#memories painted in dawn light

[eupheme]

— looking back

joel miller x f!reader

rated e - 2.2k

tags: jackson-era Joel pov, angst, canon-typical violence/references to death, established relationship, Joel is an ass man, consensual somno elements, posessive!joel, body worship, dirty talk, male masturbation, spitting, touching, come marking

a/n: easing back into writing and started 2 little wips that are sort of "introspective-joel-pov-smut-fics" - here is the first one! 💕

“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”

Or - Joel gets off just from the sight of you

He’s strung as tight as a bow. The lingering adrenaline a notched arrow, leaving him about to snap. Blood seeps into his jeans - splattered across his knees, where he had jerked the knife from the man’s neck.

It had been a mercy killing. A stranger, but they had all seen the bite. He had been the only one to do something about it.

He’s told others that you get used to it. The killing - that after a while, survival wins out.

You get over it.

But you don’t. Instead, it clings to him like a shadow, following him home - down the worn, familiar path. Inside the gates, back to Jackson.

Heavier than it’s been before. An itching beneath his skin. If he was over it, he wouldn’t have to turn himself off. Shutting away a part of himself, only to fight to come back - clawing his way out later.

An aching reminder at how short life could be. That yes, things were different - but he was never really safe.

Not really.

His path brings him to you. A beacon, guiding his way back.

His - your - home coming into view, just as the dawn creeps over the fall, wooden fences. The misty grey brightening into gold and pink with the sun, as he’s unlocking the wooden door, shouldering it open.

A look thrown out the window as he scrubs his hand clean in the kitchen - seeing that the garage light is on. That she’s home, that she’s okay. An automatic check, before his weary feet take him upstairs.

Joel sheds the layers, the jacket thrown over the railing at the top of the stairs. Fingers fumbling with his belt, pulling the worn leather through the loops before his stained jeans crumple on the floor, as he pushes the cracked door open.

The light from the hallway stretches across the wooden floor, creeping into the dark room. Where you still lay sleeping, curled on your side within the blankets and sheets. Missing him in your dreams, that space next to you long empty.

Cold - where your fingers reach out, searching for him.

His path diverts, moving to you instead of the attached bathroom. The edge of the bed sinking under his weight, a soft sound as you stir.

“‘Welcome ‘ome.” You murmur, still half-asleep. A little wiggle as your bent knee hitches higher, the oversized shirt you’re wearing bunching up around your hips.

He reaches out, just the ghosting of his fingers against the soft skin near your knee. The fluttering of heavy lashes as you fight sleep, only to be pulled under again.

Joel’s hand shifts. A warm palm pressing against your thigh. Against soft skin, so different than his own calloused touch.

Home.

It is, isn’t it? As close to he’s had in years. Decades. The old apartment in the QZ had never felt that way, not with the faded floral walls. Those small rooms that still held ghosts.

But here, his own touch lingers. Yours, melding with it. It would never be like before - the picking out of furniture, of paint. But it’s his clothes in the closet. His worn guitar that rests against the couch. His wooden carvings lining the top of the mantle, above the fireplace.

And you - you're scattered throughout. Woven blankets and thick sweaters. Books, covering damn near every surface.

A little bottle of found lotion tucked away in the bathroom. He can smell it now, as he leans over you. A bristly kiss pressed against your cheek, the curve of your shoulder.

Amber, vanilla, caramel.

He’s pulled back to the memory, the light shining in your eyes when he handed the beaten bottle over. The minuscule amount you had worked into your knuckles - the soft sigh of contentment.

A bright laugh when he had pulled you close, the murmured “smells good” against your throat, as you had squirmed in his grasp - smiling as you read the fragrance notes out loud.

Something stirs in him, then. The press of his thigh against yours, as he leans over. Eyes dragging down to the bare curve of your ass, his hand tracing cup your thigh to palm your flesh.

His already uneven breath hitching, as you sigh. That little smile - his name - murmured out as you rock instinctively into his touch. Still on the edge of consciousness, lulled off into a deep sleep with the cooling of summer.

Waking you up wouldn’t be unusual. Half the time you’re already up after these early-morning patrols. Waiting for him.

How he waits for you, on those few days where it’s you out there, instead of him. His jaw working with irritation until you’re home and back and safe, and he’s stripping your clothes from you himself.

It’s selfish to wake you, on a morning where you sleep so deeply. Even with the stress that’s eating at him, simmering in his veins.

But maybe… maybe he can just-

Joel is leaning, his mouth against your neck. A shift as you stretch, baring your skin to him as your lips curl in a smile. A soft, sleepy hum as you reach for him, fingers curving over the thick muscle of his forearm.

The hand on your ass drifting up - across to the small of your back. Meeting nothing but warm, bared skin beneath your shirt.

“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”

Heavy-lidded eyes open then at the sound of his voice - his words - as you tilt your head. A slow sweep over the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his stomach. The spread of his thighs as he kneels behind you. The already half-hard tent of faded boxers.

You had been waiting for him. Anticipating his return, eager for his touch. The cloud of sleep begins to clear as he palms himself, the bed shifting as your hips shift, thighs spreading open for him.

“I can take care of you,” Your voice is scratchy - husky, in the early morning. A hand pressing again on your back as you begin to roll over, holding you in place.

“You already are,” Joel groans, as your hips tilt up, off the bed. Knees pressing into the mattress as he nudges your thighs wider, fitting between them, “Stay just like that, alright?”

The combination feels erotic. His smell on the shirt you wear. The tingling throb between your thighs, the desire in his voice. How much he wants - enough that just the sight of you has him hard, thumbs catching on the waistband of his boxers to free himself.

You relax into the bed, as you watch. The weight of his hand as it moves to squeeze your ass. A pressure as he tugs, opening you up.

“Fuck.”

Joel spits in his palm, before it’s wrapping around his cock. A rough groan as some of that need is eased, with the sharp stroke of his fist.

Just letting himself look. Admire.

A sight that is only his, fingers sinking into soft flesh. The way you trust, how effected you are already - the shallow rock of your hips as the sound of skin-on-skin fills the room.

“You got a pretty little pussy, honey.” He hears himself saying. Watching how you clench at his praise, the little gasp that follows. “Pretty little holes. All for me, right?”

He can feel the weight of your gaze. Darkening, as your hunger grows low in your belly. Darting between his face and the sharp flick of his wrist.

Rarely getting to see him take, like this. Usually he would have been buried in you, by now. There’s the urge to ask, but there’s a power in this - wanting to watch him get off to you. Not having to lift a finger to do so.

“All for you.” You sigh, “Always.”

His jaw grits, teeth clicking together. A bead of precum joins the slick of his spit, that angry fire in his belly transforming.

So different that the little mouse he had taken to bed, all those months ago. Your hands covering your mouth, muffling the moans, until he had pried them away. Pinning them against the pillows, whispering filth in your ear.

Now, he can see the greed in your eyes. The way you glisten, when his own gaze drops. The shift of your thighs as he takes a second to rub himself against the curve of your ass. Dipping down to press against your core.

The tip coming back slick, in a new kind of way - fueling the pressure, building in his belly.

Your moan breaks the early-morning quiet. His name on your lips again - more urgent than before.

The little beg only sends him closer, a rough groan in his throat. His own hand too familiar - used to the quick and precise touch he needs to get off, when he had to.

In the before. In the during - when it was only words that the you of you had exchanged. Heated looks that lingered late into those lonely nights.

Hasn’t felt the urge to, since he’s had you.

He expects you to ask him to fill you, eyes caught on the enticing lift of your hips.

Caught off-guard for the briefest second, a heat flushing over his cheeks, when you shift beneath him instead. Flipping over, onto your back.

Eyes bright, teeth sinking into your lip as you smile.

“Wanna watch.” You admit, and that tension in his shoulders settles in his chest, turning sweet.

His fist tightening around his cock, as your thighs splay over his. Opening yourself up under his gaze, stretching out in front of him.

And fuck, what a sight. There’s a rolling wave deep in his core that he chases with the rock of his hips.

His hand fits perfectly against the curve of your waist, eyes caught on the way your fingers catch on the hem of your shirt.

Pulling it up over your breasts, a path that his eyes follow greedily.

“Christ, darlin’.” The words rumble in his chest.

A rough exhale as your own gaze drops to his fist. The pace that he’s picked up - the peek of the flushed tip when he strokes down to the base.

Already about to burst, like he’s a man half his age. Could say it’s just his own touch, the urge to relieve the weight of his stress.

But he knows it’s more. That warmth in his chest, a tenderness that has only softened the rough stone of his heart since he’s left Boston.

It’s there in the way that he could linger on the slick place between your thighs. But instead he’s watching you watch him. Focusing on the part of your lips, the shine in your eyes.

“‘m close.” Joel breathes, his words low. Rough. “Where do you want it?”

He’ll catch it in his palm if he needs to. If it helps you go back to sleep, after. He hasn’t given up on that wish - to let you drift off for a little longer.

The look you give him, the little smile that turns mischievous, has his stomach twisting into knots. Like butterflies, he thinks.

Your hand drifts down, knuckles brushing over the jerk of his. Soft fingers tracing over hot, swollen flesh. Only to curve over your mound, to spread yourself open for him.

“Fuck.” He breathes, again, “There?”

The answering hum is low, desperate.

“Wanna hear you ask me.” Joel pushes - needing to hear you say it, knowing it will push him over the edge.

You squirm beneath him, affected by the edge to his voice, the soft command.

“Want you to come on me.”

“Where, baby?” The word slides from his lips without thought.

The eye contact breaks, your gaze darting away with embarrassment. But after a moment it’s back - the soft heave of your breasts as you suck in a breath, steeling your nerves.

“Want you to come on my pussy, Joel.”

He can’t help the rough groan, ripped from his chest. The shift of his thighs as he pulls back, as that pressure builds. The pleasure surging instead of ebbing, as he tips his cock downward.

The next stroke of his fist pushes him past the threshold. Relief sings in his veins as he spills across your mound. Painting your abdomen with his release, eyes fluttering closed as his hearing goes fuzzy.

Drowning out his long moan, as you push yourself up. He meets you instinctually, arcing over you as his mouth is drawn to yours.

As his spend drips down the crease of your thigh, so warm against soft skin.

It feels like a weight is lifted, like he’s back in his own skin again. Relaxing into the fingers that scratch into his hair, the tongue that sweeps against his.

But it’s only a few moments before he remembers. Coming back to himself, as he fits his hand between your thighs.

Fingers dragging through his release, bringing his slick fingers to circle against your clit.

Because there’s no way you’re going back to sleep after this. Not if he knows you - which he’s now certain that he does.

"Thank you honey." He murmurs, with lips that press against your cheek.

The smallest smile after, as your own part with a moan - as he croons against your skin.

"Now let me take care of you."

thank you for reading! was excited to explore a little idea I had 💕

(tags: @celestianstars)

[raekensluver]

beyond the horcrux

description: regulus black's death wasn't the happy ending you had asked for together.

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

contains: angst, regulus' death, talks of the first wizarding war.

song rec: youth by: daughter- "shadows settle on the place that you left, our minds are troubled by the emptiness"

w.c: 1.4k

an: i'm sorry. i can't seem to stop writing angsty fics...

the room was filled with a suffocating silence, the kind that follows a storm. the curtains danced a solemn waltz in the early morning breeze, their shadows playing across the bare floorboards like ghosts of forgotten memories. the sun had not yet fully risen, but the faint light seeping through the windows painted the room in a cold, pale glow.

your eyes fluttered open, the heaviness of sleep clinging to your lashes like a veil. for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe it was just another ordinary morning. but the emptiness beside you was a stark reminder of the nightmare that had become your reality. the bed, once a sanctuary of warmth and love was now a cold, unyielding witness to your grief. regulus' side remained untouched, the sheets still held the faint scent of him, but the warmth had long dissipated.

with a deep, shuddering breath, you sat up, pushing the covers away. your eyes fell upon his rings on the bedside table, their gleaming surfaces mocking the emptiness of the room. they were a symbol of a promise now shattered, a future lost to the darkness. the weight of his absence pressed down on you, a physical ache that no charm or potion could ever soothe.

you swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the coldness of the floorboards beneath your bare feet. each step you took towards the window was a silent battle against the tears that threatened to spill. as you reached the sill, you pushed the curtains aside and gazed out into the dawning world. the sun was peeking over the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of pink and gold, a stark contrast to the bleakness that filled your heart.

the house was eerily quiet without regulus' comforting murmurs and the patter of his footsteps. it was a stark reminder of the life you had planned together, a life that was now as elusive as a wisp of smoke in the wind. you felt a pang of anger mingle with your sorrow. how could he have been so reckless? so stubborn? but you knew it was his fierce loyalty that had driven him to make that fateful choice.

you padded into the bathroom, the coldness of the tiles sending a shiver down your spine. the reflection in the mirror was a hollow-eyed stranger, a mere shadow of the woman you once were. you reached for the faucet and the water that filled the sink washed away the last remnants of sleep. as you splashed the cold liquid onto your face, you tried to gather the strength to face the day ahead.

the house felt like a tomb, each room a testament to the love you had shared. you wandered through the hallways, tracing your fingers over the photographs that lined the walls, pausing at the one of you and regulus, smiling at the camera. the joy in his eyes was palpable, and you wished with all your might that you could turn back time to that moment, to whisper in his ear and change his fate.

in the kitchen, you found the note he had left you, the ink smudged from your own tears. It was a simple message, yet it held the weight of his sacrifice. "i had to go," it read. "for you, for us, for everyone. i'll come back to you, i promise." but the empty chair at the table was a grim rebuttal to his words, a silent sentinel of his absence.

you made a cup of tea, the warmth of the mug a poor substitute for the warmth of his touch. each sip brought a bitterness that mirrored the taste of regret lingering in your mouth. you had tried to dissuade him, had begged him not to go. but his conviction had been unshakeable. he had to destroy the dark lord's locket.

you took the note with you into the living room, curling up on the couch where you had spent countless evenings with regulus, talking about your dreams and fears. the fireplace was cold, the hearth a silent sentinel of the warmth that used to fill the room. the ashes of past fires whispered of a time when hope had not been so distant.

as you sat there, the quietness of the house grew louder, each tick of the grandfather clock echoing through the emptiness like a mournful heartbeat. you knew you couldn't stay in this state of suspended animation forever. there were things to do, and decisions to make. but the thought of facing the world without him was as daunting as staring into the gaping maw of the veil.

you thought back to the moments of joy you had shared, the laughter that had once filled this space. the memory of your engagement was particularly vivid. his nervous smile as he slipped the ring onto your finger, the way your heart had soared when you realized the depth of his love. you had dreamed of a simple life together, free from the shackles of his family's legacy.

the two of you had talked endlessly about your future, about the children you would have, the adventures you would share. you had picked out names, painted mental images of a cozy cottage with a garden where your love could bloom without the shadow of the dark lord looming over it. but now, those dreams were as fragile as the porcelain figurines on the mantel, shattered beyond repair.

regulus had been so determined to leave his mark on the world, to break free from the chains of his family's fate. he had wanted to be remembered as a hero, not just as the younger brother of sirius black. the irony was not lost on you that he had found his redemption in the very act that had cost him his life.

the wedding plans lay scattered across the coffee table, a bittersweet testament to a future that would never be. the parchment invitations, now just a cruel reminder of what was to come. the guest list, with names of friends and family members who would now be attending a funeral instead of a celebration. the color swatches for the bridesmaid dresses, the menu choices, the seating chart – all of it now felt like a macabre joke played by a twisted fate.

you picked up a quill, the nib hovering over the parchment as you contemplated writing to the guests. but what could you say? that the groom was not coming back? that the love of your life had been claimed by the very darkness he sought to destroy? the ink remained untouched as you set the quill down, the words too painful to form.

the house-elf, kreacher, shuffled into the room, his eyes red and swollen from his own silent mourning. he had been with the black family for generations and had seen the worst of them. but regulus had been different, kinder. he had treated kreacher with respect, and in return, the elf had been fiercely loyal. now, he too bore the weight of his master's loss.

"missus," he croaked, his voice cracking with emotion. "breakfast is ready."

you looked up at him, the sadness in his eyes mirroring your own. "thank you, kreacher," you whispered, the words feeling heavy in your mouth. you had to keep going, for both of you. you had to find a way to navigate the minefield of your shattered life.

with a nod, you followed him into the dining room. the table was set for one, a single plate of toast and jam laid out with meticulous care. it was a stark reminder of the void that now existed where regulus should have been. you took a seat, more out of habit than hunger, and nibbled at the food. each bite tasted like ashes.

the day stretched out before you, an endless sea of empty hours to be filled with sorrow. but as you pushed the food around your plate, you felt a flicker of something else: resolve. regulus had died for a cause, and you would not let his sacrifice be in vain. you couldn't bring him back, but you could honor his memory by living the life he had fought for.

edited 8.24.24

[thedamselzelda]

Break Into Chains

Featuring: Fyodor Dostoevsky & Beast! Dazai Osamu

Summary: Waiting... watching... done. Perhaps, playing this role was meant to take lesser time? Who could know now? Nevertheless, it's a role you must play out to its finale. Who knows what the end might be now? If only your part had been planned out better...

word count: 9.2k+, fem!reader, HOTD!reader → pm!reader (perhaps?), nsfw (domestic abuse [possessive Fyodor, very unhealthy relationship]), reader referred to with other names (no use of y/n), reader's eyes described as violet, Russian words used (general meanings at the end), slightly proofread

Author Note: Dear lord have mercy. This took wayyyyy too much time and for that I am sooooo sorry. I wanted to have this out last week, but the first scene DRAINED ME. I want to remind, or warn readers, this is a Dazai x reader fic, so Fyodor is not painted in good light.

ᡣ𐭩 There's also an additional part at the end since this part has been so delayed. The time is slightly ambiguous since I can't quite say when Dazai becomes PM Boss

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Weeks had passed without a word from Fyodor, lulling you into a false sense of security. Yet, you knew better. His rats - Nikolai chief among them - lurked in the shadows, their watchful eyes ever-present. The unsettling thought that some of your own staff might be secretly under his command gnawed at the edges of your mind. But with the immense pressure of your new responsibilities, you couldn't afford to dwell on such paranoia.

Crisp crinkles echoed through your office as you shuffled through the papers littering your desk. Your eyes darted from document to document, meticulously ensuring everything was in order for the weeks to come. Invoices for food and excess liquor orders were neatly stacked, the staff schedule awaited your final approval, and ornate invitations for a masquerade party - Kōyō's insistence for after the Star Festival - had been prepared. The merger with the Port Mafia had transformed The Midnight's Caress into a whirlwind of activity, far beyond your initial expectations.

A weary sigh escaped your lips as you massaged your temples, the beginnings of a headache pulsing along your brow. A lit cigarette dangled precariously between your fingers, and you took a long, desperate drag, hoping the nicotine would quell the growing tension. The smoke curled lazily in the air, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy that now permeated the club.

When you agreed to sell to Osamu - to the Port Mafia - you hadn't anticipated this surge in business. Moreover, you'd agreed to the club becoming a front for trade, strictly in jewels. It was an additional burden, one you tried to distance yourself from, clinging to the illusion of separation from Mafia affairs.

Thankfully, Osamu had been true to his word, respecting your wish for distance from Mafia affairs. Yet, he kept you informed of pertinent matters, treating you with the consideration typically reserved for a high-ranking executive within the Port Mafia. This delicate balance he struck only served to underscore the undeniable shift in your relationship.

What had begun as harmless weekly chess games had gradually evolved into something more intimate. Weekend dinners became a regular occurrence, followed by conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning, ending only when dawn threatened to break the night's spell. His presence, once a distant memory, now constantly permeated your thoughts, even in sleep. In your dreams, Osamu appeared to you, gentle and caring, showering you with the kind of love he insisted you “deserved.” These nocturnal visions left you feeling both comforted and conflicted, a stark reminder of the complex emotions that still lingered between you.

The lines between past and present, professional and personal, had begun to blur, causing you to find yourself navigating through an increasingly complicated emotional landscape. Osamu's actions spoke of a desire to rebuild what was lost, while your own feelings remained a tumultuous mix of longing, caution, and the ever-present awareness of your true mission.

Your weary eyes drifted to your phone, its white light a stark contrast to the warm yellow glow of your desk lamp. A message from Osamu illuminated the screen:

Osamu:Hey, I'm sorry. I ran into some issues here. I'll be there soon. Did you decide on a place yet?

A small smile tugged at your lips, the domesticity of the message both comforting and unsettling. You extinguished your cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, ash and butts a testament to your increased stress. With a deep breath, you reached for your phone, fingers hovering over the keys as you contemplated your response. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face in the dimly lit office.

Still settling everything for Kōyō's party in the upcoming weeks. I picked dinner last week, so I'd say it's your turn. Surprise me.

The smile lingered on your lips, a small content sigh escaping through. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by a warm anticipation.

"Who's got you smilin' like that?"

You whipped your head around, heart leaping into your throat at the unexpected voice. Nikolai stood in the shadows, his lanky form materializing as if from thin air.

"Fuckin' shit, Nikolai!" You breathed, slamming your phone screen down upon your desk. Your smile instantly vanished, happiness evaporating. "I have a fucking door!"

You shot your hand up and gestured at the door, only to freeze as it swung open. The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably, the air growing thick with tension as Fyodor entered, Dimitri closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"Fyodor!" You plastered on a smile, rising to your feet. You felt Nikolai watching you, stepping back slightly to allow you to approach the front of your desk.

Fyodor's hand rose slowly, a silent command for silence. His eyes, cold and unreadable, refused to meet yours. "Have you been having a good time, moya zhena? I see you are quite busy."

He gestured to your desk in disarray behind you. You cocked your head, clinging to your facade of innocence. The words fell from your lips quickly, showing your anxiety from the sudden, unexpected intrusion. "Admittedly, business has increased dramatically, which is why I haven’t been regular in our correspondences—"

Nikolai's sharp laughter cut through the air. He held up a champagne bottle, a mocking toast.  "No need to be so anxious, Marena. We simply came to... ‘surprise you’, seeing as you sold The Midnight’s Caress and still have ownership. That’s quite interesting."

You shot an irritated glance at Nikolai, who fell back onto chaise with infuriating casualness. Closing your eyes, you shook your head, trying to regain composure. Your eyes fluttered open to look back at Fyodor. "I only sold it to get closer to him. He thinks you're abusing me. I'm using that to our advantage."

"But why would I harm you, moya dorogaya zhena?" Fyodor's gloomy expression finally rose to meet yours, his eyes boring into you with unsettling intensity. His eyes shimmered slightly, as if trying to coax you into a sense of security. "I love you."

Irritated by his selection of reply, your eyebrow twitched involuntarily. His cold tone a stark contrast against his words. "Of course, moya lyubov'. I know that. Just as I love you."

Fyodor moved towards you, his gaze never wavering. Your body reacted instinctively, inching backward till you brushed against your desk, betraying your mind's attempt at control. "Yet, you cower from me."

Your eyes darted between his, desperately searching for the motive behind this unexpected visit. Panic rose in your throat; Osamu would be arriving soon, and Fyodor couldn't be here when he did. "I just… feel your impatience, moy dorogoy; your unrest. I assure you; I’m working my way back in. The Book will be ours."

Fyodor’s lips curled down; you could see he was no longer interested in your promises, your efforts. "Still, I see no progress from you. You have yet to even pass through the threshold of the Port Mafia’s doors."

"I—"

Before you could explain yourself, Nikolai's voice cut through, uncharacteristically low and ominous. "The rats have watched you, Marena. And unfortunately for you, they've whispered of your betrayal in the dark halls."

Your jaw clenched involuntarily as he continued, "Fyodor doesn’t exactly see your late-night rendezvous with Dazai as productive.” Nikolai's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Who knows what the two of you have been up to?"

The implication hung heavy in the air, a deliberate attempt to unsettle you and sow further doubt in Fyodor's mind. You fought to keep your expression neutral, acutely aware of the growing tension in the room and the dangerous ground you now tread.

Your chest heaved with each breath, anger and fear coursing through your veins. But you refused to continue to cower before them. "Of course you've been watching me. Whispering lies into my husband's ear." You raised your chin, forcing steel into your gaze. "You have been envious of me since the moment he brought me in."

Your ears began to ring loudly from Nikolai’s boisterous laughter. You gritted your teeth, becoming increasingly irritated by his presence. Nikolai’s laughter faded into a malevolent grin. "Envious? Oh, Marena, don’t be absurd! Who could envy a woman who clings to men who see her as nothing but a tool?"

You remained silent, taken aback by his venomous words. A flicker of hope prompted you to glance at Fyodor, expecting him to intervene, to silence Nikolai's disrespect. But as your eyes met his impassive gaze, the harsh truth crystallized - Fyodor was no longer your ally.

The realization hit you like a physical blow. Months of delayed progress, your prolonged failure to retrieve The Book, had worn Fyodor's patience. Nikolai, ever the opportunist, had seized upon this, whispering doubts and suspicions into your husband's ear. Now, standing before you, Fyodor was a stranger; his former affection now completely erased, replaced by cold calculation.

You felt Nikolai's gaze bore into you, his words continued cold and calculated. "Dazai’s affection doesn’t make you special. To him, you're just another expendable pawn in his grand game. And Fyodor," he gestured towards your husband, "anyone could see he doesn't favor you out of love; he pities you! You're nothing more than a tragic puppet, dancing on strings held by men who will never see you as their equal!"

Your eyes fluttered, a tempest of emotions raging behind them. Frustration and anger simmered in your veins, not just at Nikolai's cutting words about Osamu - words you knew to be far from the truth - but at your own naivety. The realization crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you clear minded for the first time in ages.

Fury ignited in your gaze as you locked eyes with Fyodor. "Is that so?" The words escaped as a low, dangerous murmur. You searched his face one last time, hoping against hope to find a glimmer of the man you thought you had married. But there was nothing - only a cold, calculating stranger stared back.

"It makes so much more sense now," you continued, your voice gaining strength with each word. Fyodor's head tilted slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing his otherwise impassive features. He seemed curious about the conclusions you were drawing from Nikolai's taunts.

"I was a girl wanting freedom and you saw that dream in me, and so you seized the opportunity. You wanted to dangle me in front of Dazai this whole time," you spat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with sickening clarity. "That's why you insisted I return home! So you could give him a taste of something he couldn’t have. You lulled me into a false sense of security, fed me morsels of affection to temper my cravings, all to push me towards retrieving The Book! Not for us! But for you!"

Throughout your revelation, Fyodor's expression remained stoic, unmoved by your piecing together of his elaborate scheme. His lack of reaction only confirmed your suspicions, twisting the knife deeper. You were intelligent - Fyodor had always known this. It was inevitable that the facade would eventually crumble, that the truth would come to light.

You took an intentional step forward, and it was now Fyodor who took a slight step back.

"Now, you cower from me." You laughed, a sound tinged with both bitterness and newfound resolve. The sound cut through the tense silence, causing Nikolai to stiffen slightly in the background. Your eyes never left Fyodor's as you closed the distance between you, each step deliberate and measured.

You stopped mere inches from him, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. The familiar scent of his scent, once comforting, now seemed nauseating and oppressive. Still, you didn't flinch or back away. Instead, you tilted your chin upward, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. Your proximity forced Fyodor to look down at you, a subtle shift in the power dynamic. Despite the slight height difference, it was clear you were not intimidated. Your body language radiated confidence, a stark contrast to the meek subordinate he had expected you to remain.

Your lips curved into a smirk, a dangerous glint in your eyes. Fyodor mirrored your expression, his own smile cold and calculating. The air between you crackled with tension, two predators sizing each other up. Your voice dropped to a menacing whisper; each word laced with deadly intent.

"You gravely misjudged me, Fyodor. You saw a vulnerable girl to be manipulated, a pawn in your grand design." Your eyes narrowed, boring into his with unwavering intensity. "But soon, you'll witness the true nature of the Port Mafia's Izanami. And you'll realize just how badly you've miscalculated. With every new life you assume, ty chertov ublyudok, I will find you and kill you, again and again, until the day comes when you can’t tell where you end and the life you stole begins."

Fyodor's lips curled into a cold smile. "Eto tak?" he replied, his voice dripping with mockery as he echoed your words. His eyebrow arched, a gesture of casual dismissal that belied the tension in the room. "Well, Izanami, I think that you'll find that your role here is not quite yet finished."

As Fyodor spoke, his lifeless gaze slid past you, settling on Nikolai. The abrupt shift in his attention left you reeling, a sudden vertigo gripping you. An icy tendril of dread snaked down your spine as Fyodor turned away, his lack of retaliation more unnerving than any threat.

In that disorienting moment, the gravity of your mistake crashed over you. You had fixated on Fyodor, forgetting the other dangerous player in the room. The air grew thick, almost suffocating, as time seemed to stretch and warp. Your instincts screamed a warning, every nerve on high alert.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

A whisper of movement behind you sent alarm bells ringing through your body. Pure instinct took over, your mind barely catching up as you spun around. Your eyes widened in horror as they locked onto Nikolai's form. His face wore a sadistic smile, eyes glinting with cold purpose as his arm arced through the air.

Desperately, you threw up your arm in a futile attempt at protection. However, it did no good as the champagne bottle connected with brutal force, shattering against your skull with a sickening crack. A shower of glass shards rained down, mixing with the sticky liquid that now saturated your hair and trickled down your face. A sharp, burning pain lanced through your forearm where the bottle's jagged edge had sliced into your skin.

The world lurched violently, your vision swimming in and out of focus. Agony exploded through your head, each pulse sending waves of nausea and pain radiating outward. You staggered, your legs threatening to give way as your senses overloaded, struggling to process the sudden assault.

Across your back, you felt the sharp, stinging pain of multiple lacerations. The acrid smell of champagne mixed with the metallic tang of blood, confirming your suspicions about the source of these new wounds - the shattered remains of the bottle that had started this brutal assault.

Nikolai then seemingly darted around you with intentional speed, exploiting his ability to materialize in your blind spots. Your eyes desperately tried to track his movements, but he always seemed one step ahead, vanishing and reappearing like a malevolent specter. The sharp sting of alcohol assaulted your vision, and as you struggled to blink away the burning sensation, a sickening crack echoed through the air.

A crushing force collided with your right arm, the impact reverberating through your body. Your mind reeled as you imagined the bone splintering beneath your skin, fragmenting into a thousand jagged pieces. A guttural cry escaped your lips as your arm went limp, hanging uselessly at your side. Before you could process the agony, another vicious blow struck the same shoulder, intensifying the waves of pain coursing through your body.

Despite the overwhelming pain, survival instinct kicked in. You fought back with desperate, uncoordinated movements. Your uninjured arm flailed wildly, fingers grasping at the air where Nikolai had been just moments before. If you could just make contact, just brush his skin with your fingertips, you knew it would all be over. Your ability would cease this nightmare. However, Nikolai was too quick, too practiced. He danced just out of reach, leaving nothing but empty air in your grasp. Your frustration mounted with each failed attempt, the realization of your powerlessness adding a new layer of anguish to your physical torment. The bitter taste of failure mingled with the blood in your mouth. As your body screamed in agony as the assault continued, hit after hit, a different kind of pain blossomed within your chest. Resentment bubbled up, hot and caustic, directed not just at your attackers but at yourself.

You wrestled with the dawning realization, desperately trying to silence the insidious voice in your mind. It whispered at first, then grew to a deafening roar with each passing moment of agony. "You fool," it seemed to taunt, the words reverberating through your battered psyche. "Look at the mess you've made of things."

Your thoughts drifted to that sun-drenched day at the quaint café in Italy, the scent of espresso and freshly baked cornetti, and the charming smile across from you still vivid in your memory. But no, you sowed the seeds of your downfall were planted even earlier. You recalled the day Osamu approached you, his eyes a frenzy of emotions, seeking reassurance as he grappled with the weight of his sudden succession. Instead of offering support and feeling relief at the resolution, you had chosen indifference, allowing bitterness to take root in your heart. Was it not you who had longed for it more?

It seemed trivial now to dwell on the chain of decisions that had led you to this moment of reckoning. Yet, as your body gave way and you crumpled to your knees on the cold, unforgiving floor, these memories were all you could cling to, a lifeline in the sea of pain and regret threatening to drown you.

"Please..." The word escaped your lips as a barely audible whisper, a final, desperate plea. Despite its softness, it was enough to give Nikolai pause, his imposing figure freezing mid-motion.

Fyodor's voice sliced through the tense silence, calm yet commanding. "I do believe that gets the point across. Thank you, Nikolai."

As the tears cleared your vision and burning, you saw Nikolai step back, lowering his improvised weapon—an ornate, silver candelabra from your office, now stained with crimson. A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, bordering on hysteria. Your hand had gone numb, and a vice-like pressure tightened around your chest. It took every ounce of strength to keep your head lifted as Fyodor approached, replacing Nikolai's looming presence.

He crouched before you, raising his hand to thread his fingers through your matted, sticky locks. "Moy malen'kaya mysh'," he murmured.

A solitary tear escaped as you attempted to turn away in disgust, but Fyodor cupped your cheek with unsettling tenderness, like a lover trying to soothe your pain. His thumb gently wiped away the tear threatening to streak your bruising skin. He shushed you softly as your lip quivered, unable to contain your anguish.

"I will give you one more chance, moya samaya bol'shaya lyubov'. Perhaps this will help get you through the guarded gates of the Port Mafia." Fyodor said, his voice a velvet caress as he stroked your head. Despite his gentle demeanor, the weight of his power over you was palpable. Your breath caught in your throat at his next words. "But if you fail me, I will have that detective you are so fond of gutted."

Your eyes fluttered as fresh tears welled up and spilled over. You shook your head weakly, your pleas barely above a whisper. "No... no, please."

Fyodor's smile was soft, almost benevolent, as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. You squeezed your eyes shut in revulsion, forcing yourself to return the twisted show of affection. As he pulled away, he hovered mere inches from your face, his breath warm against your skin. "I hope you're creative with my death this time," he murmured, his words laced with dark anticipation. "Just one page, moy dorogoy. That's all I need. Bring me one page from The Book within a month’s time, and perhaps, I'll reconsider the detective's fate. Fail me again, and... well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

You remained motionless as Fyodor rose, your eyes tracking his every movement as his attention shifted back to Nikolai. Each breath became increasingly laborious, pain radiating through your body in waves, discovering new territories of agony with each passing moment. The metallic taste of blood lingered on your tongue.

As Nikolai moved to open the door for their departure, Fyodor's gaze returned to you, his eyes glinting with a mixture of possessiveness and cruel amusement. His voice, smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade, cut through the heavy air between you.

"Despite Nikolai's charged words, Dazai evidently still harbors feelings for you. But, moya dorogoy zhena," he paused, "he will do what he must to achieve his goals. You are nothing more than an obstacle for him, a fleeting distraction."

Fyodor's lips curled into a smile that never reached his eyes as he delivered his final, chilling statement. "To me, you are everything, moy angel smerti. You would do well to remember that."

The words hung in the air, as stale as the empty promise of helping you. As the door closed behind them, leaving you alone with your pain and the weight of Fyodor's threat, you couldn't help but feel the noose of circumstances tightening around you.

You winced, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth as you gingerly cradled your broken arm, drawing it close to your body. The initial surge of adrenaline began to ebb away, leaving in its wake a tide of overwhelming pain and exhaustion. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, the world around you starting to blur at the edges.

From somewhere far away, as if through a thick fog, you heard the faint buzzing of your phone vibrating on the desk. Osamu calling, no doubt. A part of you yearned to answer, to hear his voice, but your limbs felt leaden, unresponsive. In that moment of weakness, you found yourself hoping—praying even to whatever cruel deity might exist— that Osamu would somehow sense your distress and come to find you.

As your eyes fluttered closed, fresh tears carved warm trails down your cheeks. Fyodor's words echoed in your mind, a haunting refrain. Even in this dire situation, with your relationship to Fyodor taking this twisted new turn, you couldn't bear the thought of Oda becoming a target. You tried to steady your breathing, pursing your lips with each labored exhale as you tilted your head back, fighting against the encroaching darkness.

The phone continued to buzz, the sound becoming from further and further away. With immense effort, you attempted to rise, to crawl towards that lifeline. But your body betrayed you, and you pitched forward, your cheek connecting with the plush fibers of your new rug. Another one to be replaced… Your vision narrowed to a pinpoint, then faded to black. The last vibration of your phone became nothing more than an auditory ghost, dissipating as consciousness slipped away.

Osamu, what did I do…

Osamu's leg bounced incessantly as he sat in the back of the sleek black car, the soft leather seat doing little to calm his fraying nerves. He cursed under his breath, pressing his hand firmly against his thigh in a futile attempt to still the movement. The usually composed Mafia executive was irritated with himself, his calm facade cracking under the weight of his tumultuous thoughts.

Neon lights from the bustling Yokohama nightlife flashed across his face in a dizzying array of colors, muddling the conflict swirling within his mind. Tonight. It had to be tonight. The mantra repeated in his mind, a mix of determination and barely contained anxiety. He was going to ask you to return to the Port Mafia, to come back to his side where you belonged. The very thought sent a tremor through his body, a potent cocktail of exhilaration and terror coursing through his veins.

God, how he hoped you had sensed his intentions during the past weeks—surely you must have. All those carefully orchestrated conversations, the gradual sharing of executive-level information... He'd watched you absorb it all, your eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of intrigue and excitement. If anything, that light seemed even brighter than in the other universes he glimpsed in his dreams and visions.

Osamu's mind reeled, memories from alternate realities blurring together in a kaleidoscope of possibilities. In every version, you were there, a constant by his side across the multiverse. Here, now, in this world - why should it be any different? It shouldn't. It couldn't be any longer. The separation had gone on far too long already.

But what if...? No. He violently shoved the doubt aside, refusing to let it take root. You'd been so receptive, so eager to engage with Mafia matters again, even if there had been initial hesitation. Surely that meant something. It had to.

He needed you back. The Mafia needed you. But if he was honest with himself - a rarity for the guarded man - he longed for your return on a level that transcended mere organizational goals. You made him feel... whole. Grounded. Like the best version of himself, a feeling he'd been desperately missing since your departure.

What if he pushed too hard? What if this was the mistake that finally drove you away for good? The thought made his chest constrict painfully, his breath catching for a moment.

No. He couldn't think like that. In every universe, in every reality, you belonged at his side. This one couldn't be the exception. He wouldn't allow it to be.

His hand moved instinctively, reaching into his breast pocket to retrieve his phone. With slightly trembling fingers, he punched in your number, holding the device to his ear. The monotonous rings gave way to your familiar voicemail greeting: "Thanks for giving me a call! Sorry I can't get to my phone right now!"

Osamu frowned, a new thread of worry weaving its way through his already tangled thoughts. Why weren't you answering? Surely, you were just attending to matters within the club, your phone left behind in your office. Yes, that had to be it.

"You 'ight, boss?"

Osamu's gaze snapped up to the rearview mirror, meeting Albatross' concerned look. He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present moment.

"Yes, Albatross," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt as he closed his phone with a swift motion. "Our ETA?"

"Just under two, sir."

He hummed in acknowledgment, his fingers seeking out the familiar texture of his silk scarf, fidgeting with it to channel his nervous energy. As his eye darted about the passing streetscape, he fought against the nagging thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.

For what if you refused, purely out of fear of Fyodor retaliating? Or what if...? No. Here he was once more fighting himself. He couldn't let himself go down that path. You would see reason. You had to. Because the alternative – a world where you weren't by his side – was simply unthinkable. Especially now, with the clock ticking relentlessly on his grand plan. Osamu was acutely aware of the limited time he had left in this world, and he was determined to spend as much of it as possible with you. Every moment was precious, every shared experience a treasure to be cherished before the inevitable end. He needed you back, not just for the Mafia, not just for his plans, but for himself – to make these final chapters of his story truly meaningful.       

Osamu exhaled sharply through pursed lips as Albatross brought the sleek black car to an abrupt stop outside The Midnight's Caress. The club's neon sign bathed the street in a garish blue glow, highlighting the queue of patrons eager to enter your establishment.

"I'll only be a moment," Osamu said, his voice taut as he slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. His fingers curled around the door handle. "We'll be going to Azamino Ukai-tei once I return."

Albatross let out a derisive snort, his eyes meeting Osamu's in the rearview mirror. "Azamino Ukai-tei? Seriously, boss? Taking her to such a fancy place?" He shook his head, not bothering to hide his disdain. "What's next, gonna get down on one knee? Oh wait—" He paused for effect, his lips curling into a smirk. "Forgot she's already got that rat bastard."

Osamu froze, his knuckles whitening on the door handle as he shot a sharp glare at his subordinate. The caustic comment struck a nerve, but he couldn't entirely fault Albatross for his opinion. The other Flags shared similar sentiments about you.

"That's enough, Albatross," Osamu warned, his voice low and dangerous despite the turmoil roiling within him.

Albatross raised his hands in mock surrender, but the sarcasm in his voice was palpable. "Sure thing, boss. Just remember, some stray cats ain't worth bringing home, no matter how pretty they are."

Osamu gave a heavy sigh, too preoccupied with his own emotional storm to properly address Albatross's insolence. "We'll be down soon," he muttered, yanking the car door open and slamming it shut behind him, the sound echoing in the night air as he tried to push Albatross's words from his mind. Damn that man and his sharp tongue. It was an unwelcome reminder of how The Flags disapproved of you, a fact that had been a constant thorn in his side even before your departure.

He couldn't help but recall that day - the five remaining Flags and you, standing in his office with heads bowed in shame. The memory was etched into his mind, a permanent reminder of the crime committed within Port Mafia walls. What had been done was done. All six of you bore the consequences of your actions from that day forward, and he knew he couldn't fix what had been permanently damaged, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Shaking his head to escape his thoughts, Osamu strode towards the club's entrance and was recognized immediately. The doorman stepped aside with a respectful nod. Osamu returned it with a curt nod and faint smile of his own, passing the threshold of curious onlookers. His eye took in the full crowd before him, an impressive amount on the Thursday night. He searched among the throngs for any sign of you, desperate to catch a glimpse of those amethyst eyes he knew so well. But among the bustle of staff and club-goers, he found no trace of you. Strange, he thought. He'd expected you to be downstairs, if not waiting for his arrival.

Without your guiding presence, he found it oddly difficult to navigate the crowd. To the drunkards and oblivious patrons, he was no one important - a foreign feeling in a city where nearly everyone feared the Port Mafia's presence. As he moved through, his gaze caught a few staff members whispering and glancing his way. Their eyes held judgment and cruelty, something he hadn't seen in them before tonight. It was as if he was unwelcome in the building he'd visited so many times before.

The longer he watched, the more they seemed to scurry away, like rats exposed to sudden light. Shadows darted across his peripheral vision, always just out of sight when he turned to look. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he approached the first flight of stairs. Something was wrong here; he could feel it in the oppressive silence and the stale air that clung to his skin. But what exactly? And where were you? The questions echoed in his mind, amplifying his growing anxiety.

His feet carried him upward as quickly as his thoughts raced, skipping up the flights with increasing urgency. The banister felt sticky beneath his palm, and he could have sworn he heard whispers emanating from behind the peeling wallpaper. His breath came in short, sharp bursts as he climbed higher, the pit within his stomach churning with each step.

The stairwell seemed to stretch endlessly before him, twisting and turning like a maze, though he knew it wasn’t so. Dim, flickering lights cast grotesque shapes on the walls, transforming innocent shadows into menacing silhouettes. He pressed on shaking the visions from his mind, driven by a mixture of fear and determination, his senses hyperaware of every sneer and whisper within the building. If he hadn’t been able to negate other’s abilities, he would assume these visions to be the works of another ability user. Unfortunately for Osamu, they were common works of his own mind, something he hadn’t quite yet become familiar with as negative thoughts poured in to drown him.

Alarms rang within his ears as he yanked himself onto the third landing, his bandages feeling damp and sticky against his skin from the sudden exertion. His unbandaged eye immediately locked onto the empty door frame of your office, conspicuously devoid of Dimitri's imposing presence. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap, but not enough for him to peer inside.

He swallowed hard as he caught his breath, the taste of adrenaline bitter on his tongue. His hair, slightly damp with sweat, fell slightly into his face, obscuring his vision. With trembling fingers, he ran a hand through the tangled strands, pushing them back. His other hand reached out tentatively to tap the door open.

As the door widened with an ominous creak, his worst fears were justified. There you were, motionless in the dim light filtering through the blinds drawn over the office windows. Your name fell from his lips, quietly at first, a desperate whisper in the silence. Then, as his leaden feet carried him forward, your name escaped louder, echoing off the walls in hopes of rousing you from your unnatural stillness.

His eye roved over your still figure, taking in every detail with growing dread. Your head was slumped forward, a curtain of hair cascading down to hide your face from view. Your back was pressed against the front paneling of your desk. In your lap, you cradled one arm, the angle suggesting injury or worse.

"Bella?" Osamu's hands trembled as he gingerly brushed your hair from your face, his nostrils flaring at the pungent scent of alcohol mingled with something metallic. His unbandaged eye roved across your features, his heart clenching at the sight of fresh crimson droplets and forming bruises marring your skin. As his fingers found purchase upon your cheeks, he released a shaky sigh of relief when you grimaced, your eyes slowly fluttering open.

"Osamu?" Your voice, barely above a whisper, sent a jolt through him. He watched, transfixed, as tears escaped from your eyes, leaving glistening trails down your battered face.

He managed a weak smile, feeling his own eyes well up. Internally, he cursed as the bandage over his left eye became damp. The urge to protect you, to shield you from further harm, overwhelmed him. Before he could stop himself, he pulled you toward his chest, wincing as you let out a sharp groan.

"I'm sorry, I..." Osamu's voice trailed off, the words catching in his throat. Seeing you in such a state was excruciating, and the weight of guilt pressed down on him. He should have been there, should have prevented this. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been here sooner.”

Your hand found his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, savoring the warmth. His forehead touched yours, as he inhaled sharply to calm himself. It grounded him, a reminder that you were still here, still fighting.

"Osamu... I just want to go home. Please take me home..." The desperation in your voice tore at him. He gazed into your bloodshot, teary eyes, his chest tightening at how small and vulnerable you looked. It was a far cry from your usual commanding presence, and it shook him to his core. You gasped as more tears fell, "I can’t take this anymore."

"Of course. Of course, cara mia..." Osamu's mind raced, considering the implications. The guests couldn't see you like this - he knew how fiercely you guarded your image. And the staff... a cold realization settled over him. Despite your careful selection, he was now certain they were plants, watching your every move.

With slightly trembling hands, he fished out his phone. "I'll call Chūya... and Doc. You'll need to see Doc." He hated how rushed and unpolished his words sounded, so unlike his usual eloquence.

Your vigorous refusal caught him off guard; you shook your head and weakly pushed away from him. He watched, heart in his throat, as you tried to stand, only to pitch forward dangerously.

“Stop,” he scolded gently, your name a worried hiss on his lips. "You'll surely only hurt yourself further. Chūya will clear the club, but you need to see Doc."

As he cradled you against his shoulder, dialing the phone, Osamu felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily upon him. Your whispered words about them, The Flags, wanting you dead sent a chill down his spine, but he pushed the thought aside. Right now, getting you help was all that mattered.

When Albatross answered, Osamu steeled his voice, pushing down the worry that threatened to break through. "Albatross, I need you to go get Chūya and Doc. Bring them here immediately." As he spoke, he tightened his protective hold on you, silently vowing that no further harm would come to you on his watch.

"Course, Boss. We'll be back in five."

Osamu closed his phone with a soft click, his attention immediately falling back onto you. His hands, usually so steady and sure, trembled slightly as he pulled the maroon silk scarf from around his neck. “They broke your arm...” he muttered, his voice low and seething with barely contained rage.

With an attempted gentle precision, he wrapped the silk around your forearm, fashioning a makeshift sling. Each wince or groan you let out cut through him like a knife, and he found himself whispering "sorry" with every slight tug and pull. Osamu tried his best to be gentle, but his anger made his movements less fluid than usual. His mind raced with violent thoughts of retribution against Fyodor. If he had the time, if it fit into his plans, he would kill the man without hesitation. It was only your voice, weak but present, that pulled him back from the brink of that consuming rage.

"Why would you command them to help me? It just further cultivates that issue. I can't take back what I did to Piano Man, and they will always hold it against me."

His eye found yours as he reached up to tie a knot of silk behind your head. The warmth of your gaze steadied him somewhat. I would like to think... we've all grown since that day," he said softly, hoping his words held more truth than he feared.

You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily; the sound filled with a weariness that made Osamu's heart ache. He carefully maneuvered behind you, leaning back against the front of your desk. His hands, gentle but insistent, urged you to lean back, to rest against him as they awaited Albatross and the others.

He cradled you close, his arms forming a protective cage around you. The fear of losing you, of you slipping away from this world and leaving him behind, gnawed at the edges of his mind. Your head fell back upon his shoulder, and you looked up at him, your eyes capturing his in a moment of shared vulnerability.“I don't think Chūya's grown at all... especially height wise.”

Osamu felt you give a pitiful huff of a laugh, your lips curling into a weak smile. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't help but feel a small spark of relief at your attempt at humor. It was so quintessentially you, finding levity even in the darkest moments. He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest against your back.

"Perhaps not vertically, no. Though his ego has grown to compensate. It's a wonder he can still fit through doorways."

Osamu felt a warmth bloom in his chest as he heard you manage a weak laugh. The sound, though faint, stirred memories of happier times, of shared laughter and stolen moments before everything had fallen apart. His lips curved into a bittersweet smile, unseen by you but evident in the way his arms gently caged around you. He finally allowed himself to savor the feeling of you in his arms, finally returned to him, and despite everything, still able to laugh at his quips about Chūya.

🎹 𝒮𝑜𝓃, 𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝑀𝑒 𝒜 𝑀𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎

Your head quickly bowed down as the slam of the double doors reverberated behind you, the sound adding to the tense atmosphere of Dazai's office. In your peripheral vision, you saw Lippmann jump slightly, his eyes squeezed shut and slightly puffy from what you assumed was a mix of stress and sorrow.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath that did little to calm your nerves. The scent of polished wood and old leather filled your nostrils, a familiar smell that now seemed tainted by the gravity of the situation. You knew nothing productive would come of this; it wasn't exactly your fault. However, if Dazai didn't take action, it would only solidify the views, the opinions, and the overall stance that The Flags and the Port Mafia held of you.

Dazai swiftly passed all six of you who stood before his desk, his coat billowing slightly with the rapid movement. The sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. Chūya was the first to break the oppressive quiet, his voice tight with tension, "Da—Boss, you have to know this wasn't our fault."

Your head shot up, eyes darting over to him, a mix of disbelief and anger flaring within you. "Why? Because you'd claim it was all me?" The words came out sharper than you intended, laced with bitterness.

Chūya's bi-colored eyes met yours, a challenge evident in his gaze. "Well, if you wanna admit to it?" His tone was equally caustic, the underlying tension between you palpable.

Your lips parted as you attempted to shoot back at him, but you were cut off by Dazai’s booming voice.

"Shut up! Both of you." Dazai's angry tone cut through the air like a whip, emanating from behind his desk. He was leaning over, hastily flipping through the report, his movements jerky with barely contained fury. The atmosphere in the room grew even heavier, if that was possible. It was clear that Dazai was beyond angry - this kind of infighting was unacceptable, something even Mori wouldn't have tolerated.

"I honestly don't care who started it," Dazai said, looking up from the papers, his single visible eye scanning the group before him. "I just want to understand what happened to cause this. I shouldn't be standing before the six of you with a member of The Flags, a member of the Mafia, dead within my building."

All of you stood in uncomfortable silence. For once, Albatross, usually quick with a quip or comment, was silent, seemingly at a loss for words. Doc kept his gaze fixed on the floor, anxiously pushing and pulling his IV drip beside him, the soft squeaking of its wheels the only sound in the room. Iceman, true to his taciturn nature, remained stoic and silent, having been merely a witness to the events that had unfolded.

"So?" Dazai's eye scanned all of you again, his gaze falling upon you last. You steeled yourself, looking back at him, unflinching. You could feel the pain emanating from him, see it in the way his eye closed momentarily, his head falling into a slight shake of disappointment.

Unsurprisingly to you, it was Lippmann who stepped forward, the movement causing you to roll your eyes. You knew him well enough to anticipate what was coming - some elaborate story crafted to soften the blow, to shift blame or minimize the severity of what had occurred. As he composed himself and opened his mouth to speak, you braced yourself for whatever tale he was about to spin.

"Boss," he began, his voice a perfect blend of concern and disappointment, "I'm afraid what we witnessed today was a grave lapse in judgment and control from our... esteemed colleague."

He gestured towards you with a subtle, dismissive wave. "Piano Man, while admittedly agitated, was merely expressing concerns shared by many within our ranks. His approach may have been… unorthodox, but his intentions were rooted in loyalty to the Port Mafia."

Lippmann's eyes darted to you briefly, and you furrowed your eyebrows causing him to refocus on Dazai. "Unfortunately, instead of de-escalating the situation as one might expect from a sub executive, Izanami here resorted to... extreme measures. Whether this was due to a lack of proper training, an inability to handle pressure, or perhaps," he paused meaningfully, "other motivations, I cannot say."

His voice lowered, taking on a conspiratorial tone. "It pains me to suggest this, Boss, but we must consider the possibility that this incident was not entirely accidental. The speed and finality with which Piano Man was dispatched raises... questions about intent and premeditation."

Lippmann straightened, his expression a mask of regret. "I fear this tragic event may be symptomatic of larger issues within our organization. Issues of favoritism, perhaps, or the granting of positions beyond one's capabilities. It's not my place to question your decisions, Boss, but for the sake of the Port Mafia, we must address these concerns."

Your eyes flashed with anger as you stepped forward, turning to face them all, ignoring Dazai's growing protests. "Is that how you would describe Piano Man's unprovoked attack on me? As 'expressing concerns'?" Your voice trembled with barely contained fury.

"As I've said countless times before, though I was born and raised in the Mafia, I still worked and earned my position. My role began long before Dazai stepped into his position as our boss."

You looked among the group, your gaze lingering on each face - men you once respected, now twisted by their silent misjudgment and apparent willingness to see you harmed.

"I will not apologize for defending myself against Piano Man, especially if this is how the five of you choose to twist events - painting me as some sort of liability or threat to be eliminated." Your voice rose, filled with indignation. "I have never once plotted against Dazai or the Port Mafia, nor will I ever. My loyalty to this organization goes far beyond the petty jealousy and baseless accusations you're throwing around."

Your eyes locked onto Lippmann, your words sharp and precise. "Your insinuations about 'favoritism' and questioning my capabilities are nothing but thinly veiled attempts to undermine my position. I've proven my worth time and time again, and I won't stand here and let you rewrite history to suit your narrative."

The room fell into an unbelievable silence, the air thick with tension. Even the usually persistent squeak of the IV pole's wheels had halted, as if the inanimate object itself was holding its breath. The lights dimmed dramatically, casting long shadows across the faces of those present, as your words hung heavy in the air.

As one, you all turned your attention to the screen that had silently lowered before the windows. The footage flickered to life, replaying the incident in the hallway with stark clarity.

There you were, walking purposefully down the corridor, your stride confident until the moment Piano Man and the other Flags called out to you. You watched yourself turn to meet them; your body language open, ready to converse. Yet, even through the silent playback, it was clear how quickly the conversation soured.

Piano Man circled you in the video, his movements predatory. As you watched, you relived the moment in your head, the echo of his insinuated insults ringing in your ears. His lips moved, forming words you could still hear clearly: accusations of your rapid rise through the ranks being due solely to your relationship with Dazai, claims that his love for you was a weakness.

The footage showed you lunging at Piano Man, your face contorted with rage at his comments. Immediately, all the men around you raised their weapons, causing you to freeze in place. You watched Piano Man's lips move again, hearing his taunting words from just hours before: "Let's see how fearsome you are, “great” Izanami."

Your gaze flickered away from the screen to Dazai. He was lounged back in his office chair, a cigarette dangling precariously from his fingers, its ash growing long and threatening to fall. You gritted your teeth, a mix of emotions swirling within you. How did you get here? Looking toward your lover for some form of help, even as you knew it would be considered unwise for him to play favorites. Yet, you could admit he always did. The easier jobs, the safer ones, always fell to you. He had ensured you were fully moved into the penthouse with him, safe from anyone who would attempt to harm you otherwise... well, in hindsight, you hadn't expected this.

Your attention reluctantly returned to the camera feed. You watched as Piano Man swiftly moved to wrap the piano wires around your throat, the thin metal glinting in the hallway light. A part of you wondered if he would have actually killed you, or if this was all some twisted hazing ritual to force you to stand down from your position. It didn't matter now.

The final moments played out on screen - you, standing before Piano Man, blood pouring from his eyes and ears. It seemed surreal, like watching an out-of-body experience.

"From what I can tell... she was provoked into attacking." Dazai's voice cut through the tense silence, startling everyone.

No one said a thing in response. The men only looked back at you, their gazes a mix of fear, disgust, and something akin to awe. To them, you were an unnatural anomaly that shouldn't have existed.

"I expect this to never happen again. Do I make myself clear?" Dazai's voice cut through the tension, stern and final. Yet Chūya, his face flushed with anger, still felt the need to avenge his fallen friend.

"That's it?" Chūya's voice was loud and rough, grating against your ears like sandpaper. "She gets no punishment?"

You scoffed, your patience wearing thin. "Here I was going to let this go, but what about you five getting punished? You all ganged up on me! Watched him and let it happen!" You took several purposeful strides toward Chūya, getting close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eye. "You are just as much of a guilty party as I am!"

"You privileged ass bitch; you better get out of my face!" Chūya's words were laced with venom, his body tensing as if ready to strike.

You puffed out your chest, outstretching your arms in a challenge. "Or what, Chūya? Gonna finish the job?!"

Before either of you could make another move, Dazai was between you, his movements so swift you hadn't even seen him leap from his seat. One hand gripped your wrist tightly, the other pressed firmly against Chūya's chest.

"This is done, now!" Dazai's voice was sharp, brooking no argument. You huffed as his grasp on your wrist tightened, a warning. His gaze scanned yours, which was still locked in a fierce staring match with Chūya. A guttural sound of frustration escaped Dazai's lips as he looked up at the remaining Flags. "Leave!"

They scurried out quickly, but you barely noticed. Chūya was all you could see, red clouding your vision like a bloody mist.

"You get off scot-free while my friend is dead! All 'cause you fuck the boss!" Chūya's words dripped with accusation and bitterness.

In a moment of blind rage, you spat in his face, mentally thankful for Dazai's unyielding grip on your wrist.

"I oughta kill you and get your misery over with!" Chūya snarled, his hand twitching towards his hat.

"Chūya!" Dazai's voice cracked like a whip as he pushed hard against his chest, forcing him back several feet.

"Why don't you then? Huh? You'd be doing me a big favor if I never have to deal with you again!" The words tore from your throat, raw and angry.

Dazai hissed your name, pulling you from Chūya's line of sight. You tore your arm away, huffing as you stormed over to the bookshelf, seeking some semblance of calm.

Your eyes darted over the book titles, desperately trying to settle your frayed nerves. Behind you, you could hear hushed murmuring interspersed with Chūya's occasional outbursts. You narrowed your eyes, attempting to stay focused on the shelves before you. Your fingers traced along the spines, the familiar texture of leather and cloth a small comfort.

Suddenly, your finger grazed a book spine that felt off - lighter, newer. Curiosity piqued, you tugged on the random book, one you wouldn't normally notice, and found it wasn't actually a full book, but a façade hiding something behind it. Leaning in, your nose brushed against the edge, inhaling the scent of old parchment. Your eyes widened as you spotted another book tucked behind the others, almost out of sight. Its stark white cover was a stark contrast to the darker tones surrounding it, with golden details catching the light just barely.

You turned back, seeing Chūya storming out of Dazai's office, his departure punctuated by the slam of the heavy doors. Quickly, you returned the shell book to its original position, your mind racing with questions about the hidden tome.

Dazai turned to you, sighing your name heavily as he began to walk over. "What a mess."

A thousand responses flitted through your mind: Wouldn't have happened if you didn't kill Mori. If you had only let me take the position I always told you I wanted. If… if… Maybe I should have left with Oda when I had the chance. But you kept every racing thought to yourself, only offering a noncommittal hum in response.

He stopped before you, his unbandaged eye looking weary and tired. With a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the earlier violence, he cupped your cheek, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

"You did nothing wrong," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"I'll let our maker decide that," you sighed, grasping his hand. "You need to stop coddling me. It's inadvertently led to this."

His breath fanned over your lips as he pressed them against yours. The kiss, once a source of comfort and passion, now felt tainted with bitterness. Yet, you returned it, your love for him still present, even if battered by recent events out of his control. This test of your relationship was something you hadn't anticipated, its ability to strain and potentially break your bond a sobering realization.

He frowned as he pulled away, still holding you close. "Only if you stop asking people to kill you."

You forced a smile, the expression not quite reaching your eyes. "The only way I'm going, amore mio, is if you're going with me."

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Author Chat: I think after this part I might take a little bit off from writing, but trust: the next part, I'm excited for. It's just being a dog mom, nursing student, and person in general has drained me slightly and I want to give my all towards writing because I love it as an outlet.

Also, I want to mention, it hurt to write The Flags in this way, but with reader being ambitious while also having a romantic relationship with Dazai, I saw it as a reason that could anger some of the members, especially if Dazai dotted on the reader (which let's be honest: Beast! Dazai and Main Story Dazai would def do.)

If you liked, feel free to like and reblog! I always appreciate everyone who interacts! ᡣ𐭩 ~DamzelZelda

Song Inspos: Haunted- Chris Grey Dark Bloom- Amber Run Runaway- Aurora Piano Man- Billy Joel (Lyric Only)

Russian Word "Dictionary" (Curtesy of [unreliable] Google translate):

moya zhena: "my wife"

moya dorogaya zhena: "my dear wife"

moya lyubov': "my love"

moy dorogoy: "my dear"

ty chertov ublyudok: "you fucking bastard"

Eto tak: "Is that so?"

Moy malen'kaya mysh': "my little mouse"

moya samaya bol'shaya lyubov': "my greatest love"

moy angel smerti: "my angel of death"

[jinchuls]

ᡣ𐭩 suna rintarou x reader (royal au)

notes 𝜗𝜚 another repost from my og blog bc i forgot i had an ao3 and thought i lost this forever until 20 minutes ago bc sometimes i write straight into tumblr and don’t backup my fics

divider by @/cafekitsune

Watching the sun rise slowly, the sky burns a beautiful orange before the blue begins to settle, a picturesque moment you wish you could capture forever—or, at least, share with the man that intended to be here before you. It’s far too early for you to be awake and even more so for you to be sat in a tucked away garden with a shawl wrapped around your shoulders to keep you warm in the chilling breeze that hit you. But the cold, the wait, the anticipation. It’s worth it knowing he will be beside you; there’s no way more perfect to start your morning.

The soft hue of the sun bores onto the horizon, illuminating the view of the town you were always amazed by: there’s enough beauty in the sight that one day will be in the hands of a Miya—a fearful thought—but it’s the same sight you’ve committed to memory waiting for him each morning.

There’s a quiet sound behind you, much louder in the silence of the nature that surrounds you, and it alerts you that he’s finally here. Turning quickly, a smile plastered on your face in an instant as the familiar grin of the man that stole your heart meets your eye. You call his name quietly, finding yourself in a rush to be beside him, although you’d seen each other only the night before.

You embrace him tightly, relishing in his hold as he wraps his arms around your waist keeping you as close to him as possible. He’d been as excited as you to see you again in a situation that didn’t involve staying away from you and keeping his affection, that burns for you in private, hidden from your mothers, and your protective family, when all he ever wishes to do is hold you close and drown you in the love you deserve.

The glow of the streaming light falls on him as you reluctantly loosen your grip on him. It shines perfectly on every feature, illuminating his eyes; every inch of his face is displayed to you like a painting. each stroke made with precision and care to create the beauty that stares back at you; you’re lost in that very beauty glistening radiant gold under the rising sun.

“I missed you.” you admit quietly, taking his hand and leading him back to where you had been stood for the two of you to bask in the stunning view you shared. He’s grinning widely at your comment; he wants to tease you that it’s only been a few hours since the last time you were together, but he feels the same. His arm rests gently on your back as his eyes glance from the view to you. the lingering gazes you shared the night before. The meal he ate sat opposite you while your families spoke business. It wasn’t enough when he could stand beside you like he is now.

Being close to you, holding you and not having to act as though he wasn't hopelessly in love with you was much easier than the act he performed every time he was amongst your family or your peers. He’s itching for the day he doesn’t have to; for the day he wears the ring that tells everyone he’s spoken for.

In his mind, it couldn’t come soon enough.

You’re happily, and quietly, talking between the two of you, once again telling the other about the dreams you had and wanted to share, he can be heard before he’s seen, the usual scenario that comes hand in hand with Miya Atsumu. He’s stumbling into sight, tripping over stones and branches littered across the makeshift path or, more likely, over his own feet; he’s just as shocked to see the two of you together as you are to see him wandering away from his daily responsibilities at the crack of dawn.

“Your Highness.” you splutter out in your immediate shock, taking a fast step away from Suna. It’s too late; Atsumu had already seen the way Suna’s fingers gently stroked the small of your back. He’d seen the glance Suna sent your way when you were looking down to see the last few minutes of the sunrise before the day truly began.

“You.” he points and stares, eyes dancing between the two of you trying to figure out what he can say in this situation; what he can say. “What-”

“Atsumu,” Suna addresses the prince in a manner most would never, though their long-term friendship allowed for it in the lack of authority present. “Should you not be-”

“Your secret affair is much more important.” the blonde laughs, making his way closer. “Good morning, My Lady.” he addresses you with a smile; you greet him officially with a small bow of your head. “It’s a beautiful day for a rendezvous.”

His words have your face turning red; you’re quick to hide your expression in Suna’s chest. There’s a moment where you think it’s not appropriate, not in front of the prince, but there’s solace in the way his chest shakes as he tries to keep his own laughter at minimum, for your benefit.

“I’ll leave you be,” he says softly, “it would look unfortunate for me if the duke’s son were to find the prince avoiding his duties.”

“The prince should stop running the moment he wakes to do exactly that.” Suna retorts, you turn your head to Atsumu again, watching as a brighter, more mischievous, smile crosses his face. Although you know no bad outcome will come of this, there’s some worry that loiters in your mind.

He bids his farewells, leaving the two of you and returning to the palace where he’ll be rushed into lessons on ruling the kingdom alongside his brother, except now he’s more excited to be sat beside the man who’s clueless to his closest confidante’s morning activities.

“We’re going to be the next talk of the town.” you joke, watching as the man turns away from you with a secret you know he won’t keep to himself. First, Osamu will know–he’s not one to keep secrets from his brother–then Kita. he’ll keep it to himself, he’s not one for the rumours that were thrown around the town, but the twins will continue to share. It’ll find its way to Bokuto and Hinata, the knights closest to the boisterous twin, and then the news will spread to everyone.

It wouldn’t be long before your mothers knew. The women that had grown up together; who’d always dreamt their children would grow up to be wed and now, unbeknownst to them, the two of you shared the same dream.

“Let them talk.” Suna quips, an arm coming to bring you into a comfortable embrace; warming you more than the layers of clothes ever would, “It will be known one day.” Leaving a lingering kiss on your temple, he whispers in your ear, “I want to announce to the world that I am yours.”

[tannaztr]

My version of Satoru killing the love of his life, Suguru.

This is a part of my original fic that is why you might see Y/N during this part.

“Magnificent,” Geto ignored the pain, leaning against the brick wall and whispering to himself. “Truly magnificent.” He was losing blood and fully aware of it. “If I had Rika, I could have just achieved my goal. Next time…” he promised himself.

The orange hues of dawn painted the sky in orange and red. His eyes met a figure standing in the light while his body rested in shadows. He knew who it was. His heart ached at the sight of him. He already knew what he was forcing the man standing in front of him to do. He had avoided that. At least, he had tried to avoid that. To spare him from this moment. He leaned over the wall, his knees gave way under his wounded body as he let himself sit.

“You are late, Satoru,” Geto couldn't help but let softness seep into his voice when he called his name; he never could resist it. “To think you’d be the one here at my end. Is my family safe?” he asked, trying his best not to look at him. Those ocean-blue eyes of his weren't covered, making it even harder for Geto. He didn’t want to be reminded of those eyes, yet he lied to himself; there wasn’t a moment he had ever forgotten them, not for a second.

“Every last one of them managed to escape,” Satoru responded, holding his fist tight to keep his hand from shaking. All he wanted was to rush over, to hold him, to call Shoko and beg her to heal the man before him. For him. He struggled to keep his voice steady, believing Geto deserved better than a broken murderer. “The ones in Kyoto, were they under your order?” he asked, uncertain why he even brought it up. What he really wanted to say were those three words he had longed to tell him.

“Yeah. Unlike you, I am a kind man. You sent those two assuming I wouldn’t kill them, didn’t you?” Geto asked, his gaze still averted from Satoru. “To set Okkotsu off.”

“I trusted you,” Satoru stated, the three words Geto longed to hear hanging unsaid in the air, words Satoru never had the courage to express. “Trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn’t kill young sorcerers without reason.”

“Trust, huh?” Geto managed a smile, finding Satoru’s belief in him incredulous after everything. “I didn’t think I had any of that left.” He wished he could tell Satoru to hate him, that he deserved to be despised. Trust was something far beyond what he deserved, especially from Satoru—the man he had turned his back on, the man he had ignored while desperately trying to reach out, even after Geto had committed atrocities for what he believed was right.

Lives of hundreds meant little to him, Suguru understood that well. He knew Satoru would shield him against all odds, ready to clash with the higher-ups, prepared to upheave the jujutsu world itself for him. "Do you have any last words?" That question seemed alien coming from Satoru, as if uttered by a stranger inhabiting his body. Satoru couldn't bear the thought of extinguishing the life he held so dear, a life that brought immense joy, cherished memories, and unconditional love into his heart. Suguru was the first to accept him entirely, the only one who saw beyond the facade of strength and impassivity the world assumed of Satoru. As he sat before him, a part of Satoru felt as if it were dying alongside him. Deep down, he yearned for you to be there, to halt his actions, to stand against him, to save Geto from what he was about to do. But you weren't there. How could Satoru ever conceive of taking that life? How could he live with himself afterward, not break down, not shatter into pieces? His hands trembled uncontrollably, betraying his inner turmoil, unable to stay steady as they were poised to take away what he loved most in the world.

"No matter what anyone says, I've always despised those monkeys. Yet, my disdain never extended to those at Jujutsu High. It's just that... I could never truly smile in this world," Suguru mused, his thoughts drifting to you, reminiscing about the days spent with you and Satoru. A longing surged within him to see you one last time.

"Don't tell her it was you who did this," Suguru implored softly. "Don't let her know you were the one to end me." His voice carried a calmness that belied the immense burden such a secret would place on Satoru's shoulders. To keep this from you, the one person besides Suguru whom Satoru could be his true self around, was an unbearable thought. Yet, in his heart, Suguru believed Satoru needed you more than ever after this ordeal. "She'll never forgive you if she learns the truth," he added, wishing he had the strength to assure Satoru that it was alright, that he understood.

"Suguru," Satoru called out gently, his voice a soft echo of the countless times he had uttered his name before—as if none of their tumultuous history had ever occurred. Taking cautious steps closer, Satoru kneeled, avoiding the need to look up, sparing them both additional pain. Their eyes locked, and Suguru's entire being yearned to stand, to bridge the gap between them, to reach out to the man he had wounded—the man who would, from this day forward, carry an unbearable weight in his heart.

"I love you," the words hovered on the brink of silence, a declaration that bore the weight of untold truths, the ardor he had yearned to proclaim aloud the day Suguru chose to walk away. How he had longed to declare it to the world, to let every echo carry the depth of his affection for Suguru. Would those three words have altered their fate? Could they have anchored Suguru, preventing the chasm that now lay between them?

Surprise flickered in Suguru's eyes, a brief spark of what could have been. He knew of Satoru's love, shared the sentiment, yet found himself unable to voice it, unwilling to burden Satoru further. A rueful chuckle escaped him, surrendering to the twisted irony of their final encounter. "At least grace me with some curses in my final moments," he jestingly requested, masking his turmoil with humor.

Satoru's response was swift, a merciful act born from an abyss of agony. He ensured Suguru's end was devoid of pain, sparing him the sensation of life's ebbing tide. Yet, in doing so, Satoru embraced an immeasurable suffering, accepting a lifetime haunted by the pain of this irreversible act.

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: -

Words: 2.1k

[A/N: I'm alive, alas. Slowly getting back into writing, so bear with me as this one is a bit clunky. (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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IV. 

The unadorned walls were bare , save for a few peeling patches of paint, and the hanging crucifix was now slightly askew, the squashing emptiness swallowing him as the corners of the room seemed to stretch into infinity. The moonlight shifted, casting a new set of shadows that seemed to twist and writhe like the memories of her that haunted him, and in the quiet of the night, dawn approaching, he drifted asleep, his dreams hollow, bereft, and yearning for something that was no longer. 

The pale gray hue of the morning filtered through Viktor’s eyelashes, painfully morphing into colorful blobs of light inside his eyelids. He lay still, dreading the image of his enclosure in fear of what he might see. When he shifted slightly on the mattress, fully expecting that—now familiar—stinging pain, it was the absence of it that startled him into opening his eyes.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, head in his hands, trying to piece together the fragments of his shattered memories of the previous night. The crucifix on the wall was as perfectly symmetrical as it had been. His clothes from the previous day lay neatly folded, not discarded in a moment of despair but meticulously placed. 

Viktor forced himself to stand, each movement sluggish and weighed down by the heaviness in his chest. He wandered to the window, looking out at the city below. The world outside continued to move, indifferent to his confusion. He turned back to the room, and the vertical rays of sunlight reflected over the wooden door were a cruel mirror of the oppressive feeling inside him.

"It was just a dream. Heavens above, a nightmare rather," he whispered to himself, desperate to cling to that hope. 

He sank to the floor, his back against the wall and his good knee drawn up to his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to remember her voice, her touch, and the way she spoke to him. But the images were already starting to blur into oneiric shards of memory, delusory scenes that he had made up to cope with whatever bizarre day he had experienced. He had open arms to accept this as fact, but then he looked askance for what should have been less than a second—a hand’s distance away from him, on the floor—and something reflected a small flicker of light in his direction. 

A frail little piece of copper, with a symbol etched on it, was no stranger to him. 

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

The coin was left there, untouched, and Viktor quickly stood up, got dressed, and made his way to the chapel with the intention of seeking confession. Ignoring something has never been proven to make it disappear, but he believed in so many things that had no proof. What's one more day to a life sentence? As he approached the vestry, he heard voices—a gruff, authoritative one and another, softer and more submissive.

Pushing open the door quietly, Viktor saw Father Isidore standing on a small platform, his arms outstretched as a tiny, stooped old man adjusted the fit of a new set of robes. 

"Careful, you fool," Father Isidore snapped, glaring down at the old man who fumbled with the hem. 

The old man mumbled an apology, his hands trembling as he continued his work. Father Isidore's mitre rose high, a stately crown of pristine white, adorned with intricate gold embroidery that glinted with each subtle movement. The patterns weaved a tapestry of reverence and power, a fitting halo for one chosen to serve the divine, at the cost of what could probably feed a family for an entire year. Below, his chasuble cascaded in folds of rich golden yellow, a hue that caught the light and transformed it into a soft glow. This garment, heavy with the weight of the vows of poverty they had both made, bore elaborate designs that told false stories of faith and sanctity. 

The bitter taste of resentment came back to Viktor’s throat. He had come here to confess his own misgivings, but now he was confronted with a deeper, more troubling disquiet. And as acrimony poisoned his heart once more, he felt a small, cold hand resting on his shoulder. His skin prickled, and a cold sweat began to form on his brow. He felt her presence—an unnerving familiarity that made his heart pound in his chest. The air around him seemed to grow colder, the light dimmer. He tried to shake off the feeling, attributing it to his own inner turmoil, but it clung to him, persistent and insidious.

A whisper, soft yet piercing, curled into his ear like a serpent. 

“What a despotic panoply of gold and moral deviance—so much for humility and sacrifice,” her voice whispered in his ear. "I, too, would feel betrayed.” 

Viktor’s eyes darted to his left and right, noting the people before him. He couldn't afford to alarm them; he couldn't let them see his fear. His heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to remain still. A bead of sweat trickled down Viktor’s temple. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. He knew she sought to unnerve him and break his spirit. Summoning every ounce of his will, he started to pray in his mind, each word a lifeline in the gathering darkness.

“ Júdica Dómine nocéntes me; expúgna impugnántes me. Confundántur et revereántur… ” he started, pulling the string of words from a distant memory. 

“Haven’t we established that your god does not listen to your prayers, Viktor?”

Her voice rang loud and clear to him, but the unmoving expressions of the two men before him made it apparent that they could not hear her. “. ..quaeréntes ánimam meam. Avertántur retrórsum et confundántur, cogitántes míhi mála.” He continued, now fearing he had gone insane.

“Never you mind, my sweet. I’ll be gone again soon, but first, I thought you should know the delightsome old lady you lied for yesterday has been excommunicated for ‘transferring her tithe to another person’” 

She stayed long enough to delight in the sudden indignation Viktor felt, gently brushing her hand over the rosary he had tightened his grip around before melting into thin air from where she came from quickly, as there was no one when he turned back to express his anger. His breath came in shallow, controlled measures, and the men were unaware of the silent battle that had taken place but now aware of Viktor’s presence as he stepped inside the room completely. 

“Viktor, come in, come in, feeling refreshed this morning?” He said, clearly an excoriation made to mock Viktor’s clearly tired presence. 

The anger Viktor had been holding in check surged to the surface. "Is it true?" he demanded, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "Did you excommunicate her?"

Father Isidore did not seem grieved by his accusation; if anything, he stood dignified in his decision. 

“It’s certainly interesting that you feel wronged by it, considering it was your fraudulent lies that caused this.”

“My— “ Viktor had to stop himself from saying anything more, and he left the room hurriedly before his resolve to stay quiet betrayed him. 

This was it—the drop that contained the sea. 

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

As he walked back to his quarters, his thoughts drifted back to the market, where he had often seen the old woman. Her face, lined with age and hardship, right next to the rubicund face of plump arrogance, seemed frail. She wore a threadbare shawl over her hunched shoulders, and he wore gold tread and rich velvets. Her fingers gnarled and trembled as she sold her meager wares—simple trinkets and worn fabrics. Viktor recalled the way her eyes had sparkled with gratitude when he had offered her a few coins for a trinket he didn’t need, insignificant next to the bishop’s half-a-dozen golden rings and precious jewelled rosary beads. 

The church itself was a monument to grandeur, with its towering spires, stained glass windows, and intricate carvings. It was a place where wealth was displayed in every corner, from the gilded altar to the finely wrought candelabras. Viktor had always taken pride in the beauty of his church, believing it reflected the glory of God. One step outside of it, though, would transport him to the cobblestone roads lined with the destitute, families huddled in the cold, and children with hollow eyes and empty stomachs. 

The market would be bustling with activity, but it was a scene of struggle and survival. People bartered and begged, their faces etched with the desperation of poverty, but their eyes still smiled when they saw him, hopeful that his presence—to them, divine—would at least save their souls. 

His cup was overflowing. 

With a determined stride, Viktor crossed the room and pulled the book from the shelf. He ran his fingers over the cover, feeling a surge of excitement and defiance. The prohibition that had once held him back now seemed an affront to the pursuit of truth and knowledge. The anger within him had crystallized into a clear resolve: if the church could betray its principles, then he no longer felt bound by its restrictions.

Viktor sat at his desk, opening the white-covered book with reverent hands. The pages were filled with meticulous diagrams and elegant prose, and as he began to read, the words seemed to leap off the page, igniting a passion that had been suppressed. The theories and observations weren’t groundbreaking to him, but they challenged the very foundations of the geocentric worldview that the Church so adamantly defended.

The elegant simplicity of the heretic’s heliocentric model resonated so deeply with Viktor, aligning with the sense of order and reason he had always believed in, that it almost brought genuine laughter out of him. He continued with his studies, not quite hiding it anymore but not eager for Father Isidore to find out either. Viktor turned, already sensing her presence before he saw her. She materialized from the shadows, her form unmistakable. Her eyes, burning with a white light, fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Hanging up the cassock, are we?” This time, her voice resonated clearly in the room instead of in his head.

There was no fear in Viktor this time; he stood his ground, meeting her gaze with a calm intensity. “No, but I’ve confronted a reality I was blind to.”

She smiled. “Is that gratitude I sense in your voice?” 

It was, but he did not answer. 

“You walk a dangerous path, Viktor; it is casuistic and intellectually dishonest of you to keep pretending you hold the same values as you did before.” 

“Many people have done it before; many have conciliated science and faith.”

“And all of them have been either branded as heretic and excommunicated or executed. Take a guess at where they are now.”

“Purgatory?” He said with a defeated but somehow playfully sarcastic tone. 

“What an extraordinary hoax purgatory is; at least have the guts to commit to the inferno.” She chuckled. 

Viktor had to quickly catch himself before he shared a laugh with her, immediately reverting into a pessimistic tone as he turned back around, away from the good-humored environment. 

“I can’t leave; this community needs me.”

“They do. It is far from me to express antagonism against that.” 

“You are trying to convince me to.”

“No. But you will see that you do not need organized religion to help those people. Eventually you will.”

“Perchance.” He said, Pensive. 

She circled him slowly. "You intrigue me. There is strength in you, a strength that few possess. I will watch your journey with great interest." 

Viktor’s resolve wavered slightly under her gaze. There was an intensity in her eyes that unnerved him, a predatory gleam that spoke of desires beyond his understanding. 

"Watch if you will," he said, his voice steady. "I will not be swayed by you again.”

Her smile widened with a knowing, almost lascivious grin. "So sure of yourself," she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. She stepped closer, the air around her growing colder. “Why are you so ready to defy the dogma when it comes to science but so hesitant when it comes to your own indulgence?”

“It’s selfish,” he answered almost immediately. “Hedonistic.” 

“It would be, if you were seeking pleasure at someone’s expense. The idea that seeking self-gratification is selfish is merely puritan ideology; I trust you are now beyond that, after what I showed you last time.” 

Her fingers trailed down his arm, and Viktor fought to suppress the shiver that followed. He met her gaze, his eyes filled with defiance. 

"I will not yield."

“And I will not make you. You will call for me; you will yearn .”

[tenelkadjowrites]

I Want You Back (Cassian Andor x Reader) - NSFW

💬 Summary: When your ex-boyfriend, Cassian Andor, stumbles to your apartment wounded, it brings back not only memories of your time together but a promise of something starting anew.

💬 Word count: 12.7k

💬 Genre & warnings: one shot smut. fem pronouns for reader. exes to lovers. mentions of blood and injuries. drinking. dirty talk (a LOT of it). reader is called sweetheart a couple of times and slut once. oral sex, reader receiving. unprotected sex. creampie.

💬 Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @violetwinters - (I’m not doing my usual tag list for this fic given it’s in a different fandom than usual, you can lemme know if you want to be added for any future Star Wars fics)

               You stare at the door, holding your breath, waiting. I might’ve dreamt it, you think but the way your heart is racing makes you believe otherwise. Your blaster is cold in your hands, a grim reminder of what you might have to do. The only source of light is leaking through the shuttered window in the living area. Your entire apartment complex is cramped and indoors; only artificial light can enter here.

               The knocking comes again. It is heavy, more of a thud. Your chest is like ice, your legs moving forward before your brain can stop it. Living on the outskirts of the galaxy your entire life, you know how to handle your own but that doesn’t mean you derive any pleasure from doing so.

               Your finger hovers over the trigger as your free hand slams down on the button to open the door. It glides open soundlessly –

               “Cassian?” You blink in shock at the sight of someone you never thought you’d see again in your doorway.

               He is slumped against the doorframe, one hand underneath his jacket. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his hair stuck against his skin which has a sickly pallor. He looks as if he is crumbling underneath his own weight.

               Cassian tries to smile but it looks forced and pained. “Did I wake you?”

               “Uhm, yes. It’s the middle of the night,” You frown, whispering, “You look like shit.”

               “I feel like shit. Can I come in?”

               Even though he looks like hell, you hesitate. Maybe it is selfish but the last thing you feel like dealing with currently is your ex-boyfriend showing up in your new life, bringing in who knows what sort of hell with him. You had spent so long trying to forget him after things went to shit and now to find him right outside your apartment…

               Cassian moves his hand out of his jacket and you can see his fingers are smeared with blood. It dawns on you only then that he is injured. The sight of the blood kicks you into gear from years of training.

               “Hurry up before someone sees you,” The words are gruff and unpleasant but Cassian doesn’t seem to notice nor care because he lurches forward on the final bit of energy he has and is over the threshold.

               Cassian slumps forward and you catch him quickly before he can strike the floor. The door seals behind him as your blaster drops to the floor when you take on his weight. He is familiar yet different; the weight of him sturdier than in the past, his frame harder, more stubble on his chin than you’ve seen before. It is like looking at a painting through water and trying to make out all the individual bits of what makes it feel so personal.

               You manage to get Cassian successfully to the living room before his legs give out. He is splayed on the couch at an awkward angle which you have no time to adjust because you’ve scurried off to find your med kit.

               After you told Cassian that the relationship didn’t work, that the chaos burning inside him without an outlet proved to be too exhausting for you, your mind had drifted to him often in the weeks that followed. You wondered what his life was like without you around, wondered if he was happier without you and if he regretted how things went.

               It took a long time to get over him. And now here he was, bleeding all over your cramped and small living room in the middle of the night with no explanation – including how he knew that you lived here.

               Returning to Cassian, you motion to the jacket that he still has on. “Come on, I can’t see your injury with the jacket.”

               Cassian has managed to right himself in the short time you ducked out of the room. He is slumped on the couch, his head rolled back, breathing labored.

               Still, he shifts enough to shrug out of his jacket which you take gingerly, making a mental note at how it has seen better days. His black shirt is wet on one side, stuck against his skin. You sit next to him, a twinge of anxiety hitting your chest. Cassian’s eyes are closed, and the sight of this brings back a storm of old memories, none of which you want to linger on.

               “Do I even want to know what injured you?” Your voice wavers a little, betraying your nerves. Cassian would normally pick up on such a thing if he weren’t in his current state.

               “No,” is all he mumbles.

               Tentatively, you reach for his shirt, carefully peeling it upwards to expose the wound. It’s a gash, sticky with oozing blood, dark red smeared all over his abdomen. It isn’t the sight of the wound that sends your stomach churning; you work at the local clinic and have seen similar injuries more times than you can count. It is the fact it is on Cassian that makes anxiety bloom in your chest.

               “I don’t have any equipment here and I don’t have any bacta. I can try to get you to the clinic –”

               “No,” He rasps out and his hand reaches for yours. His skin is hot, too hot, and you realize he is feverish. “Too dangerous. Do what you can here.”

               “Too dangerous? Cassian, what exactly were you doing before you got here? How did you even know where I lived?”

               But his head has rolled back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed, too weak to reply. Knowing that you would get no answers now, all you can do is go to work on the wound and hope for the best. Exhaling slowly, you study Cassian’s face for a moment, your chest constricting. You hadn’t ever allowed yourself to think about what it would be like to see him again.

               Your time with Cassian was a flurry, the sort of passion and romance that normally didn’t apply to your life. But there was a wildness with Cassian that at the same time meant it was impossible to pin him down. He had no desire for cozy nights in, always on the move as if there were a target on his back, running from his past and sidelining his future. Eventually, it grew more exhausting to deal with that versus the passion, sex and love you felt for him.

               But that didn’t erase history nor did it erase your feelings for him. As you work, your mind flashes through a set of memories: seeing Cassian when you were introduced to him, the expression on his face when first kissing you, the way he’d slink into the apartment in the dead of night after doing universe knows what, how he would storm out in the morning when the two of you would fight again, the sex that would follow, only for the cycle to start again. Cassian seemed empty and even your love couldn’t fill it – a hard lesson to learn and one that ultimately ended with you leaving.

               And now…

               Well, now, it is up to you to make sure your ex-boyfriend makes it through the night.

*

               At some point after patching Cassian up to the best of your ability, you doze off next to him. The next time your eyes open, you aren’t sure what time it is and for a split second, you can’t remember how you ended up on the couch.

               But the sight of Cassian brings the memories flooding back, the adrenaline hitting as if you just drank some caf. To your relief, his breathing has steadied. Gingerly, you reach out to touch his forehead. He’s still a little too warm but not as feverish as a few hours ago. Your fingers linger there and you gently push some of his hair off his forehead, studying his face. You wish that there wasn’t this tidal wave of emotions when looking at him, no feelings of fondness, no memories to contend with.

               Cassian stirs and your hand flies back to your lap. You hope he didn’t catch your moment of tenderness because you aren’t sure that he would let you live it down. You’re the one that left me, you could hear him say and it sounds so real in your head that you can feel yourself withdrawing.

               He shifts slightly as his eyes open groggily. You are busying yourself with the medical kit, getting ready to change the bandage on the wound, knowing that it is a serious injury and needs a lot of tending to. You are aware of Cassian’s eyes on your back, a sensation so familiar that it makes a shiver roll down your spine.

               “How are you feeling?” You ask curtly.

               “Like shit,” He mumbles.

               “You still have a fever. Here, you need another round of medication.” The glass of water is still on the table and you turn to face Cassian, thrusting it at him.

               He reaches out and the tips of his fingers brush against your skin. The touch, so minor it is nothing, knocks your insides apart, your heart banging like a gong in your chest.

               “I don’t remember…” He takes a swig of the water, stopping to get the medication from you and then takes another gulp, “Don’t remember much.”

               “You showed up bleeding all over my front door. I need to change your bandage now.”

               “Is it bad?”

               “Well, you’re doing a better now than last night so I think you’ll live but the wound can still get infected and your fever hasn’t diminished as much as I would like.”

               For some reason, you cannot bring yourself to look at Cassian directly. On top of that, examining him while he’s basically unconscious is one thing. But having him awake and semi-alert as you do so makes you jittery. Gingerly, you reach out, raising up his shirt just enough to expose the bandaged wound. You’re trying not to think about all the times you held onto him here when he fucked you, trying not to remember how he sounded when he was –

               “Like old times, huh?”

               Your thoughts shatter, quickly flicking your gaze upwards at his face. He’s teasing me, you think half in wonder and half in frustration. You were hoping for more time before Cassian brought up the past even with a small sentence like that.

               “You mean when I’d patch you up after a bar fight?” You look away, back to tending to the wound, gently peeling the bandage off.

               Cassian winces as it tugs at his skin while going, “Always wanted someone who could patch me up for free.”

               “Old habits die hard,” You reply wryly, examining the injury closely although you can feel his eyes on you, “You going to explain how you knew where I lived? Or what happened to injure you like this?”

               It still looks bad, you muse, disliking the shiny tautness of the skin around the wound. If only you had some bacta gel…but there is none in your apartment, having used it all up on a small child who got injured in the complex two weeks ago.

               There is a pause as Cassian considers what to say. You know he is debating lying because the tiny bits of himself he allows others to see are not given freely. You once had access but in the passing of the years, you don’t know what he feels comfortable with anymore. Cassian is good at gambling, drinking, burying his feelings in the search for fun, in the search for something to blot out the burning in his heart that seemed to spill out of him in a rage against the universe. You have no clue if that’s changed, how much he’s changed, but when your gaze shifts to meet his, the silence seems to grow longer.

               “It’s better if you don’t know,” He settles on, a finality in his tone that brokers no further conversation.

               You never heeded the tone before and you won’t now. “Are you mixed up in something bad? You piss someone off?”

               “I told you, it’s safer if you don’t know.”

               “No, you said it’s better if I don’t know. Now you’re telling me that it’s safer.”

               You are examining the wound, fingers touching his bare skin, still wishing for bacta gel. You aren’t convinced it isn’t going to get infected by the look of it. Cassian is quiet again. There is something more withdrawn about him now than before although you chalk it up to the breakup.

              When he doesn’t reply, you go, “I should really get you down to the clinic and do some proper work on this injury. You still have a fever and I can’t tell if the wound is getting infected. On top of that, it could heal slowly, possibly leave a scar.”

              “No,” The word comes out harsh and fast, “No, I’ll stay here.”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “Why? Why can’t you come to the clinic?”

              “I came here for discretion. Not to be paraded through the town square to the clinic.”

              “No one is parading you around, Cassian,” You frown, “What aren’t you telling me?”

              “You can bring supplies from the clinic, can’t you? Or are there checkpoints? Will they question you about bringing things from the clinic?”

               His tone is leaving you more confused than ever. There is an urgency and roughness to the questions that make you worry Cassian is in over his head although you can’t imagine what a security checkpoint would have to do with anything.

              “Typically, no there aren’t checkpoints.”

              “There might be today,” He says grimly, “I’ll wait for you.”

               “What aren’t you telling me?” You demand yet again.

               To your surprise, Cassian reaches out for your hand. He grips it tightly, sending a jolt through your skin that seems to sizzle. He is looking at you urgently and for a split second, you grow fearful that he has truly gotten in over his head.

               “The less you know the better. Will you trust me on this? It’s for your safety.”

               You want to argue that Cassian doesn’t get to decide what keeps you safe or not. But his eyes, those puppy dog eyes that have driven you around the bend more than once in both sex and arguments, brings you up short. Instead of fighting, you nod once indicating that the conversation is shelved…for now.

               He relaxes, leaning back against the couch, eyes closing. His grip on your hand lessens, allowing you to go back to work on doing what you can to clean up the wound and change the bandages before you deem the work complete, standing up.

               “I’ll head to the clinic now and come back as quickly as I can. I’m worried about infection settling in if I don’t get some bacta on it,” You grab your jacket, hurriedly getting ready, wondering how quickly you can make the trip.

               Cassian says your name softly, drawing your attention. It is strange to see him on the couch; you never once thought that he would be in your new apartment. He has tugged his shirt back down, his skin still looking a little pale. For the first time it hits you that if he hadn’t come to your place last night, where would he have gone? It’s clear that he didn’t want to go to any sort of medical bay or even your clinic. If he wasn’t here, would he be dying in an alleyway somewhere? The thought leaves a bitter taste of fear in your mouth.

               “Be careful,” is all he says before closing his eyes.

               You give one last look at him and leave.

*

               The walk to the clinic makes it immediately evident that there is something going on. There are imperial patrols on every street, the layer of fear across the city is like a thick cloak, and there are more security checkpoints than ever.

               But how did Cassian know? The thought bangs around in your brain the entire walk to the clinic which takes double the amount of time it should. By the time you arrive, your nerves are on edge and you’re in no mood for small talk.

               The clinic is quiet this late morning with just one medic on duty, patching up someone’s broken arm. The patient is complaining loudly when you enter.

               “Asshole shoved me so hard that I toppled down the flight of stairs by the market. And did nothing about it, didn’t even stop to make sure I was okay! We get punished because some captives escaped?”

               As you shrug out of your jacket and your coworker says hi, you say, “Who escaped?”

               “You didn’t hear?” That patient’s tone is seething, “Where have you been all morning?”

               “Asleep,” You reply curtly, not in the mood to bicker with a stranger, “I don’t work today, just forgot something here.”

               Your coworker looks up from the man’s arm and explains, “Someone broke out that small group of rebels being held at the garrison up near the city entrance late last night. They were supposed to be transferred this morning but now they are just scattered to the wind.”

               You are thankful that your back is to your coworker and the patient because your face is unable to mask the surprise as your stomach swoops.

               Trying to keep your voice as neutral as possible, you reply, “We’re expected to believe just one person broke them out of the garrison?”

               “Apparently.”

               The patient makes a noise of disbelief. “No way the person survived. I heard they got him pretty good but he managed to limp out of there and they lost him in the city. He’s probably dying somewhere and they’ll find his body soon enough. He’s the reason these stormtroopers are all riled up, pushing people around and breaking my arm.”

               “Please stay still so I can finish,” Your coworker sounds a little bitter, adding on, “Regardless of who broke them out, the rebels got away and now we have to deal with the repercussions.”

               The blood rushing to your head is very loud. You take a steady breath, packing a few items in a small cloth bag and sneaking some more in the inside pockets of your jacket. If they know Cassian is wounded, these items might raise some red flags. You suddenly understand why Cassian couldn’t leave your apartment and why he told you to be careful.

               “Alright, well, I got what I needed. Told myself I’d organize all my medical supplies at my place today and naturally I forgot some,” Your voice is casual as if the extra security and escaped rebels mean nothing to you.

               “They’ll find the rebels soon enough. Where will they go without running into a blockade? I don’t think the person breaking them out had any sort of proper plan. Just wanted to stick it to the Empire.” The patient is still babbling and every word about Cassian is starting to make your clothing feel itchy against your skin.

               Slipping your jacket back on, you smile blandly at your coworker. “I’ll be around more tomorrow.”

               “Bye,” They reply, too focused on the fact the patient won’t keep still.

               Leaving the room, you take a moment to collect yourself in the hallway. The idea of Cassian helping rebels escape, the same Cassian who seemed more likely to drink and gamble the night away, is a difficult one to wrap your head around. But there is no other explanation for him showing up injured on top of his secrecy.

               You feel a flicker of anger in your chest that he has brought this situation upon you without your permission. You had been living quietly for all this time and now every moment with him around threatens to undo that. But what is the other option? Kicking him out to be caught by the Empire? No, you couldn’t do that, not to him of all people.

               Exiting the building, you know that any strange expression on your face, any tension in your shoulders could spark a stormtrooper’s interest in you. Exhaling slowly, you try to keep your breathing steady as the walk home begins. You are hoping to look as nonchalant as possible, someone who is so used to imperial rule that you don’t really question the extra patrols or random security checks. A group of escaped rebels has nothing to do with you.

               You are about five minutes from the apartment complex when a security checkpoint before the main entrance into the residential area pops into view. Cursing underneath your breath, you know that to turn around now would only catch their attention. The checkpoint hadn’t been there when you left.

               Standing in line, you try to keep your face devoid of worry, coming up with your story about the medical supplies. They know Cassian is wounded. You think of the bacta gel hidden in your pockets. They’re going to question me.

               When it is finally your turn, your heart is pounding and the palms of your hands are sweaty. Even so, you maintain an even tone when asked for your name.

               One stormtrooper is running your credentials as another begins to search your bag.

               “What do you need these for?” He asks, the helmet modulating his voice.

               “I work at the clinic in the square,” You explain patiently, “I just keep some at home for emergencies and I like to replenish my supplies every few weeks.”

               “Why?” He demands.

               “Records are clean,” says the other stormtrooper.

               “You never know when an emergency could hit. What if there is no possibility of getting to the clinic? All of us have our own kits in our places for times like that. We usually keep a small travel pack on us as well that needs replenishing.” You slip your hand into your inner jacket, pulling out the health kit from the pocket, hoping that it will be enough to stop them from poking around your pockets.

               It is difficult to know what the stormtrooper is thinking as he studies the kit in the palm of your hand. You feel a little ill, unsure what to do if he wants to question you further. But the line behind you has grown as people are grumbling about the new checkpoint.

               You want to keep talking but are aware that will only make you look as if there is something to hide. Remaining silent after your explanation, you wait.

               “Records did say she works at the clinic,” The other stormtrooper remarks as if to prod things along.

               Another moment passes. He’s not going to believe me, not with the timing –

               “Fine, go.” He jerks his head towards the residential district.

               You nod, making sure to keep the speed of your walk the same, putting your health kit back in your jacket. You can feel the stormtrooper’s gaze linger on you almost as if he regrets letting you pass. Something is tickling at his brain, some question he wants to ask, but it is obvious the other stormtrooper doesn’t see it as he does and wants to focus on the line forming instead.

               Once you push past the doors, your shoulders slouch a little, your pace quickening. All you want to do is get back to your apartment. The fear that is hanging over the city today is much worse than usual. It is like the escape of the rebels is going to be made everyone’s problem.

               The interior of the complex is flooded with the usual ugly, harsh lighting that your eyes have grown accustomed to. It has many floors, with the small apartments shoved close to one another to hold as many people as possible. The building is run down but overall clean. Every hallway is identical and it is a wonder Cassian stumbled around here and ended up at your place without being caught or reported.

               You arrive at your apartment, stepping inside. You hear a familiar sound, immediately causing you to pull out the blaster hidden in one of your pockets, raising it –

               Only to see it is Cassian with his own raised. He immediately relaxes upon seeing you.

               “Are you trying to kill me?” You snap, your tension leaking out into your words as the door seals behind you.

               “Had to make sure it was you.”

               He is standing but his legs look wobbly. The entire trip couldn’t have taken more than an hour but he still doesn’t look well. Lowering the blaster, you hurry over to Cassian, ushering him back to the couch, plucking his own weapon from his hand.

               Cassian slumps back onto the couch, wincing slightly as he sits, his hand going to his side. As you empty out the medical supplies, you cannot stop from biting out, “Were you going to tell me that you helped rebels escape? Or just bring this hell on me without any warning?”

               Cassian is eyeing you carefully, weighing his words. You are frustrated, not only by the situation but this version of your ex that is brand new, doing things you never dreamt he could do.

               Unable to stop yourself, the words tumble from your mouth. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear of it? Someone breaking out a bunch of rebels, getting wounded and losing stormtroopers in the city? Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? There was a checkpoint before the residential district and I think it was only my clean record that got me through because the stormtrooper didn’t seem entirely convinced I needed these supplies just to restock.” Your hands are shaking, you realize, as one of the bacta gels tumble out of your hand and lands loudly on the table. “You just show up here – I haven’t heard from you in years and you think it’s okay to just – fuck, Cassian, did you think at all of what this was going to bring down on me?”

               The last sentence makes his eyes blaze, leaning forward, his voice hot. “You think I wanted to show up here in the middle of the night? That I didn’t consider other options? I had nowhere else to go that would offer safety and someone to make sure I didn’t die in the street!”

               “How did you even know I lived here?! What are you wrapped up in that you’re not telling me?!” Your voice is too loud – dimly, you are aware that it should be softer but your agitation is clouding your brain.

               Cassian grits his teeth, his hand going to his wound, momentarily thrown off by a burst of pain. You sit down next to him, pulling the medical kit into your lap while gesturing to him wildly.

               “Take off your shirt, I need to clean this out again. Properly this time,” You take a deep breath, lowering your voice, trying to collect yourself, “And as I do so, you’re going to explain everything going on.”

               Cassian goes to pull his shirt off but when he lifts up his arm with the wounded side, he winces, inhaling sharply through his teeth. You reach out, helping him remove it, refusing to let your brain bring back memories of late nights involving the same motion for very different reasons.

               Even so, the sight of Cassian shirtless leaves you briefly flustered and then surprised at the various markings along his arm, some along his abdomen that you hadn’t noticed in the hustle and bustle of tending to the injury prior. A lot of injuries, a lot of scars, a lot of stories here that started after I left. Who is this man in front of you? It no longer feels like your ex at all.

               He is looking at you steadily, watching your expression change as you take in the sight of him before he finally says, “You already know the answer to everything you’re wondering.”

               “Do you know how dangerous it is?”

               “I do.”

               “You’re lucky that you didn’t die last night. To break into the garrison like that and come out alive…”

               “Because of you,” He shifts slightly, just enough so that he is angled towards you. “I had no plans to see you. I just knew your location as a final emergency plan. I didn’t think I’d use it.”

               You want to ask more – how Cassian got swept up in working for the rebellion, why he did so, how much danger is he in regularly – but all the questions seem pointless. Cassian had always been restless, running from the past, ignoring the future. Maybe he just figured out that it was time to stop running. Perhaps it is selfish against the greater cause but you wish he decided to stop running and become a moisture farmer or something instead of a rebel spy leaping into dangerous situations.

               Cassian’s voice is soft but firm as he continues speaking, “There were a few more guards at the garrison than our intel originally said. By the time I lost them, I knew I was too injured to go to the rendezvous point. You were the closest person I could get medical assistance from. I didn’t intend to put you in danger or pull you into anything.”

               “I know,” You mumble, leaning forward to begin working on his injury, “I just was scared from the checkpoint.”

               “I didn’t think they would tighten security so hard.”

               “They think you’re still in the city and that you’re dying in a ditch somewhere, easy to find and finish off. Let’s just hope they don’t figure out your identity because they’ll come knocking here first thing.”

               Cassian chews on this silently. For a little while there is no noise other than you cleaning out the injury carefully, smearing a goop of bacta gel on top of it and watching it do its work. You feel a tingle of relief knowing that Cassian will recover now without the worry of infection.

               “That was a nasty wound,” You remark to finally break the silence, “What happened? Didn’t look like just a blaster bullet.”

               “Got nicked by a blaster and then lost my footing, slammed into something sharp, don’t know what it was. Things were a little too frantic to tell and my vision went white. Rest of that is a blur,” He hesitates, “I barely remember making the conscious decision to come here.”

               “Old habits die hard, right?” You quote from the morning.

               The corners of Cassian’s mouth twist upwards for a moment in an almost smile. “You always were good at patching me up.”

               Your cheeks grow warm, much to your embarrassment. Still, you brush the comment off by going, “Well, this was a little more complicated than any of your silly bar fights.”

               “Even so, you still took care of it.”

               His tone sounds serious now and unable to help yourself, you look at him. It is strange being this close to Cassian again and the fact he is shirtless now truly hits you. All the memories you attempted to fend off come flooding back – the times you’d be in his lap, your fingers grazing along his shoulders, his lips on your neck, his hands pressing against your lower back as he would talk dirty. No one ever quite spoke as filthy as Cassian did, no one could ever make you finish just from talking to you in the manner he did.

               But that was the old Cassian, the one who wasn’t working for the rebellion, the one who was in love with you.

               “Well, if I ever show up at your doorstep wounded, I expect the same treatment.”

               This time he does actually laugh a little, that familiar twinkle in his eyes making your stomach twist. “I don’t think you’d want that. You and I both know my hands aren’t good for that sort of thing.”

               The comment knocks the wind out of you. Is Cassian flirting? Or is he simply deflecting? It is difficult to know what he means by such a thing. All you know for sure is that it makes your heart skip a beat and you hate that it does.

               “Well, the bacta gel should help a lot, on top of rest and medication. Hope you don’t have any plans because you’re going to be here for a few days.” You stand up, eager to remove yourself from the close proximity of him.

               “By that time, they’ll figure I escaped the city and will ease restrictions enough I can slip out.”

               “What happened to the others? None have been recaptured.”

               “I got confirmation they made it to the rendezvous point. I was the only one who didn’t,” Cassian looks a little awkward before adding, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable and I’m sorry if I am while staying here.”

               “I won’t lie, it is…different having you back, Cass,” The old nickname slips out and you curse inwardly, “It isn’t as if we’ve been talking since things ended. But I’m not going to kick you out in the street to get snatched up by the Empire either.”

               He looks relieved. “I appreciate it.”

               “Yeah, well…” You trail off, not knowing what to say, “You should get some sleep. It’ll help you heal.”

               Cassian nods, stretching out on the couch. He doesn’t even ask for a blanket which only makes you wonder what sort of sleeping conditions he’s had over the past few years. “Good idea.”

               You turn around to head into your room, digging around for a few seconds before pulling an old blanket out of a drawer. But by the time you come back to Cassian, he is fast asleep. Clearly, the injury is still taking it’s toll on him.

               Standing awkwardly in the living room, the fabric of the blanket soft against your fingers, you stare at your ex on the couch. He hadn’t put his shirt back on and his pants are riding low on his hips. Visually arrested by the sight, you are aware that you’re staring. But your feet are rooted to the spot. How many times have you seen Cassian sleep like this? Hundreds, surely.

               But Cassian is different now; physically he is in better shape with scars across his skin and mentally he is more focused and driven on something you didn’t think he’d ever topple into. There is no crossing the living room and waking him up with kisses, not anymore.

               Quietly, you place the blanket on the table next to Cassian and go to your room, needing some space from him and the memories.

*

               The next three days involve you trying to spend as little time around Cassian as possible. You spend long hours at the clinic, checking on Cassian before your shift and before bed. Conversations are to a minimum, time with him as short as possible because you grow fearful that the memories are going to blur your present. Your time with him is done and finished. There is no going back, especially now that Cassian is swept up in the rebellion.

               One of the driving factors of leaving him was that you needed some sort of emotional stability with the person you’re with. Cassian, with the fire burning in his chest and no focus for it, proved to be too chaotic of a fit for what you wanted. There would be no such emotional stability with Cassian, a hard truth to swallow.

               That’s what you tell yourself every night before going to sleep anyway. In the late nights where you can hear Cassian unable to sleep, occasionally caving and watching one of the holos you have, your mind wanders to memories and a warm desire in between your legs. You wish that your body still didn’t respond to the way he looked at you or that just the casual way he hands you a cup of caf in the morning didn’t remind you of all the previous ones spent together.

               To make matters worse, you are positive that the amount of anguish Cassian is experiencing from being around you is close to zero. Sure, it was evident the first day or so that he felt a little awkward. But now, he acted at ease in every conversation.

               Of course, Cassian had always been an excellent liar, something that would have been honed if he was running around with the rebellion.

               All you knew was that if you had to see him shirtless one more time, you might actually lose it.

*

               “It’s healing well and your mobility has improved a lot,” You say one evening, after a twelve hour shift at the clinic, “In a couple of days, you should be good to go. Well, ‘good to go’ as in mostly recovered, not walk out right into a group of stormtroopers.”

              ��Cassian moves his arm a little, leaving you thankful that his shirt is on for this checkup. He then tugs down his shirt to cover the injury. “How is it out there?”

               “Loosening up, going back to the regular number of patrols. Give it a day or two and I think they’ll be shifting to scour outside the city for you. There are rumors you escaped,” You hesitate and then ask, “Where are you going to go?”

               “It’s better for you not to know. You already know more than I am comfortable with in regards to your safety.” He stands up, moving towards the tiny kitchen.

               You bite down hard on your bottom lip, swallowing all the other questions you want to ask. His logic makes sense but suddenly the idea of Cassian vanishing into the void makes you feel…well, you aren’t sure.

               Cassian rummaging around in the kitchen draws you out of your thoughts, going to join him. “Can I ask why you’re going through my kitchen?”

               “Was looking for, ah, here it is,” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey that you didn’t even remember buying, “Looking for some sort of alcohol. Although I didn’t think you’d own this.”

               “You’re drinking?”

               “Sure,” He replies, “Where are your glasses?”

               Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you push past him, getting a couple. He arches one eyebrow slightly at the sight of two.

               “You never liked whiskey.” He shakes the bottle a little, looking perplexed.

               “That was over five years ago. Things change.” Your tone is pointed.

               His gaze lingers on your face for a few seconds before going, “I suppose they do.”

               And Cassian pours the whiskey into both glasses.

*

               Three hours later, you are very drunk.

               One drink led to another, loosening the awkward feeling around Cassian into one of familiarity. The alcohol wiped clean the fact Cassian now worked with the rebellion, wiped out the fear of hiding him in your apartment, wiped out even the breakup five years ago.

               At some point during the drinking, you’ve ended up on the floor with your back against the couch. Cassian is next to you, one hand around his whiskey glass although he is slumped forward a little from laughing too hard. Your body is warm all over, a combination of the booze and being next to him.

               “Why are you laughing?” You demand even though you’re laughing as well.

               “Because the look on your face when I lied to the shopkeeper – I still see it so clearly,” Cassian manages to say in between laughing at the memory of some random drunken incident from a long time ago.

               “You’re supposed to let me in on the lies not allow me to walk right into them,” You scold before taking another sip of the whiskey which burns on the way down.

               Cassian rubs his eyes to wipe the tears that formed from laughing for too long and looks at you. “You’re right, you’re right,” He pauses for a moment and adds, “I guess I broke that rule again, didn’t I?”

               “Yes!” You sit up straighter, ready to lecture him, “You should’ve told me!”

               “I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to,” He points out although the edges of his words are slurred from too much drinking, “The whole…injury and fever.”

               You nudge him with your shoulder, “The next morning then. Before I went to the clinic.”

               “I was afraid about the checkpoints,” The earlier laughter from his voice is gone, and he looks serious now, “It was safer for you not to know much.”

               Logically, you know Cassian is right. But you’re too drunk for logic. “I figured I was shut out of things. Of knowing things about your life. Because of what happened between us.”

               Had you moved closer to Cassian or had he moved closer to you? Things were difficult to keep straight while clouded with this much booze. Either way, the two of you are close now, as close as possible without touching. You can see the stubble grazing his jawline, the tension in his shoulders that he still carries even now, the way his hair curls slightly against the back of his neck. All familiar, all off limits.

               “No,” Cassian’s voice has dropped to a whisper, “You’re not shut out of things. I just didn’t want you in danger.”

               “But you’re in danger,” Your words are mushy in your mouth, difficult to get out, “You’re the one going against the Empire.”

               “I chose that. I didn’t want to bring you into something without you deciding if it was wanted.”

               “We don’t get a choice with the Empire,” You mumble, “Either we go along with the tide to make it easier on ourselves or we try to swim against it. But the Empire in our lives isn’t a choice. It just is.”

               You have no idea if what you said makes any sense. But Cassian’s gaze grows troubled. He moves slightly and his hand that was on the floor suddenly touches yours. His skin is warm to the touch and before you can stop yourself, you curl your fingers around his hand.

               “You should come with me,” He says so quietly that you have to lean even closer to make out the words, “We need medics. We need people like you.”

               “I’m not cut out for that sort of thing, Cass.”

               “Yes, you are,” He says firmly.

               “Besides, what would that mean? Being around you all the time?” The words flow too easily, loosened by the whiskey, “Seeing you all the time?”

               His thumb is grazing the top of your hand now. The small touch is making your head light. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted Cassian more than you have at this moment. But you have no right to him. He is not a part of your life any longer.

               “Would that be so bad?” He teases, his voice dropping an octave.

               The tone is reminiscent, too reminiscent of what Cassian would sound like before he kissed you. Your body is screaming for him. All thoughts of rebellion and the Empire are washed away with the pure desire that is overwhelming your senses.

               Your foreheads are practically touching, lips so close that it would be simple to kiss him. Fucking Cassian had always been the best sex of your life. He knew exactly what you liked, knew exactly how to get you off and fuck, he had a mouth on him that would –

               Cassian suddenly pulls away, giving a small shake of his head as if breaking the surface of the water. Shocked, you remain frozen in place, wondering what just happened.

               “We’ve both been drinking,” He says in a shaky voice, “We both aren’t thinking clearly.”

               You feel wounded at the rejection, your feelings hurt even if a tiny sober part of you is trying to yell that Cassian is correct in neither one of you thinking clearly.  

               But you refuse to let him know the impact almost kissing him had on you nor the sting of rejection. Pulling your hand away from his, you try to breezily say, “True. I don’t think I’m cut out for the rebellion but I appreciate the sales pitch.”

               On wobbly legs, you manage to stand, looking down at Cassian. There is an expression behind his beautiful eyes that you cannot make out but your brain is too hazy to do so anyway.

               “I should get some sleep. Goodnight, Cass.”

               Cassian, for once, doesn’t have any witty retort or casual goodnight. You leave in silence, wanting nothing more than to have him again but knowing he doesn’t want the same.

*

               In the harsh morning light, you want to hide under the blankets forever given your memory of the night before. The drunken camaraderie had been one thing, even Cassian discussing the rebellion with you was understandable but the almost kiss…

               You’re standing under the hot water of the shower, letting it run over your skin in an attempt to batter your headache away. You weren’t scheduled for a shift at the clinic today and Cassian could not yet leave. You don’t know how to spend an entire day around him. You could come up with an excuse to head out for the day but the idea of dodging stormtroopers and dealing with that anxiety doesn’t seem ideal either.

               By the time you’re out of the shower, mostly dry and changed in clean clothes, you’re dying for some caf. Taking a deep breath, you step out of your room. Cassian is in the kitchen, his hair mussy from sleep, looking over in your direction sleepily.

               “Did you just wake up?” You ask.

               He nods, stifling a yawn. “I think I feel well enough to use your shower, if that’s okay.”

               “Yeah, of course.”

               “I was making some caf,” He presses the button to turn the machine on, “I haven’t drank that much in ages.”

               “Me either and now I remember why I stopped,” You rub your forehead, wishing to be rid of the headache.

               Cassian seems to hesitant for a moment before changing his mind on whatever he planned on saying, instead going, “I’ll take that shower now.”

               He walks by you quickly, almost as if he is scurrying. Could it be he’s embarrassed about last night? Surely not. More than likely, he is embarrassed for you and the fact you almost kissed your ex. Grabbing a mug, you get the caf, standing by the counter and losing yourself in thoughts of Cassian, the past and how he could still elicit such a reaction out of you.

               You aren’t sure how long your mind wanders because the next second, Cassian calls out from your bedroom, “Do you have any clothes I could borrow that might fit me?”

               “Maybe in the bottom right drawer? I don’t know,” You reply.

               There is some rummaging around in your room and then a few minutes later he comes out. The sight of him makes you laugh and he looks perturbed.

               “Don’t,” He warns.

               “The pajama bottoms are okay but that shirt is way too small for you.”

               Cassian looks down at himself. The shirt is probably two sizes too small, sticking to him like a second skin, showing off his toned chest in a manner that would be districting if he didn’t look so ridiculous. He scowls, crossing the room to get some caf.

               “I didn’t pack any overnight clothes for the breakout, silly me,” He mumbles.

               “We can clean your little rebellion uniform today so you’re not wearing that all day.”

               Cassian’s hair is still wet from the shower, his back to you as he drinks his caf. He makes a noise of irritation and rolls his shoulders uncomfortably which only shows off his muscles.

               “Forget it,” He finally says to himself and then begins to try to remove the too tight shirt off him.

               He manages to get it successfully almost over his shoulders before it is too tight to fully yank off. Even though Cassian being stuck in the shirt is funny, you grow concerned about him opening his wound and go over to help. Reaching up, you successfully pull the shirt off.

               “I’ll just wait until my clothes are cleaned,” He says with an annoyed shake of his head.

               You are holding the shirt in your hands, trying not to stare at him casually drinking caf in your kitchen while shirtless. You couldn’t handle Cassian drunk, you couldn’t handle him sober – and you had been the one to end the relationship, for fucks sake.

               Maybe you are giving off an awkward energy or something because he glances over at you, back at his mug and then back at you. He then puts the mug down with a heavy thunk, moving in your direction.

               “What?” He asks.

               “Nothing.”

               “You keep looking at me like that.”

               “Like what?”

               Cassian is close to you now but this time you’re both sober. You are clenching the shirt in your hands so tightly that you worry about tearing the fabric. Cassian’s chest, covered in large and small scars, tell a story that you have no knowledge of, indisputable proof of the passage of time you play no part in – but the worst part is that you find yourself wanting to know all the stories.

               Cassian places one hand on either side of you, gripping the counter. The warmth of his body and seeing him shirtless seems to spark an awakening once more in your body. Your thighs clench and the shirt in your hands becomes some sort of shield between the two of you.

               “Like you detest me being here but also can’t stop thinking about me,” He says gruffly, his eyes dropping to look at your lips, his eyelashes wet smears against his skin.

               “That’s not true,” You lie weakly.

               “Is that why you wanted to kiss me last night?” He says ruthlessly.

               You want to melt into the floor and are momentarily struck silent. You don’t know how to respond because your desire for him is blocking out all rational thought. You desperately want to touch Cassian, just to feel his skin underneath your hands, to have his lips on yours once again.

               He keeps going, “But you’re the one that ended things, remember?”

               “I remember,” You try to make your voice like stone but it sounds frail to your ears, “Don’t act like I don’t remember. You make it sound as if the choice were easy for me, as if it didn’t eat me up inside.”

               Cassian leans forward, still not touching you. You think that he is going to discuss the breakup further, talk about how painful it was and how it felt to end things after all the ups and downs.

Instead, as his lips hover just above your ear, he whispers, “Tell me, has anyone fucked you as good as I did since we broke up?”

               Your eyes close tightly, your pussy growing wet. His impact on you is dizzying. You hadn’t realized just what he could do to you until after things ended and you slept with others. None had been like Cassian.

               “Have any of them figured out what makes you tick? Did any of them realize what really gets you off is a dirty mouth?” His lilting accent mixed with his own desire is enough to make you crumble and beg for him.

               “Cass, I…” You swallow hard, trying your best to form a sentence.

               “I could hear you tossing and turning last night,” His voice is still a whisper, “Were you remembering all the times I fucked you? All the times I used my mouth to make you cum?”

               You’re so turned on that it is impossible to think clearly. Cassian has always used his clever mind to come up with the most filthy dirty talk anyone has ever spoken to you, something that no one has even been able to live up against. You just had assumed that you never would hear him talk like this again.

               You manage to wrangle enough brainpower to go, “You wanted to kiss me last night too, didn’t you? That’s why you’re trying to fuck me right now.”

               Cassian moves away from your ear. For a second, you wonder if you’ve pushed things too far – hilarious, given the way he is talking to you – but the expression on his face shows otherwise. He is looking at you with pure lust, those gorgeous brown eyes of his so familiar in the way they study your face. His hair is drying slowly, forming those small curls that you’ve grabbed ahold of when he would go down on you.

               Yes, the universe knows that you broke up with Cassian. But would it be so wrong to throw that out the window for the day and fuck him?

               “You broke up with me, remember?” He repeats carefully, studying your face, “I never stopped wanting you.”

               With that declaration, you throw caution out the window, bringing your arms around his neck to pull him in to kiss you. Your lips crush against his as your fingers go to his wet hair, giving it a sharp tug. Cassian groans in your mouth, a sound so familiar that it threatens to devour your head entirely with passion. Your skin is tingling, each nerve in your body awake from a long sleep without him.

               You love the taste of him in your mouth and the way his hands press on your lower back so that you are pushed against him. You can feel his desperation, echoing past times of kissing like this. But there is something a little different in Cassian’s kisses now – an edge that speaks to the sort of life he lives now. Danger at every corner, unsure of what the next morning would bring, and how to deal with whatever happens – it shows through his kisses that now have an urgency and wild undercurrent to them.

               The two of you are stumbling towards the bedroom, the caf forgotten. Cassian pulls off your shirt and it lands somewhere in the living room. He is stiff against your thigh as he kisses you again, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth. The back of your legs strike your bed frame and you lose your footing, landing on the bed.

               Cassian doesn’t waste any time, undressing you until you’re just in a flimsy pair of underwear. His lips drag against every inch of your skin, his hands electric against your body. He bites down on one your nipples just to make you gasp.

               “You remember the one night you wore that tiny dress at the cantina and teased me for hours?” He says as he fondles your tits, his thumbs grazing your nipples.

               You did. You thought Cassian was going to bring you home and fuck the hell out of you which is not…exactly what happened.

               He keeps going, “And by the end of the night, you were the one begging for me to fuck you.”

               Cassian is pulling your underwear off now, tossing them over his shoulder and gently spreading your legs apart. You remember quite clearly how the night went and what he did –

               “What did I tell you when we got home that night?” He prompts and when you open your mouth to reply, he talks along with you, “I said I could make you cum with two licks of my tongue against your clit. And I did, didn’t I?”

               The memory makes your cheeks hot. At the time, you thought it was typical Cassian bravado. But your orgasm had been so intense that you didn’t doubt he could do such a thing again now.

               His hands are rubbing your thighs, very slowly as if there is all the time in the world now to talk to you. “I’ve improved since then so…I think I can make you cum with one lick.”

               You scoff, unable to help your bewilderment. “That’s ridiculous even for you.”

               Cassian’s grin is so fast that you may have imagined it if you didn’t know him like you do. He straightens up, keeping his hands on your knees so that you’re spread in front of him. His hair is a little messy from the way you grabbed it during all the kissing, his broad shoulders and well toned chest enough to make you want to beg for him just to skip to fucking you.

               But you know that he would never do such a thing because he derives too much pleasure in watching you squirm underneath him, too much pleasure in running his mouth off.

               “Is that so?” He asks, “Because unless you’ve changed a lot in the past few years, I know that all you need is me talking to get you to cum.”

               You don’t reply because what is there to refute? Cassian had always been able to get you off the hardest when he talked dirty, seemingly knowing every word that pressed your buttons the most and made you cum the strongest. No one else figured that out – fuck, you weren’t even aware of it yourself until dating him.

               And you’d be lying if you didn’t admit how much it was missed.

               “Your pussy is still as pretty as I remember it,” He says almost affectionally, “I wonder if it will still feel as good wrapped around my cock. I used to love when you’d sit in my lap with my cock buried in your hole, remember that?” You breath catches at the memory: the way you would rock your hips against him as his fingers would trail down across your back until neither one could wait any longer and you’d start bouncing in his lap.

               Cassian is thinking of that too judging by the way he runs one finger down along your inner thigh, watching the way you shiver. “You know what makes your pussy look even prettier?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “When it’s filled with my load, leaking my cum. And it always did, didn’t it? Because I made sure to fill up your pretty pussy every time you begged for it.”

               It’s striking you just how much you missed Cassian talking in this manner. You realize belatedly that you’d been looking for a lover to talk dirty like this in the years since the breakup but it isn’t just the words that mattered – you wanted Cassian.

               You weren’t aware that you’ve been squirming until he goes, “This is difficult for me too, sweetheart,” The pet name he always used for you in bed rolls off his tongue so smoothly that you don’t think he even notices, “Do you think it’s easy for me seeing your pussy this wet for me and I can’t bury my face in it? It punishes me as much as you.”

               He isn’t lying. Cassian is partial to eating pussy, another benefit to having dated him, and yet another thing missing from lovers that came afterwards. In fact, being with him again like this is starting to blur out all the very valid reasons the relationship didn’t work out, leaving you wondering why in the universe you thought breaking up with Cassian had been a good idea.

               “And you know there’s nothing more I love than worshiping your pretty pink hole,” Cassian goes on, his fingers moving in slow, soft circles against your thighs. “Don’t worry, I remember all the buttons to press with you. I know the way you like to be spoken to and the way you like to be fucked best – soft and slow, right? With me on top, pressing against you as I pump my cock in your tight cunt while I whisper in your ear.”

               You can hardly stand the way his tongue isn’t against your clit right now. Every inch of your body is screaming for more alongside all the memories of fucking him. Cassian’s index finger moves tantalizingly close to your clit but he stops just above. His gaze flicks upwards to look at you squirming with one hand clutching the quilt to steady yourself.

               “Did you miss me?” He suddenly asks, his fingers resuming their soft trail against your skin, away from your pussy, “Did you think of me, even for a moment, when you fucked someone else?”

               It’s unfair of him to ask such questions when your mind is in a fog and you can’t come up with something clever to say.

               “I know I probably shouldn’t admit this,” His voice hangs in the air, dangling a confession in front of you, “But I’ve thought of you. I’ve never known anyone’s body like I’ve known yours and I don’t think I will again.”

               Cassian’s grip on your thighs tighten, keeping your legs spread. His eyes look like dark clouds on the horizon, a mingle of lust and memories. Your own brain is swirling, wanting more of him, remembering how it used to feel with his cock fully inside you as he rocked his hips.

               “I don’t think I’ll ever meet someone else who has a pussy made for me,” He is lowering his face towards your cunt now, his voice even as though he is completely confident in making you cum, “Someone who is my perfect little slut.”

               The use of slut sends a shiver through your body immediately. Cassian has always used the word sparingly because it always drives the biggest reaction out of you, your body responding to the usage of the word in dirty talk before your mind can even wrap around it. He wouldn’t devalue the power it has to turn you on by overusing it and since it had been years, the impact of the word makes you gasp –

               And Cassian immediately lowers his head, his tongue flat against your swollen clit, giving one hard flick against it. The dirty talk, the use of slut and his tongue has you climaxing immediately in one loud moan. Your back arches, your pussy against Cassian’s face as you cum. Your thighs shake, your eyes closing tightly as his name tumbles from your lips.

               It would be impossible for anyone but Cassian to work you up with his words so much that he could make you finish like this. The orgasm is the strongest you’ve had in ages, perhaps since the last time you were with him. It blots out everything but Cassian and when your hips fall back onto the bed, he is looking particularly pleased with himself.

               You prop yourself up a little to look at him. Your entire body is tingling as the orgasm fades. Cassian, with his broad shoulders, tanned skin and toned chest, looks better than you can ever recall. Instead of sating your desire, the orgasm only has made you want him more.

               He smiles slowly, crawling forward, bringing his body against yours as he speaks, “Well, look at that. I guess I can make you finish with just one lick.”

               He kisses you before a reply can be uttered. You can taste yourself on his lips. His stiff cock strains against the pajama bottoms he is still wearing. You are fumbling with the top of them, trying to pull them off. He laughs against your mouth but kicks them and his boxers off swiftly.

               Languidly, Cassian brings his body back against yours. Skin to skin like this with him makes your head swim. Your heart is racing, fingertips skirting along his back, feeling the difference in his skin from the years that passed. Your fingers touch bumps and indents in the skin that weren’t there previously, a landscape of time marked on his skin.

               When his lips find yours yet again, his tongue in your mouth, his stubble grazes against your skin. You’ve detested the sensation on everyone but Cassian – he was always the exception to everything. Instinctively, you curl your legs around his waist. His cock is at your entrance now. You know how he is going to fuck you – in the slow, soft quiet way he would fuck you after an argument where his voice would once again lull you to an orgasm.

               Cassian enters you slowly, allowing you to feel each inch of his girth fill up your hole. You squeeze around his length automatically and his breath catches. When he is finally fully inside, the kiss breaks as he brings his arms underneath your back. His hands grip the sheets near your head. There is not a spot between the two of you that isn’t touching.

               Cassian leaves a trail of kisses along your jawline, stopping to tug gently on your earlobe with his teeth. He has not moved yet, remaining still inside you. You luxuriate in the sensation of having Cassian again. Your hands are resting on his broad shoulders, eyes closed with pleasure.

               Cassian moves his hips so slightly that if you hadn’t done this with him a thousand times before you wouldn’t have noticed. But the touch is like fire rolling through you – the most wonderful fire possible. You know that you’re whimpering but Cassian has always loved your small noises of pleading.

               In a soft, deep voice, Cassian begins to speak honeyed words in your ear, “You remember that week we ran off to Canto Bight? We didn’t tell anyone where we were going, just left.”

               You do remember. It was a year or so into the relationship. Hazy with love for one another, there had been no planning involved. Life kept getting in the way and you only wanted Cassian. The week was a blur of gambling, drinking and sex. The memory was something that belonged to a holo, not your own life.

               Cassian is still very slowly moving his hips. He isn’t fully thrusting, just making small movements, enough to begin to work you up. His own breathing is shaky as he tries to control himself from pounding into you.

               “I remember fucking you in front of the window of the hotel room. Twenty floors up and you didn’t care who saw you,” He goes on in a taunt voice, knowing full well that you love nothing more than being fucked like this, listening to him whisper in your ear, “You had just the necklace I bought you on, draped across your tits.”

               “I remember,” You gasp out, eyes fluttering closed at the memory.

               “When I came, it was all over your stomach so if anyone was watching they could see you covered in my cum.” Cassian moves a little faster now, fully pulling out of your cunt before lowering his hips to go all the way back in. The slow and deliberate pace is making you squirm against him but he doesn’t alter it.

               “And every morning before we left the room, I’d bend you over and fuck you in the shower,” He continues relentlessly, “I’d watch your tight hole swallow up my cock until I’d empty my balls in you. That was my favourite trip, you know.”

               You whimper, thighs clenching at the memory. It doesn’t matter how much you wiggle against him, Cassian refuses to change his speed. He knows how to make you cum better than you do.

               “Do you remember when I’d cum inside you and then you’d dip your fingers in your cunt to make sure it didn’t leak out? Your pussy always looked the best like that, covered in my load which you smeared across your fingers,” His voice catches at the very end as he goes hip to hip with you, his cock buried in your pussy.

               Your hands find his hair, tugging on it anxiously. You attempt to lift your hips upwards to try to meet his movements, a silent plea for more but Cassian brings his own hips downward. You groan at the sensation, your breathing ragged.

               “You look the prettiest when you’re fucked out from me,” He continues as if you aren’t begging. But this is how it always goes with Cassian. The fact he refuses to give you what is so desired makes the entire interaction hotter. “When you’re too fucked out to move afterwards, when all you can do is hold onto me and fall asleep,” He moves a little faster now, “Or maybe you look the prettiest when my cock is in your mouth and you’re looking up at me with your beautiful eyes. I love your lips stretched out around my cock, you drooling all over it as you suck me off.”

               “Cass,” The name comes out like a broken plea, your fingernails gliding down his back, sure to leave some light scratches, “Cass,” You whine again.

               He ignores your begging. His cock moves in and out of your cunt easily because you’re dripping wet for him. You can feel how slick your pussy is when Cassian pulls out all the way and slips back inside, his cock covered in your wetness.

               “I’ve missed hearing you plead for me,” He admits, his breathing uneven, “Let me hear you say my name again.”

               “Cass – just fuck me, I need – I gotta cum.”

               He smirks against your skin, replying, “You just came, sweetheart, you can’t wait a little bit longer?”

               You know all too well Cassian can hold off on his own orgasm just to make you wait longer for your own. But the earlier climax has only made you desperately need another, one where he is fucking you and cumming inside your pussy.

               “Cass, I can’t wait,” You know that you’re not furthering your cause but your need for him to fuck you into the mattress is too strong, “Just fuck me hard, please.”

               Maybe it is that so much time has passed since the last time you slept with him. Perhaps Cassian is just lost in the memories of your time together and he is feeling a little soft. Regardless of the reason, he begins to adjust his position, sending relief through you. Propping himself up above you, with a hand gripping the bedsheets next to each side of your head, he studies you beneath him.

               Normally, Cassian never caves. He would keep at his slow pace until you finish. But whether it’s the years or desire, for the first time he submits.

               With a jerk of his hips, he drives his cock in your cunt and then doesn’t stop. The entire time his eyes don’t leave your face, studying your ever changing expressions to figure out what speed makes you feel the best. His own breathing is growing ragged from having held back his own orgasm for so long. As he fucks you hard and fast, the bed frame rattling from the sheer force of it, your head rolls back as a long moan of his name escapes from in between your lips.

               You are cumming again, raising your hips to meet his thrusts as your pussy tightens around his girth. Cassian gasps and shivers but is still holding back, making sure that you ride out your climax. As you finish, he lowers himself down, curling around your body as he pumps his hips steadily.

               “I’m going –” His voice catches, “Fuck, take my load, sweetheart.”

               Cassian grunts, spilling out in your pussy. He always came a lot and this time is no exception. You can feel his hot load filling you up as he buries his face in your neck, breathing shakily. You love how it feels to have him finishing in your cunt again and your hands go to his ass, gripping it hard to make sure he stays inside you until he finishes completely.

               Afterwards, Cassian pulls out and rolls onto his back next to you, panting. He runs his hand through his hair, eyes closed tightly. You know that you’re leaking his cum and from the two intense orgasms you’ve had, all you can do is lay there and try to collect yourself.

               The day just started and it felt as if you could sleep it away.

               But the question of what happens now still lingers at your brain.

*

               “And that one?”

               Cassian glances down at the top of his shoulder, squinting. “Blaster bolt grazed me… I think.”

               “You think?”

               “Some of it just…blurs together,” He gives a casual shrug.

               The answer as to what happens now ended up being spending the entire day in bed, lazily switching between talking about the past few years and fucking. As evening descends, you are in Cassian’s lap in the living room after having successfully left the bedroom to eat dinner.

               Half dressed in his lap, while Cassian is once again shirtless, you are running your fingers across the various scars and marks on his chest. His own hands have wiggled under your long shirt, touching the bare skin of your lower back.

               Playfully, you point to the bandage on his side. “That one?”

               “Oh, that one? Prison breakout. Going to leave a nasty scar, that one. I don’t think the medic knew exactly how to deal with it.”

               “Hey!” You protest although you are giggling.

               Cassian smiles, his gaze softening at your expression. He brings one hand upwards to cup your cheek and your laughter dies in your throat as the questions you’ve been avoiding since first fucking him in the morning come bubbling to the surface.

               “What now?” You cannot help but ask, “You just leave once it’s safe?”

               “Come with me,” He says, “I meant what I said earlier. The rebellion needs medics.”

               “I’m not cut out for the rebellion, Cass.”

               “If I am, then you certainly are,” He pauses for a second and adds on, “It isn’t just the rebellion who needs medics. I want you back.”

               You blink in surprise at his forthcoming nature, unsure how to respond.

               He goes on in a clear tone, “I know why we broke up. I get why you ended things. But I’m not like that now. I have something I’m focused on, something that is important to me, something my energy goes into. It isn’t like before…I’m not like I was before. Give me a chance to show you that. Come with me when I leave here.”

               Your heart is beating quickly at his serious stare. “You’re asking a lot,” You finally manage to say.

               “I know. But I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important to me.”

               You know it is a risk and you have no idea how it will play out. But Cassian is correct in that he isn’t the same person he was when you first ended the relationship and this time around him showed you that deep down in your heart you still longed for him.

               On top of that, you also knew that the Imperial overreach would only grow worse. Maybe you wouldn’t be on the front lines or running around as a spy but surely your skills could still come in handy.

               “Besides, maybe if you had been around all these years, I wouldn’t be so scarred,” He jokes softly.

               “Not so sure about that one seeing as you’re going to have a fresh new scar on your side,” You point out.

               “That’s just a reminder I’d be dead if you hadn’t answered the door.”

               You feel safe and comfortable in his lap like this, your fingers idly touching his chest. He is warm and inviting in a way that he only ever showed to you. But there is a hardness underneath that Cassian always had, now honed like a weapon to be aimed at the Empire.

               Cassian is impossible to resist and impossible to forget. You already know what you’re going to say – why dance around it?

               “Alright.”

               He raises one eyebrow. “Can you be a little more specific? Alright to…the rebellion? To me?”

               “To both.”

               His shoulders sag slightly with relief and happiness flickers behind those gorgeous brown eyes of his that you’ve been enamored with since the first time he looked at you all those years ago. He leans forward, kissing you softly.

               You wrap your arms around Cassian, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. He is comforting, warm like your favourite blanket and familiar as ever even with all the changes. When his arms circle around your waist, your heart flutters.

               This is where you’re meant to be, you think, softening against him.

               The universe has an interesting way of having you circle back to the one you’ve always loved.

the end.

[weemssapphic]

Have a cute song-fic request for Larissa x fem/nb reader. Song is called Bloom by The Paper Kites. I’ll leave the context up to you. I just think of reader singing/saying something like this to Larissa 🫶🏻

Bloom

Thank you, @veeisgayasf <3 I absolutely ADORE this song, it is so soft and lovely and makes my heart feel full. This is more inspired by how I feel listening to the song, I hope it lives up to your expectations nonetheless!

Larissa Weems x fem/gn!reader (no mention of pronouns)

words: ~850

warnings: none I think? pure fluff

In the morning when I wake And the sun is coming through Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness And you fill my head with you

Soft rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains covering the windows next to your bed, drenching your sheets in a golden halo.

Your fingers curled languidly in luxurious sheets as you pressed into the warmth of the body next to you, staving off the faint chill of the morning air outside the bed. 

It was still early, the clock on the bedside table gave away the time: 6:30am. The rest of the world was still asleep, the only sounds were the low whistle of the wind in the trees outside, the rustle of the leaves, a far away chirping of birds. Your world, however, was resting in your arms, chest rising and falling in a deep, steady rhythm. 

Shall I write it in a letter? Shall I try to get it down? Oh, you fill my head with pieces Of a song I can't get out

Long, silver curls draped over Larissa’s bare shoulder and you reached out, fingertips dancing over her lightly freckled skin as you brushed a lock of hair off her arm. She shifted in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, turning her face towards you, and your breath caught in your lungs. Blonde eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and you thought she looked like an angel in that moment, ethereal and peaceful. 

Larissa had taken your breath away from the moment you’d first met her. In her role as principal she was a force to be reckoned with, a storm of a woman; in charge, demanding of respect, firm, but diplomatic. But you got to see another side of her: soft, gentle, even silly. Without makeup she was even more impossibly stunning, pale skin glittering in the soft rays of dawn, lips twitching lightly as she dreamed.

Can I take you to a moment Where the fields are painted gold And the trees are filled with memories Of the feelings never told?

A memory of the previous day danced around inside your skull. You and Larissa had driven from the Academy out to a little grove in the forest. You’d insisted on surprising her, laughing wholeheartedly at the weary gaze she’d given the blindfold you’d insisted she wear once you’d parked the car at the roadside by the forest edge.

With the help of a friend you’d set out a whole picnic for the two of you: a massive white blanket, covered in cushions and fluffy blankets for comfort. All of Larissa’s favorite foods, spread out on wooden boards, with golden cutlery and fancy wine glasses for Larissa’s favorite bottle of red.

You wanted to engrave the memory of Larissa’s smile when you’d slipped off the blindfold in your memory forever, wanted to savor the sound of the gleeful laughter that bubbled out of her chest as she plopped down on the pillows with an almost childlike sense of glee. This was the Larissa that no one else got to see, your Larissa.

You had taken turns reading to each other from To the Lighthouse, sipping wine until the evening had pulled the sun down and the light had faded too much to make out any words on the page. Larissa’s head rested on your thighs and you traced lazy patterns on her arms with your fingertips, not wanting the moment to draw to a close.

When the evening pulls the sun down And the day is almost through Oh, the whole world it is sleeping But my world is you

You placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth, relishing in her deep exhale and the way that Larissa nuzzled ever closer to you underneath the sheets. Her arm grazed over your hip bone. You nuzzled your nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in, allowing her scent to engulf you. Cinnamon. Amber. Red wine from the previous night’s activities. 

Larissa opened one eye and peered down at you, watching the blush that formed furiously on your cheeks at having been caught staring. You were caught in her gaze, mesmerized by the adoration you saw swimming in her cerulean eyes. 

“Can I be close to you?” you breathed. Larissa’s affirming hum vibrated through her chest, tickling your cheek as it rested against her. Her arm came around your shoulder and pulled you on top of her, shifting her hips and threading your legs together. 

You planted a kiss on the column of her throat, receiving a kiss on your forehead in return and feeling the corners of Larissa’s lips turn up in a smile against your skin. Her arms tightened around your midsection, pulling you into her and you felt her breathing begin to even out again. In that moment you knew, as if you hadn’t known it already in a hundred moments before: she was your entire heart.

Can I be close to you? Ooh, ooh

[ransprang]

thank you @tolkien-fantasy we hope you like your match ups <3

if anyone else wants a personalized fic this is our ko-fi

your lotr match up is....

ARAGORN!!!

SFW

How you met: In the tranquil corners of Rivendell, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, found himself drawn to the sanctuary of books and knowledge. It was a day much like any other, with the soft hues of dawn painting the sky as Aragorn ventured into the library, seeking solace in the written word. Amidst the towering shelves and hushed whispers of parchment, his eyes fell upon a figure, small in stature yet radiating an aura of boundless energy. You were friendly to him when you saw him, surprised to see someone at the library at this hour and happily helped him find whatever book he was looking for. Your chipper personality cheered him up and he found himself drawn to the library more often. He preferred to come when there were fewer people around which gave you both a chance talk in peace. He began to open up to you more eased by your wise and mature personality, and eventually fell in love.

Aragorn is to be a king, so your wisdom and intelligence would be indispensable to him in his ruling years. Your ability to think quickly and offer practical solutions to complex problems proves invaluable as he navigates the challenges of governance.

Aragorn isn’t the type to give you extravagant gifts even once he becomes king. Instead he tries to find you small, sentimental pieces which remind him of you, like delicate necklaces with meaningful words inscribed upon them.

Your wisdom and cheerful personality would be a guiding light in Aragorn's darkest moments, reminding him to find joy in the simple pleasures of life and offering him respite from the weight of his responsibilities. If he ever saw you were upset he would try to return the favour and cheer you up.

Together, you and Aragorn create cherished traditions that strengthen your bond, such as sharing quiet moments in the garden at dawn, or exchanging heartfelt letters whenever duty keeps you apart.

Aragorn is a selfless man. He would often puts the needs of others before his own, sacrificing personal comfort and safety for you or the greater good in a heartbeat.

Aragorn likes going on adventures. He rarely every sits stills and would take you to different countries or cities. You would become a very well travelled person after a few years of dating him.

Aragorn would struggle with the idea of you dying before him, since his extended lifespan would mean he would have to spend his twilight years alone, living only with your memory. Your work as a death doula would equip you with the skills necessary to prepare him to deal with your loss.

When your hair isn’t covered, you catch Aragorn staring at you often, admiring your beauty. He is dazed by the way the sunlight dances off your auburn hair and the rakes his fingers gently through your waves before giving you a kiss.

Learning that you are a witch doesn’t freak him out at all. Instead it piques his curiosity. He’ll take the opportunity to learn about witchcraft from you and ask you many questions. When he’s out and about if he recognizes any materials that you use for witchcraft he’ll bring them back as little gifts.

N/SFW

All heavy makeout sessions first start with sweet, innocent kisses on your face. The kisses start moving south with Aragorn’s hands exploring your body as if he’s never touched you.

Aragorn keeps sex positions tame as he doesn’t want to overexert your body. He’ll always try to make sure you are comfortable and of course you both have a safe word to make sure you can tap out or take a break. He’s always very sweet about it, giving you a worried look.

He’s the king of aftercare. After you both cum he rolls over and strokes your auburn hair looking at your flushed face. Aragorn gives you kisses on your forehead and the back of your hand like a gentleman with a smile, happy to be able to share intimate moments with each other.

Aragorn enjoys making love to you on the soft grass, surrounded by flowers under the open sky. As he kisses your skin and you tangle your fingers in his hair, he slowly thrusts his penis deep inside. You two become one with your surroundings and a part of nature.

Aragorn eats you out, gently and picks up the speed as you pant faster. He grips your thighs, as he feels your skin against his finger tips and your soft folds on his tongue.

He likes to give you deep kisses, as he touches you all the way down, before playing with your clit and eventually inserting his fingers in, while still using his thumb to rub your sensitive bean.

Aragorn would carry you with your legs wrapped around his body, straddling him. He would thrust his cock deep inside while carrying you and fucking you around the house like this, knocking small items over in a moment of passion.

He would whisper reassurances in between grunts. “My darling, you are doing great.” he would say as he slowly increases the pace of his thrusting.

He would tangle his fingers through your hair and look deep within your eyes as you both breathe in rhythm with your heart, observing every breath you take. Aragorn pays close attention to you during intercourse, always looking out for signs of discomfort, or pleasure

Aragorn would kiss your neck softly, leaving you feeling almost ticklish. He smiles with joy watching you giggle beneath his touch, as he would continue kissing your flushed cheeks and cuddling you in his arms.

your books,

admins sar, san & sav

[levshany]

Any way to read your fic in English, please?

I'm afraid the author doesn't translate this fanfic in english

you can read it only with a browser translator, but it's gonna be inaccurate... I can only retell its plot if you want me to:

"In the Light of Dawn" is a fanfic where instead of killing Belos, the heroes seal him in the Titan's skull, putting him to sleep with a spell pentagram. And everything would be fine, but after ten years, Luz and her friends have to wake up Belos, because the human world and the demon world are in danger of merging together, and the heroes turned to Belos for help as a last option. But here a problem arises: since Belos has been sleeping for a long time, dreams and reality are mixed up in his head now, and he doesn't quite understand what's going on around him. He thinks that the demon realm is hell, a nightmare from which he needs to escape, and his dreams, where he's small and lives with Caleb in an idyll, is reality.

Heroes come to the dungeon every day and try to negotiate with Belos, but they fail, because he doesn't take what's happening seriously and is stubborn. The more time passes, the more Belos forgets, and if earlier he at least remembered the names of his enemies and fragments of memories, then later the situation worsens. And now Belos was finally convinced that everything that happened to him is a dream. And there's a very beautiful scene there: is one of Belos' dreams, he watches from the porch of his house how the forest of his memories burns, and Caleb takes out just few surviving paintings from there and hides them in the basement.

The stubbornness of Belos comes to the point that the heroes arrange torture for Belos to agree to help, and pour water over him for three days, preventing him from sleeping. Along the way Belos is tormented by bouts of a curse that breaks his bones and tears him apart. The heroes curb his curse by force-feeding Belos with polystrom sticks. They give him just enough to keep him from turning into a monster, but not enough to stop the hunger and pain. (This episode is described in sufficient detail and is emotionally difficult to read. but it's still one of my favorites). One way or another, the torture doesn't bring any results - Belos didn't give up.

Some time passes until Belos completely forgets everything that happened to him on the Boiling Isles. And only then does Luz manage to make a deal with him simply because Belos doesn’t remember anything and says things that he himself doesn’t understand the meaning of.

In general terms, that's all for now. The fanfic is still being written

[starlight-and-whiskey]

More People Than Ghosts: Ch2 - Hard Road

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

First OFC fic in a long time. Also posted on AO3. 18+ from here on out. TW for abuse, SA and PTSD.

Here's part two. I hope you enjoy. Please like/comment/reblog and feed my dwindling passion!

Prompts open should anyone find my brain ramblings satisfactory.

The first tendrils of dawn stretched across the camp, the sky painted as if in watercolour. All muted pink and burnt orange, burning away the last remnants of stars. Arthur had been away almost a week, and it had felt like the longest week of his life. The reason for which he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Or he wasn’t sure he wanted to. A week since he had found Miss Moore staggering, bruised and bloodied, in the dense copse of trees.

Uneasy thoughts of her had plagued him whilst he’d been away, forever present in the depths of his mind. Often, he’d be lying on his bedroll, thoughts swirling about what she must have been through. The mere thought of it made him angry enough to keep away sleep.

Arthur sat perched on the log by the dying fire, attempting to busy his restless fingers by sketching in his journal as he nursed a tin cup of coffee. The early hour was a friend to him – a few stolen moments of peace before the rest of the camp roused. He’d been working on this one on and off for a few days, attempting to capture Eleanor’s terrified gaze from memory alone. Somehow it never seemed quite right.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Eleanor, paused meekly a few feet away. “Oh, sorry”, she mumbled, hand scrubbing sheepishly at the back of her neck. “Noone’s normally about at this time.”

"It’s okay. Been away a few days”, Arthur mustered a smile, stealing away his journal into his satchel and waving her over. “You're up early."

Eleanor paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Don't sleep much anymore," she admitted quietly.

Arthur nodded in understanding, his gaze meeting hers with a solemn reassurance. "It'll get easier," he offered gently. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Were you drawing?” Arthur felt a flicker of embarrassment in his gut. “Ah, ain’t nothing. Just keeps my hands busy.”

Quickly changing the subject, Arthur offered her a place by the fire, handing her his cup of coffee as she hesitantly settled beside him. She took a grateful sip, the warmth spreading like embers through her chest and into her bones.

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan”, she said gratefully, her fingers curling around the warm mug as she looked at him with a hidden hint of admiration.

"Arthur," he corrected with a faint smile. "Just Arthur."

She nodded, a hint of colour touching her cheeks as she corrected herself, smiling softly as the name formed on her lips. "Arthur."

"You look better.”

She did. Her skin no longer sallow, colour blossoming on her cheeks and her eyes more vibrant. Her hair, once matted with twigs and leaves and blood was now pinned up, rogue curls escaping to frame her soft features. With her now healing cuts and bruises hidden by skirts and her shirt sleeves, she almost looked radiant. As though life had been breathed into her.

Eleanor chuckled softly, a nervous habit she couldn't shake. "Couldn't look much worse," she replied, fiddling with her fingers.

"The girls looking after you okay?"

"They've been very sweet. You all have," she replied, her gaze nervously dropping to the tin cup in her hands before handing it back. "Anyway, I should get on. I don't want to bother you, none."

Arthur chuckled softly, taking a sip of his coffee and shaking his head. "You ain't bothering me," he reassured her, his voice low and steady.

He reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and deftly plucked one the carton with his teeth before offering her the pack. After hesitating for a moment, Eleanor drew one, leaning forward for Arthur to light it.

Arthur felt his lips curl as he watched her take a long drag, eyes closed as she pushed out wispy plumes of smoke, her features relaxing.

"You hunt?" Arthur inquired casually, his eyes flickering with interest as he studied her reaction.

She shook her head, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her features. "Miss Jones - Karen - offered to teach me.”

For some reason, the remark made Arthur laugh. Eleanor's heart lilted as she drank in the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, that flash of white teeth. There'd been no laughter while she'd been captive. Not without the heavy tinge of malice hidden within. Arthur's laugh was different. Genuine. Comforting.

"Oh, Karen can hustle with the best of 'em. But she ain't no hunter," Arthur chuckled, his laughter rumbling deep in his chest. "I could take you out of you'd like? Teach you. Gonna need to know how to survive."

Eleanor hesitated, picking nervously at her fingertips. "Oh... I don't... I don't know if I can go out of camp."

Arthur's smile had faded, replaced by a solemn expression. "You afraid?", he asked quietly around the cigarette dangling from his lips.

He could read the unspoken fears on her face as easily as reading a book. The way her fingers trembled as she brought the cigarette to her lips, taking an unsteady drag, eyes fixed on the dirt. What if she was seen? What if they found her again - dragged her back and locked her away?

Her voice was meek when she finally answered, barely a whisper. "I don't want to be."

Arthur regarded her quietly for a moment, weighing his words carefully. "It's alright to be scared," he said finally, his voice gentle yet firm. "But you gotta leave camp sometime. Can't stay cooped up here forever."

"I know. I just..." she trailed off, puffing out a long, shaky breath, taking another hasty drag to busy her fingers.

"How bout this? You just give me a holler when you're ready."

 She met his gaze, uncertainty flickering in her eyes before a tentative resolve settled over her features, a small hint of a smile. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

Arthur nodded approvingly, a small smile touching his lips. As they both sat there in relatively comfortable silence, camp began to awake around them, all bleary eyed and mussed hair. A groan as Hosea stretched his back. The chink of coffee mugs.

"Thanks, Mr Morgan. Arthur", Eleanor corrected as she stood, offering a small smile over her shoulder as she turned to leave. "For the cigarette."

Arthur nodded in acknowledgment, finding his gaze following her as she walked away, the morning sun casting a halo of light around her figure.

"Sure," he replied quietly to himself, the smoke from his cigarette trailing lazily into the sky.

[nirikeehan]

Word Search Tag Game!

I got tagged by @theluckywizard to find five words in my fics and share a snippet from each.

Gasp: from A Fool's Errand, about Thalia and Cullen's failed attempt at getting busy on his desk lmfao

“Right. Um. Hang on.” He rolled to the left, exposing the seam at his side where the two plates of metal fastened with a comically high number of leather straps. Thalia gasped as his weight shifted, pinning her even harder against the desk. The hard mahogany wood dug painfully into her lower back. “Can you reach that?”  “Sure,” Thalia lied, trying not to wince. She wriggled beneath him, struggling to free an additional arm. “Could you stop leaning on my shoulder, please?” 

Blood: from Two Songs; Truth, Sadness, Sacrifice, about a night on the town in Kirkwall gone wrong for Cullen and Samson (featuring THE BOOT KNIFE)

Cullen slammed into him, knocking the boy’s cap off. A second later, he had Quno by the hair, standing behind him with the dagger to his neck. Quno let out a truncated squeal that Cullen silenced by pressing the blade closer to his scrawny throat.  “You’ll consider Samson’s debt paid,” Cullen rasped, “or else—” “Fucking—” Quno held up his arm, another ball of magic swirling in his hand, but Cullen concentrated on the lyrium in his blood and summoned a dispelling force. The spell went out with a hiss, like a torch dropped in a bucket of water.  Only then did Quno understand. Cullen felt the boy’s body tense with terror. “You— you’re a fucking Templar?” 

Gently: from It's Never Sunny in Barovia, my unhinged Curse of Strahd crossover WIP that no one asked for, featuring Metrion from Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten which everyone should listen to so I'm not flying this blorbo flag alone

Thalia tries to protest, but he cuts her off. “No, no, maybe you’re right, a little bit. Or a lot. I dunno. Fuck. I never wanted to be in this place. It’ll wear you down, break you, faster’n you can run. We been told the devil knows our every move, that it’s all a game to him. That we’ll stay alive as long as we keep things interesting. But I dunno if painting your face would make much of a difference in the long run, if he’s got an eye on ya.”  Metrion sounds mournful, apologetic, as if trying to break bad news as gently as he can. Thalia reaches out, with a pang of sympathy, and touches his elbow through his long overcoat. He freezes, dares to meet her gaze only briefly before averting it again.  “Strahd must have a weakness,” Thalia says. “Everyone does.” How can she explain to him that she once stood down a man who would be god? What’s one more vampiric tyrant, in the face of someone like Corypheus? 

Sky: from Chapter 1 of Through a Glass, Darkly:

The sky hung low like a threat. It pulsated emerald green, punctuated by swirling dark clouds and detritus. His mouth tasted of ashes. The courtyard was choked with dead grass and fallen rock. Cullen blinked at it dumbly. His eyes hurt, even in the dim light. The near-total darkness of his cell had been all he’d known for weeks beyond count. 

Sharp: from the in-progress next chapter of Through a Glass, Darkly:

Some time later, Thalia returned to her tent, a bitter aftertaste lingering in her mouth. She felt a bit off-kilter, but relieved. Blackwall sat where she’d left him, his whetstone sliding along the edge of his blade in long, slow strokes. His eyes were on the fire.  Irritation stirred in Thalia’s chest. “That must be the sharpest sword known to man by now.”  His eyes snapped to her; his hand paused. Thalia felt a strange pang to behold him like this. Terrible memories churned in her mind: Blackwall’s sudden disappearance, his impassioned speech on the gallows in Val Royeaux, the way he’d looked at her through the bars of his cell. This is why I told you we couldn’t be together, he said, with perfect loathing, while her heart rent in two.

Tagging it forward to:

@bluewren | @monocytogenes | @inquisimer | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @demarogue | @kiastirling-fanfic | anyone who wants to play!

Words for you to find: broken, tooth, stroll, civilization, satisfied.

[blarrghe]

first lines

it's saturday and I'm still drinking my coffee before I work on homework and I am Not Allowed To Do Hobbies until I finish this paper but I am going to microdose on writing by filling out this meme. tagged by @cleverblackcat and @fandomn00blr to post the first line of my ten most recent fics. Picked a line or few depending on *~vibes~*

taggin' friends! @transfenris-truther @melisusthewee @rosella-writes @sulky-valkyrie @n7viper @aymayzing have funn

A Complicated Match: Dorian was a man besieged by emails.

Strange Feelings in the Party Camp He's in her tent again. Zevran, the assassin.

Go, Da'len, Run! He wakes choking on smoke. His eyes don't adjust to the dark, the air is thick and hot. Bleary and tired he rolls from his bed and sucks in a breath, it comes out again as a cough. Others are coughing too. He can hear the miserable sounds coming from the next room, and the taste of ash settles over his tongue.

Can You Really Blame Me? “You could have told me sooner, Varric.” Hawke swings her legs over the edge of the bed, a rich red housecoat falling silky behind her as she rises and swishes it around her body in a quick sashe.

Snowy Satinalia Snow was falling in large, fluffy flakes, adding to the white of Deshanna’s yard that glittered in the glow of dangling white holiday lights across the edge of the old house’s pointed roof. Smoke rose from the chimney, and even from halfway up the long driveway Taren could smell the familiar scent of woodsmoke on the crisp air.

All Hail West Thedas Big. That was the word that kept coming to mind. The only word for things out here.

Matchsies "No," Taren shook his head, resolute. "Oh come on, it's true," Sera whined in protest, her fast fingers continuing to tap away at his phone screen, making no moves to amend any of her latest additions to the profile she'd been embellishing with exaggerated details of his skills and hobbies. "You are not putting 'exceptionally skilled with hands’ under talents."

Prompt Fill - "I Want To Wake Up To You Every Morning" “Well now, what’s this?” Dorian circled the Inquisitor’s chambers with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile. He strode towards the bed which had been recently brought into the centre of the room and took in the pillows, the new and silky sheets draping over the mattress, and the mattress itself, wide and thick and well-risen off the ground by a sturdy, canopied bedframe carved of wood and tipped with pretty filigree of gold. Behind him, the Inquisitor shrugged. “New bed,” he said. 

Prompt Fill - "After an Argument" Taren wouldn't be able to sleep now, so he didn't.

Unpublished enemies to lovers thing I'll get to eventually The dawn rose misty. Soft brushes of pale white cloud hung low in the air, painting the forest floor in a glittery dew. Rays of watery yellow echoed through the slats between trees in a faded memory of sunlight. It was quiet.

[nanaosaki3940]

Memories Of Midnight Skies [Tokyo Revengers]

(Almost follows the canon storyline of TR & is up-to-date with the manga.) 

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Angst.

Pairings: Keisuke Baji X OC.

Status: On-going.

Note: A small snippet from my original TR fanfic "Scarlet Promises In Tokyo [Tokyo Revengers]". I know this is an xOC fic but you can read it as self-insert if you want. Also "Scarlet Promises In Tokyo [Tokyo Revengers]" is the Bonten Timeline Arc side story of my main TR fanfic named "A Condition Called Love [Tokyo Revengers]"

TR masterlist

I’m waiting for you, throwing pennies, making wishes. I’m wishing only for you, always for you. Come back to me. I'll fight for you, I’ll fight for us. Wish for me too and I’ll make it come true. I love you forever and longer. 

~ Keisuke Baji. 

~~~~~

To Keisuke Baji, in the realm of beauty, where contrasts meet in harmonious convergence, Nana Osaki always stood as a masterpiece woven from the threads of both ethereal beauty and indomitable spirit. Her form mirrored the grace of a proud willow tree that carried the refinement of a dancer's line combined with the grace of a warrior, swaying in harmony with the wind yet resilient in its stance against the world. Her frame, tall, slender, and lithe, was akin to a sculpture carved by the hands of ancient deities or the brushstrokes of a master artist, an embodiment of elegance and poise that spoke of strength that knew no bounds where every inch of her figure spoke of delicacy, grace, and quiet resilience, creating a tapestry of captivating contrasts, commanding attention without ever needing to demand it while drawing the eye as if it were captivated by a masterpiece. 

Her eyes, reminiscent of twilight's embrace and ancient amber, held the soft glow of brownish amber hue with a hint of shimmering gold, like the first rays of sunrise kissing the horizon, capturing the essence of forgotten stories within their depths. They were windows to a world steeped in wisdom, kindness, and understanding, their depths holding the stories of countless souls and the compassion that fueled her every action, inviting those who would look into them to wander into the vast expanse of her soul; eyes that held secrets and stories that shimmered in their warm, brownish gaze. A golden aura enveloped her gaze, a silent whisper of her inner fire and a reflection of the light she carried within. Those eyes, like pools of liquid sunlight, possessed the power to unravel the mysteries of the human heart with a single glance. Her gaze was an open book of empathy and understanding, drawing others in with an allure that was both enchanting and comforting.

Flowing from her crown like midnight rivers, a cascade of jet-black silk framed her countenance in an aura of paradox and temptation, a testament to the night's embrace and the juxtaposition of strength and vulnerability that resided within her. Her hair, smooth and lustrous as moonlight on water, fell like a silken waterfall, draping her shoulders with an air of mystique as if the starlit heavens themselves had woven into her hair, each strand whispering tales of moonlit adventures and dreams woven in the night. It was a river of mystery that danced with every movement, shimmering with an alluring charm. The touch of her hair was like a kiss of silk against the skin, a tactile embodiment of the elegance that graced her every gesture. Her hair was not just a mere accessory but an extension of her essence, a testament to her resilience and the smooth, confident stroke with which she painted her life. It was as if the night sky itself had intertwined with her strands, forming an intricate tapestry that captured both the enigma of the cosmos and the radiant allure of a starlit night.

Her skin, kissed by the sun's gentle touch, bore the warm hue of ivory, a radiance reminiscent of the first blush of dawn and the moonlight softly dancing on a tranquil lake. It was a canvas that portrayed not only the beauty of her exterior but also the tenderness and warmth that resided within her heart, reciting a story of endurance and grace. Her complexion, unblemished and pure, seemed to carry the touch of a thousand whispered blessings, forming a canvas upon which the brilliance of her character shined through. It was as if her skin absorbed the glow of the world around her, emitting an aura of warmth that enveloped those fortunate enough to be near. And those enviably long eyelashes that framed her eyes were like the fringes of curtains that unveiled a grand performance, hinting at the secrets hidden beneath. Just like a delicate porcelain doll, untouched by the hands of time, her complexion was unmarred, evidence of the purity of her spirit and her unwavering commitment to self-care.

Nana’s features, a harmonious blend of softness and sharpness, were an intriguing dance of contradictions. Like a rose with thorns, she exuded both innocence and allure, her visage possessing an almost ethereal quality, capturing the essence of a fleeting dream and the reality of an enigmatic enchanter. The delicate arch of her eyebrows and the gentle curve of her lips reflected a balance between vulnerability and power. With the charm of a siren and the sweetness of a spring breeze, she could cast a spell that entranced all who encountered her. Her hands, with their slender fingers and naturally pink-colored nails, were akin to the petals of a fragile rose—delicate and beautiful yet capable of withstanding storms. Her hands, an extension of her heart's endeavors, were an embodiment of the care and dedication she poured into everything she touched.

Although her beauty was not confined to the physical; it emanated from the depths of her being, a reflection of her multifaceted and luminous personality which was like a rare gem. She was a gentle wind that carried encouragement and support, a fierce blaze of determination and boldness that lit up the darkest paths, and an unyielding force of nature that refused to be swayed from her principles. Her heart, a wellspring of empathy, flowed with the compassion of a nurturing river, a source of strength for those who sought solace.

Nana was a paradox—gentle, yet fiercely determined; nurturing, yet unyielding in her convictions. She navigated life's labyrinth with the tenacity of a warrior, her heart brimming with empathy for those she held dear. Her courage was like the fire of a phoenix, always ready to rise from the ashes. In her presence, the air was charged with determination, like the first rays of dawn breaking through a stormy sky. She was like the unwavering lighthouse, guiding ships through treacherous waters with the steadfastness of her character.

She was a radiant constellation in the night sky, each facet of her personality shined with its own brilliance, an embodiment of strength, beauty, and unyielding resilience. Her personality was an intricate dance of contrasts, like the delicate balance between light and shadow, a symphony of emotions, each note blending seamlessly to create a unique melody. She was a beacon of maturity and wisdom, her insight into the human heart was akin to a jeweler's precision in revealing the facets of each soul. 

Like a diamond, she shined with brilliance and authenticity, possessing the strength to hold her own ground and guide others along their journeys. Much like a star, she emanated an energy that inspired and uplifted, propelling others to reach for their aspirations. Her wisdom was a wellspring that flowed deep within, carrying the echoes of generations before her. It was as if she held an ancient tome of knowledge, deciphering the human heart with an innate understanding that belied her years. And though she possessed the wisdom of ages which was akin to the hushed whispers of ancient trees, her spirit remained youthful, a reminder that beauty was not merely skin deep but a reflection of the soul's radiant light.

Nana's essence was like the harmonious notes of a heartfelt melody, rising and falling with the rhythm of life. She was a living testament to the duality of existence—a perfect balance of fragility and fortitude, a rare jewel glistening under the sun. Like a beacon of inspiration, Nana immersed herself in every endeavor, her dedication a catalyst for those around her to strive for their best. Her kindness flowed like a river, nurturing connections with the tenderness of a gentle stream, while her fierceness commanded respect, like the roaring waves that shaped the shoreline. Her compassion, vast and boundless, was like a field of wildflowers, offering solace and understanding to all who crossed her path.

In the grand tapestry of existence, Nana Osaki stood as a work of art woven with the threads of compassion, empathy, unwavering love, strength, and integrity. A canvas where contrasts meet in elegant harmony, she embodied the true essence of beauty—both in appearance and in soul.

Meanwhile, in the eyes of Nana Osaki, where every thread weaved a unique story, Keisuke Baji always stood as a bold brushstroke of vibrant color and intensity — a tempestuous soul adorned with the hues of adventure, charm, and charisma. His presence was like a tempest that stirred the calm, a whirlwind of wild energy that danced on the edge of recklessness, a kaleidoscope of qualities that enthralled and captivated those who crossed his path. Baji, a force of nature in human form that defied the mundane, held within him the essence of a thunderstorm — the thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins like lightning seeking its target. His physical form always exuded an aura that beckoned attention. Tall and commanding, he stood as a sentinel of the extraordinary, his presence a magnet for those drawn to the allure of the untamed.

With a charismatic flair that rivaled the sun's brilliance, Baji managed to rise above the ordinary like a shooting star streaking across the night sky. His every step carried a magnetic charm, drawing those around him into the gravitational pull of his presence. Charisma was his birthright, and his aura was a testament to the art of capturing attention without uttering a word.

Unpredictability always danced in his eyes, bronzed orbs that reflected the fire of adventure burning deep within. They held a thousand tales, each flicker of emotion painting the canvas of his soul with shades of fervor and fervency. His eyes were windows to the thrill-seeker's soul, offering a glimpse into the whirlwind of passion that propelled him forward.

A smirk, a perpetual companion etched upon his lips, hinted at the eternal spring of confidence that resided within him, a mark of his carefree defiance against life's trials, a daring grin that challenged the very fabric of fate itself, inviting anyone in its presence to join him on his audacious adventures. In the face of adversity, he stood unyielding, an embodiment of cocky assurance that dared fate itself to challenge him. It was this unwavering self-assurance that drew admirers like moths to a flame, a siren's call that beckoned them to join in the dance of life's uncertain tides.

A 90s rock star personified, Baji’s appearance was a canvas painted with a mix of edge and elegance which carried the echoes of that era's rebellious spirit. His appearance was a symphony of artistic contrasts where his features were both a puzzle and a masterpiece, a blend of ruggedness and allure that was impossible to ignore. His tall muscular frame carried an air of both strength and grace like an unyielding pillar. His long, slightly wavy jet-black hair, cascading like a waterfall down his shoulders, was a testament to his untamed spirit, carrying the weight of tales yet untold that whispered of midnight escapades and secrets shared under moonlit skies. Those locks of his were reminiscent of midnight tendrils that swayed with each step he took, echoing the rhythm of his heart; a heart that beat in sync with the thrill of life's wild dance. And within the depths of his bronze-colored eyes that looked like molten copper illuminated by a hidden fire held a fiery glint mirroring his spirit's undying flame, one would find the reflection of a spirit that sought thrill in the face of challenge. Those eyes held the promise of excitement and unpredictability. And when he grinned, those two sharp canine teeth emerged like twin sentinels guarding his enigmatic smirk, lending him the air of a wolf, a symbol of his untamed spirit. His signature smirk could make the universe pause its movements to admire its own creation; the personification of a confident defiance that refused to bow before adversity.

His countenance spoke of the thrilling escapades that color his existence, each line and curve etched by the stories he had woven into his being. Yet, within those depths, one could glimpse a sea of complexities, emotions that surged like waves against the shores of his confident exterior.

But it was not just his appearance that set Baji apart; it was the symphony of his personality, a whirlwind of contradictions, a dance of fire and ice that captivated all who came in contact with him. With a confidence that defied the very fabric of doubt, he would stride through challenges with the audacity of a warrior and the grace of a troubadour. His charm was like a magnetic force and his charismatic allure was like the siren's call, impossible to resist, drawing all those who dared to come close into his orbit while igniting a spark of inspiration in their souls. He was the embodiment of adventure, an explorer of the unknown, leaving a trail of memories in his wake like stars in the night sky. With a penchant for embracing risk, he laughed in the face of danger, finding solace in the midst of chaos. His unpredictability kept the world on its toes, a constant reminder that life was meant to be lived on the edge.

And beneath the tempestuous exterior, the bravado and the audacity, lay a heart of gold, beating in tune with the rhythm of loyalty and affection. His love was fierce, his care boundless, his loyalty unbreakable. Sacrifice was his language of devotion, a testament to the lengths he would go to shield his loved ones from harm's way. He was a guardian of camaraderie, a protector of friendships who would wield his loyalty as both shield and sword and a sentinel against the shadows that sought to cast a pall over their lives. His emotions were a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of his soul, powerful and deep, unapologetically expressive in their fervor, and a witness to the depth of his connection to others while his affection was a tempestuous force, capable of both gentle caresses and fierce embraces, reflecting his devotion to those he held dear.

In the arena of conflict, Baji's presence was a harmony of strategy and action. A wolfish grin, as if borrowed from the very creatures that hunted in packs, lent an air of primal ferocity to his every move. He was a warrior with an instinctual understanding of combat, a readiness to defend and protect etched into the very set of his shoulders. In the midst of chaos, Baji's intellect shined like a beacon of light. Among his peers, he stood as a luminous star, his mind a vast canvas painted with insights and brilliance, and his intelligence manifested in his astute understanding of human nature and the world around him. Beneath the veneer of recklessness, his heart pulsated with a fierce compassion that fueled his actions and compelled him to stand against injustice. He despised deceit, for his own spirit was a vessel of authenticity. His actions were an unspoken anthem of his devotion to those he loved, each step a testimony to his unwavering resolve.

In a world where contradictions harmonize, Keisuke Baji stood as an artwork that defied definition; a canvas splashed with audacious strokes of courage, loyalty, and charm. He was the mosaic of confidence, charisma, and wild spirit; the living monument to the beauty of individuality; the embodiment of the free-spirited rebels who dared to embrace life's twists and turns with open arms. He was the rock star of his own journey, a walking symphony of adventure, loyalty, and the indomitable spirit that echoed rock anthems and refused to be contained by the mundane, leaving an indelible mark upon the hearts of those lucky enough to know him.

On one fine day, the school corridors buzzed with the energy of students rushing to their classes, their voices creating a symphony of chatter, but for Nana and Baji, the world seemed to slow down, their shared laughter and banter creating a bubble of warmth and harmonious melody around them.

“You know, Kei, for someone who loves thrills and adventure, you seem awfully calm right now…” Nana teased him with a smirk as they walked through the corridor.

“Well, Nana, not everything can be a heart-pounding adrenaline rush. Sometimes, a quiet walk down the hallway is exactly what I need...” Baji stated, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh please, I'm surprised you're not scaling that tree over there just for fun…” Nana playfully scoffed as she pointed at a random tree outside the school building through the windows of the large corridor.

In response, Baji grinned, his signature smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe I'm saving that for next time. Wouldn't want to outshine you too much, Nana…” Baji muttered, leaning closer.

Nana's eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and challenge. 

“Outshine me? Oh Keisuke, you forget I can handle my own. Maybe I should climb that tree and show you how it's done…” Nana countered back, tilting her head to the side.

Baji's laughter danced in the air, a melody that Nana found inexplicably heartwarming.

“Seriously, you never cease to surprise me. But be careful up there, I might have to come to the rescue if you get stuck…” Baji stated, his voice softening.

Nana's cheeks warmed at the implication behind his words, the line between playful teasing and something more becoming increasingly blurred.

“I'll have you know that I'm a master tree climber. You're the one who might need the rescuing…” Nana feigned indignation. 

“You know, Nana, I still remember the time you tried to climb that tree and got stuck halfway up…” Baji grinned mischievously.

“You're never going to let that go, are you? I was just a kid!” Nana sighed, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Hey, don't underestimate the legendary Tree-Climbing Incident. It's part of our history now.” Baji chuckled out loud.

“Well, if I remember correctly, it was you who challenged me to climb it in the first place, you dumbass.” Nana pouted.

“Oh, was it? My memory might be a bit hazy.” Baji smirked again, feigning innocence.

“Hazy, my foot! You practically dared me, and I couldn't resist proving you wrong!” Nana chuckled in response.

“Admit it, though. You liked the thrill…” Baji stated, leaning in, his voice a playful whisper.

“Maybe I did. But unlike someone I know, I have a sense of self-preservation…” Nana responded back, matching his tone.

“Come on, Nana, where's your sense of adventure? Life's too short to play it safe all the time!” Baji grinned.

“Hm, I don't know, Kei. Maybe I've been too busy being the responsible one, keeping you out of trouble…” Nana hummed, pretending to think.

“Hey now, I resent that. I'm perfectly capable of staying out of trouble... occasionally…” Baji mocked the offense.

“Occasionally being the keyword here…” Nana pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, you got me. But admit it, Nana, there's a little part of you that secretly enjoys the chaos…” Baji laughed.

“Oh please, chaos is your department, not mine…” Nana stated playfully.

“You're just saying that because you're afraid of admitting the truth.” Baji grinned.

“And what's the truth, according to you?” Nana asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“The truth is, that underneath all that maturity and responsibility, there's a wild spirit in you too. A spirit that's not afraid to take risks and embrace the thrill of life.” Baji whispered, leaning in closer, his voice softer than before.  

Nana's heart skipped a beat, his words hitting closer to home than she was willing to admit.

“Oh, is that so? And what makes you think you've got me all figured out?” Nana asked, trying to play it cool.

“I've got my ways…” Baji replied cheekily with a wink.

“Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I do like a little adventure every now and then…” Nana laughed softly at him.

“See, I knew it. We're not so different, you and me.” Baji smirked, voice softening.

Their eyes locked, a flicker of something more profound passing between them. The playful teasing had taken on a different quality; a gentle undercurrent that hinted at the unspoken feelings they were both beginning to realize.

“You're impossible, you know that?” Nana smiled, lightly pushing his shoulder.

“And you're my partner in crime…” Baji grinned at her once again, his tone teasing yet sincere.

“Now that I think about it, I heard you tried to impress everyone with your skateboard tricks yesterday…” Nana pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you heard about that, huh? Well, someone's got to keep the crowd entertained!” Baji smirked proudly.

“And risk breaking every bone in your body in the process? Very impressive, indeed.” Nana sighed, playfully rolling her eyes in the process.

Baji's smirk was unrelenting, his eyes dancing with a mischief that Nana found irresistible.

“Maybe you should try skateboarding too.” Baji challenged her with a grin.

Nana's laughter filled the air, a melody that seemed to echo in Baji's heart.

“Oh, I don't know, Kei. I might just show you up and steal your thunder…” Nana mocked.

Baji's eyes gleamed with a challenge that only fueled the fire of their playful exchange.

“Oh, I wouldn't mind being outshone by you, Nana. It's a risk I'm willing to take…” Baji whispered.

Nana's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, her heart beating a little faster in response to the playful flirtation.

“Don't get too confident, Mr. Daredevil. I might just surprise you…” Nana playful scoffed at him.

Baji's gaze held a warmth that seemed to melt away the distance between them, turning their banter into something more meaningful.

“You've always been full of surprises. It's one of the things I love about you…” Baji admitted, voice softening again.

“You know, Keisuke, you're going to get us both in trouble one of these days with your reckless stunts…” Nana playfully rolled her eyes again, slightly shaking her head.

“Trouble is my middle name, Nana. And you just admitted that you secretly enjoy the chaos too...” Baji grinned mischievously.

“But that doesn't mean I won't be the voice of reason when you decide to jump off the roof for fun…” Nana pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Baji's eyes twinkled with a mixture of challenge and amusement.

“If I ever do that, you'll be the first one I'll call for a daring rooftop escape, Nana…” Baji grinned at her.

Nana's cheeks flushed slightly, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness of his words.

“You're lucky I have a soft spot for daredevils.” Nana scoffed at him. “Besides, someone has to keep you from getting yourself killed, Keisuke…”

“Oh, I just have a way of turning even the simplest things into an adventure. What can I do? That’s just my charm!” Baji sighed playfully and Nana rolled her eyes again, smirking slightly. “Also, you’re right; I'm always counting on you to keep me in check. Someone's gotta be the voice of reason, you know!”

Nana's laughter tinkled through the air, a melody that felt like home.

“Oh, so now I'm your designated safety net? How thrilling.” Nana stated playfully.

“Hey, don't underestimate the power of a safety net.” Baji mocked the offense. “Besides, who else is gonna keep up with me?”

Nana's gaze met his, a twinkle of challenge dancing in her eyes.

“Keep up with you?” Nana asked, raising an eyebrow. “Please, Keisuke, I've been keeping up since we were three. And don't even get me started on your grand entrances.”

“What can I say? I've got a reputation to uphold. Gotta make sure people remember me!” Baji feigned innocence.

“Trust me, Kei, you're unforgettable…” Nana admitted softly.

The admission hung in the air, a fragile yet potent thread that connected their hearts in a way they had never fully realized before. Baji's gaze softened, the challenge in his eyes replaced by a tenderness that stole Nana's breath away. Nana's heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the rhythm of their conversation, her eyes locking with Baji's in a moment that held unspoken promises. Baji's smirk transformed into a genuine smile, a smile that reached his eyes and tugged at Nana's heartstrings. Nana's breath caught, her fingers tingling with a desire to reach out and touch his hand. Baji's gaze held a depth of emotion that took her breath away.

Hours later the lunch break started and the two of them found themselves sitting on a bench, eating lunch together, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other, the air between them seemed to carry a newfound charge. The air was filled with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the other students around the school grounds, setting the stage for a conversation that danced on the delicate line between innocence and something more.

After finishing having lunch together, Baji lounged against a bench, his signature smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watched Nana intently. She was engrossed in sketching, her fingers moving with a grace that seemed to infuse life into the paper.

“You're really into that, huh? What masterpiece are you creating today?” Baji asked, leaning in playfully.

Nana chuckled in response and her laughter tinkled like a melody, her gaze flickering up to meet Baji's with a mischievous glint.

“Just a masterpiece that might be too wild for your taste. I don't want to overwhelm your delicate senses…” Nana teased him.

“Delicate?” Baji mocked the offense, scoffing. “Nah, I'm a man of rugged taste, you know that.”

Nana's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned in, her voice a gentle challenge.

“Rugged taste, huh? Does that explain your fascination with danger and adrenaline rushes?” Nana asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like I’ve been saying earlier; you should try it sometime…” Baji grinned at her.

Nana's laughter bubbled up once again, a soft melody that tugged at Baji's heartstrings.

“Oh, I don't know, Kei. I've always been more of a "calculated risks" kind of person…” Nana responded back playfully.

Baji's smirk grew wider, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something deeper.

“Calculated risks, huh?” Baji asked with a playful grin, leaning in closer once again. “That's cute. But you know what they say about risks, right? The bigger, the better. And talking about risks, you know, I heard they're having a motorcycle race downtown this weekend. You in?”

“Are you just trying to find new and creative ways to give me a heart attack?” Nana asked, raising an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Nah, just thought you could use a little fun in your life…” Baji laughed.

“Oh please, like I need any more fun in life. I've got my hands full keeping up with you…” Nana sighed, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation.

“It's not real fun unless you're there to keep me in check…” Baji winked at her.

“You know, Kei, if I had a nickel for every time I've had to rescue you from your own schemes, I'd be a millionaire by now…” Nana chuckled, shaking her head.

“And yet, here you are, still by my side, always ready to bail me out…” Baji muttered, leaning in closer.

“That's what best friends are for, right?” Nana asked, meeting his gaze, her voice softening and in response, Baji's smirk faded, replaced by a look of sincerity that caught Nana off guard.

“Yeah, but you're more than just a best friend to me, Nana…” Baji replied softly.

Nana's heart skipped a beat, her cheeks warming as she struggled to find the right words.

“Oh, is that so? And what am I to you then, Mr. Hotshot?” Nana questioned playfully, regaining her composure as she crossed her arms over her chest.  

“You're the one who makes my heart race even without the need for motorcycles or crazy stunts…” Baji responded back, his voice a low murmur.

Nana's breath caught, her eyes locked onto his, the air between them electric.

“Well, I can't promise to save you from all your wild ideas, but I can promise to be there to make sure you're not too banged up afterward…” Nana teased.

“That's all I need, Nana. Someone to pick up the pieces when I crash and burn…” Baji smirked at her and this caused Nana's laughter to bubble up, the tension that had hung between them dissipating into the warm afternoon air.

“I guess that's what I signed up for when I became best friends with the town's resident troublemaker…” Nana stated softly.

“Hey, it's all part of my charm, right?” Baji grinned, flashing out his pointy canines.

“If you say so, Kei…” Nana smiled playfully at him once again.

As the school bell chimed, signaling the end of their conversation and the beginning of their next class, Nana and Baji found themselves standing at the precipice of something new, something they had only just begun to explore. Their laughter mingled; a secret language that only they could understand, a language that spoke of unspoken feelings and a connection that defied the passage of time. In that fleeting moment, as their eyes locked and their words lingered in the air, they were both acutely aware that the line between playful teasing and subtle flirtation weaving seamlessly into the fabric of their friendship and something deeper had been crossed—a line that led to a future neither could reasonably predict, but both were eager to embrace. Little did they know that this dance of words was the prelude to a love story that had been silently blossoming since their childhood days, waiting to unfurl its petals in the light of their shared journey.

Later that evening, the night sky stretched out above them, a canvas dotted with stars that seemed to wink at the world below while the night air was electric with the hum of the city. The streets of Tokyo were drawn out before Nana and Baji as they embarked on a late-night adventure. Baji's Goki motorbike rumbled beside them, the engine's purr a symphony of freedom, a glint of excitement dancing in their eyes.

“You sure we're not gonna get arrested for this? Speeding through the city like a couple of rebels?” Nana asked a bit in concern, clasping her helmet under her arm.

“Come on, Nana, who can resist the thrill of the open road at night?” Baji grinned at her mischievously.

“You sound like you're trying to convince me this is a good idea…” Nana noted, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Nah, just making sure you're ready to hold on tight, in case we decide to break a few speed limits.” Baji winked at her.

“Hope you're actually not planning on doing it…” Nana stated in a skeptical tone, raising an eyebrow.

Baji's signature smirk graced his lips, his gaze locking onto hers with a challenge.

“What's the fun in following the rules all the time? Besides, who needs speed limits when you've got me as your guide?” Baji responded back with his signature wolfish grin. “I have no doubt that you'll be clinging onto me for dear life once we hit the open road.”

Nana's heart raced at his confident words, a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration coursing through her veins.

“Oh please, you're not the only one who knows how to handle a motorbike!” Nana scoffed playfully at him. “Besides, I've faced scarier things than your attempts at speed demon driving.”

“That's what I love about you, Nana. You're always up for a challenge...” Baji whispered, leaning closer to her face while Nana's cheeks warmed at the intensity of his gaze, her heart fluttering in response.

“Well, I've always been the responsible one, but I guess I can let loose a little tonight.” Nana sighed, pursing her lips a bit.

“That's the spirit!!” Baji grinned, his eyes gleaming. “So just hold on tight, and let's give the city a run for its money!”

With a quick, fluid movement, Baji swung a leg over the motorbike and patted the seat behind him. 

“Ready to put your bravery to the test, Nana?” Baji smirked, revving the engine. 

In response, Nana's lips curled into a daring smile as she straddled the seat behind him. As they both straddled the bike, the close proximity sent a shiver down Nana's spine, a shiver that she couldn't quite attribute solely to the night air.

“Buckle up, babydoll, you're in for the ride of your life…” Baji whispered in a daring tone.

As the engine roared to life, they sped off into the night, the wind rushing against them like a whispered promise of adventure. The city lights painted and blurred into streaks of color across their path, shimmering like a sea of stars, a vibrant backdrop to the chemistry that crackled between them. They zipped through the streets on Baji's roaring motorbike and the wind whipped against their faces. Nana's heart raced, not just from the speed, but from the exhilarating feeling of being so close to Baji. The cool night air ruffled their hair and carried their laughter as they embraced the exhilarating freedom of the open road.

“Hold on tight, Nana!” Baji shouted over the wind.

Nana's arms instinctively tightened around Baji's waist, her heart racing in sync with the rhythm of the bike's engine.

“I can't believe you talked me into this, Keisuke! This is insane! You're driving like a maniac!” Nana exclaimed, her voice slightly raised to be heard over the wind.

“Isn't that why you love hanging out with me?!” Baji grinned over his shoulder, laughing, his voice laced with mischief. “Come on, Nana! It's just a little late-night joyride!”

“More like a recipe for disaster!” Nana replied, rolling her eyes. “But I guess I'm used to your crazy antics by now!”  

Baji's laughter rang out, the sound weaving through the night like a melody. A melody that Nana couldn't help but find contagious.

“I swear, Keisuke, one of these days you're going to get us both arrested!” Nana scolded him playfully, rolling her eyes.

“If I ever do, you'll be the first one I call to bail us out, Nana!” Baji stated, leaning into a turn.

Nana's fingers tightened their grip around him, her laughter blending with the rush of the wind.

“Oh no, you're on your own if you manage to land us in trouble!” Nana shouted over the roar of the engine and Baji's grin held a hint of challenge, his eyes sparking with mischief.

“We're in this together, Nana. Always have been, always will be!” Baji winked in response, teasing her. “Just admit it, you’re secretly loving it!”

“Oh please, don't let your ego get too big.” Nana scoffed, a playful glint in her eyes. “Just because I'm on this deathtrap with you doesn't mean I'm enjoying it!”

“Deathtrap, huh?” Baji asked as he leaned slightly closer, his voice a low rumble. “I promise I'll keep you safe, Nana. You're in good hands!”

Nana's heart raced, her grip on Baji's waist tightening involuntarily.

“I'm not worried. After all, who needs a seatbelt when they have a reckless driver like you?” Nana noted, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Seatbelts are overrated. You trust me, right?” Baji asked, his smirk audible in his voice.

“Of course I do, Kei. Always have…” Nana muttered, her voice softer.

Zooming through the city, the night air was alive with laughter and adrenaline, their shared laughter mingled with each other echoing through the streets of Tokyo, a melody that painted the night with a touch of magic. But amidst the adrenaline and excitement, there was a layer of unspoken tension, a connection that seemed to intensify with each passing moment.

“You always have a way of making even the most reckless things seem like the best idea, Kei… Don't think I haven't noticed…” Nana mumbled playfully, leaning closer on his back, tightening her grip on his waist.

“It's a gift, Nana…” Baji replied with a cocky grin. “And, reckless? Nah, I prefer to think of it as living life to the fullest. And who better to share it with than you?”

Nana's laughter mingled with the soft night breeze, a symphony that echoed their unspoken feelings. To them, every moment with each other was an adventure. From childhood antics to late-night rides, it was all a part of their story. Nana's heart swelled with a warmth that matched the glow of the city lights.

“Just promise me you won't steer us into any trouble tonight, Keisuke…” Nana muttered, her voice a mixture of playfulness and vulnerability.

“I promise to keep us on the right side of trouble, Nana…” Baji grinned with a hint of tenderness, glancing at her. “And speaking of ideas, how about we race to that neon-lit intersection up ahead?”

“You sure you can reach there in 15 seconds?” Nana smirked back, a glint of challenge in her eyes.

“I’ll reach there in 10 seconds.” Baji countered back, accepting the challenge.

The race was a blur of adrenaline and laughter, a shared moment that etched itself into their memories. As they slowed down, breathless and exhilarated, their eyes met in a silent exchange that spoke volumes.

“Show-off…” Nana commented playfully before grinning at him. “Fine, you win this time, Kei. But I'll be sure to challenge you again soon.”

“Looking forward to it. Just be ready to eat my dust.” Baji smirked in response.

As they zoomed through the city, the night seemed to hold its breath and their words flowed effortlessly between them, seeming to carry a weight that went beyond mere banter; each sentence was more than just a dance of playful banter and unspoken attraction. Nana felt a flutter in her chest, an ache of longing that she couldn't quite put into words.

“You know, Nana…” Baji muttered, leaning back closer to her, his words almost a whisper. “There's something about the rush of the wind and the lights of the city that makes me feel alive. The thrill of the night makes everything feel... electrifying.

Nana's heart skipped a beat at the vulnerability in his words, her own feelings bubbling up to the surface.

“And you're the one who's always managed to make even the simplest moments feel like an adventure, Kei…” Nana responded back, matching his tone, her voice a mixture of playfulness and sincerity.

Baji's gaze met hers for a lingering moment, the cityscape reflecting in his eyes like stars in the night sky.

“Maybe because when I'm with you, every moment is an adventure…” Baji admitted softly.

The words hung in the air, a promise and a confession wrapped up in a single sentence. Nana's heart was pounding not just from the speed, but from the intensity of their connection.

“And it’s moments like these that remind us we're alive…” Nana whispered.

Hearing those words, Baji's gaze met hers in the rearview mirror, a spark of something deeper shining in his eyes, and in response, Nana's cheeks flushed, her heartbeat drowning out the roar of the engine. To Baji, Nana always managed to turn the ordinary into something extraordinary. And to Nana, Baji had a way of turning chaos into a beautiful adventure.

Their words lingered in the air, the wind carrying their laughter and their unspoken feelings, a delicate thread woven between them that held the promise of something more. The engine roared to life and the wind whipped through their hair. As they continued to race through the night, they discovered that sometimes, the thrill of a late-night ride was just the beginning of a journey they had been on all along that transcended the physical speed of the motorbike; the journey of discovering a love that had quietly taken root in the heart of their friendship. With every turn, every shared laugh, and every stolen glance, they were inching closer to the truth that they had only just begun to acknowledge. Their feelings for each other were as exhilarating as any adventure they had embarked upon. They were not just riding down the streets of Tokyo; they were navigating the uncharted territory of their own emotions, exploring the boundaries of friendship, and something that felt undeniably like love with an unspoken connection singing in harmony with the rhythm of the night. 

~~~~~

While recalling back a certain memory of Nana and himself, Baji stared at the old photograph, the edges worn from countless glances. The three of them, young and wild, grinning under the setting sun at a beach, the wind ruffling their hair; Mikey, Nana, and himself. The trio who had been the leaders of their own world and had once ruled the streets of Tokyo as the Tokyo Manji Gang. The three of them had been inseparable – Mikey with his charming pranks, Nana with her quiet wisdom, and Baji with his hunger for adventure. A bitter pang of nostalgia mixed with a determined fire surged within Baji's chest. It had been years, yet the memories remained as vivid as ever.

As he sat in his dimly lit apartment, Baji's police uniform hung on a chair nearby, a stark reminder of his new reality. His resolve to find Nana had only grown stronger with each passing day. Pushing the photograph aside, he picked up a well-worn notebook, pages filled with scribbles and leads.

Baji's reflection stared back at him from the mirror. His once carefree eyes now held a steely determination.

"I won't stop until I find you, Nana..." he murmured to himself, clutching the notebook.

The conflict within him was a storm of emotions. Duty tugged at him with the force of his badge, urging him to uphold the law. But love, love was an anchor that tied him to Nana, pulling him toward her like a magnet. He remembered the moments they had shared, the adventures, the laughter, the stolen kisses. The love they had was real, undeniable.

His phone buzzed on the table, jolting him from his reverie.

"Baji here…" he answered with a practiced calm.

"Got something for you, Baji-san…” it was his partner, Hiroshi. “We might have a lead on Osaki-san’s whereabouts…”

Baji's heart raced, hope mingling with skepticism. He listened carefully as Hiroshi relayed the information about a series of recent transactions linked to a powerful underworld figure.

"Could be Bonten…" Hiroshi said, mentioning the notorious mafia gang that had taken control.

Baji's grip on the phone tightened. Bonten. The name sent a shiver down his spine. It was said that they operated in the shadows, pulling strings that even the police couldn't reach. And if Nana was indeed with them, it made the situation infinitely more complicated.

After ending the call, Baji glanced at the photograph again, tracing Nana's smiling face with his fingertip. His internal conflict intensified. His duty to protect the city clashed head-on with his unwavering love for Nana.

He clenched his fists, making up his mind. The badge on his uniform represented justice, but his heart held a promise that was equally sacred. Nana had been his partner, his confidante, his lover. He couldn't abandon her now, not when she needed him the most.

Baji closed the notebook with a resolute snap, slipping it into his bag. As he grabbed his police badge, he looked at his reflection one more time.

"I'm coming for you, Nana. No matter what stands in my way…”

With determination etched in his features, Baji strode out of his apartment, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead. His journey to find Nana was just beginning, a journey that would test the limits of his loyalty and love.

After reaching his destination, Baji stood on the rooftop of the Tokyo Police Department building, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. His fists clenched as a mix of determination and turmoil churned within him. He was no longer the carefree rebel of his youth; his time with the biker gang had shaped him into a man who could take responsibility. Yet, the memories of those days, especially the ones involving Nana, tugged at his heart.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange hue over the city, Baji's mind wandered back to his childhood which included Nana and Mikey. But then came the day Mikey disbanded the gang and disappeared. Baji's memories of that time were a jumble of shock and confusion. He had desperately searched for answers, only to find that even Nana, the empathetic and perceptive Nana, had left without a word. That betrayal cut deep, and it fueled the fire of determination within him.

Now, as a police officer, Baji was a man of honor, sworn to uphold the law. He had earned respect and recognition in his field, yet his heart still yearned for Nana. He understood the complexity of her situation – her loyalty to Mikey, her promise, and her love for him. But he couldn't let go of what they once shared.

With a firm resolve, Baji descended from the rooftop and entered his office. He switched on his computer, a photo of him, Nana, and Mikey from their gang days serving as his desktop background. It was a bittersweet reminder of the past and a constant motivator for his present pursuit.

His first step was to retrace Nana's steps. He knew her better than anyone, and he believed he could find a trail, no matter how faint. He reviewed old photos, messages, and anything that might give him a clue. As he dug deeper, he stumbled upon a thread that led to Mikey's new identity as the leader of Bonten, Japan's most feared mafia gang.

Baji's heart clenched. It all started to make sense. Nana's departure, Mikey's vanishing act – they were interconnected. He could imagine the turmoil Nana must have faced, torn between her love for Mikey and her feelings for him. He clenched his fists again, this time in frustration. How could he ever compete with the charismatic leader of a mafia?

His mind was consumed by memories of Nana once again. The laughter they shared, the secrets they confided, and the love they once nurtured. Yet, there was an emptiness now, a void left by her sudden departure. He couldn't accept that she had vanished without a word, leaving behind a life they built together.

His heart tugged at him, torn between his duty as a cop and his unwavering love for Nana. He questioned himself: Was he chasing her out of concern for her safety or because he couldn't bear the thought of losing her again? Baji knew that the path he had chosen—enforcing the law—was directly at odds with the life Nana had embraced alongside Mikey.

His cell phone buzzed on the desk, drawing his attention away from his notes. He glanced at the screen, recognizing the number. It was his other partner, Itsuki, checking in on him. Baji cleared his throat, composing himself before answering.

"Hey, Baji…" Itsuki's voice crackled through the line. "Any progress on the case?"

"Not yet, Itsuki. I'm still piecing things together…” Baji replied as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

There was a pause on the other end. Baji could almost sense Itsuki's concern through the phone.

"Look, Baji, I get that this case is personal for you. But remember, we have a duty to the force. We need to prioritize the safety of the city…” Itsuki stated.

Baji sighed, his grip tightening on the pen. He knew Itsuki was right, but it was easier said than done.

"I know, I know. I just can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. Nana wouldn't just disappear like this…” Baji responded back in a low tone.

"Have you considered reaching out to any contacts from the other old gangs?" Itsuki suggested. "They might have information that could help."

Baji's gaze drifted back to the photograph. The faces of his two best friends stared back at him.

"Yeah, I'll give that a shot…” Baji sighed once again.

He hung up the phone and returned his attention to the notepad. He added "Tokyo Manji Gang" to the list, the memories of their youthful exploits flooding his mind.

As he leaned back in his chair, Baji realized he had a choice to make. He knew he had a responsibility to uphold the law and protect the city from criminal elements, but his thoughts always invariably drifted to Nana. Pursuing Nana was not just about his feelings for her; it was about giving her a choice too. The past had left wounds, but maybe he could heal them. His duty as a police officer called him to justice, but his heart beckoned him to love.

With a determined spark in his eyes, Baji leaned forward and started mapping out his plan. He would use every resource available to him to find Nana, to bring her back home – even if it meant facing Mikey and the dangerous world he now inhabited. Duty and love, conflicting yet inseparable, guided Baji as he took his first steps into a labyrinth of secrets, emotions, and choices that would reshape their intertwined destinies.

The journey wouldn't be easy, he knew that. But Baji was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. With Nana's promise in his heart and the weight of his badge on his shoulder, he embarked on a path that would test his loyalty, courage, and the depths of his love.

The story of his resolute pursuit had only just begun. 

Read the entire fanfic on Quotev and Wattpad -

[old-poptart]

birthday fic for @under-the-cherrytree !!

personal a/n: HOLA MI VIDA!!!!!! happy birthday!!! i hope your special day is full of blessings and hope and that you receive all that you deserve!! you are one of the most special and sweet people i have known and i feel honored just getting to talk to you!! it honestly feels like we've known each other for years now HWUHAUAHAHHA but hopefully we shall grow together as time passes! you deserve the world! may you wish many many MANY more!! MUAH I LOVE YOU 🫶🏼

warnings: none

pairing: wally darling x personalized reader

"a special day"

"are you readyyy~?" you heard wally's alluring voice ring in your ears. ten minutes ago, you were just on a small picnic with Mr. Darling himself. he prepared everything for you! a nice filling lunch, yummy drinks, sweet snacks, and dessert of course! and just for the birthday girl, he got you mint chip ice cream! how sweet of him~

the entire day, you two have been stuck together like glue. he took you to paint outside with him, apple picking, the picnic, what more could you want from this sweetie! something was missing though, the rest of the neighborhood. they were apparently super busy today. sally with rehearsals, barnaby practicing his tricks, howdy restocking the stolen apples, julie and frank inventing new games, poppy baking, so much to do!

wanting to yank off the blindfold that was doing it's job of blinding you, you impatiently blurted out "yes!! what's even going on anyways?" a quick sound of scattering and shuffling footsteps and familiar voices whispering "hurry! they're here! no not there-!!" filled you with curiosity. you couldn't take it any longer!!! the elvis like puppet gently removed your blindfold, revealing your vision to the world again.

"wait what's happening??" you stared blankly at the empty area you were facing, a chuckle escaping wally's mouth. "not there, angel! turn around" his voice got smaller as if it went further away, little did you know he was getting into position.

once you did as told, your face was written with pure shock and excitement. "SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGEL!" all of your friends yelled out, colorful confetti canons being blasted. my gosh, the effort put into all of this! the banners, the decorations, the lights, music, balloons, ribbons, it's perfect! no wonder why they were so 'busy', and that's why he was with you all day long! from dusk till dawn he was by your side to keep the surprise from being spoiled.

"oh my goodness!! thank you so much you guys!!" your cheeks filled up with warmth as you smiled from ear to ear, taking in all of this wonderful scenery. wally walked up to you with a present, it was nicely wrapped with light pink wrapping paper and green ribbon with red hearts doodled all over the box.

"i think you should open this one first, it's from me" he looked at you softly, then looking away after realizing how embarrassed he felt. accepting his gift and a thank you, you opened the gift. you couldn't believe what was its contents.

inside the box were three things; a mini photo album of the memories with all your friends but mostly you and him with the cover saying 'A + W ' inside a heart, a cute gold necklace with a bell as the charm, and a letter. opening the letter, you were absorbed with what contained it. his love for you poured itself all over the paper and to be honest, a feeble paper wasn't enough to confess his immense love for you, so he used two.

the sweet note ended in the most important question, "will you be mine on this special day?". no hesitation was included in your words and gestures, you immediately tackled him onto the ground and repeatedly replying with "yes!!! yess!!!!", kisses accompanying your words.

hugging you back, he pulled you up with the most beautiful smile he has ever smiled. "may i have the honors, angel darling~?" he held up the necklace to put around your neck.

"of course, sweetheart" you smiled, he was so special.

I HOPE YOU ENJOY AND HAVE A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMOSAAAA!!!!!!

-ooga :D

[rgbsuperherx]

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