#im probably over stressing over this but i was really excited over this just to realize it probably wont happen. at least not soon enough | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafeandonlyrafe · 11 months ago

Text

demonstration

words: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, reader is toppers girlfriend, struggling to cum, female receiving oral and fingering, multiple orgasms, edging and overstimulation, protected and unprotected sex, cheating

“maybe you could ask one of your friends for help, top.” you pout, rubbing your hand over his shoulder, not wanting him feel any more upset than he needs to be, but at the same time, you’re not sure how much longer this can go on.

“you can't tell me what i can do to fix it?” topper asks.

“you know i was a virgin before you babe, i really don’t know.” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “maybe ask rafe?” “rafe?” topper turns suddenly to look at you. “why him?” “i’ve just… heard talk from some of my friends. he can probably give you some good advice. i don’t know.” you shrug. “maybe it’s something wrong with me.” “no, don’t say that.” topper shakes his head, turning to pull you into him, a hand around your waist.

“you ask your friends and i’ll ask mine.” you give as an option. topper nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead, hoping the next time you’re in his bedroom, it’ll go a lot better.

“what?” rafe gawks at his friend, unsure if he heard him right or if he was going crazy.

“ive never… i’ve never made y/n cum before and i just… i need to know what to do rafe! i’m worried she’s gonna leave me if i can’t get it together and i guess- fuck! i don’t know! just help me out man!” topper paces quickly, bringing his hands to his hair, tugging on it, stressed out of his mind.

“okay, alright, jesus, just clam down!” rafe says, sitting down on the couch, gesturing for topper to sit as well. he’s not sure how long he can keep himself still, already feeling awkward and nervous about not being able to make you cum, only made worse by trying to talk to rafe about it.

“every time i fuck her, i just get so over excited and cum too quickly and i know this is tmi but i just try my best and every time she doesn’t cum and she says its okay but i know it’s really not.” topper blurts out.

“alright, well…” rafe sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. he’s never had this type of issue before with girls. “do you finger her? or eat her out? before you fuck her, i mean.” “i eat her out sometimes.” topper shrugs. “she says my tongue feels good and i can make her cum like that, but not when im fucking her, i just don’t know what to do, i just get so excited and… and i’ve never had this problem with girls before, it’s just y/n.”

“to be fair, she’s hotter than any girl you’ve been with before.” rafe comments. it’s no secret, so he doesn’t feel bad saying it, especially when topper nods.

“she’s way out of my league, thats why i’m sure if i don’t fix this she’s gonna leave me.” topper sighs.

“maybe a demonstration could help?” rafe suggests, making toppers head snap towards him, a look of fury in his eyes.

“you are not allowed to fuck my girlfriend.”

“no, man.” rafe shakes his head. “what if i’m there while you fuck her? then i can give you specifics, and she will know you are really trying. she told you to ask me right?” “yeah, i guess you have a reputation of being really good.” topper cringes at his own words.

“i am. so, let me help you, top. brother to brother.”

rafe understands why topper has such a hard time keeping it together as you lay out naked on the bed, eyes flickering between your boyfriend and his best friend, a cautiously optimistic look on your face.

“go ahead and spread your legs.” rafe says, trying to keep his tone even, to disguise the lust that he feels as his eyes move from your breasts down to between your thighs.

“can you get naked first topper? i feel weird here.” topper was shirtless, but still had his shorts and underwear on, even though he was obviously straining against the fabric.

“yeah.” topper glances briefly to rafe before tugging them down his hips, letting his cock spring free.

“so have you ever cum before y/n?” rafe asks.

“yeah, um… with my own fingers.” you cough awkwardly. “and when topper eats me out.”

“its really just when i’m inside of her.” topper says with a thick swallow as your thighs part, opening them wide to show off your pussy, already gleaming with wetness and a peachy pink color that makes rafe want to bend down and bury his tongue inside of your folds, but he has to behave himself, just happy to have this opportunity to see you like this.

“why don’t you finger her first? then you can show me. open her up a little, it’ll help.” rafe instructs.

topper nods, reaching down and pressing one finger against your hole. you tense up briefly before relaxing, allowing topper to push his finger in.

“is she tight?” rafe asks, without really meaning to, but he figures you must be from the way you are squeezed so tightly around his finger.

“yeah, that’s why i can never last.” topper says, thrusting his finger in and out, the slick sounds of his movement squelching throughout the room.

“does that feel good y/n?” rafe asks, eyes flickering up to your face.

“mhm.” you nod, but you don’t feel any urge to moan, needing more. “could add a second, top.” “okay.” topper nods, trying to work a second finger in, but you hiss at the stretch, primarily hurting around your entrance, despite your wetness.

“gotta rub her clit too.” rafe says, reaching over and pressing a fingertip to your clit, rubbing it. you gasp out, not just from the good feeling but from rafe touching you, like he swore to topper he wouldn’t do before he agreed to this.

toppers finger slips easily in once you’ve relaxed to having your clit rubbed. topper looks slightly annoyed, but he stays silent when he sees how much you’re liking it now, unable to hold back your moans. “oh, just like that.” you moan, eyes fluttering closed.

“see if you can add a third.” rafe says, flicking his finger over your clit before going back to rubbing.

“i’ve-i’ve never been able to take more than two.” you sit up slightly, surprised when topper presses a third finger and manages to begin thrusting it inside of you.

“aw, fuck.” you whine, trying to close your legs, but topper holds one thigh open with his hand while rafe grasps the other.

“keep ‘em open, cutie.” rafe says. “gonna cum?”

“yeah, yeah keep going-” you cut yourself off before you can yell rafes name instead of toppers.

“pull out, top.” rafe says, suddenly taking his hand away, making your back arch off the bed as you squirm, trying to chase their fingers, to get them back touching you.

“no, no, no.” you whine when topper also pulls out, leaving your hole clenching around nothing.

“sometimes if you’re struggling having her cum with your cock inside her, you can edge her first.” rafe says, switching easily back to teacher mode.

“should i fuck her now?” topper looks to rafe, before glancing to you, realizing he shouldn’t be asking permission to fuck his own girlfriend, but rafe has that type of energy, that commanding presence that easily makes him in control of any situation.

“yeah, put the condom on though.” rafe glances to the bed where topper threw a condom out of his pocket earlier. while topper slides it on, your focus on him, rafe takes a moment to reach to his crotch, squeezing his cock and begging himself to settle, to calm down.

topper lines himself up with your entrance, placing one hand on your hip as he lines himself up with his other hand, pushing inside of you slowly as you moan, eyes squeezing shut, obviously aroused and feeling good by him stretching you, so rafe is unsure what the issue is, until topper begins to move.

he’s thrusting too rapidly, overwhelming you. rafe shakes his head, “slowly, topper. deeper thrusts.”

topper manages to get control of himself, slowing down but still not thrusting deeper, and rafe realizes its because of the angle, topper not holding himself low enough to properly thrust.

“here.” rafe grabs a pillow, a different one from the one you’re laying your head on. rafe taps your hip and you lift them as he stuffs the pillow underneath. “try now.”

topper scooches closer, now able to thrust much easier, entering you at a far better angle as he takes you repeatedly, still going too erratically, too random.

“on a beat.” rafe says. “gotta fuck her steady, can’t just jackhammer.” “i-i-” topper groans out, pulling out, much to your disappointment as you let out a deep sigh. “i can’t, was about to cum.” “damn, baby, you must be real tight.” rafe glances to you, making you blush and close your legs slightly, which is hard as you are propped up, spread open on display.

“try again, top, it’s okay.” you soothe him, keeping your voice soft and steady.

topper nods, retaking his cock in his hand, pushing it back inside. you nod in encouragement as he moves, already going to shallow and too fast to properly build you up.

“gotta rub her clit too, man. remember she’s already close from getting edged.” rafe tries to instruct, but when topper places his thumb on your clit, his movements are jerky and too harsh, almost hurting as you cringe, but in your displeasure, your cunt clenches around toppers cock and he looses control, moaning as he cums, pumping into the condom.

“shit!” topper shouts out in pleasure, before he realizes you’re looking up at him with disappointment in your eyes. “shit.” he groans again, this time angry with himself as he pulls out in shame.

“it’s okay, top.” you sit up, moving the pillow as you reach out for your boyfriend, or at least attempt to, but he moves away, looking down in shame.

“you’re gonna break up with me now.” toppers voice is sad as he speaks.

“what?” it takes you back, not expecting it.

“you’re gonna break up with me, aren’t you? because i can’t make you cum, you’re gonna leave me? god, i’m so pathetic.” “i can’t believe you think i’m that shallow.” you scoff as topper pulls the condom off and tosses it into rafes trashcan, who is simply glancing back and forth between the two of you. “that i would break up with you over sex?” “you wouldn’t?” topper questions.

“you would?” you question back, growing frustrated. “topper, i let you take my virginity, i can’t believe you thought i would do that just… just go.”

“no, baby, listen.” topper begins.

“i’m not breaking up with you yet.” you tell him. “but i need some space, please just go.”

topper can’t hide the tears welling up in his eyes, and he doesn’t want to cry in front of you, and especially not rafe, so he pulls his clothes back on quickly and haphazardly before leaving, slamming the door shut behind him.

you sigh, burying your head in your hands. you wouldn’t break up with topper just because of sex, but his reaction to what happened makes you question everything.

“you okay baby?” rafe asks, making you jump, forgetting he was there.

“yeah, sorry, i can leave.” you move to get off the bed when rafe grabs your wrists, making you stop.

“or you could stay.” rafe says, his voice suggestive, as well as the look on his face.

“i-but topper…” “just finishing off what he started. come on, you came here for help anyways. lets see if you can cum when i fuck you.” “i-i guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.” --

rafe finally picks his head up from between your legs, cunt now bright red and covered in mess due to your three orgasms his tongue and fingers brought out of you, deciding to go for overstimulation instead of edging, now that he was the one getting to have you.

“still thinking about topper?” rafe asks, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit, making you whine out.

“no.” you admit honestly, all of your thoughts have been replaced by rafe. “fuck me, please, rafe.”

rafe smirks, standing up and taking his shirt off, pleased that your eyes glaze over as you watch him undress, jaw dropping open when his cock is revealed, already hard and leaking.

“yeah, i know i’m bigger than him.” rafe smirks as he climbs onto the bed. “but i opened you up enough, didn’t i? or do i need to make you cum again?”

“n-no.” you shake your head, already so overstimulated. “i want your cock, i need it.” “he always fucks you in missionary?” rafe asks, wanting to make you cum in the same position that topper couldn’t, proving yet another way he’s superior.

“yeah, we haven’t tried anything else.” you say, leaving out the word yet not sure if you can go back to topper after this.

rafe nods, looking towards his drawer that he knows contains condoms, going to grab one before you speak up suddenly, “you-you can fuck me raw. if you want. i’m on birth control.” rafe can’t help but smirk, nodding as he grabs the same pillow again, placing it under your hips, bringing your tired legs up, thighs falling open.

“tell me if it hurts or if anything doesn’t feel good.” rafe says. he’s sure it’s toppers' inadequacies making you struggle, but just in case he wants to take good care of you.

“mkay.” you nod, hands fisting in the bed sheets as rafe rubs the head of his cock through your sticky folds, making sure to tap against your clit, just to tease you even further.

“gonna fuck you so much better than he ever could. ‘ts why you should be with me instead, baby.” rafe says, not letting you respond or even think too much about his statement as his cock pushes inside of you, making your back arch off the bed.

“oh my god!” you shout out, moaning wildly without care as rafe begins to thrust, deep and hard, hitting spots inside of you that topper has never touched before.

“oh, fuck.” rafe groans out. “you are tight, baby.” your cunt is squeezing him, molding to his walls. “no wonder he cums so quickly.” you shake your head, not wanting to think about topper, not wanting to feel any guilt or regret as rafes hips swing forward, cock pressing against your gummy walls as he moves a thumb to your clit, rubbing it in that same enticing way that made your high build so quickly last time.

“feels really good, rafey.” you moan, raising and lower your hips slightly in time with his thrusts, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, feeling his hot skin against yours, the first person to take you bare.

“i knew there was nothing wrong with you.” rafe smirks. “already close to cumming, aren’t you?”

despite your body being tired from your three previous orgasms, you do feel another one building in your stomach.

“yeah, thats what i thought.” rafe moves faster, rubbing his thumb more intensely. “nothing wrong with you baby, you are perfect. perfect tight little cunt.” “please.” you whine out, unsure what you are begging for as tears slide down your cheeks, purely from being overwhelmed with pleasure. you’ve never managed more than two orgasms in a night, and he’s close to doubling that.

“cum for me, doll. don’t have to beg. wanna feel that cunt squeezing around me.” rafe encourages you, pumping quickly as he pinches your clit between his thumb and finger before letting go and rubbing quickly, forcing the orgasm out of you as you scream, entire body tightening as your hips rise, high overtaking you as your eyes open to see rafe looking back at you, cocky look in his eye, but his jaw is slackened in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his dick.

“that’s it, good girl.” rafe affirms, thumb now gently touching around your clit, bringing you down slowly as his cock stays lodged deep inside of you.

you shiver as you lower your hips, breath slowly coming back to normal.

rafe bends over your body, taking your lips in a kiss. you moan into his mouth, his tongue licking against your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth.

“you just came on my cock, pretty girl.” rafe says.

“i know, i loved it.” you hum, eyes sliding shut as rafe kisses your jaw, obsessed with the taste of your skin almost as much as your cunt.

“hmm, so two more? three?” rafe suddenly snaps his hips forward, making you realize he’s still buried inside of you.

“wait, wha-” your question is cut off as rafe straightens, resuming his same pace as if he didn’t just deliver you the most mind blowing orgasm.

“you think i’d be satisfied with getting you to cum just once?” rafe tsks and shakes his head. “we aren’t even close to done.”

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osarina · 7 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.

(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone

It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation.

The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been.

The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.

“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.

Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.

He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.

When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.

Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs.

You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.

You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.

His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.

He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.

He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.

He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it.

But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely.

Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.

“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”

He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.

“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.”

Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them.

“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”

I love you.

He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.

You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.

“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”

He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.

“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”

Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.

He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?”

He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.

He does.

“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”

Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.

“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.

Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.

“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”

Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.

He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.

You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty.

“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”

Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.

“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”

You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.

He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours.

Then you ask:

“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”

Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches.

Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.

He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.

“Yes.”

“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.

Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.

You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.

You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”

He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.

“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yes.”

Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”

He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state.

He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.

You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.

“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?”

Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.

As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.

“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”

“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”

Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”

“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.

“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”

His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.

“You did,” you confirm.

Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.

“Truth,” he murmurs.

You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”

“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette.

He voices his first lie, “No.”

You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.

He refrains, if only barely.

You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.

“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”

“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”

Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”

If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you turned eighteen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.

The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh.

“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”

He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”

The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.

He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.

He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.

Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.

But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”

Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?

Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.

Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?

He knows his next question.

“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”

He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.

You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.

“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”

He halts.

His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.

Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.

So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”

He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?”

You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”

“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”

“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.

“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”

“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”

Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.

“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?”

Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.

He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.

“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”

He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.

“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”

He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.

“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”

His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”

Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”

Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty.

He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.

“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.

Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya.

Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.

After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills.

For better or for worse, you’re not most people.

In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”

Dazai snorts.

“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”

“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”

“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”

Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”

“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”

Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”

“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”

You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die.

“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”

“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”

“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.

“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”

Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.

He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.

He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.

After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.

“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?”

He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”

You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.

So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.

But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?

“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.

There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.

He forces it out anyway.

“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.

A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…

Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”

“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”

Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”

“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.

There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”

Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”

Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.

So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.

No.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.

You don’t.

The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.

God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.

His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.

There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it.

All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.

He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.

Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall.

His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”

Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.

Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven.

You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”

He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.

Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him.

“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?”

You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.

“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”

“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar.

“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?”

“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.

He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.

He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.

He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking…

Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.

It was a very lonely four years without you.

“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.

“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.

This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.

“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.

You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”

His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand.

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”

“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”

“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.

Dazai gags.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.”

“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”

You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.

“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”

“How-”

“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”

Okay.

Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”

It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”

Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.

“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.

He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.

The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”

Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.

It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.

No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.

His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.

But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.

But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.

He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”

He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you.

Unfair, he thinks mournfully.

“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”

“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”

“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.

“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.

Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous.

You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-

And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”

A trick.

Dazai knows it.

You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough.

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening.

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you.

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s.

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers.

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

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

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lyyhyuck · 7 months ago

Text

fluff; bestfriend!haechan x reader, words: 565.

🎧 chasing cars - snow patrol and there is a light that never goes out - the smiths

“every time i’m here, i get jealous of your blanket. seriously what material is this? its crazy how its so soft. i’ve never had bed sheets this soft”, your best friend, haechan, said, truly sounding amazed. you looked over and saw that he completely buried himself in your blanket, only his head sticking out.

it made you laugh lightly, but you didn’t answer. you focused on your homework while haechan just enjoyed doing nothing and lying around. the room was filled with the smell of tea. your cup freshly refilled and hot, while haechan‘s cup was only half full and already cold, standing on your night stand.

“and im jealous of you because you can lay there stress-free”, you replied, but facing him with your back since you’re sitting at your desk. he watched you doing your assignment for a minute or two, not wanting to interrupt you because he knew you get the most amount of stuff done when you’re in a ��flow’ like now.

you apologized to your best friend for having to work first and put on headphones and finished your work in about thirty minutes. when you turned around on your desk chair, you see haechan has dozed off. a soft smile spread on your lips and you decided to let him nap for a while. you packed your bag for the next day, then grabbed your phone and made yourself comfortable on the space that was left of your bed, being careful not to wake him up.

another twenty minutes passed before haechan woke up, stretching and yawning. “rise and shine!” you greeted him. he laughed quietly, “shut up”.

“i’d really like to have my bed back”, you said. “too bad it’s mine now”, hyuck sticked out his tongue at you. you shrugged, “not like we haven’t shared a bed before”, and lifted up the blanket to get under it too. “hey, move!”, you told haechan, who just stared at you at first but then did move. you snuggled into your sheets, which were indeed very cozy - haechan did not exaggerate this time - and didn’t even notice how your best friend tensed up next to you.

“sorry”, you mumbled, “you probably expected a more exciting hang out than this.”

“no”, haechan said, “i knew what i signed up for when i texted this morning.”

you had to laugh, “why would you want to hang out here when i would be busy studying? are my sheets really that great?” haechan smiled “well yeah they are great. but-“, he paused, “i just wanted to spend time with you”. your heart melted at the way he looked at you. the moment suddenly felt very intimate.

your body acted before you could think and you snuggled into haechans side. he wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on top of yours.

the room fell quiet for a while and you just enjoyed the moment, butterflys dancing around in your stomach.

“you know”, you hesitantly said, “i just wanted to spend time with you, too.” haechan kissed the crown of your head then. immediately, your cheeks turned red but you turned around to look him in the eyes nonetheless. you grinned, “i would always choose your company over anything even if it means that i study while you sleep”.

haechan kissed you.

masterlist

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kazuhaiku · 3 months ago

Text

mine and yours

warnings: gn!reader, fluff, overworked sunday, might be ooc sunday too oops ノpairings: sunday x reader

notes: chat sunday leaks to be released in 2.x im so excited

You’ve never seen Sunday this stressed before. His office is a mess, and his usual neat suit is wrinkled and there is a tiny coffee stain on it. You know how stressful it is to be the head of the Oak Family, having to take the burden of almost everything that is happening in Penacony. As someone who does not understand the concept of how Penacony works, you can only stare at Sunday, not knowing what to do.

Seemingly sensing your stare, Sunday lifts his head from the stack of papers he has been staring at for the past hour. “What is it, love?”

“Sorry, did I distract you?” you apologize guiltily. Sunday shakes his head closing his burning and aching eyes momentarily. “Are you finished with work yet? You haven’t been sleeping well these past few days.” you walk over to Sunday, gently massaging his shoulders.

Sunday hums, relaxing in your hands. “Unfortunately not. There are a lot of papers I need to finish by tomorrow, not to mention looking over the analytics of Penacony.” You frown. There’s so much work for Sunday and there’s nobody around to help him? Not even you? There are probably twenty or thirty more papers Sunday has to go through. “Hey, stop frowning. Why do you look so sad?”

“It’s just-” you sigh. “I don’t know, I feel guilty that I’m not able to help you with your work and stuff… Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sunday stays quiet for a while before you see a smile appear on his face. “There is something you can do…” he trails off, waiting for your response.

Your eyes brightened. “Really?! What is it? I’ll do anything to help!”

“How about you sit over here and just stay with me, hm?” Sunday says.

What.

“Huh? Sunday I’m being serious!” you huff. “How would that help you finish your work faster?”

Sunday barks out a gleeful laugh. “I’m serious, love,” he stands up and grabs a chair from one part of the corner. “Here, sit.”

“Seriously,” you shake your head but comply and sit down on the chair. Sunday smiles, satisfied. As soon as Sunday starts working again, the room goes quiet except for the sound of Sunday’s pen scratching on the paper. You can’t tell what he’s writing about but know it’s something crucial for Penacony.

By the time you know it, you have fallen asleep on the table. Sunday looks over at you, eyes meeting your sleeping figure. His eyes soften, staring at you fondly. He slowly gets up from his chair and carries you to your shared bedroom. As soon as he is about to leave, your hand gently grabs his wrist, preventing him from leaving. “Don’t… go…”

Sunday blinks before climbing into bed with you. His feeling relieved as soon as he lays next to you. Work can wait till the next day. He’d rather stay with you instead.

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miaoua3 · 3 months ago

Text

Hug It Better

Pairing: joshua x gn! reader

Genre: comfort, a wee bit of angst (reader had a bad day and joshua makes it better), fluff

Description: to say that you had a bad day is understatement-everything that could’ve gone wrong, did. luckily, your boyfriend joshua is always there to pick you up when you’re down.

Note: very self-indulgent, i need a hug from my little shua booa😔

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

to say that your day sucked is an understatement. first, your alarm didn’t go off, so you woke up late for work. then it started to rain as you were sprinting to your work and it just so happened to be the day you had forgotten your umbrella that your boyfriend got you awhile ago.

to make the matters worse, as you were impatiently waiting to cross the street, a car drove by and over a big puddle of rain, sprinkling it everywhere.

and all over you.

when you finally got to your office, you got an earful from your supervisor for being late.

the things only seemed to progress for the worse as you keep on making stupid little mistakes that your colleagues had to point out to you.

the day has been so stressful, that it was only as you were walking through the door of your and your boyfriend’s apartment that you noticed that you haven’t eaten anything the entire day.

as you were quietly taking your shoes off, from the right side where the kitchen is,you see a head pop out.

looking up, you see your boyfriend smile at you, “hi, welcome home love. come and see what i made for you”.

it’s only then that you smell a delicious smell spreading all throughout the apartment.

still a bit confused, you walk to where the kitchen.

and the sight in front of you makes you speechless.

the table is set, brimming with all your favourite dishes, a little candle lit in the middle of the table, a bouquet of your favourite flowers sitting on your undesignated but kinda designated chair.

“look babe, i made hotpot, i started making it like 2 hours ago so it could be cooked all the way through, and look!- my mom sent us some kimchi so i took a bit out too, and then we have some bibimbap, and i made us a desert as well! see, i wasn’t really sure what you were feeling so i just decided to go with…”

joshua was so excited to show you what he prepared for you, focusing all of his attention to the table in front of him, that he didn’t really look at you to see your reaction.

until a sniffle broke out of you.

snapping his head to you, his shocked face comes to see silent tears streaming down your face, your teeth biting your bottom lip harshly to stop the sobs from escaping your mouth.

joshua, still in disbelief, starts to ask “baby, wha-“, but before he can finish his question, you suddenly start wailing loudly.

you sobs are so loud that you think that not even a newborn baby could beat you in this game.

you just kinda stand there, fists balled up next to your body as you sob and wail. if you weren’t the one crying, you were sure that you would find this whole scene hilarious.

joshua, with eyes as big as saucers, approaches you quickly, gently taking your face in his big hands.

“woah woah woah, baby, what’s wrong? what happened? w-why are you crying? do you not like this? i can just call one of the guys to come pick this up as a dinner, really, it’s no problem at all, im so sorry baby, i didn’t mean to upset you-“

before he can continue with his rambling you let yourself fall into him, arms wrapping themselves around his waist, your probably snotty and wet face hiding in his neck as you continue to wail.

joshua hugs you back just as tightly as you’re hugging him, his hands rubbing your back in comfort.

after a few moments, still sobbing and hiccuping, you try to say “i-i love you s-so much, what d-did i do to dese-deserve you, y-you are literally my-my angel, a-and i love you so mu-much. i had such a-a terrible day, and then you-you come and pull all of t-this a-and i just-“ you stop yourself just to let out another loud wail, your hands balling up his shirt in your fists.

joshua, concentrating really hard to understand what you were talking about through your sobs, softens as you interrupt yourself with your own cries.

in response, joshua lets one of his hands come up to your head to scratch it in comfort, feeling his eyes close in relief that it wasn’t him that upset you.

“shh, it’s okay my love, i got you now. i will make it all better”.

and you were sure that he will.

because with joshua by your side to comfort you, even the worst and hardest days don’t seem to be that bad.🤍

#seventeen #svt #svt x reader #fypシ #tumblr fyp #fypage #joshua #joshua hong #hong jisoo #joshua x reader #joshua x you

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afteraftercare · 4 months ago

Note

billie x VS angel HC ?

- Thank you 💖

Billie x Victoria Secret Angel Head canons !!

Authors note: to the anon who requested this i NEED to know who you are because i am OBSESSED with the idea of this. i might even make a full fic inspired this soo stay tuned for that (maybe idk i lie a lot LMAO)

Warnings: not proof read

swf :

GETTING BOOKED FOR THE SHOW:

when you find out that your gonna have a runway show coming up in a few months you immediately get into that mindset

even though your excited you start worrying a lot more and becoming overwhelmed and stressed

you start stressing out a lot about working out and your appearance and making sure your fit in time for the runway

billie notices and sees how much your over working yourself and assures you that you dont need to stress

"what are you doing?" billie asks you as she stands by your door. your currently laying down in a starfish position on your wooden floor, face pouring sweat and your cheeks flushed red.

"im getting ready for the runway, you know this." you remind her. "the runway isnt until 2 months from now?" billies eyebrows furrow in confusion as she begans to enter the room more. you sigh, "i know but all the other girls have such pretty fit bodies and i wanna be prepared in advance. i wanna look like them." you tell your girlfriend. you look up at her with pleading eyes. billie looks down at you softly.

she sits down next to you, "baby what? your the prettiest girl on that entire runway. the other girls probably worry about looking like you. stop stressing about this you look absolutely gorgeous the way you are."

billies always constantly assuring you that you look gorgeous and especially even more gorgeous than all the other models (because she genuinely thinks that)

RIGHT BEFORE THE SHOW:

billie always comes to your shows and you even sneak her backstage all the time so she can watch you get ready for the show

you always make sure billie gets front row seats to your shows so she can see you better

billie always makes you matcha tea right before your shows

she watches you as you get your makeup and hair done. taking in how beautiful you truly are.

when shes backstage you make sure to keep your robe on tight so she doesnt get a sneak peak at your outfit until your out on the runway

THE SHOW:

billie obviously is only there for you so when the other girls come out she's usually very bored and looks extremely uninterested

when you come out she can finally see what was under your robe the whole time. shes taken aback. completely in awe. starring at you with blown out pupils. thinking to herself "how did i get so lucky?"

you make sure to make direct eye contact with her when you come out. giving her an ever so slight smirk and looking away. posing in very seductive poses for the show, but also for your girlfriend

she always take photos of you with her phone when your on the runway. if the show yall are at doesnt allow phones she will sneakily get photos of you anyways

AFTER THE SHOW:

billie always tries to get you some type of gift after all your shows. usually containing a bouquet of flowers and your favorite drink/snack

after the show you immediately run to her and try to find her. once you do you run into her arms and give her a huge hug

she absolutely praises the FUCK out of you

"baby you looked SO good out there holy shit"

"really?"

"absolutely."

she tells her all about her favorite looks with you and her favorite things about what you did

nsfw :

when billie sees you out on the runway in you revealing clothes it gets her hot. immediately feelings herself clench her thighs together for some type of relief

all she can think about is how good youd look like that in her room together alone

or she thinks about how good id look on her bedroom floor..

in the car ride home she has her hands rubbing on your thigh. wanting to just take you there in the car but patiently keeping it together.

the second yall get home (or to the hotel) after your shows, billies hands are all over you.

you always wear your runway looks under your clothes home so when you get home you can give billie her own show.

once she starts tearing your clothes off and realizes you still have your runway lingerie on she gets super happy

"god, you looks so hot on stage in this.. even hotter right now for me."

she usually just ends up fucking you in the lingerie. its too hot not to for her

she always makes sure to call you her little "angel"

you'd pretend like you hated it but deep down you absolutely loved it

once yall are finished she always tells you "you have to wear this again for me, you look so good baby."

and you always keep that in mind for the future

TAGLIST (dm,inbox,or comment to be added!) : @muchloveforhacker @chrissv4mp @mseilishmwah @chrissfawn @dev-sturns

#̊+·❥ MAL WRITES !#billie eilish #victoria secret #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish head canons #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fic #hit me hard and soft #hmhas #hte #happier than ever #wwafawdwg

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twirlyleafs · 7 days ago

Text

“Priorities”

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Tw: nothing I think, some angst.

~~~~

It was late afternoon by the time Carlos had wrapped up his meetings, finally parking the car outside your shared apartment. Despite his tiredness he couldn’t help the small smile on his face, excited to finally come home and looking forward to unwind together with you. His mind was filled with thoughts of food, maybe you should cook together? Or order in from that little Italian place you loved so much? He thought of what to watch on tv, knowing at the same time that it didn’t matter much to him. Hed probably fall asleep with his head in your lap within a few minutes of you sinking down in the couch together. As he unlocked the door he call out a soft hello, expecting you to pop out from somewhere like you usually did and come greet him with a kiss. When you didn’t, the silence of the apartment made him almost uneasy. Carlos called out for you again, frowning when he didn’t get an answer. Confused he pulled his phone from his pocket, thinking he might’ve missed a message from you, but the only one was your short conversation from this morning. He hadn’t heard anything since he told you he was in a meeting and when he thought about it that was kind of wierd. Normally he’d come out of a meeting to at least one text from you, and probably a cute picture of something you’d seen or something you’d cooked. You liked to keep him updated and he loved getting updates. He frowned, pressing the button to call you. The frown only deepened when he was forced to listen to the singlas until it eventually went to voicemail. Maybe you were at the gym? Or in the store, or out with friends? You usually picked up when he called though. Sighing Carlos moved further into the apartment, sinking down in the couch with a deep breath. Lazily scrolling through his phone it took him a few minutes until his eyes stopped on a story posted by one of your friends. The scene was cozy, candle-lit table and a tightly squeezed group of people posing for the picture. Right in the center he saw you, eyes crinkling with laughter as you carefully cut up the cake placed infront of you. His heart skipped a beat and as his eyes moved to read the caption it sank all the way down into his stomach.

Happy birthday to the sweetest, kindest and most beautiful soul. Love you!

Your birthday. It’s your birthday today and he’d completely forgotten it. You’d reminded him, several times the past few weeks, and every time he’d promise that he would make it the best day ever. That you and him would spend it together, all day with full focus on you and not a single thought on anything else. He’d promised himself to leave work behind, even just for one day, to really be able to make it special for you and now here he stood imagining your face when you realized he hadn’t kept any of it. Carlos fingers flew over his screen, quickly trying to call you again. When you didn’t answer, he hadn’t expected you to, he typed out a message.

C: Carino I’m so sorry

C: Im sorry, please call me? Or let me come see you?

C: I can pick you up after your dinner and we can do something? Anything you like

C: I love you, I’m sorry

You didn’t respond at first and Carlos began pacing the apartment, the stress and guilt eating him up from inside. He was just about to call one of your friends when your message finally came.

Y: Im out with friends Carlos, it’s fine.

Y: Love you too

He stared at it, a lump in his throat. He hated that you said it was fine, he knows it’s not. He knows what he has done is not fine and he knows you are not feeling fine either. He can see you, surrounded by your friends but also being reminded that he completely fucked you over today. The words its fine didn’t feel right, he could practically feel the disappointment laced beneath them.

C: Please amor, let me make it up to you.

No reply. Carlos kept his phone by his side the whole evening, waiting and constantly checking the screen hoping to find you giving him another chance but the silence dragged on. As the hours ticked by he realized you weren’t letting him off the hook that easily, not that he thought you should, but the panic inside him grew. Today should’ve been about you, about showing you he was capable of putting work aside, proving that despite everything always being about racing you were his priority. He hated that you gave him so much of your time and energy and he just- forgot. When he finally heard the sound of a key in the door he scrambled to his feet and moved out into the hallway, just in time to see you step inside. Your eyes met for the briefest moment before you turned away, expression calm but guarded.

”Hey.” He started, voice soft and overflowing with regret. You offered a quiet greeting, still not meeting his gaze, and he continued. ”Im so so sorry. I forgot, and I know that such a dickmove and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I have no excuse, I just-”

”It’s fine Carlos.” You nodded, hanging up your coat with slow and steady movements. Your tone of voice betrayed you and Carlos could heard the hurt you tried to hide. ”I know you’re busy. Its fine. I didn’t want to bother you.” The words slipping from your lips had his chest tightening.

”You’re never a bother baby.” His words came out almost as whispers, eyes pleading. ”I- I know I messed up, I should’ve been here. I promise I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He didn’t miss the way something flashed in your eyes, something hard and cold before your face softened. The sadness in your gaze when you watched him had him want to clutch his chest.

”You don’t have to promise anything Carlos.” The way you spoke was almost resigned. ”It’s fine. I just wish I didn’t feel like I’m something you have to work to fit into your schedule instead of something you actually want there.” The words stung, more than he had expected. Carlos wanted to reach for you, pull you close and tell you how important you were to him. That he’d give up everything else if you asked him to. But he didn’t, instead he just stood there looking into your eyes and realizing you didn’t want to talk to him right now. Carlos stayed still, watching you delicately make your way past him and he felt the weight of the promise that might’ve come a little too late this time.

That night, when Carlos eventually joined you in bed, he could feel the invisible wall between you. He caught himself glancing over, hoping you’d turn to him or shuffle closer like you’d usually do. He wanted nothing more than to have you curled up against his chest, but something in the air stopped him from reaching out. Instead he stared up at the ceiling, your earlier words replaying in his head. You felt like he didn’t want you, like you didn’t matter enough to him to make time for you in his schedule.

The days that followed didn’t seem to get any better. Carlos didn’t know how to approach the subject, didn’t know what to say, and you moved through the apartment like a ghost. You were always polite, always kind, but distant. When he asked if you wanted to join him for coffee or go for a run och a bike ride you’d shake your head while offering a soft smile, telling him you didn’t have time right now. When he tried to bring up the upcoming weekend, a weekend he knew was free for both you and him, and suggested that you’d plan a trip together you once again offered a sweet smile and told him you’d be up for whatever worked best for him. You stopped asking him for things, he noticed, and you never reached out first. When you kissed it was him who leaned in, when you ate together it was his suggestion. You didn’t remind him of plans, didn’t suggest movie nights, didn’t send him those funny little updates on your day when you were apart and he missed it. All of it. You didn’t even utter a word of complain when he was busy, you just let him go and never asked for even a moment of his time. Every time he noticed you step back something inside him twisted.

One evening, after Carlos had spent the day at the training center, he came home to find you sitting on the couch reading. You looked up at him when he entered, offered him a faint smile and a small hello, before turning back to your book. Usually, before all this, you’d be quick to ask him about his day, pull him down to cuddle with you and gently scratch the stress away from his scalp. But now it was as if you almost went out of your way not to talk to him. Carlos couldn’t stand it. It had only been a few days but the tension, the quiet ache of your absence was driving him mad. Taking a deep breath Carlos shuffled over, taking a seat on the coffee table infront of you. You shifted, glancing up at him, but didn’t speak.

”Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. You hesitated, you hated that you did, before nodding slowly.

”Of course. What’s on your mind?” The way you answered, so calm and almost indifferent, made him have to swallow the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully.

”It’s not about what’s on my mind, it’s about yours. I, well I can feel you pulling away and I get that it’s my fault, you know? I know it’s because of what happened but I- I don’t know how to fix it. ”

”Carlos,” you murmured, eyes trailing down to your fidgeting fingers. ”It’s fine. I told you, I don’t want to bother you. I know you’re busy, I know you don’t need more stress in your life.” The words hit him like a punch. A bother. He could tell you genuinely believed that, that you saw yourself like someone, something, that bothered him. After everything you’ve been through he’d somehow made you feel like an inconvenience in his life.

”Don’t say that.” His voice was strained as he leaned forward, elbows on knees. ”You’re not a bother. Never. I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I know forgetting your birthday was the dickmove of the century, I really fucked up-”

”It’s not about you forgetting my birthday Carlos.” You shook your head softly, interrupting him. ”Or, well it is but not just that. It’s that sometimes, more recently, it feels like there’s no room for me in your life. Like you’re not willing to make room. I’m here all the time and you come find me when it’s convenient.” Carlos flinched, words cutting through his heart like sharp blades. You were right, he knew you were, but he hadn’t been willing to admit it earlier. He barely was now. You’d always been so kind, so understanding and supportive of his career and his demanding schedule and your support meant the world to him. He hated that he hadn’t showed you that. He hated himself for taking it for granted.

”I know I haven’t been good at- well at balancing things.” As he spoke his voice was thick with regret. ”And I know it’s been a lot recently, but carinõ I never meant to make you feel like, like you’re on the outside. I see you as a part of my life, like the biggest part. You’re what’s important.” Your gaze stayed trained on your hands, expression softening but still guarded.

”That’s nice to hear.” Murmured words had him carefully reach out to wedge his hand between yours and for the first time in days you didn’t pull away. ”I get that you have a lot on your plate and I want to support you I just, I don’t know if I can keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

”You shouldn’t. Pretend, I mean.” Silence settled slowly as Carlos tried to gather his thoughts. He held your hand tightly, thumb swiping gently across your knuckles. He knew what he wanted to say, he wanted to throw promises at her and beg her to give him another chance, but he also knew that wouldn’t cut it. Carlos understood that whatever he said now wouldn’t matter until he actually showed you, showed up for you, and he silently promised himself he would. As a single drop hit the back of his hand his eyes quickly trailed back to your face, feeling his chest clench as he watched yet another tear slowly slip down your cheek. With a deep breath he squeezed your hand, leaning closer. ”Can I please hold you?” The question felt weird on his tongue, he’d never asked for permission to touch you before, but it seemed necessary in the situation. When you offered a small nod, sniffing quietly, Carlos didn’t hesitate. In a swift maneuver he was seated next to you in the couch, arms wrapped around your frame as you fell against him. He released a shaky breath when he felt your arms snake around his torso and he pulled you somehow even closer, nose pressed against the top of your head.

”I missed you.” Your voice was barely audible but Carlos could feel the words seep into his skin.

”I missed you too.” He spoke against your hair. ”And I know I will have to show you for you to believe me, but I really am sorry. You deserve a lot more than I’ve given you lately and I promise I’ll be better. I’ll make time, real time, for us. You’re the most important person in my life, you’re my person, and I’m not losing you.” Carlos eyes fluttered open as you slowly pulled away, looking up at him with a mixture of sadness and hope.

”I really hope you mean it.”

”I do.” You held his gaze in silence for what felt like forever until you finally nodded.

”Okay.”

The days went on after that and soon enough days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Carlos had really realized what he had been doing to you, how his neglect had chipped away at the foundation of what you had built together, and he’d been working on it. Really working on it. At first it was awkward, you both thought so. Carlos wasn’t used to scheduling his time around someone else, not in the way you needed or in the way he wanted to offer. He had to force himself to slow down, to prioritize moments with you. He learned to say no, to meeting, to interviews, to unnecessary events because he had realized what it cost him to always say yes. The reward for saying no though, was what really brought him happiness. Every time he chose you, every time he prioritized you over the demands that came with his career, he saw something in your eyes. Relief, hope, love. It hadn’t been easy though, not all of it. There were moments when he still caught you hesitating before asking for something, moment when he knew you were keeping yourself in check not to be a bother, and every time it broke his heart a little bit. One time you carefully suggested that the two of you could take a small trip, since both of you were off work for a few days, and he could tell you were bracing yourself for disappointment even as you asked the question. He knew you still kept a lot of your feelings to yourself, brushing off things that upset you, and that’s what hurt him the most. Knowing you were still healing from what he’d put you through. There were good moments too, the majority actually, that made both of you feel like you were moving in the right direction. Like when he surprised you with a packed picnic basket one morning when you thought he would be at work. Or that time he saw you smile, really smile, when you heard him turn down a late-night meeting just to stay in and watch your favorite show together. It was a slow process, earning back your trust, but he was determined to make it.

One evening you sat on the balcony together, the glow of the city and the sinking sun blending together in front of you. Carlos had you tucked closely to his side, fingers twisting a strand of your hair absentmindedly as both of you just seemed to enjoy your time together.

”You’re quiet tonight.” Your soft murmur had him gazing down at you, smiling softly when he saw your face already turned up. Carlos moved his free hand to brush a strand of hair from your cheek.

”I’m just thinking.”

”About what?” Carlos hesitated, unsure how to express what he was feeling. When you reached up to grab his hand, tilting your head in that way he always found so endearing, he spoke up again.

”About how lucky I am. That you’re still here, with me, you know? That you didn’t give up.”

Your expression softened if possible even more, fingers intertwining with his. ”I never wanted to give up Carlos, I never wanted us to end.” You assured him, brows softly knitting together. ”I just needed to know if you actually wanted me here.” Carlos chest tightened, reminders of those painful days when he didn’t know if he’d be able to fix what he caused flashing through his mind.

”I do. I did and I do. I’ll always want you, need you.” He paused to lean down and press his lips against your forehead for a moment, taking a deep breath in through his nose as he gathered his composure. “I’ll never stop trying to show you how much you belong in my life, how important you are to me. Because you are.” Carlos tensed for a second as you pulled away, holding his breath as you looked at him. When you finally moved again you slowly leaned up to kiss him, lips soft and warm against his, and Carlos felt himself relax again. As you pulled back he saw a glimmer of something in your eyes, something lighter, as if the weight you’d been carrying was slowly starting to lift.

”Thank you.” Once again your words came out soft, softer than he felt he deserved.

”For what?”

”For fighting for us. For wanting to make this work. You could’ve just given up and focused all your time on all your other stuff, but you’ve really tried.” Your words had him melt, the arm he had around your shoulders tightening slightly. ”I do really appreciate these past months Carlos, and I know it hasn’t been easy but it’s been good. Great. You’ve been great.”

”It hasn’t been easy.” He agreed slowly. ”But it has been worth it. Every time.” Carlos leaned in to press another gently kiss against your lips before continuing. ”I’ll always fight for us. For you.” He didn’t say anything else. Neither did you. You didn’t have to. You just sat there, tangled together in the quiet and felt the wave of security and gratitude wash over you. Things were going to be okay, both of you knew it. Maybe even better than okay.

#imagine #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 #formula one #f1 writing #f1 fic #carlos sainz #sainz #Sainz x Reader #Carlos Sainz imagine

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dfortrafalgar · 8 months ago

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Special Delivery

(Sanji x Fem!Reader- Offscreen)

Sanji reaches out to Zeff for the first time in years.

I wrote this many, many months ago now, and it was the first fic i posted anonymously on AO3. I got a few requests after it was originally posted to write a second part, which I eventually did!

You can read Part 2 here! Original AO3 link

(I figured I should let my blog breathe a little in between the really heavy and emotional Law fic im writing, and what better way to cool down than some sanji fluff <3)

A sharp squawk awoke Red-Leg Zeff from his daze. With a grumpy expression and a low grunt, he peered towards the direction of the sound.

A messenger coo was seated on the railing of the Baratie's upper deck next to where Zeff stood slouched over with his forearms leaning against the wooden support. It cocked its head to the side as if it was deconstructing Zeff's appearance before reaching into its pouch and procuring a parchment envelope. Zeff found it strange. Messenger coos only usually delivered the newspapers or the latest bounty reports, very rarely were they put in charge of personalized letters. It must have been paid off by whoever wanted this delivered.

The gruff man took the parchment from the beak of the bird and watched as it took back off into the air, leaving a few molted white feathers behind in its wake. He looked at the envelope.

All it said on the front, in very elegant handwriting, was "Captain Zeff." He flipped the paper around, revealing a wax stamp holding the opening down, which he peeled off with a calloused thumb.

Tucked neatly inside the envelope was a white piece of paper, tri-folded over itself. Zeff slipped the paper out, unfolding it to reveal the written contents of the letter. The penmanship was impeccable, and the ink was very sleek. He knew immediately it was from Sanji, not many other pirates had handwriting as good as his. He had completely lost track of how many years it had been since the curly-browed boy left with that ragtag group of pirates to sail to the Grand Line, but Zeff had every single one of his bounty posters. He'd never admit it, but they were tacked up on the wall of his sleeping quarters. Every time Sanji's bounty increased, Zeff felt pride swell in his heart.

"How are you doing, you old geezer. It's been a little too long since we've had any contact, so I thought I'd write to you just to see how you've been. You're no slouch, I'm sure you've been keeping up with the world's events over the past however-many years. Do the Marines even bother to keep sending our bounty posters to the Baratie anymore? Well, regardless, I'm sure you can read right through me. I can't deny it, I miss you, old man. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, and such a huge part of that is thanks to you and the guys back on that old cruiser. Every recipe I try to make, I imagine you screaming in my ear and telling me that it tastes like shit. Some days I really wish I could be back there, but most of the time I'm joyful. Life has been really, really good. A few years ago, I met someone. Last year, we got married, and soon after our lives changed so drastically. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and she's as sweet as an angel. I mean it, too. I know you'd probably think something along the lines of me playing up my affections again just because she's a pretty woman, but I mean it. You'd love her, Zeff. Living as a pirate is the most stressful thing anyone could ever do, but she makes every day worth it. The crew was discussing the possibility of returning to the East Blue a bit ago, and when we do, I'm going to introduce you to her. I've spent the last years talking all about you, how you taught me everything I know about cooking, and I can tell she's just as excited as I am to finally see you. This letter's gone on long enough and I don't want to use up all of Nami's paper.

-- Sanji"

Zeff felt a lump in the back of his throat. Sanji had grown into such a fine young man, eloquent with his words and his feelings. He knew how big of a deal it was for the boy to be so honest and open. But one thing in the letter caught him off guard. What did he mean by, "Soon after our lives changed drastically."?

Zeff peered into the envelope, where another, smaller envelope was tucked inside. He almost didn't see it. Pulling it out, he held the letter and original envelope in between his fingers while he opened the second. Sanji was thorough with his packaging, that's for sure.

Inside, there were three photographs printed on thin, matted paper. The first was of Sanji and you, the wife he wrote about in his letter, taken by someone else holding the camera. Sanji had his arm around you, holding you against him, and you had your face nuzzled into his neck. His other hand held a cigarette away from the two of you, like he was in the middle of telling a story. The two of you were smiling brighter than the sun, Sanji's eyes completely closed with the motion of laughter, and yours creased, your irises looking up towards him.

The second photo made Zeff's eyes water. A photo of you and Sanji on the deck of the Sunny, exchanging rings. Sanji was wearing a sleek navy blue tuxedo, while you were wearing a gorgeous white ballgown. For pirates, you cleaned up phenomenally. He could just make out tears in Sanji's eyes as the photo displayed you sliding a band onto his finger. A skeleton with poofy hair stood between the two of you, which Zeff found a little odd, but he chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

Zeff flipped to the last photo.

The tears that were welling in his eyes from the previous image finally slid down his cheeks in heavy, salty droplets. His lip quivered.

Sanji sat in a chair, beaming down at a bundle of cloth held gently in his arm. He was crying in this photo as well, and was reaching a finger over the top of the bundle, where a smaller hand was reaching outwards to grab onto it. A small glimpse of blonde hair could be made out from under the cloth securing the baby tightly. On the back of the film, Sanji wrote the birth date and the name of the baby.

Zeff used a sleeve to wipe his blubbering eyes. His lips quivered, but he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

Was he allowed to call himself a grandfather now? He figured it was only appropriate.

#fem reader #reader insert #x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #special delivery

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quinn-pop · 1 year ago

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let’s do some autistic meta knight headcanons!! over explaining my interpretation of meta knight yet again wooooo

this orb has NO idea how to talk to people!!! outside of work anyway. a lot of this is partially due to upbringing (suppressing his emotions all the time) but he does not know how to express emotions, like…at all.

this goes into a few things

1. yeah talking is hard. even after figuring out what he wants to communicate he will struggle. conversation can be so overwhelming, especially under pressure. he will need time lol

2. because of that, forming connections is hard. i really don’t think meta is much for shallow relationships, and certainly not early in the timeline. which also means he has very little experience with friendship. so a lot of the relationships he did have went kinda neglected, and issues that probably could’ve been worked on by talking became…*cough romk* escalated.

3. honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if meta convinced himself he couldn’t feel emotion (anymore) until like. katam-ish. he tried very hard lol

vulnerability is terrifying. (though this gesture here is also just comforting, like his little cape cocoon thing he does.)

unmasking—yeah im taking the mask thing very literally here—is a big deal and a very slow process for mk. i’m sure he has a lot of feelings on that lol. it served as a way to ensure no one could ever, y’know, see him.

i can’t say i think he’d ever fully ditch it—there’s always gonna be some days that are more stressful than others and if having it could help him get through it, it just makes sense. mainly when working.

it really is about vulnerability. granted, i don’t think he has the most expressive face (in my head every astral just tends to stare at things) but i doubt he has much control over it. can’t fake a smile but also can’t hide it. probably blushes easy because yeah, astrals; just look at kirby’s face.

just the idea that someone might be able to read his expression and know what he’s feeling before he’s ready for them to (or even understands it himself…) yeah he doesn’t want that

but emotional turmoil aside, i think his mask also hides a lot of his stims

remember that whole “suppressing your feelings” thing? yeah turns out that ignoring half your instincts isn’t a good idea. so in true meta knight style, he tries to stim as subtly as possible

1. he has the least control over his wings, so they will flick and twitch on their own. they’re usually a good indicator of how he’s feeling, not unlike the body language usually seen in cat ears and tails lol. flapping is also an extension of this of course, though he probably suppresses it more.

2. this also effects when he takes his wings out. pretty much every time he’s excited or nervous it just happens. kinda makes me wonder if his wing cape ordeal might also go into the suppression thing… (i’d say yes, but using a cape is also very comforting so it’s not necessarily a bad thing)

3. going back to the mask thing; he stims a lot underneath it. think like biting or pursing your lips. he bites his tongue and clicks his mouth. that sort of thing. his mask also makes it harder to notice that he is constantly sighing, humming, grumbling…all that

one nice thing about the mask though is that it helps a little bit with lights!!! woo

(look at him and his magically floating glasses)

sensory stuff—i think he’s mostly bothered by light and sound. maybe a bit of texture. he’s pretty sensory avoidant and perfectly happy standing off to the side not touching anything.

the one exception to this is physical affection, which is, despite all of this, most of how he shows affection. it’s a lot easier to hug someone than to try to explain your feelings for them, after all.

i think he would like pressure though. so that’s probably part of it. and i’m pretty sure there’s some connection in here to fighting (dang, is that the only way he knows how to get his energy out?)

anyway, pretty much all of this is in contrast to kirby, who i would gladly nominate as the champion of Doing Whatever He Wants. he might pick up a few bad habits, but he will never mask the way meta knight does. he might not understand how he feels, but he’s in tune enough to express it…usually.

this is a very good thing for meta because it helps him to do the same thing. kirby’s so energetic, it’s hard to not want to stim with him. it reminds meta to be kinder to himself and explore his own emotions. he can also help kirby understand themselves, so this connection is very important.

yeah, at the end of the day, everything kinda just boils down to kirby and mk as parallels

this is the conclusion i promise

to me, meta’s arc is about growing stronger by growing kinder, and this is mostly by learning to be kind to himself. letting himself be a person again, loving and understanding other people, and eventually, letting go of all the expectations placed on him and doing the things he’s always wanted to do…

autism headcanons are fun for me because it’s cathartic to write, but at the same time, it just makes sense in this sort of narrative. meta is, to me, inseparable from these things. and so is kirby! that’s a dynamic that’s a lot of fun to play with, and it’s at the heart of my kirby interpretation.

if you actually read all this WOW thank you

#i almost considered not posting this on a wednesday but then i wrote everything and uhhh yeah i think i gotta so #happy cringe day wednesday #for as many notes as i have on these characters i really don’t talk about it much #but meta knight is a special case because i am terrible at subtlety and he wouldn’t be meta knight without it #so this is to contextualize some things #because of what ill have in the next few days haha #basically these are just things i consider when writing meta #but a lot of it is subtextual and i dont know how well it comes across #kirbyposting #kirby #meta knight #headcanons #autism headcanon #this is practically an essay lol oops #i have like 2/3 of a fic that explores most of this in a way i probably won’t do again #but we’ll see if i ever finish it #god kirby concepts are so fun to chew on #i overthink everything i make so much lol

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brailsthesmolgurl · 8 months ago

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WHY HIM?

I have been writing daily and I think the next few days updates would be a bit more chill as I would be prepping for the Zayne angst series. If you're my follower, you would know what I am talking about ;)

A oneshot featuring you, choosing another guy over him. The songs were curated according to what the boys are probably thinking, just in the form of songs. Accompanied with the boys' POV.

Warnings: Angst, no comfort for the boys because mc is a bitch in this

Zayne - SNOW WHITE

'SHE WAS SNOW, SNOW LIKE THE WHITE LIES'

"Any excuses on why you had to reschedule for your last health checkup?" Zayne spoke, eyes never leaving the health report, studying the numbers and facts running through his mind like a vision.

"I just had to tend to work at the very last minute." She replied, tucking her brunette strand behind her ear. Clearly a lie. Zayne knew her well and long enough to tell the bad habits she has whenever she is lying.

The doctor chuckled softly under his breath. "Sure." Seeing right through her white lies. "Your heart seems to be functioning well. Keep up the good work." His praise raised a smile on her face. A sight he shall never forget.

"I remember you talked about a dessert shop not far from here. How about we head there after I am done with my next consultation?" Zayne asked, the report placed onto the wooden desk of his, fingers intertwined into a combined fist and he looked up. It was rare for Zayne to suddenly ask for a casual hang out just like this. He is always either too busy or too tired to go for any social sessions after he was done for the day.

'COLD LIKE THE NIGHT SHE LET ME GO'

His shift ended and once the last patient was checked out, he swiftly packed his briefcase and headed out of his office, not wanting to spare another minute. A nurse approached him mid-way, asking him to check through the files of a patient prior to submission to the report but Zayne kindly rejected with, "I shall review it tomorrow. Please leave it on my desk."

His response left the nurse bamboozled. He is the last doctor she expected to reject looking into a report for a patient. Guess there is a first for everything. "Sure, Dr.Zayne." She followed him with her gaze, seeing the figure quickly dissipated amongst the crowd of people within the hospital's lobby.

Zayne's excitement immediately died out. There she stood, basked under the dim lighting of the street lamps. Casting an overhead shadow of her, and another individual standing next to her. Zayne could not make out what they were talking about but he could tell she looked happy. Head thrown back, hands covering her mouth to mask her loud laughters. The guy stood in front of her reached his hand up to pat her head in a loving gesture.

'WAS IT THE FROSTBITE OR JUST THE ICE INSIDE HER SOUL? I DON'T KNOW'

Zayne winced, a jolting pain shot up his right arm. A searing pain that he knew was a direct reflection of his heart. If being with her hurts him, being away from her probably hurts him just as much, or perhaps, worse. He gritted his teeth, jaw tightened and his right fist curled tightly into a ball, trying his best to be in control of the pain.

The torture continues as he desperately wanted to intervene, to walk up to her side and introduce himself to the guy. But he stood still, unable to do anything as he watched her expressions closely. Joy, bashful, meek. But whenever she is with him, it would be the opposite effect. Nervous, hesitant, awkward. Was that what he really wanted from her? Of course not.

'I USED TO MELT IN HER ARMS NOW IM FALLIN' APART LIKE THE SNOW'

There were times she would pay him surprise visits in between his schedule, to bring him something to eat or to just spend time with him. But he would dismiss her, stating that it is not necessary for her to be around as it might cause a distraction. But he secretly liked the distraction. He liked watching her looking stressed as she tried to type out her report, looking at him every once in a while, using his face as a medium to recall her memories during the fight with Wanderers.

He also secretly likes it when she brings him desserts, tempting him forcefully by blackmailing him. No floss, no desserts. And he would not comply, purposely saying he has to catch a surgery, only to come back and see the dessert box being left on his table, with a packet of floss and a note that says '𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓼!'

He blames himself, it is probably his coldness that drove her away, his indefinite display of love for her an opposing language towards her approach. His cold demeanour being a reality check for the curse that he has to succumb to, but fails terribly when he noticed the way his heart gravitates towards her.

'NEVER KNEW LOVE SO BRIGHT COULD EVER GET THIS COLD'

Zayne's phone vibrated in the pocket of his slacks and he unlocked it with his fingertip, reading the short message that was sent by her. <𝖧𝖾𝗒 𝖹𝖺𝗒𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖱𝖺𝖿𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗎𝗉.> A rejection clear as day within the enveloping darkness of the night.

Lies. Her face faded back into the darkness and a motion showcased her shoving her phone back into her jeans. The purple haired guy beside her snakes an arm around her waist comfortably and they both trudged down the streets together, an echo of their laughter carried by the wind. Zayne wished he could give up on everything to be in Rafayel's spot now.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Xavier - FLOORBOARDS

'BURY ME UNDER THE FLOORBOARDS'

Xavier woke up, dreary and wilted. Contrary to the sun that is exploding sun rays into everyone's houses, Xavier's house remained dark, with the sun-free curtains drawn closed for the past few days. It has been a few days since he had last heard from his partner, ever since that day he nearly got her killed due to his carelessness.

Xavier and his partner were deployed onto a mission involving a dangerous underground society named Onichynus. But their cover was blown when one of their moles ended up betraying both of the deepspace hunters, given Xavier has a bounty on his head.

During combat, Xavier managed to eliminate everyone who were trying to decapitate him but he failed to remember that his partner is not exactly the most durable fighter and that got her into a life threatening situation. Laying in her own pool of blood, she was suffocating because of the multiple lodged bullets in her torso.

"Y/N!" Xavier rushed over, skidding past dead bodies to reach to her, holding her up and pulling her into his arms effortlessly. "Help is already on its way. Don't worry about it. I am sorry." He spoke, everything a blur to him because his vision was only narrowed down to the girl in his arms. The girl that made him tear off his own clothes to press it against her bullet wounds to stop the bleeding, the girl that made his work life enjoyable and the girl that gave him a meaning to live, to live FOR HER.

'HIDE AWAY WITH THE LOVE YOU LEFT BEFORE'

Xavier made his way to the kitchen, feet dragged against the flooring, as if he had ankle weights that are too heavy for him to lift up with his legs. Passing by the kitchen isle, he noticed a book sat on it. The same exact book she had given him a few days prior to the accident. Small strips of sticky notes peeking out from the side of the book, an indication for the notes she would like him to be aware of.

Xavier's constant memory loss for deepspace hunter's rules and regulations resulted in the book having to be highlighted and lent to him. Her constant nagging about him needing to be constantly following the protocols used to be a pain in his ass but now he misses it so much. Holding up the thick book in his hand, a sigh ran past his lips and he tossed the book into the thrash can that sat right beside the isle.

'WASTE OF A HEART IF IT'S NOT YOURS'

Almost every night, he sat at the benches outside of Akso Hospital, awaiting for calls from the hospital. Hoping for a report on her wellbeing, or an autopsy if there were any. It was agonizing even for someone as strong-willed as him. Days went by in silence, drowning him further into his own misery.

During his wait for her return, work goes on, with him getting paired up with other deepspace hunters whom are females. Their admiration towards him a one-sided experience for them. There was only missions and home. It shall no longer be missions, then a good meal, then home. Without her, the routine shall only ever part between missions and home.

'STRANGERS AGAIN AND I'M NOT SURE WHAT YOU LEFT FOR'

His phone's ringtone jolted him to his wake, snatching the phone off of his nightstand and the news about her finally came. Within matter of seconds, he is already on his bike, riding at full speed, heading towards Akso Hospital. The low rumble of his engine coming to a full stop when he parked his motorbike at the allocated parking for bikes and he ran in.

His sneakers screeched against the cool tiled floors, making his way past people and up the flights of stairs rather than using the elevator. He could not wait to see her again, not only to give her a proper apology, but to give her a hug as well and to confess to her his true feelings.

After running up more than enough stairs to last a normie for a lifetime of workouts, he came to the floor where patients are housed. He approached the nurses at the oval table and asked for her room. "May I know what's your relationship with the patient?" The nurse asked, fingers flying across the space in front of her, pulling up the requested patient's records with holographic images.

"Boyfriend." He replied and she appointed the room to him.

'LOVE ME LESS, I'LL NEVER FORGET YOU'

He peeked his head in and spotted her from the door, her body lounging under the warmth of the sunlight. When her eyes caught his, she mimicked his expression, eyes widened and seemingly acknowledging his existence.

"How are you doing?" He walked in, closing the door behind him and taking a seat next to her. "I came by as soon as the hospital called me. Are you alright?" His cerulean blues eyeing her from top to bottom in the least sexual way, just wanting to know if she was doing alright physically. The last he met her, she was wrapped tightly like a cocoon, the once white sheets turned red at the amount of blood she had lost.

"Wait." She does not sound shocked nor happy, she sounded curious. "Who are you again?"

'I CAN'T STAND TO SEE YOU WITH SOMEONE ELSE'

Xavier stood outside of the door, silent tears invisible as he watched nurses holding her down as she screamed bloody murder, mistaking Xavier as to be one of the Onychinus. A tall man, with broad shoulders and dark hair walked past Xavier, two men accompanying behind him. Xavier caught the name tag on the man, Zayne. Stepping aside, he watched on as Dr. Zayne---who did not even spare the blond guy a stare---went into the room and he heard her cried out.

"They came for me Zayne! THEY CAME FOR ME!" She was on her wits end, grabbing hold onto Zayne's arms once he took his place beside her. "Please save me." Tears of fear a constant theme for her since she started crying and when Xavier evicted himself out of her personal space.

"It's alright, y/n." Zayne beckoned for everyone to leave the room and they all formed a trail, stepping out of the room one by one.

'WITH SOMEONE ELSE'

"Nobody is going to hurt you when I am here." Xavier caught sight of Zayne hugging her close to him, pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead. It made Xavier's eye twitch unwillingly, his breath hitching in his throat, making it super uncomfortable for him to breathe.

Xavier chose to leave, he had decided that his love for her shall only be kept to himself. Furthermore, she deserves someone who could take better care of her. Both physically and mentally. A trait Xavier strongly believes he could excel in, only if she could remember him.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Rafayel - IRIS

'AND ALL I CAN TASTE IS THIS MOMENT'

Fingers came up to run past her brunette curls, Rafayel pulled a sakura petal out of her hair. "Even if you have hair colour like this sakura pink, I think it would be a good match to mine. Since they are both from the same spectrum." He chuckled, an invigorating smile on his handsome features. "Mixing paints to get the right swatch would not be so much of a pain in the ass anymore."

"You're funny Rafayel." She replied, eyes connected to his, her words sincere like his feelings for her.

"As so I was told. Most of the time." He then slowly leaned in and they both shared a tender kiss, under the shadows of the sakura trees, children laughters and people's chatting voices framing as background music for their ears.

'AND ALL I CAN BREATHE IS YOUR LIFE'

Rafayel laid in bed next to her, studying her features closely. Her eyes closed, soft breaths circulating in and out of her nose, her cherry red lips glossed under the soft lighting present within his room, making them look extra kissable.

His fingers skimmed past her soft cheeks, causing her to stir ever so slightly but dozed right back off into her dreamland. She had gotten herself so drunk at his event just a while before. But he never knew the reason behind the willingness of her wanting to drink all of a sudden.

But there she laid, within his touch, well asleep. "How I wish you could have just told me what was bothering you rather than keeping it to yourself." His hushed voice seemingly causing no disturbance to her sleep, but it made its way into her dreamland, with him appearing in her dreams, telling her what was told in reality.

'AND SOONER OR LATER ITS OVER, I JUST DONT WANNA MISS YOU TONIGHT'

"Im sorry." Rafayel looked down at the girl in front of him, the bouquet of roses he had prepared for her being returned back to him. Her face displaying nothing but repudiation. "I can't take this. Im sorry."

"Why?" Rafayel looked at the roses. The carmine red standing out from the pristine white of the bouquet wrapper. "Are these flowers not what you like? I can go back to the florist to get different ones, the ones you may-"

"No. Rafayel, no." Her voice barely tepid. "I don't think we should meet each other anymore. I..." Her fingers toying with one another. "I fell in love with someone else." And she walked away, Rafayel's figure slowly shrunk further into the distance.

'AND I DON'T WANT THE WORLD TO SEE ME'

Rafayel holed himself up in his room, artworks all completed way before it was supposed to be done, but Thomas is not allowed anywhere near his house. He did not want to deal with anymore distractions when his mind is already in aberration.

His every stroke messy and not thought through, unalike his usual perfectionist attitude. His pupils were dull, just like the colours shown on his paintings. "It needs more black." He turned to his pots of paints, everything in shades of dark. The colour black itself, has its own palette of tones, although to the naked eyes, it looks black.

'CAUSE I DON'T THINK THAT THEY'LL UNDERSTAND'

He attended events in a timely fashion as well, arriving in his sports car and getting photographed in public. A smile as fake as his belief in love. He used to think that his life hangs in the balance for his relationship, but now it turns out his relationship is what hangs in the balance for his life.

"Is there anything you have to say about your recent change in tones, a drastic change from colourful pastels to gloomy dark shades?" One of the exhibition attendees asked, their eyes blazed with passion as they awaited for his brilliant answer.

"I don't have much to say. But I do have a context to give." He took a deep breath in, calming his nerves. "Paintings are like museums too, they are pieces of memory that one can't touch nor relive." And he left the exhibition right then and there.

'WHEN EVERYTHING'S MEANT TO BE BROKEN'

Rafayel took a walk by the boardwalk near the ocean he always visits. The sky bloomed in blue, the moon hung up high in the cloudless skies like a static mobile. A bonfire set in the distance puffing smokes out into the distance. The smokes carrying hints of red but soon blended in within the skies of blue.

Two figures sat a few feet apart from the bonfire, mashing into one under the blanket to gather warmth. Their shadows elongated behind them, a dark veil against the sands on the ground. As Rafayel got closer, he started regretting it more. There she is, within the arms of another man.

The man she was leaning up against had features like the stars in the sky, with pale complexion and striking blue eyes, with hair colour that matches the theoretically coloured stars. So, that is the guy that Rafayel was in a competition with, not that Rafayel knew to begin with. But the night she got drunk, and the following days after she stopped showing up at his house, the thought surfaced in his head. But it further confirmed it now.

'I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW WHO I AM'

Rafayel stayed behind a huge rock that shields him away from the merry couple, eyes watching, heart longing for a love like theirs. The bride of his from his past life no longer related to him. He stared out towards the ocean, his vision incapable of taking in the full view of the waters.

He slowly descended into the waters, feeling the seas crawled onto his body bit by bit. He had always loved the ocean even if it tried to kill him. But losing the love of his life only meant that he looses his life as well, as his body devolved into bubbles and off he floated off the surface of the waters and taking his place within the infinite skies.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Another angst to get by another day my lovelies, I am so happy with the amount of love I am getting from all of you so I hope that this gives you guys the right amount of heart ache you guys had requested for ;)

Behind the scenes: The songs I had curated for the boys are the songs I listen to on a weekly basis if I am having mood swings, I hope this may help you to discover these underrated songs and singers :)

But ofc, the hard part for me was to think up scenarios that may match the boys' personality as always, but it also has to rhyme with the songs I am writing with. That itself put me into a writer's block and took a while to get this uploaded. But I hope it is still satisfactory for you all <3

Have a good day my loves!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #lnds #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace angst

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