourself go limp, but it’s not a bad thing. It’ll just make it easier for this whole process—so don’t fight it. Lastly…just enjoy? The slime does all the work and the eggs aren’t dangerous. You’ll pass them in a few days when the incubation period has succeeded (Laios wants to keep one or two to eat, but he doesn’t explicitly say that now).

And so you agree. It seems…oddly fun. Neither of you get time to really do anything sexual while dungeon crawling. And this seems like a good release.

And so you let it happen and it’s fucking MIND BLOWING. The slime’s secretions are absorbed through your skin as it surrounds you, making you feel some weird mix between drunk and high. Your body is limp, but everything you feel is extremely heightened.

The slime teases you all over and gently prods at your holes before slowly opening you up. (if you have a cervix) it’s numbing properties keep it from hurting as it spreads you open and pumps its eggs into your womb/hole. It’s honestly one of the best experiences you’ve had.

It’s like. Some sort of ethereal mutual masturbation experience with Laios, because when you look at him his skin is almost as pink as the slime. His brows are furrowed, eyes shut tight as he moans wantonly, not a care in the world. You can tell when an egg is laid in him bc his face contorts, but then his licks his lips and lets out a shaky moan. There’s already streaks of white in the slime and you’re not sure if it’s just a ton of precum or if he’s already came from the slime.

But you don’t have a lot of time to think about that before you’re shuddering from your own orgasm. It seems the slime coaxes as many as it can from you and Laios—as the more you relax and enjoy the experience the easier it is to continue pumping eggs into your system.

And afterwards, the slime resumes its usual light blue color and withdraws from you two. If you weren’t mistaken…you’d think it was blushing….theres two pink patches left on its “cheeks” as it slithers away, streaks of cum and slick still present in its body.

And. Of course. In typical Laios fashion, while you two are coming back to your senses, covered in slick and slime and who knows what else. All he can do is look at you with that same dopey lovestruck expression and mumble about how much he loves you.

[therealcocoshady]

U know this videos of Eminem Concert Core on Tik Tok? I keep thinking about it but with us (Reader/YN) that has the same personality as him and embraces his strange with her own strange

(Part in bold: Famous audio on my country's tik tok translated badly; i dunno how this audio is on english)

Em: I think it's going to start raining.

Reader: I doubt. I'm wearing a red panty for lucky

Em: Me too

Reader: You are in a red panty?

Not a request or anything, just an idea that popped up in my mind (but if u write it /j)

Ugh, you have no idea how much I love this. These eminemcore videos on TikTok live in my mind rent free. Please allow me to elaborate on how dope it would be as a concept 🙊

Most of the time, especially nowadays, he appears calm and composed and public. Three decades and 16 years of sobriety after getting his start, he's not as chaotic as he used to be. He's not as quick-tempered, not as angry and erratic. But the way he lets his goofy side come out, on stage and behind the scenes, you just know that it wasn't just the drugs making him wild. If anything, being sober makes him a better agent of chaos.

He's stated in interviews that, sometimes, him being high or wasted would make his mean and angry side come out. Now that he is sober, people around him probably don't fear his bad temper as much. However, sobriety doesn't mean he has become any easier to put up with. If anything, he is just as insufferable. Maybe even more so, now that he has more wit, so his jokes and the playful jabs he throws at people are even more creative. You can just tell the weird, sometimes intrusive thoughts in his brain win, sometimes, and he's just happy to let them.

Now, some people would think that, as he gets older, maybe he'd calm down (no) or that he just needs to find himself a lady who keeps him grounded. After all, maybe he's been single and alone with his weird brain for too long. Imagine their relief when he says that he has, indeed, met someone who makes him happy (finally). Only for the relief to be short lived as they finally meet her and realize that he really has found his match. Not only does she put up with his antics but she's just as freaky. Weird humor. Crazy ideas. Pranks. The things Marshall says that leave people puzzled, because they don't seem to make sense... She gets them. When he makes an obscure reference, she gets it too. And they really don't know if they should be happy for him or scared that it's actually a sign of the apocalypse. 🙊

Or, imagine that Reader meets some of his friends. Maybe she's just moved to Detroit, or they meet at an event/party. And as they get to know her, they can only think about how much of a female version of Marshall she is, in the way that she is unapologetically weird and freaky. They really like it, though, because it makes her really funny and entertaining. She's really cute, too, and overall, they agree that she'd be a great match for him. They just don't know if they should try and play matchmaking or act in the best interest of everyone's energy levels and try to keep them away from each other. 👀

[polaroidcats]

Hello, I have slept and have further thoughts about the Amnesia Chaos AU:

Back to where Remus hit his head.

At first, Sirius just wants to get him home and leave. He cannot take him to a hospital because there's too much chance he'd get caught (I have settled on the "broke from prison" agenda - or on parole but he kinda just murdered people so, he needs to be a lil careful you know ��😇). But when he arrives at the house (checked Remus' pockets for the keys) he is absolutely horrified of the state of Remus place.

He barely has any furniture (Bedframe? Don't know her!), all his houseplants are dead and rotten, his fridge smells concerning and is basically empty, everything is kind of a huge mess. What is going on?

From observing Remus for the last weeks, Sirius knows that he does have some money - he's not rich by all means but he works as a teacher and should be able to live somewhat comfortably! So... why doesn't he??

Now, Sirius' interest is peaked and he decides to stay - once again - and just clean up a little while Remus comes to and then maybe ask him "What the hell is wrong with you, do you need any help?"

But when Remus comes to, he doesn't seem to remember anything. Not why his house looks like that, not why his head hurts so much - not even who Sirius is. But since Sirius is in his house, cleaning his kitchen and hands him a cup of tea as he carefully sits up on the sofa, Remus just assumes Sirius might be... a friend??

Remus doesn't remember if he has any friends. He can't even remember his own name. But Sirius remembers his name. Sirius remembers a lot about him and he is in his house taking care of him. So maybe Sirius is more than just a friend?

When Remus asks him so, Sirius has to make a quick decision. He can tell the stranger the truth and then probably get the police called on him or... or he can just smile and comb his fingers through that confused guy's wispy hair and wipe his thumb over his cheek as the stranger gives him a shy smile - and aww he has dimples! Sirius has a soft spot for dimples 😊

So he stays. Once more. Only this time he gets to see more of Remus' face. And of the rest of his body, as the days pass.

Sirius makes up some very elaborate lies about him being away for work for a while and Remus must have been robbed (hence the headwound and the state of the house) and that he already talked to the police so there is nothing to worry about! He makes Remus call in sick for work for a bit so he can recover (and to keep him from telling anyone about Sirius) and this all goes well until there's a knock on the door...

I'M LIVING THE BEST LIFE GETTING INCREDIBLE FICS DELIVERED TO MY INBOX THANK U FOR THIS TREAT SLOTHY BUT ALSO WTF WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME ON THAT CLIFFHANGER WHO IS AT THE DOOR??????

part 1 for people wondering what's going on

[humongousgothskeletonfarm]

TGR CHAPTER 10 THOUGHTS

- jean trusts jeremy!!!

- my takeaway is that every interviewer in the aftg world is a piece of shit

- “Andrew didn’t want anything from them, Kevin was drinking straight vodka from a glass, and Cat opted for a beer when she saw how much Kevin was knocking back.” made me giggle icl ik it’s a serious scene

- “Where Neil goes, the FBI follows” AGAIN IM SIRRYYY ITS SUCH A SERIOUS SCENE BUT PLS THIS IS TAKING ME OUT, hes a celebrity, an FBI magnet ur honour

- just thinking about the conversation between andrew and neil when andrew goes back to palmetto “so… you’ve been busy!”

- jean and neil rlly did sit down and map out their very elaborate cover story, they’re covering every goddamn base

- “After that easy submission, Jean had been so blindingly afraid of her he’d barely slept for a week.” - jean on lola wow yeah

- obsessed with everyone just calling kevin Queen now like it rlly does crack me up

- “Always,” Kevin promised. “The last person who tried to take it from me died. Checkmate.” OK SASSY I LIKE TO SEE IT KEV

- jean being so upset at kevin for relying on alcohol to stave off memories of the nest and being unable to confront his past in order to heal and grow stronger because jean thinks if kevin can’t do it how can he? fuck that fucked me up, they’re both so much stronger than they know

- “you ruinous wretch.” oh jean u are too creative with these insults how do u do it

- Did you read any of them, or were you too busy fawning over his phot—” - what did i say??? brothers coded

-“He took a swig from his cup, grimaced when he remembered too late it was only water, and flicked Jean a mean look.” they’re sooo bitchy

- “half-baked baguette” another jean moreau classic

CHAPTER 11

- “Home, she said, knowing he was technically home already.” oh these books and their complex relationship with the idea of home

- ok so why tf has jeremy’s mum hidden his documents from him and wtf happened to annalise what accident was she in and why are none of the children allowed to live away from home, so many questions about jeremy’s family i need answered

oooooh i hate jeremy’s family soooo bad

- jeremy being jealous over jean looking at his sister with interest is hilarious babe he’s in love with u

- SHUT UPPPPPP KEVIN SENDING JEAN A POSTCARD FROM PALMETTO AFTER FINDING IUT THE RAVENS DESTRIYED JEANS OLD POSTCARDD FROM HIM ACTUALLY DESTROYS ME I LOVE THEM SO BAD I HOPE THEY CAN WORK THROUGH THEIR TRAUMA AND BECOME PROPER FRIENDS LIKE THEY DESERVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

- catalina alvarez i am so in love with u

- i love when high school/college related books actually include scenes of them GOING TO SCHOOL (unlike some *cough* riverdale and euphoria *cough cough*)

- this pottery class is so cute, nora are you just very interested in pottery at the moment and wanting jean and jeremy to be as well?

- “Jean considered that in silence for a moment before getting back to work with a little more focus, and Jeremy tried not to smile at him.” ADORABLE

[moonchildstyles]

I saw you were talking about curious gazes stuff.... is citrine a part of that group 🧍‍♀️

wordcount: 2.6k+

——————

Parker kept his eyes on his phone, rereading his new text notification over and over even when the bell above his head jingled as he walked through the door of the record shop. 

Annie asked if he was going to be at Vera's party tonight. She asked him if she could go with him.

His cheeks almost ached from the width of the smile on his face. Maybe tonight would be the night—maybe he'd finally get the courage to ask her on a real date instead of all these friendly group outings. 

Parker pulled his gaze up only when he heard the familiar voice of the shop attendant, catching the wide smile on the man's face. It was the same man every time Parker came in, his name starting with an H (it was Harry, or Henry, or something in that universe but he could never remember and felt too shy to ask for clarification at this point). He knew so much about all of the records and the artists behind them, it was always interesting when Parker wasn't in too much of a rush and could talk to the guy. 

"Good afternoon! How are you?" he asked, the glimmering fabric of his top shimmering from the light spilling in from the large windows. 

"I'm good, man. Thanks," Parker greeted, feeling infectiously happy at the moment, "How are you?" 

"I'm doing really well, thank you," Harry (maybe?) said, dimples in his cheeks, "Are y'looking for anything specific today?" 

Shrugging, Parker shook his head. "Not really, just wanted to look and see if I can find something new." 

Harry perked up at the sound of something new being in need, a dark curl falling over his forehead. "We got a bunch of second hand records in the other day. It's mostly older albums, but 'm sure there's something you'd like. Let me know if you want any help or have any questions." 

Typically, Parker wouldn't mind asking a few questions, especially about the more vintage artists and pressings around the shop, but his mind was still buried deep in his phone. "I will, man. Thanks." 

With that, Parker drifted between the shelves that marked out the aisles in the small shop. Huddled between a pair of shelves holding different records and elaborate displays with special edition pressings, he pulled his phone out once again. Annie's thread was still open, her two texts shining in a beautiful, shining, hopeful blue. 

ur going to v's tngiht right ? 

if u want we could go together :) 

He'd never seen a string of letters look so perfect. It was like he was reading poetry. 

His fingers held a tremor as he texted her back. He attempted to play it cool, but of course he wanted to go with her. He would have given anything to enter that party under the label of being together with Annie. 

Sure! I have to do some homework tonight, but I'll be heading over there at around eight. Does that work for you? 

Shooting off the message, Parker felt conflicted about staring and waiting for the messages to be read with another set of preemptive bubbles filling where her next message would be, or locking his phone and not being so desperate for a single text. 

When the receipts didn't immediately switch to show that it had been read with another time stamp, Parker forced himself to lock the screen and shove his phone back into his pocket. Around him, colorful records asked to steal his attention, to put him back on track and remind him why he came to the shop in the first place. 

It was his sister's birthday next week and he wanted to pick out a couple of records for her since their mom was gifting her a player as well. (And, there was an album or two Parker had been looking at that he really hoped the shop carried). Forcing his mind off of his phone, he took his time perusing through the shelfs for anything special he knew she liked before he would start looking through the crates for something vintage she could brag to her friends about. 

Across the space, the bell dinged again, another customer stopping by. 

Instead of the usual greeting Harry offered to all guests, Parker heard a giddy sigh of, "Sunshine!" ring from the head of the shop. 

Lifting his gaze from where he was examining a record cover laden with roses and glimmering gold font, he saw a woman with a beaming smile making her way towards the register area. A plastic takeaway bag hung from her elbow, her hair pulled back with her outfit consisting of a logo'd shirt and black pants. The logo was familiar, from a restaurant deeper in the plaza that had margaritas that were a little too strong but cheap enough it didn't matter. 

"Hi, Harry," she greeted, opening her arms as Harry met her halfway and reciprocated her hug. 

The plastic bag crinkled over his shoulder but neither of them paid the food any mind as they wrapped around each other. Quiet whispers were shared between them, Harry's curls creating a small curtain so Parker couldn't even see what kind of reaction these secrets pulled from the newcomer. 

Instead, Parker only got to hear the sound of her laugh as she drew away from the hug. He felt a bit bad as he kept watching, but even when they shared a small kiss, he couldn't pull his eyes away. 

Harry had mentioned more than once these small details about his wife, interjecting that she loved a certain album, or that she recommended something new to him that he was now letting others in on. Truthfully, with who Harry was—so eccentric, extroverted in an introverted way, and seemingly from a different time—Parker had imagined his wife to be completely different than to who was standing before him. 

This woman seemed... normal. 

Not that it was a bad thing, or that Harry wasn't, but she wasn't draped in lace and gauze with jewels and glitter following her every step. She looked like she belonged in this century. 

He turned his attention back to the record in his hand a split second before she would have caught his stare. Though there was a track list right before him, he didn't read a single word, feeling a bit flustered knowing he had just witnessed what was most likely a private moment between the two of them. 

Parker couldn't help the way his mind went back to Annie. 

Would she visit him during her lunch? Would they embrace like that, without a care? What kind of secrets would she share with him? 

He couldn't help the minute check he made to his phone screen. 

No new notifications. 

Folding his phone back into his pocket, Parker directed his focus back onto his shopping. Meandering back towards the crates, he started flicking through the alphabetized stacks. 

With only a quiet album playing on the shop's record player—something crackly and old he didn't recognize but didn't mind—, he could hear the murmurings of the couple now huddled behind the register counter together. Though he didn't mean to eavesdrop, he didn't particularly try hard not to either. 

Straining an ear, he heard their hushed conversation over the music and quiet rustling of the plastic bag. 

"I can come back later, or save this for dinner," the woman said, "I don't want you to get in trouble, honey." 

"'S fine, dove, really," Harry insisted, his smile audible, "I know him—he's really nice. He won't mind, I promise. If he needs my help, I'll help." 

"But, H—" she tried again, only to be abruptly cut off. 

Maybe it was the romance on his mind, but Parker wondered if the soft sound he heard was another quiet kiss they shared. Harry's tactic to get his wife to let go of the argument. 

"It'll be fine, I promise. I've missed you all day, I don't want you to leave already." 

A plume of laughter could be heard alongside the laying out of styrofoam containers. The scent of warm food drifted through the shop. Parker's stomach piqued at the smell, reminding him the last time he ate was during breakfast. 

Maybe Annie would want to stop and get some dinner before the party. Or go for a late night snack after. 

Harry's wife's laugh pulls him out of the possibilities he was beginning to churn before he'd even received a text back. 

"We spent all morning together before you came here," she countered, her tone a gentle tease. 

"So?" Harry argued, quietly serious under his own joking tone, "'S not enough, and I've told you that before." 

A beat passed, the rustling of the bag filling the moment. "Well, I only have forty-five minutes left of my lunch, so you better make the most of it." 

Another set of hushed conversation sounded, words too quiet for him to hear. Parker figured with the scolding Harry! that left the wife's lips, he didn't really want to hear what had made them go quiet anyway. 

A vibration from his back pocket had Parker practically scrambling to reach for his phone and get the screen to light up.

Annie had texted him back. 

sounds good (: 

if its isnt to late by the time we r leavig we should get food or something 

Parker's heart just about soared right out of his chest towards the record player, the beats wishing to play their own love song in Annie's name. 

They were going to get food or something tonight, just like he hoped. 

Was this love? 

I was thinking the same thing! I'll see if I can finish up any sooner than eight, but I'll let you know when I'm on my way:) 

 There was so much Parker needed to do. 

Now the priority wasn't the set of essays he was planning on editing before he got ready for Vera's. These plants were now shifted, urging him to skip cleaning his apartment and instead rushing home to do his work then agonize over getting ready for the remainder of the evening. The cowlick on the crown of his head that had his hair sticking in weird places after every shower was going to be his prime enemy today. 

Focusing on the records before him, Parker skimmed through before grabbing a Fleetwood Mac album his sister would either love or let become a statement piece about how much of an old soul she was. Turning back to the shelves he reached for a foiled album, the band's name one he recognized but only vaguely through his sister's Spotify. He wasn't familiar with the artwork, but hopefully this was a good one. 

These two would have to do for now. If he needed to find a third, he'd do it later. Annie was waiting for him (in six hours, but the urgency still mattered). 

Taking his tiny stack to the register, he saw the bubbly couple huddled together sharing a container of French fries with their own respective sandwiches. When the woman realized Parker was approaching, she startled in her spot, immediately moving to get their meal out of the way of the register. 

"Sorry, sorry," she said, covering her mouth as she swallowed down the bite she'd taken just as he emerged from the shelves. Harry watched with a fond quirk to his lips though he didn't make any move to assist her move. 

"'S alright, love," he attempted to soothe her. While Harry was always purely friendly and full of a kind and giving spirit, Parker had never heard his voice take on the notes it did now. This man was in love with his wife—everything she did was special to him. 

"I don't mind," Parker jumped in, settling his records on the clear area of the desk, "I get it." 

"See, (Y/N)?" Harry pointed out, though he did begin straightening up and tapping at the register keys, "I told you he was cool." 

The woman—(Y/N), the name said with a reverence—didn't pay Harry's argument any mind, continuing to move their boxes out of the way for Parker. Harry shook his head, his green eyes lighting up with every glance her way. 

"You find everything alright?" Harry asked, sliding the records towards the inlaid scanner on the desk. Before Parker had a chance to answer, he saw Harry's face light up when he spotted the Fleetwood Mac record. "I didn't know you listened to them! Is this your favorite album?" 

Holding up the beige cover, complete with a familiar woman in pointe shoes and an unfamiliar man at her side, Harry looked to him with expectant eyes. 

"Um, this is actually a gift for my sister," Parker explained, feeling a bit bashful now that he let down Harry. "It's her birthday next week, and my mom is getting her a record player. I don't really listen to older music." 

Casting his gaze down at the album cover, Harry pursed his lips. "I guess it did come out in '77—feels like it was only last year, I forget sometimes." 

Parker canted his head. That was one of those things about Harry that had him assuming he was meant to exist long before this time. It wasn't the first time he made a comment like that. 

"If she likes that album," (Y/N) piped up from where she had stepped back to lean against the back counter, "you should get her some Stevie Nicks albums. She'd love them." 

Harry perked up with a smile on his lips, though he stayed quiet as he typed a few numbers into the register before the total popped up on Parker's end. 

"She's the singer from Fleetwood Mac, right?" Parker asked, sliding his card into the reader, "I didn't know she had her own music." 

"She's the best," Harry interjected, his words a clear praise of his idol, "Even if your sister doesn't get into it, y'should still try it out. Y'won't regret it." 

Maybe Annie would like some of this kind of music. They could have a song if they found one they both liked.

The idea had Parker giddy once more, itching to head home and prepare for the night.

"I'll have to come back then and see what you recommend," Parker said, grabbing his carefully bagged records with the receipt tucked inside, "Thanks, Harry. It was nice to kind of meet you, by the way"—his eyes moving to Harry's wife—"He talks about you all the time." 

The smile that stretched along her features was like the sunshine her husband named her after—bright and eclipsing. 

Though they were small, the things Parker picked up between the two had his heart softening in places he didn't know could soften. A love like that must be consuming in the sweetest way.

Annie was all that was swirling through his mind. 

"He does?" (Y/N) asked, her eyes drifting towards her husband. He only shrugged in response, a bashful set to his features with blushing cheeks. 

"See you next time," Harry said, biting back his dimpled smile as he bid Parker goodbye. 

Tossing a wave over his shoulder, Parker drifted towards the door, his precious phone sliding into his hand on instinct. His heart jumped when he saw a text from Annie. 

perf ! excited to see u (: 

His heart rocketed into his throat at the small string of words. Just before he left the shop, Parker didn't think before he was looking over his shoulder and catching Harry pressing a loving kiss to his wife's lips. 

He wanted a love like that. Hopefully, that will start tonight. 

——————

:))))) thank u sm for all the excitement about this pov I hope everyone likes it! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please send in any fun ideas!

[genderqueerdykes]

whats your banner about? /genq btw cuz i personally havent seen anything abt that so if u could fill me in on it id appreciate that

/not forced to answer, im just curious abt it

hey sure i'm happy to elaborate!

it's in response to the amount of folks who deem it okay to refuse to let transmascs and men into non binary and queer spaces because mascs and men "scare women and enbies" or are "unsafe to be around" or even "look too cis and make people uncomfortable". i've seen a massive pushback lately to completely and totally remove transmascs and men from the queer community because men are "dangerous". the same hatred and vitriol that people have for cishet men is being applied to trans men. ESPECIALLY straight trans men. straight trans men are treated like absolute shit and are labeled as dangerous and predatory.

i've also had the unfortunate displeasure of overhearing MANY queer folks that trans men aren't queer or trans, we're just "confused" or "butch lesbians". like i have heard this from other trans people. it's an unfortunate reality that some people literally refuse to see trans men and mascs as queer, because for some reason people view queerness as feminine or gender neutral only. i've literally heard people say that trans men can't call ourselves trannies because we're not trans. like i have seriously been told by numerous people that trans men AREN'T trans, and that "that's not what being trans means." i've met so many people who think the only way to be trans is transfem and it's been painful

i've unfortunately befriended several transfems who would gladly go on tirades and rants about how transmascs and men bring a "bad light" to the community, that trans men and mascs are insufferable and dangerous to be around because testosterone can "turn you into a monster," and i've even been told that i'm ruining my body. i've been told that people don't view me as trans because nobody WANTS to be a man for anything but nefarious reasons. many people say that trans men want to be men so they can engage in the patriarchy and oppress other people. i've been told by some people that they believed i transitioned so i could "have more power"

i got tired of seeing people think it's okay to ostracize trans men because they have trauma they need to work on. people blame the entirety of men and manhood on their problems, and project it on to trans men. it's sad and insidious. i've heard from SO MANY trans mascs and men who literally just do not feel comfortable in any queer spaces they try to attend because of how ostracized they feel, or how people would bully them and tell them they were just a confused butch lesbian, tomboy, or masculine girl.

hope that made sense to you! some people have really charged and heated opinions about trans men and mascs and if we belong in the queer community. i got sick of it. femininity, womanhood and gender neutrality are not the only ways to be queer

[foreverl0stinmymind]

Obey me! NSFW Alphabet headcannons

Character: Satan

A: aftercare (What they're like after sex)

He wants space. Excuses himself, and goes to read for a bit. B: Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner's)

Eyes. He loves how expressive they are. C: cum (anything to do with cum, basically) D: Dirty secret

He reads smut. E: Experience (how much experience do they have?)

A fair bit. He's skilled, and will make his partner fall apart at his fingertips. F: Favorite position

Cowgirl. He likes the view it gives him. G: Goofy (are they more humorus? Or serious?)

Super serious. H: Hair (how groomed are they? Shaved? Trimmed? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Trimmed neatly, with dark hair. I: intimacy (how romantic are they?)

Very intimate and romantic. He may be using some romantic lines from his favorite romance novels... J: jack off (masturbation)

Its pretty rare for him to masturbate, he just doesn't feel the need. K: kink

He's a switch. Also, loves marking up his partner. L: location (where do they like to do it?)

His bedroom, like most of his brothers. But, if you really rile him up, he'll fuck you in the library. And that sex is PASSIONATE, trust me. Very rough though. M: motivation (what turns them on?)

Touching his hair. It gets him so horny so fast. I refuse to elaborate. He loves it.

Also, if you're being super romantic and touchy, just in general, he'll get turned on. N: No (Things they won't do, hard limits)

Anything genuinely dangerous. He's done his research, and deems it unsafe. O: oral (do they prefer to give or receive? Are they good at it?)

He loves to give oral, and is quite skilled. He won't explain why he's skilled. P: pace (how fast are they? Slow and sensual, or fast and rough?)

His pace depends on how riled up he gets. If you've been teasing him, I feel sorry for your legs. Q: quickie (how do they feel about quickies?)

They're not his thing, and he avoids them. R: risks (how likely are they to take risks/try something new?)

he'll research something, and if he deems it safe, will try it. No risks though. S: stamina (how long can they last? How many rounds?)

He can last a long time, but can only go one round. Maybe two, if he's really horny.

T: Toys (do they have any toys? Do they use them on a partner, or themselves?)

He owns no toys, and prefers to be hands-on. Absolutely despises toys. U: unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn't tease. What do you think he is, five? He doesn't like being teased, either. V: volume (how loud they are/what sounds they make)

He purrs. Like a cat. This deep, low, purring sound as he buries his dick in you. W: wild card (random NSFW headcannon)

He'll dress up as a catgirl, and let you peg him, if you ask really, really nicely. X: X-ray (what's under their clothes?)

6.5 inches. He says it's more than enough if you're skilled. He's not wrong. Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty low, but he can get turned on pretty easily, he'll just rarely initiate, since he feels no need. Z: Zzz. (How fast they fall asleep afterwards)

He'll clean up, and then grab a book to read aloud while he holds you. He falls asleep less than a page in.

Other characters:

Lucifer

Mammon

Levi

Asmo

Beelzebub

Belphie

Diavolo

Barbatos

Simeon

Solomon

[meownotgood]

mags pls elaborate on the aki fucking u better than ur ex plsplsols

oh yeah I was waiting for someone to ask me this...

your relationship with your ex was rocky, to say the least. towards the end of things, it seemed like you could never get along, despite your best efforts to keep things going — you truly wanted to, you truly did care about him, even if you probably shouldn't. but the more you think about it in hindsight, the more you're so glad things are finally over, and the more you've realized how much better aki really is for you.

your ex never put you first. aki has been doing so since you first became friends. your ex didn't care much for how you felt, you'd hardly ever finish when you were together, so much that you'd convinced yourself it was normal. perhaps you were the one to blame. but aki, finally admitting he wants to be more than friends, makes you forget all of that.

aki puts your pleasure before anything else, he'll eat you out for hours if that's what you want when your ex barely did; he'll make you cum for him over and over again, so effortlessly it's damn near a shock to you. you didn't know it could feel so good to have someone truly want you, to be so desired and so loved, your needs his priority. it feels so amazing because aki is in love with you, he has been for so long, and now, he can finally prove it.

he's loved you ever since he met you, he's waited so long for this moment, and he isn't about to let any of it go to waste. aki wants to give you everything you need, he wants to bring you to your peak until you're forgetting about that stupid ex of yours, forgetting his touch and his voice and all the things aki hates so much until aki winds up as all you can remember.

when you collapse underneath him after the fourth time he's made you cum on his fingers, begging for him to fuck you because you've needed this for too long, and you still haven't had enough, aki gives you exactly what you're asking for. and once he's finally inside you, once you're finally his, everything the both of you have wanted coming to a head — aki is your best friend, but he's more than that, maybe you've always wanted him to be more. his hand in yours, a tenderness you aren't used to, when aki finally starts to thrust into you, he isn't planning on stopping until he has you screaming his name.

[kooberryfields4ever]

of course first post has to be nsfw blog rite of passage…… my take on the nsfw alphabet :3 gonna go thru and edit a bunch of fics to start posting but until then have this !!!!! been thinking long and hard abt heeseung&02z …….. needed to get this off my chest rly

content warnings : major nsfw under the cut, cumplay, masturbation, piv sex, etc etc

MDNI !

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

i don’t see heeseung as swaying particularly dominant/submissive…… not necessarily vanilla but almost lazy in the way he has sex so i don’t see aftercare being a big deal to him

ofc expect the bare minimum: cleans u up, helps change the sheets, kisses n cuddles

heavy on the cleans them up.. ..… …. can’t help but think abt how much heeseung LOVES to see his partner covered in his cum, whether he finishes on ur chest, ur belly, ur thighs or ur pussy doesn’t matter to him he just loves to see it🤤🤤🤤….. .. … so yeah cleaning u up is a necessity almost every time

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

fav part of himself is his hands…… do i even need to elaborate

just loves touching his partner and why else would he find any other body part as good as his hands when his other body parts can’t grab a handful of ur tits/ass ????

fav part of his partner’s is drum roll plz………….. their tummy

when he’s eating u out he just can’t help but reach out n press his fingers into ur hips n his thumb into ur belly….. .. though he loves to cum anywhere on u his all time favourite is ur tummy, could get him hard again easily if he sees his cum pooling in and around ur bellybutton urrtgghhhhg

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

i literally cannot see heeseung not loving cumplay . like come on

self-admitted jealous type ……… yeah it’s over ur getting painted with his cum and fucked full if u even so much as mention another man

messy with it, loves cumming inside but give him the opportunity to pull out and finish somewhere he can rly see it and it’s a done deal

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

watches league of legends porn . it’s miss fortune …. not elaborating.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

i reckon he’s experienced enough to know what goes where and all that ….. would probs be able to be vocal abt what he likes

i can’t see him getting much time in his schedule to explore his sexuality much so count jacking off and enjoying subgenres of porn as a pillar for experience as well

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary DONT YAWN. just loves being able to bury his head in ur tits and fuck u slow and hard until he cums … and then guess what ……. ur tummy is right there

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i’d say he can be a bit of a goofball, i don’t see him taking sex too seriously

not necessarily the type to just crack jokes during but not opposed to having a giggle if one of u makes a silly noise or if someone walks in

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

trims but isn’t too fussed about it really, makes him feel manly when he sees his full bush. occasional groomer of the pubes

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

can be super romantic if he rly rly misses u but idk i don’t see heeseung as the sentimental romantic type much…… likes sex cos it feels good and its an excuse to look at ur tits

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

frequent enough . he is a libra after all

probs the type to get a bit bored on his day off and have a wank after going 3/11 on a league game

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

cum cum cum cum cum cum cum

like idk heeseung seems sooo messy to me during sex like if he eats u out he wants to see u dripping onto the sheets nd i don’t need to mention the cumming on ur body thing again ….

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his bed, he likes it best when ur both a little tired but too horny to sleep so he can just push ur panties to the side and slip in to fuck u slow until ur cumming around him

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

ur boobies . whether they’re out or under a shirt or small or big he just loves seeing them…. plays with ur nipples while u scroll on ur phone in bed, maybe pulls up ur shirt n sucks on them until he makes himself too horny to stop n he has to fuck u (and paint ur tits white)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything too public … likes having u to himself and when ur in the privacy of his bedroom/dorm he gets to make u all dirty, he can’t do that without getting arrested in public unfortunately ://

probs hard dom stuff …. maybe not too shy for a spank here and there but the idea of being rly dominant or degrading u or tying u up etc is just not for him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

loves receiving, he gets to cum on ur face and tits which is always a bonus👍

not a selfish lover but definitely gets bored of giving head sometimes …. thinks quite literally with his dick like he needs to see it stuffed in u

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

i think heeseung is generally slow and sensual but if u asked he could fuck u faster n harder

he just loves how u clench when his strokes r slow and deep nd he can press against ur cervix without bruising u and ruining the fun

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

quickies are not his forté ! he’s definitely not opposed to them but he prefers being able to take his time…. quickies mean sensible cumming and heeseung would rather wait…..

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

i cannot see him as a risk taker at all, riskiest he would go is having u bounce on his cock in the living room while nobody else is home, but even then he’s just thinking abt how close his bedroom is and how easy it’d be to pick u up while ur impaled on his dick nd take u to bed :((

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

a sturdy 2 rounds if u guys haven’t fucked for a little while, he’s still young his refractory period is in training !!!!

particularly statistically more likely to want a round 2 if he’s a) not tired and b) can see his cum plastered somewhere on ur body (source is my thalamus) …… drives him crazy nd makes him almost desperate to fill u up as well

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

got gifted a fleshlight one time for his birthday but it’s just stayed tucked away in his wardrobe…. tried it once and it was just not as good as the real deal

would be open to using a toy on u for the sole reason that it might make u squirt and he is desperate to see u get that messy

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

gives in instantly . u just need to whip out a titty and he is a goner…. very very weak willed man…..

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

main vocalist like …. do i need to say more

prettiest softest moans uve ever heard ….. breathing into ur chest and whispering how close he is and how bad he needs to fill u up into ur ear

not loud enough for anyone but u to hear tho…. but that’s fine bc u like being able to have him all to urself ^.^

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

can picture him getting randomly horny while playing games while u lay on his bed …. pulls off his headphones to face u and asks u so nicely to come suck his cock while he plays … and of course u do because how could u say no to that face :(( he ends up losing his lane and going afk at base because he’s too busy watching u swallow his entire length like a pro . sorry to his team but the 15 minute afk ban was so worth it

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

not huge but not small, average

a good 5.5 with some juicy balls

circumcised 🙏

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

pretty high but not in the way that its hard to control …… like he just kind of just always wants u

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

after he cleans u up he’s out like a light …… good luck tryna get him to wake up

just accept that ur tits are his pillow for the next 7 hours as he sleeps

[sleepyghostuwu]

Hiiiiii I absolutely love ur fics🥺 and I'm glad that ur request is open. So if it isn't such a bother can I request for Dazai, Chuuya and Jouno or just any characters u want to add where their s/o was absent for 2 days straight then show up with the largest bruise under their thighs. Pain is a bitch I realized that now.

Yes this happen to me bc me and my 5'3 height fall off a chair while getting something from a cabinet and my cousin just casually laugh at me until we realize that I couldn't fucken move or properly sit for 2 days🥹

Hoiiii! I'm really glad to know that you love my fics hehe :D And oof- falling off a chair sounds painful- also glad to know that you're alright now :'0 and enjoy the fic :D

A pain in the butt (literally): Dazai, Chuuya and Jouno

Dazai:

Get ready for him to dramatically lament about how he missed you for the past two days like the drama king he is-

Considering that your injury (probably) isn't as obvious while you're standing, it doesn't strike Dazai that you were quite badly injured until he heard your uneven footsteps and a loud grimace as you uncomfortably shifted in your usually comfy swivel chair.

His suspicions were confirmed when he spots what looked like a part of a very bad bruise behind one of your legs. Ouch.

He will make sure that you experience as little pain as humanly possible while your bruises heal, starting with investing in a chair cushion for you.

Will also sweep you up bridal style by surprise every now and then when he's slacking off and manages to see you getting up to go somewhere so he can carry you to your destination.

Having a difficult time getting off your seat to head to Uzumaki for lunch? He'll takeaway your favourite food from there and give it to you in no time.

Will also accompany you to eat lunch in the office so you won't feel lonely without him and vice versa :)

Overall, Dazai does whatever he thinks he's capable in to take care of you, a nice quality to look for in a partner :D

Just try your best not to injure yourself in such an unconventional manner again. He's very open to teasing you about it if it happens a little too regularly-

Chuuya:

Chuuya was very much concerned about your absence over the past few days, even more so because you didn't elaborate on your condition to him.

His usually annoyed demeanor masks that though, so be prepared to hear a harsher voice rather than a kind one when he asks you where you've been.

Don't take it personally though, he's just tired from work.

He's confounded at the predicament you've gotten yourself into two days prior, and definitely shocked when he saw the bruises you sustained at the back of your thighs.

Needless to say, his concern for you was now more evident.

After seeing you struggle to sit comfortably in your seat once, Chuuya decided that his gravity manipulation would help to keep your bruises the slightest bit off your seat.

Having trouble walking? It's bridal-style time! Your legs need it.

Will spoil you with your favourite food during mealtimes at work.

He's also willing to buy back lunch to eat with you in the office so you won't be lonely without him then :) Anything for his beloved, after all ;)

Jouno:

Jouno sensed that something- no, someone- was missing in action. Judging by how he couldn't hear your pulse or breathing, he concluded that that someone happened to be you.

Was he concerned that you were gone and silent about it? Slightly. Was that concern visible? Not the slightest bit.

When you returned to work, Jouno's internal relief was short-lived upon noticing that you had difficulty walking properly with both legs and you struggled painfully with sitting on your seat.

You can see his confusion upon hearing that you bruised the back of your thighs from a fall. Clearly such a manner of injury didn't seem possible to him till now.

Nags at you for being so careless because the way you injured yourself was so absurd to him that he couldn't believe you out of all people would sustain such an injury.

Even so, he does his best to show more care towards you in your current state, be it checking up on you every now and then or buying you food when you need it. Just small kind gestures to express his love for you :)

[little-shadow-club]

Incorrect Monarchs (+others) Quotes

Just in case index:

Ashborn (Shadow Monarch) Antares (Destruction Monarch) Brightest (Brightest Fragnment of Brilliant Light) Queresha (Plague Monarch) Tarnak (Iron Body Monarch) Raikan (Beast Monarch) Sillad (Frost Monarch) Ammut (Tarnak's former teacher. SL Ragnarok character) Legia (Monarch of titab's beginning ) Yogummunt (Monarch of transfiguration) Absolute Being

Ammut (Former teacher of Tarnak, hc: father figure)

This is all just headcanon feel free to read at your own risk

Tarnak to Jinwoo: Ha! What are you gonna do? Stab me? Five minutes later Tarnak, calling 911: HELP, IVE BEEN STABBED.

-

Brightest: Forgive me Father, for I have sinny-sin-sinned.

-

Absolute Being: I assume you realize that this kind of idiocy will not be tolerated in this house. Brightest: Is there any kind of idiocy you would be more comfortable with?

-

Tarnak: finds half a watermelon at Whole Foods Tarnak, holding it up for everyone to see: LIES!

-

Brightest: You know what your problem is? Antares: I only have one?

-

Absolute Being: You know, people treat me like a god. Yogummunt: How? Absolute Being: They ignore my existence unless they need something.

-

Antares: I have yet to encounter a problem where a sword didn't factor into the solution at least in some way.

-

Yogummunt: Queresha… Queresha: I can tell by the tone of your voice that you are disappointed. Alas, I must further disappoint you by affirming how little I give a fuck.

-

Legia: Rules were made to be broken. Brightest: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Tarnak: Uh, piñatas. Ashborn: Glow sticks. Sillad: Karate boards. Yogummunt: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Legia: Rules. Brightest:

-

Legia: Where the hell is Yogummunt? Tarnak: Well, it is raining outside… Maybe they melted? Raikan: Shall I look outside for a pointy hat?

-

Ashborn: Queresha, you need to react when people cry. Queresha: I did. I rolled my eyes.

-

Tarnak, on the phone: I better go…kay, call me later… byeeee! Ammut: Friend of Yours? Tarnak: Nope, wrong number. Ammut: ???

-

Tarnak: Are you alright? Ashborn: Short answer or long answer? Tarnak: Short? Ashborn: No. Tarnak: Long? Ashborn: Nooooooo.

-

Antares: What is wrong with you? Ashborn: Loaded question. Elaborate.

-

Queresha: Do you have a superpower? Ashborn: Hindsight. Queresha: …that’s not going to help us. Ashborn: Yes, I see that now.

-

Tarnak: I think it’s time I get my life in order. Sillad, narrating: But they did not get their life in order. In fact, they got drunk last night and fought a raccoon.

-

Tarnak: Can we go to a haunted house? Ashborn: What’s wrong with the one we live in? Tarnak: Wh-what? Ashborn: Goodnight, Tarnak.

-

Antares: You know, there’s only one person in this world who can tell you what you are. Raikan: Me. Antares: No. Antares: Me.

-

Queresha: What's the scariest horror movie you've ever watched? Yogummunt: IT. Legia: Annabelle. Raikan: Paranormal Activity. Ashborn: High School Musical. All throughout high school I was scared that everyone was gonna randomly get up and start singing and dancing, and I would be the only one who doesn't know the words.

-

Yogummunt: I am strong! I beat Raikan at arm wrestling! Ashborn: Anyone can beat Raikan at arm wrestling. Raikan: Hey-

-

Brightest: Here you go, Sillad, a nice hot cup of coffee! Sillad: It's cold. Brightest: A nice cup of coffee. Sillad: It's horrible! Brightest: Cup of coffee. Sillad: I'm not sure if this even IS coffee. Brightest: C U P.

-

Antares: If the Absolute Being is ever been mad at anything I’ve ever said, he hasn’t done shit about it. Antares: So he either doesn’t care or he’s a coward.

-

Yogummunt: Lol. Heads up if you try to make a magic-square candle with food coloring from deseased golems, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the inextinguishable flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you’ll throw your seven-colored-elixir tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this. Ammut: What did you do Yogummunt? Yogummunt: a Mistake.

-

Raikan: I’m a reverse necromancer. Ashborn: Isn’t that just killing people? Raikan: Ah, technically.

-

Ashborn, after dealing with Baran and Raikan and taking a vacay for the emotional baggage that day: Hey. Queresha: pissed off You… complete …ASS, Ashborn! You show up here after WEEKS, and you say “hey”?!

-

Yogummunt: Today at 7 am, Antares poured a Monster energy drink in their coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing. Queresha: I watched Antares brew their coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think they ascended into the astral realm. Raikan: The survivability of the dragon race never fails to amaze me.

-

Rulers: Now, Ashborn, all of us are doing this because we care about life, okay? Absolute Being, ready to create a new monarch: Except for me. I just wanted to see the look on your face.

-

Queresha: What did you order this morning? Ashborn: What do you mean? Queresha: I heard you answer the door, and I sensed food.

-

Ashborn knowing he can't die: I think we should have glow stick juice injected in our bones when we're born, so if we break our bones, we get a fun little surprise. Raikan: What's the surprise? Antares: Blood poisoning.

-

[joenhead]

im gnna go to bed but i need the ppl to know that when i say qpr solbin to me they have never formally decided this

there have been multiple points throughout their lives together where they establish “youre my partner in every sense of the word” without ever actively labeling it and then promptly continue on with their day. like at some point in their early 20s they realize “hmmm this best friendism i see about,,,seems different than what we have”and then never elaborate any further. theyre each others emergency contact they know all their medical info their schedules make them miss each other and when they can they prefer to spend their time together because really they dont want or need anything else they both intend on spending the rest of their lives together until woops! time to save the world ????

so to me, they both understand that whatever they have is mutual and neither platonic nor romantic but they both had jobs so they dont rlly care abt labeling that rn … and then theyre trynna save the world so they dont rlly care abt that rn .. they just have this secret third thing and its nice

it is rlly confusing to everyone else tho. to many it kind of just seems like both sol and albin have one sided crushes on each other. like wow sol really talks a lot about how cool albin is so hes prolly crushing but albin doesnt seem to notice or care (they base this off albins sallow tired exhausted face which is just how he looks). and for albin theyre like oh man albin is totally crushing on sol hes the only guy he ever hangs out with too bad sols super out of his league. and its so funny cuz albin and sol r non the wiser to ppl thinking these things sol is knitting albin another scarf and albin doesnt have it in him to tell sol go stop because he has more scarfs than he knows what to do with but sol seems really happy so whatever who cares if its summer he cant get anymore miserable.

and yes albin does have a lucky tie AND a lucky scarf and yes both are gifts from sol sorry i DO make the rules and this is what ive decided they plague my mind 24/7 its only fair i get this please dont take this from me i have so little…

anyways yea theyre partners but like only if u ask them cuz otherwise theyre not gnna talk about it theyre just going to be clingy protective and overly complimentary to each other

[talon-dragonbeast]

I don’t mean this to be sillt or offensive but the misceverse is different from when bigoted men use “alpha beta sigma etc etc” right? I feel like people will think I’m like that and make fun if I tell them. and does misceverse mean u think everyone fits in a place? or just people who identify with it?

i mean i havent run any polls or anything but i feel like pretty much 99% of the misce community is queer so. i dont think you need to worry about that lmao.

but now seriously; omegaverse as a concept may have originally been just about kink and nothing else (which is fine and dandy btw, nothing wrong with having kinks), but nowadays i feel like the "fandom" is incredibly diverse in terms of what people do with it and such. worldbuilding, speculative biology, theories, all of that has been discussed and elaborated on, so you have a lot you can look into! its true that outside of tumblr people might be a bit weird about it, but i dont frequent those circles so i dont really know.

and yes, misceverse is a personal identity! that means its for you and you only, so you cant force it onto others against their will. misceverse is not a method of classification, nor a belief to be followed and it doesnt apply to real world society in any way shape or form. its an identity, but mainly its a lifestyle. its for people to indulge in their more animalistic side, to explore their gender in a different way or to get a little weird (/pos) with their relationship dynamics. but most importantly, its to have fun with it! :D