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littlemissmentallyunstable · 6 months ago

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title: bad dream

pairing: kai azer x paedyn gray x (oc) daughter

synopsis: kai and paedyn’s daughter has a nightmare

warnings:

a/n: their daughter’s name is Avena (like Ava and Adena’s names smushed together, don’t judge I didn’t know what else to name their child 😭😭)

tag list: @heartwithsimplenotes @lxvebelle @whatsamongus @zaraaaabear @tornqdowarnings @emelia07 @xoxo-vee

Kai Azer had always been a light sleeper but it’d gotten worse since Avena was born, he was always alert, always on edge, never too relaxed in fear she might need protection. His insomniac tendencies had also progressed a lot more than he intended them to. So he often found himself envious of his wife who could sleep like the dead. This particular night Kai was wide awake and sat up in his shared bed. Paedyn was in her deep coma-like sleep, snoring soundly. Kai couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle at his wife as he silently stroked her silver hair, softly playing with a few strands. He had a million and one things on his mind, none of which were actually sleeping.

Cutting him out of every single thought was a sound that smashed his heart into smithereens and shot panic through his every pore. It was the scream of his daughter. Within milliseconds he was up and out of bed, sprinting. He rushed into Avena’s room and knelt by the side of her bed, scooping her into his arms. She was still thrashing around, her screams died down to a dull whimper as her small fingers clung onto the fabric of his shirt for dear life.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, “shhhhh shhhhh shhhhh, I’ve got you baby.”

She hyperventilated into his chest, then entirety of her tiny body shaking in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, brushing the hair stuck to her sweaty forehead out of her face.

Big blue eyes, the ones he’d fallen in love with once upon a time, filled to the brim with large tears stared back up at him. Avena began to cry. Bulbous teardrops rolled down her cheruibic cheeks, streaking salty water down her face.

“There was a man and he took me and he said I couldn’t come back to you and mommy ever again,” she sobbed, red faced.

“Slow down Avena,” he soothed, “take a deep breath with me okay?”

She nodded and mirrored her dad as he inhaled and exhaled.

“The pictures in my head,” she told him, “when I sleep.”

“Your dreams?” he asked gently.

She nodded, “but it was a bad one.”

“You had a nightmare?”

“Mhmm,” she said, her bottom lip wobbling, “and you and mommy couldn’t save me.”

His heart clenched in his chest. He knew he wanted to destroy whatever had made her feel this way but he also knew that was impossible.

“Oh Avena,” he whispered, bringing her close to him, “you know that your nightmares aren’t real right? They’re just made up in your had. And me and mommy will always be able to save you.”

“You promise?” she asked, her voice so soft it could melt butter.

“I promise,” he nodded, kissing her forehead.

Avena stared up at him, doe-eyed, “but it felt really real daddy.”

“I know but I promise you baby,” Kai told her firmly, “it wasn’t.”

“I want mommy,” she whimpered, chewing the sleeves of her night shirt.

“I know sweetie,” Kai sighed, gently taking the soggy fabric from her mouth and rolling her sleeve over, “but mommy’s sleeping.”

“Oh,” she replied, pouting her rosy pink lips slightly.

“Let me tell you a secret, you ready Ave?” he whispered with a grin, in attempts to cheer her up.

She looked up, eye widened with a spark of excitement, “yeah!”

Kai adored that look in her eyes, it made a sense of warmth spread across the left side of his chest. He leant in closer to her and pressed his mouth up to her ear.

“Mommy’s snoring,” he murmured.

She giggled, “really?”

“Yep,” he nodded, “I think if we listen quietly enough now I think we’ll able to hear her.”

Avena brought one of her little fingers to her lips and pressed it gently on them. They waited in silence until suddenly there comes the sound of Paedyn’s soft snoring. Avena looked up at Kai.

“Mommy’s snoring!” she laughed.

“You see what I have to put up with now?” he asked jokingly.

“Poor you daddy,” she grinned in reply.

“Are you going to try and go back to sleep now?” Kai murmured gently, putting his daughter back down into her bed and tucking her in.

“I’m scared,” Avena said quietly.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to nightmares to come back,” she replied, grabbing her teddy bear and squeezing it tightly to her chest.

“I don’t think they will,” Kai reassured her, running his fingers through her silver hair, just like he had previously been doing to Paedyn, “but if they do, me and mommy are right next door and you can just come and get us right away, okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, snuggling back under the covers, “can you look under my bed?”

“Why baby?” he asked.

“Because there might be monsters be under there,” she said, her voice low and cautious, laced with fear.

“I don’t think there are any,” he told her softly,

“Please look,” she begged, “you can scare them away.”

“What makes you think they’ll be scared of me Ave?” he said.

“Because you have a sword,” she explained.

Kai chuckled a little before bending down and looking under his daughter’s bed. Of course there was nothing but her pair of ballet flats there.

“There’s nothing there Avena,” he called up, “only your ballet shoes.”

“Are you sure?” she asked incredulously.

“Sure,” he confirmed, suppressing a smile.

“Sure, sure?” she double checked.

“Sure sure sure sure sure,” he winked, tickling her belly.

She giggled, her smile lighting up Kai from the inside out “okay, I believe you.”

“You feeling a little better now?” he asked.

“Yes but…” she hesitated, “daddy?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Will you stay here, until I fall asleep?” she asked him with a small yawn.

The question yanked Kai’s heartstrings, the sudden harsh tug taking him off guard. Something about her little voice asking that question, almost had him choked up. But he suppressed whatever it made him feel for the moment and sat down right beside her bed.

“Of course baby,” he said, “I’ll stay here all night if you need me to.”

Avena yawned again. He took the tip of his pinky finger and guided it gently down her nose a few times. Avena’s eyes fluttered shut within moments and her breathing grew heavier. She was sound asleep, just like her momma, minus the snoring. Kai still remained sat at her bedside, something in him not quite allowing him to leave. Avena was breathing soundly, normally, there was even a smile on her face and yet worry was built up in his chest. He wished he could take all her nightmares and murder them with his famous ‘scary’ sword.

“What’s going on?” a new voice yawned.

Kai looked up to see his wife stood in the doorway arms folded. Her hair was slightly messed up and she had sleepy dust in her eyes and yet still to Kai she looked like the most beautiful being he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Is she okay?” Paedyn gestured to Avena, anxiety in her voice, as Kai approached her.

“Nightmare,” Kai explained with a soft sigh.

Paedyn’s face morphed into a mixture of worry and concern, as she paled. She suddenly felt awfully guilty for sleeping through all of this

“Don’t panic, I think she’s alright now,” Kai soothed wrapping an arm around her, “we’ve established there’s no monsters under her bed.”

“Oh my baby,” she said, with a hand over her heart.

“She’ll be okay, “ he comforted, “let’s go back to sleep.”

“You weren’t asleep,” she criticised him with an eyebrow raised. She said it as a statement, not a question.

“How do you know, you were snoring so loudly the roof nearly came down,” he scoffed.

She stopped in her tracks, taking him by surprise as he followed suit. Paedyn then swiftly whacked his arm. Hard. He fought a wince.

“I don’t snore,” she insisted firmly, arms folded across her chest with a sharp look in her eyes, “and you have dark circles under your eyes that could rival charcoal art work.”

“Ouch darling,” he chuckled, biting his bottom lip.

“Marriage means honesty Prince,” she smiled wistfully, “but seriously Kai, you need to sleep.”

“I know but it’s just hard,” he shrugged in response.

“It’s not going to get easier if you don’t try,” she said.

Kai sighed and guided Paedyn back to their bedroom, pulling her back onto the bed beside him. Kai liked the feeling of his wife in his arms, it made him feel like he was physically protecting her. Not that she needed protecting.

“Kai?” she murmured, shattering the silence.

He hummed a response.

“Was Avena really upset?” she asked, finally getting the weighted question off of her chest.

“There were some tears,“ he admitted, “she told me in her dream we couldn’t save her, I think that’s what made her most upset.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Paedyn replied, the guilt seeping back through.

“You were asleep,” Kai said, “you need your sleep.”

“I know but I should’ve been there,” she sighed, playing with her fingers.

“Hey,” he snapped firmly, “stop doing that.”

“What?” she asked.

“Beating yourself up, making yourself feel guilty over nothing,” he said, taking her hands into his.

“It wasn’t nothing,” she bit back fiercely.

“Our baby had a nightmare,” he shrugged, “she’s had them before and she’ll have them again. This time you weren’t right by her side but I was, next time it might be the other way around.”

“Okay,” Paedyn exhaled, getting comfy on his chest.

But Kai knew his wife a little better than that. He knew that answer was just a conversation stopper.

“You’re not convinced ,” he sighed.

“No but I’m too stubborn to see it any other way so you should give up whilst you still have your sanity,” she smiled.

“My sanity?” he laughed, tracing spirals on her arm with his fingertip, “darling that left me the day I first tasted your lips.”

“You’re cute and all but sleep,” she mumbled into his chest, slowly dropping off.

He kissed the top of her head and then rested his cheek there, closing his eyes and attempting to fall into darkness.

“Daddy?”

The small voice jolted him upright. He looked down to see Avena standing beside his bedside table, teddy bear in hand.

“What’s wrong baby?”

“Can I come in yours and mommy’s bed tonight? I can’t sleep,” Avena whispered.

“Of course, come here,” he said as he lifted her into his arms and held her right to his chest, letting her know she was safe.

Paedyn stirred and opened her eyes. She immediately noticed Avena and silently scooped her daughter into her arms and rested on Kai’s chest. Kai watched as both of his worlds fell to deep into sleep in perfect synchronisation. When he heard their soft snores he relaxed a little and finally let his eyes close. And it the most peaceful night of sleep he’d ever had.

a/n: thank you for the request anon!! hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍

powerless masterlist

#bella writes 🤍#paedyn x kai #kai azer #paedyn gray #kaipaedyn #powerless lauren roberts #powerless #powerless fic #reckless lauren roberts #lauren roberts

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emailsicansend · 2 years ago

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tara had never been good at grief, has never quite learned to let go fully. even with all the experience she's had with it.

she pauses every day at wes' favorite spot by their tree. touches the old friendship rings they had gotten from some stupid bookfair a million years ago. she carries him in her sardonic wit, in jokes she cracks and turns to see his reaction only to remember he'll never have one again. it guts her just as much as the first time, every time.

and dear, sweet liv. the guilt that never stops haunting her. to blood staining her hands. liv waa only in the friendgroup because tara dragged her in after a summer working shifts together. tara recognized something similiar in her eyes: the same sense of pervasive loneliness that she saw in the mirror. liv's woes are as much an open secret as tara's. parents who only ever care about finding the bottom of bottle, who don't blink when their daughter doesn't come home in days. or when she starts bringing vince around. liv is floundering, and it's a feeling tara knows all too well. so she folds liv into their group.

at the party, she's hiding behind amber's arm when she pulls the gun out and splatters live against the wall. tara can't help but think if she'd processed faster, moved faster, reacted faster, then she could've done something. she could've saved liv. she pulls herself together enough to throw herself at amber to save sam, why couldn't she have done it for liv?

when ny comes and tara realizes it's a chance to reinvent herself, she models herself after the girl who always understood more than tara said. her haircut, her wardrobe, the personality: she's holding onto all the pieces of liv she can.

and then there's amber. oh god, amber. where does tara even start there? amber killed. (amber killed for her.) amber lied. (amber lied to reveal the truth.) amber never cared. (amber always cared, maybe a little too much.) amber. amber. amber. amber, who cradled her face after tying her up and shoving her in a closet. ("sam won't put you first, but baby, i always will. i promise. just trust me.") tara hates her for the way everything went to. tara misses her more than anything.

it's amber who once said things only have as much power as you give them. words tara chooses to live by in six.

she over indulges her vices. she's had a little too much to drink when she hears it. put. it. down. you're better than this. wilting fingers lose their grip on the cup, and it tumbles all over some unsuspecting victim who scowls at her. but tara doesn't care, she's too busy searching for the voice. the voice she would know anywhere.

but amber isn't tucked away into the crowd, and tara is more than willing to blame alcohol for a momentary lapse in judgment. she draws in a shaky breath and refills her cup. and she hears it again. baby doll, you know better. this isn't you.

this time she catches sight of those dark dark eyes glaring disapprovingly. the breath leaves her lungs in one ragged move as she stumbles towards amber. but the vision is gone as quickly as it appeared.

tara starts seeing and hearing pieces of amber when she makes reckless decisions amber would never approve of. and, god, does it spur her to make more.

after all, tara's never been good at letting go

#scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #amber freeman #liv mckenzie #wes hicks #she doesn't tell sam #how can she when sam's already so worried? and given sam's own proposenity for seeing dead serial killers?#tara just slowly sinks into more and more reckless shit for another glimpse. another moment. it's not hurting anyone right?#(wrong everyone is terrified for her)#amber's memory seems to get particularly agitated when she flirts with shady guys with hungry eyes and roaming hands #she seems so real in those moments it's worth the price tara pays #worth heavy calloused hande slipping up under her shirt in a hazr #someone from the tara watch squad always realizes she's slipped away and find her before things go to far #(its one of the choices that scares sam the most)#but yea #tara seeing amber in the same way bella sees edward in moon

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mcmcntomorl · 8 months ago

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@platiinums | cont.

Truth be told, neither of the twins' were as COMFORTABLE with places of the deceased as much as others liked to believe perhaps Luciana had always been better at communicating than Valeria but it was never comfortable. Certainly not the recent death's, when the figures stood in grieving disbelief, hovering over their own corpses like statues no one else could see. It was always so heart - wrenching to witness, no matter how many times it had been now. HUMOR was her only way of easing her own anxiety, when the awkward wheeze from her supposed business partner was wistfully feigned for tears, before the elbow made contact with Luci's rib and her own SNORT had to be taken for a sniffle of artificial emotion. But the smirk failed to go away completely, head ducked regardless of protest as she regarded Bella.

❝ Duck my head ?? For what ?? You'd be surprised, nothing offends the dead. ❞ Though scarcely aware they were both still among the LIVING, Luciana managed to keep her own voice tamed. ❝ Except the half - dead, of course. ❞

#platiinums #omg i love that !!#maybe the bprd came in and is helping ??#i imagine maybe luci offered help cuz she can physically see the dead #so maybe help get bella info on her hunts ??#（ luci speaks ） ᛟ i'm hellbent ; the reckless one

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brokenpiecesshine · 2 years ago

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Taylor Momsen on Instagram, 15/02/2023.

Last night @christiancowan ❤️❤️❤️

#2023 #Taylor Momsen #Tpr #The Pretty Reckless #Christian cowan #Bella thorne

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neferaskingdom · 2 months ago

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♡ The Girls Are Fighting | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: How exactly is a girl supposed to tell their brother that she got knocked up by his current archnemesis? Especially when said brother is George Russell?

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: 🔥 DRAMA ALERT 🔥 George Russell and Max Verstappen were seen exchanging heated words in the paddock after today’s qualifying session. Witnesses claim George called Max’s driving "reckless" (again), while Max allegedly replied, "Maybe if you drove faster, you wouldn’t need to talk so much." Sources say team personnel had to step in to separate them. Thoughts?

Comments:

user: the girls are fighting AGAIN

user: george and max beefing is my roman empire

user: "if you drove faster" HELPPP max is so unserious 😂

user: honestly george has a point tho?? max’s cooldown lap was suspicious af

user: no bc max cooked him and served him cold 😌

user: serious f1 fans trying to analyze the incident while we’re here laughing at “girls are fighting” 😭

landonorris: who needs netflix when you have this

user: ariana what are you doing here user: why is lando just our f1 gossip girl atp 😂

user: let’s be real. max and george are two sides of the same coin but one side is feral and the other side uses hair gel religiously

user: nah bc this is giving zendaya and bella thorne fighting over who was the real star of shake it up 🎤

user: not to be dramatic but george and max are my toxic exes fighting over me in my delusional little mind palace 😍

user: george fans: "max is ruining the sport" max fans: "cry more" me: "post the video!!!"

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: The rivalry between George Russell and Max Verstappen is heating up, and it’s no longer just about racing. George has been outspoken about Max’s dangerous on-track behavior, accusing him of crossing lines and being unable to handle adversity when he’s not in the dominant car. "He's been enabled because nobody's stood up to him," George said, adding that Max’s reactions after a few bad races show he’s not handling pressure well

Things got even more awkward at a recent team dinner when everyone left a seat for George next to Max—but George pulled his chair elsewhere. The tension was palpable, and fellow drivers like Lando Norris are enjoying every minute of it. When asked about the feud, Lando admitted he just wants to see them keep fighting—because, honestly, it’s pretty entertaining

Comments:

user: omg not the russell vs verstappen cinematic universe expanding

user: why are they STILL fighting. like girlies pls hug it out or smth

user: serious question: if they had a boxing match, who’d win? asking for a friend.

user: Lando really out here asking for Max and George to keep fighting like it's the best reality TV show ever. This is the content I didn’t know I needed. 😆

user: Imagine showing up to a team dinner and everyone’s waiting for you to sit next to your rival

user: George avoiding Max like he's the plague, and honestly, I don’t blame him. These two are about to turn F1 into a soap opera. 😆

user: The tension between them is unreal. Can’t wait for the next race to see if they actually talk or just pretend the other doesn’t exist. 😂

user: This is like a bad breakup but on a race track. Max and George giving us nothing but drama. And I am HERE for it. 🙌

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osarina · 11 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking.

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side.

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics.

“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction.

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk.

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately.

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?”

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you.

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk.

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there.

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is.

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge.

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt.

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple.

He smiles.

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route.

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants.

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is.

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to.

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest.

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.”

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him.

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs.

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent.

God, he’s gorgeous.

You hate him.

You’ve missed him.

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can.

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs.

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips.

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.”

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago.

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective.

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?”

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions.

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him.

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace.

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time.

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying.

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch.

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs.

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did.

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work.

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk.

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek.

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes.

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for Christmas because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything.

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t.

“I know,” he murmurs.

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly.

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses.

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

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

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sectumsempraaa · 7 months ago

Text

Send Him My Regards

Pairing: fem!reader x idk they’re all in love with you LOL, but Draco's down bad

Summary: You aren’t one to provoke the aggressive nature of your closest friend group (a bunch of reckless Slytherin boys) but when the new hire at your favorite bookstore makes you uncomfortable, you’re forced to ask for their… “help.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Featuring: The whole damn crew. Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Pansy, Blaise, Lorenzo

TW: Implied non-consensual touching/comments, implied violence, panic/mental distress, cursing, disgustingly fluffy

Notes: This is based on something I recently experienced, as many of you have, too. I tried my best to convey my very real thoughts on this matter. Avoiding threatening men is a constant, everyday struggle. If you can relate, this is for you.

“Love, you already own every book in the world.” Draco proclaims, staggering behind you with his pack of Slytherin watch dogs.

Whenever you go anywhere as a group, they always let you lead so they can keep an eye on your surroundings. You think it’s silly, but it’s their thing, and you secretly appreciate the protection, so you let them be. It makes them feel important, and you find it endearing.

“I most certainly do not! Only like… two hundred.” You respond, muttering the number under your breath.

“Then I’ll buy you every book in the world. Must we come here every weekend?” he groans. Of course, Mattheo interrupts, shooting Draco a furrowed brow.

“Mate, for the love of god, either stop coming on these trips, or use some of that fancy cash you love to go on about to take us elsewhere. Pick one.” Mattheo sneers. Naturally, he’s carrying your bag and coat, making sure you never lift a finger. His response earns a smirk from you.

You’re not really listening though, more so taking in the beauty of Hogsmeade. You love escaping the castle for the little town on perfect, brisk days like this one, hitting everyone’s favorite shops and downing a couple of butterbeers.

The boys continue arguing in the background as you make your way down the cobblestone street, your hair blowing softly in the chill of the November breeze. Blaise and Theo share an eye roll with each other before coming to your side, leaving the two to bicker as they trail behind. Theo steps in, heaving a dramatic sigh and throwing an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. His words drip with that rich Italian accent.

“Ignore them, bella. We’ll wait for you outside.” You smile at him and he gives you a wink. A man of few words, but oozing with charm. He will occasionally act as a grounding force when the others get rowdy. You hear Draco drag on about how he “earned” his money or whatever.

“Oh wow, a real rags to riches story!” Mattheo shouts, lunging at Draco. You shake your head laughing with Blaise, sending you a look that reads as “I’ll take care of them.” You enter the bookshop, making the bell ring as the door opens.

The first thing you notice is the shiny new display of fantasy books you’ve been dying to get your hands on. You make your way towards it, not being able to contain the thrill on your face. You’ve been waiting for this series to restock and here they are, all of them, ready to be yours. You touch the smooth covers, tracing your fingers over the author’s name on each one.

The second thing you notice is… him. Your heart drops as your sheer excitement instantly morphs into dread.

Please, not again.

The new hire at this bookstore has ruined the last couple of trips for you. You were hoping he would stop working weekends but… there he is. And he eyes you right away, like you’re on his radar.

The first time you came in, it was the comments. Calling you pet names, pointing out his favorite features on you, and it was relentless. You somehow got through it and attempted to shake it off, praying he would quit or just get fired before your next trip.

The second time, it was the touching. Brushing against your back when trying to “get through”, his hand grabbing your arm too tightly while he led you down an aisle. You tripped on your way out while trying to make a swift escape, and of course he was there to “catch you”, only giving him an excuse to grip both hands around your waist, hesitant to release you.

Your eyes go between the book display and his movements as he starts creeping his way out from behind the counter. You have to make a split-second decision to either stay and endure, or leave safely and empty handed. It pains you but your nerves heighten as he gets closer. Panic sets in as colors blur and sounds become muffled. Your brain and your body and your heart scream together in unison: “danger.”

You burst through the door back outside with a speed and force that could only be conjured by your anxiety. Facing the door, you stumble backwards and let out a gasp when you land in someone’s familiar arms. You recognize the brown suede material of Theo’s jacket as you attempt to catch your breath. It seems no amount of oxygen could suffice at the moment.

“Bella, bella, what’s wrong?” He asks urgently, hoisting you back up to your feet. The others notice the incident and immediately stride their way over. Draco, always leading the pack, puts his hands on your shoulders and lowers his eyes to your level.

“Hey, look at me,” he coos, forcing you out of your episode. He speaks with a tenderness that is almost heartbreaking. “What happened, love? Are you quite alright?”

There’s too many thoughts and feelings swimming around in your head to give an honest answer. Everything is moving in slow motion and you need time to regroup. Swallowing your fear, you decide to lie, at least for now. The last thing you want to do is impulsively encourage their hostility.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you respond, avoiding his gaze. He looks at you, deciding whether to believe you. “Really, I am.” You add. He glances down to your empty hands.

“You left without a book. You always buy a book.” He says, speaking with suspicion in his voice. The others stay back, knowing when to give Draco his space. They all adore you, but Draco would do things you’d rather not think about in order to keep you happy and safe. And he has. It’s been like this since you can remember.

“Just didn’t have what I wanted, is all.” You explained. The doubt on his face is evident. He speaks just above a whisper.

“Y/N, you know we would take care of anyone that so much as breathes near you wrong, yeah? It’s important to me that you know this.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Mattheo ditching his cigarette and cracking his knuckles. You give a small nod and a shrug, releasing yourself from his hands and walking back in the direction of the castle. Your head is still reeling, but not enough to block out the boys’ debriefing behind you.

First, Mattheo. “She rarely ever gets like that.”

Then Theo. “Only when she panics.” And Blaise. “Her face was almost as pale as Malfoy’s.”

And Draco, but with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “She barely looked at me.” He glances in your direction, contemplating. “Give her time. We’ll look after her tonight. Someone tell Pansy.”

The rest you don’t hear, feeling embarrassment creeping in. You wish they’d just let it go and forget about it, cowering from the attention it’s bringing to you. Your pace quickens as the heat spreads across your cheeks, eager to be alone in your hideout at the castle.

Too focused on your path, you slam into someone’s chest as they’re coming out of the bakery you’re passing.

“Ugh, Lorenzo, I’m so sorry,” you say frantically, smoothing out his jacket and moving past him, never meeting his gaze. His face contorts with confusion and concern. He watches you take off then turns back to the group.

“Something off with that one...” The boys give him a knowing look.

“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo sneers.

—

After what felt like an eternity, you had reached the castle and darted to your hideout: a corner balcony high up in one of the towers facing the pitch. Leaning your elbows on the edge of the balcony, you watch the sun slowly descend into its eventual bed of twilight. Then, the spiraling begins.

Thinking back, you’ve never really dealt with something like this because of who your friends were. No one dared to even step too close to you, aware of what the consequences would be. But you weren’t on school grounds this time. You felt… unprepared. Lost. Violated. Guilty.

Does running away make me weak?

Why can’t I stand up for myself?

How did he gain control so quickly?

Did I ask for it? Did I do something wrong?

This is too much. It feels ridiculous and quite frankly enraging that you considered this being your fault. The stress is exhausting.

You let yourself relax, laying down on a stone bench and staring up at the black night sky. You start to mentally identify the stars in view, something Draco taught you to do when you’d get anxious. It always worked, as evident by the many hours you fell asleep. Upon awakening, you gasp as your watch reads 1AM.

You hear footsteps rustling around nearby, and echoing voices calling your name. Shit. They’re looking for me.

Sneaking around corners, you tiptoe around, trying not to get yourself noticed. Maybe, just maybe you can get back to the dungeons without getting caught. Until you hear the voice of your best friend, who admittedly, you could really use right now.

“Pans?” You whisper, catching a glimpse of her shadow down the corridor. Her head whips around before running to you urgently.

“Where the hell have you been?! The boys are going mad looking for-” She stops abruptly when you force yourself into her arms, hugging her tight and burying your face in her shoulder. Her tone softens to that of an older sister. “Oh, Y/N,” She rubs your back while your eyes well up.

“Fuck, Pans, I don’t know what to do.” You say through subtle sobs, holding back as much as you can for her sake. She looks at you with a questioning look before your words stumble out, caked in distress.

“There’s a boy at the bookstore, MY bookstore, and-and, and he’s there all the time now, following me around, and…”

“Y/N, calm down. You’re okay. It’s just me, sweetie.” She says, running a hand through your hair as her eyes shift to someone behind you; their voice deep, slow, and filled with angst.

“There’s… a… what?” He asks, the voice you recognize as Draco’s ringing off the walls. Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise walk into frame behind him when they realize he found you. The sight of them strikes you; your fiercely loyal group of friends that would go to the ends of the earth for you. To your surprise, you are relieved to see them.

But their anger is palpable. Draco’s jaws clenched tight. Theo’s heavy eyes claiming the darkness. Blaise’s hands rolled into fists. Lorenzo steps forward, eyes soft, holding out a gentle hand.

“Let’s get you to the common room, and you can tell us-” he turns to the other boys before emphasizing his next words, “-what you’re comfortable with, if you want to talk at all.”

You nod in agreement, taking his hand while Pansy takes your other one. In your head, you’re thanking whatever higher power put Lorenzo on this planet. The voice of reason amidst all chaos.

—

It’s nearly 2AM now. You’re sat on the common room couch in front of the blazing fireplace under a mess of blankets, warming up after your frigid nap. Theo on your left, Lorenzo on your right holding your tea, Draco and Mattheo sitting on the coffee table facing you, with Blaise and Pansy on the floor. All with mixed looks of curiosity, empathy, and sheer rage.

After thinking it over, you decided to prioritize yourself for once. A lot of people don’t realize how hard a decision that can be. This is a risky favor to ask for. But there’s only a couple truly precious things in the world you can’t live without, and this is one of them. You want your fucking bookstore back.

So, you tell them. Everything.

As you recall the events of the last few weeks, you feel the air become tense. Blaise looks like he’s about to combust. Theo reaches for your hand, letting you fiddle with the bracelet on his wrist. You hear Pansy call this boy every name in the book under her breath, your favorite being “bastardly filth”. Draco and Mattheo listen, periodically looking at each other with knowing stares, having their own wordless conversation. You know those looks. Plotting looks.

When you finish, you’re briefly met with silence, temporarily paralyzing you. Do they believe me?

You break the stillness. “I suppose I’m making a big deal out of something quite trivial.” You say to them, diminishing your story, and for what?

Mattheo stands up, ushering Blaise and Pansy out of the way as he kneels in front of you. He rests a comforting hand on your knee, his eyes glowing with brutal honesty.

“It’s really very simple, little dove. You’re in danger, we take down the threat. I can assure you we all agree that your safety is anything but trivial.” He states. He gives your knee a squeeze. “Gonna be honest though, Y/N. It’s going to be ugly for him when he meets us.”

You look up to Draco, who’s been oddly quiet since you all got back. You hold his gaze as you respond.

“Good. Send him my regards.” You reply, earning a wicked grin from him, his eyes suddenly crinkled and brimming with pride. Everyone shifts a bit in their seats, wrapping up the late night discussion.

Draco strides over to you, taking the teacup from your hands and setting it down on a side table. He looks so handsome like this, facing you on the couch with his hair disheveled and the top of his shirt buttons undone. The glow from the fire accenting his features, so sharp yet yearning for sleep. He takes your face in his warm hands.

“I need you to hear me right now. Listening?” he asks. You give an unconvincing nod as his thumb caresses your cheek. Yes, but damn you make it hard to.

His stare intensifies, pulling you from your trance and forcing you to dial in to his statement.

“Never feel bad for wanting them to pay for the pain and discomfort they inflict on you. Their reasons were senseless, yours are justified.”

For the first time tonight, just for a moment, you feel sure of yourself. You wrap your arms around him, pulling yourself closer, his body becoming your safe haven. His hands nestle you to his chest as you feel him place a kiss on the top of your head.

He loves you and you know it. He’ll wait for this to pass, for things to be right. He’ll wait for you to feel whole and secure again. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you get you there, even if that means giving you space.

As Pansy sees the two of you off to bed, you repeat his sentiment to her. “My god, that bloody boy is down bad, and I mean bad, for you Y/N.”

Ascending the staircase to your dorm, you faintly hear Draco informing the boys of the plan.

“Tomorrow. Noon.” He demands. The boys nod. He pauses before adding another instruction.

“Oh, and we’re gonna need a bag. We’ve got books to bring home.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin #draco x reader #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy #harry potter #theodore nott #theo nott #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #pansy parkinson #slytherin fanfiction #draco fluff #draco malfoy fanfic

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cryptgrrrl · 15 days ago

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Do any of the Cullens actually care about Bella? Short answer: no. But it’s a little more complicated than that, and it varies by each of them. They don’t care about her in the way we’re led to believe, or even the way Bella believes they do. Instead, they care about her only insofar as she serves their interests. From the moment Bella enters their orbit, she’s a demonstration of how little the Cullens actually value human life.

The text makes this clear, and Midnight Sun outright spells it out: the Cullens are inherently selfish. Human life is disposable to them. The difference between them and other vampires is that they cosplay as humans, pretending to care while masking their predatory nature. We’re supposed to think they’re “better” than regular vampires, but they’re not. And honestly? That’s what makes them creepy. None of them cared about Bella as a person. Most of them were fine with her being killed if it came to that.

Edward sums this up perfectly in Midnight Sun when he considers what everyone would think if he drained Bella. Rosalie and Jasper wouldn’t care—if anything, they’d feel smug for being right about Edward’s inability to resist. Esme’s concern would be for Edward’s well-being, not Bella’s life. Carlisle would be disappointed but ultimately forgiving. Emmett? He’d shrug it off. Alice might be upset about losing a potential friend, but even that’s questionable. None of them cared enough to oppose the idea strongly; they were just going along with what suited them.

Rosalie, in particular, gets villainized for not liking Bella, but she’s not any worse than the others. The difference is that Rosalie doesn’t lie about her indifference. She doesn’t play mind games or pretend to care. She wasn’t plotting against Bella she just didn’t want Edward’s fixation to endanger the family. Jasper and Emmett, on the other hand, were fine with Edward killing Bella. Rosalie only got involved when Edward started implicating them in his reckless behavior. Even then, she relented when Carlisle insisted they play nice.

Esme, meanwhile, cared more about Edward’s happiness than Bella’s life. If killing Bella made Edward happy, Esme would’ve supported it. If dating her and dooming her to vampirism made Edward happy, Esme welcomed her. Alice? Alice was less concerned about Bella as a person and more about the idea of her as a new “friend” and human Barbie doll. She orchestrated the relationship, fully aware of the danger Bella faced, because she wanted Bella close. She doesn’t care about Bella’s safety; she cares about her own desires.

Jasper? He doesn’t care about Bella as a person. To him, she’s a tantalizing temptation a challenge to overcome and a new ear to hear his Civil War stories. Emmett? He’s just along for the ride. He didn’t think twice about Bella until the family decided to include her. Then she became “Edward’s human,” and that was that. Carlisle? He cared about Bella in the abstract as an innocent girl who didn’t “deserve” to die but his actions show his selfishness. He made vampires without their consent, knowing they’d kill humans, and let Edward pursue Bella, fully aware of the danger. Carlisle’s priority has always been maintaining his moral high ground while indulging his family’s selfish desires.

Ultimately, none of the Cullens cared about Bella beyond what she represented to them: Edward’s pet project, Alice’s new toy, or Carlisle’s opportunity to preach about self-control. They proved this when they abandoned her without a second thought, leaving her unprotected from the supernatural chaos they brought into her life just because Edward said so.

They’re selfish, manipulative predators who pretend to be human for their own twisted reasons. They don’t care about humans, and Bella was no exception. The outrage over Rosalie’s indifference feels hypocritical when none of the Cullens actually cared about Bella either. At least Rosalie was honest about it. She didn’t have a vendetta against Bella she was just upfront about her priorities. Compared to the others, Rosalie’s selfishness is almost refreshing.

Which brings us to the next natural question: does Edward care about Bella? Spoiler: no. He thinks he does, and we’re supposed to believe he does, but that’s a whole other can of worms. In conclusion, no, the Cullens don’t care about Bella not as a person. She was never more than a convenient object of their desires, and that’s the unsettling truth at the heart of their “family dynamic.”

#twilight meme #the twilight series #twilight #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #Stephanie Meyer #twilight core #bella swan #edward cullen #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #jasper hale #alice cullen #jacob black #vampires #werewolves

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keepingupwiththecullensblog · 6 months ago

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🌟🍟 Welcome back to “Keeping Up with the Cullens,” where today we’re diving into one of the most unhinged moments in Bella Swan’s post-Edward-breakup life. Picture this: it’s been a few months since Edward Cullen ghosted out of Bella’s life (literally), and our girl is just trying to survive in Forks, living life on cruise control. You know, the usual post-vampire-breakup blues. 💔😩

But things take a wild turn during what should have been a totally normal trip to Port Angeles with Jessica. They’re just out for a girl’s night, planning to grab some McDonald’s fries and chat about anything but sparkly vampires. 🍔🍟 As they’re walking, Bella spots some guys outside of a bar, and suddenly, she hears Edward’s voice in her head. Yes, you read that right—Edward’s voice, the same guy who ditched her in the woods, is now haunting her like some sort of ghostly boyfriend hallucination. 👻🧛‍♂️

Now, instead of being rational and heading to McDonald’s for a Big Mac therapy session, Bella decides to approach these sketchy dudes. Edward’s voice (or her imagination, honestly, who knows at this point?) is all, “Bella, don’t do it,” like he’s some kind of moral GPS. 🚫🔊 And what does Bella do? She walks right up to them, like, “Let’s see where this goes.” Because nothing says “I’m fine” like ignoring your ghost-ex’s advice and heading straight into trouble! 🙃💀

Jessica, meanwhile, is losing her mind, probably wondering if Bella has completely lost it—or if she’s about to get them both killed. Honestly, Jessica’s patience deserves a medal at this point. 🏅 Bella, however, is living for the adrenaline rush, the only thing that seems to make her feel anything these days. She’s basically like, “Edward ditched me? Fine. I’m gonna go find some danger and see if his voice will pop up again!” And it does, because why not? 😅👀

So, let’s fast forward to the next day. Bella, who’s now apparently decided that reckless behavior is the new therapy, goes out and buys some motorcycles. 🏍️ Yes, you heard me—motorcycles. The girl who can barely stay on her feet without tripping over thin air is now a proud owner of not one, but two motorcycles. And why? Because Edward broke his promise to stay forever, so naturally, she’s going to break her promise not to do anything reckless. 🙄🛵

Is this payback or just plain insanity? Let’s be real—it’s probably a mix of both. 🌀💥 Bella’s reasoning is like, “If Edward’s gonna ditch me, I’m gonna go full daredevil and see how he likes that!” Honestly, it’s like she’s trying to out-crazy his vampire melodrama with her own brand of human recklessness. 🤪💣

But let’s take a moment to consider Charlie, Bella’s poor dad, who’s just trying to keep his daughter from losing it completely. He’s already suggested she see a shrink because, I mean, who wouldn’t after the whole woods breakdown? But can you imagine if he knew about the Edward hallucinations? 😱 He’d probably drive her to therapy himself, no questions asked! “Bella, honey, we need to talk about these ‘voices’ you’re hearing…” 🛋️👨‍⚕️

So, here we are—Bella’s hearing voices, buying motorcycles, and spiraling into what can only be described as post-breakup madness. And all because her sparkly ex ditched her for her “own good.” Is this girl in need of help, or is she just finding the most creative way to deal with heartbreak ever? Honestly, it’s probably a bit of both. 🥴💔

Stay tuned for more of Bella’s wild ride through heartbreak and healing—who knows what she’ll do next! 🤷‍♀️🚀

#twilight saga #new moon #bella swan #vampire problems #summer reading #forks high drama #edward cullen #dazzle alert #post breakup craziness #McDonalds therapy #twilight humor #midnight voices #keeping up with the cullens #reckless Bella #what would Charlie do #new moon madness

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 3 months ago

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title: all those words hidden in the silence

pairing: kitt azer x (first person reader)

synopsis: you break into the castle for a mission where you may have to assassinate the king but you fancy teasing him a little first… given your history

warnings: swearing, intense-ness

a/n: don’t ask me how or why this idea came to me but it was super fun to write :)) btw the crossed out parts are to represent her ‘forbidden’ thoughts

taglist: @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @whatsamongus @zaraaaabear @lovethornes @emelia07 @sweetreveriee @userxs-blog @anintellectualintellectual @off-to-the-r4ces @hermesenthusiast

“Pretty night for a murder don’t you think,” I grin, swinging my dagger between my fingers nonchalantly.

The king turns around. The look of shock on his face leaves me satisfied but like any addiction, a part of me craves more. I watch as he slowly pales when he meets my eyes. I wasn’t sure he could pale any more, he looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. The king is weak. Perfect.

“Very pretty,” he muses, keeping on the diplomatic mask he’s crafted for himself, “the blood will match your new outfit.”

“Taking notes about what I wear now?” I raise an eyebrow, approaching him slowly. My steps long and swift, almost a glide. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his neck as he swallows and wonder if he’s nervous.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he sighs with a blank stare, “it’s just a change from seeing you in rags, did that little seamstress friend of our silver saviour sew it for you?”

He hits a nerve and he knows it as the corner of his mouth turn up to form malicious smirk. I want to rip it off of his cruelly beautiful face and tear each part into a million pieces of nothingness. So he can finally be the nothing he made her.

“You murdered Adena,” I growl, not bothering to hide my burning rage. Unlike the king, I’m not a fan of wearing a mask. I don’t play pretend, I don’t mess about, I’m real.

He dares to take a step closer to me, “she was collateral damage.”

“Why don’t I make you collateral damage?” I snarl, gripping tighter to my dagger. My knuckles turn white.

“It’s my talent sweetheart,” he tells me, “I’d be careful if I were you.”

His green eyes blaze with a synthetic fierceness. I laugh, throwing my head back and holding my stomach. He’s taken off guard and stares at me in bewilderment.

“Oh sorry,” I snort, trying to pull myself together, “it’s just hilarious to me that you think you’ll be doing the killing tonight.”

“I wouldn’t get so giggly sweetheart,” he murmurs, getting closer still, looming over me to cast his cowardly shadow, “you know I could if I wanted to.”

“No I don’t actually, you’ve had countless opportunities to do it,” I scoff, “so tell me, brave king, noble king, why haven’t you killed me yet?”

He paralyses for a second and I have the golden opportunity to end him right there. Lunge forwards and impale him with my handmade dagger. Watch the blood leak from his lifeless body. See as the last flicker of light leaves those hypnotising emerald eyes. But I don’t. I don’t do it and I don’t know why.

“You know why,” he whispered, sending a shiver down my spine. It’s like he’s answering both the question in my head and the one I had said aloud.

I quirk my eyebrow upwards and fold my arms, I won’t let him do this to me, he can’t play the vulnerable card before I do, “do I?” I ask.

“Are you going to make me say it?” he murmurs so quietly I can hear my heart thumping my chest, “is that what you want from me?”

So it’s true. He still loves me like I love him. And he won’t kill me because of it. Good. I have an advantage.

“Are you brave enough to say it?” I mumbled, tilting my face upwards to really look at him.

He’s still my Kitt. I can see past his pretence, far past it. I always have been able to. And even with his tired eyes and hollowed cheeks, colder gaze and harsher tone, beneath all of that he’s the boy I used to know. The boy I fell for in too many ways. The boy who was vulnerable with me. The boy who I was vulnerable with.

“I have guards posted on every door,” he diverts the conversation, “how did you get past them?”

I get the answer to my previous question. He is not brave enough to admit it. He’s still a coward then.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” my lips draw into a thin smile.

“You know I could have you killed in an instant,” he muses, “my guards will obey my every wish, it wouldn’t be me to do it.”

He won’t call them. I already know it. But I’ll play his game, as tedious as manipulation is it serves well in the end.

“Too bad you won’t be able to reach them,” I shrug softly.

His face hardens, “what did you do?”

I don’t reply, staring at my nails to prove my disinterest. He tries calling for them, for help, for anyone. I yawn and roll my eyes. They won’t come. They don’t come. I see a flicker of rage in his eyes, a furious spark ignites somewhere inside of him. At least he looks less like a dead man walking when angry, at least now he had passion about something.

“What did you do!” he yells, his booming voice remaining me of his father, making me feel a little queasy.

“Demanding me isn’t going to make me tell you,” I say fiercely, “I’m not one of your subject Kitty.”

He flinches at the nickname. It’s like a reflex he has no control over. The mask cracks slightly. Whoops.

He glares at me, regaining his pathetic royal composure, the facade that is everything but him, “where’s my brother?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Yes you do,” he insists.

“No I don’t,” I exclaimed.

“TELL ME!” he screams, madly clawing at my arms, pinning me to the wall behind us.

My back hits it with an awkward thump. Pain rolls across my body and I bite my lip. He has me at the wrists, forcing me to drop my beloved dagger. Our faces are so close they nearly touch. I wonder if he can see the scar on my left eyebrow, the one he gave me. I don’t tear my gaze from his and for what feels like hours he stare at each other panting like exhausted dogs. His hands slowly drop my wrists and trail gently down my face. I’ve missed his touch. They reach my neck and in a sudden jerky movement he clasps his hands around it. I gasp, he smiles something blazing in his eyes. He’s hungry to witness my pain. Shame he’ll have to starve tonight.

“Go on,” I murmur, “strangle me, do it, I dare you.”

He breathes heavily, looking into my eyes like he used to after all those times we’d kissed. A mix of emotions rise into my chest, a bittersweet mixture of all I want to forgot. Part of me thinks it might be worth dying, if it’s at his hands.

“You can’t,” I whisper, “can you?”

“What do you want?” he asks hoarsely, dropping his arms and taking a step back. Disappointment hits my stomach. I didn’t want him to let go.

“Oh honey,” I say, strutting past him, “there’s a long list.”

“Tell me what you want,” he walks infront of me, stopping my tracks, “and I will let you walk out of here alive.”

“You won’t kill me either away,” I say, “what good is that promise?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Kitt says, “I might not do it myself but there are others who will. So what do you want?”

“At this current moment,” I ask, taking a step closer to him so I can feel him breathe.

He nods, “name it.”

“I want your blood,” I whisper, pushing him down harshly onto a chair, “on my dagger, your cold lifeless body in my arms,” I say, your lips on my lips I don’t.

A ghost of a smile haunts his empty features, as he grabs my chin, “you’re a pretty liar, but not a good enough one.”

“Do you want to test me?” I ask, straddling him so I’m sat on his lap. For the plan to work I need to be a distraction, that’s all this is, I reassure myself. I ignore the fact that I want to be in this position.

“Tell me this makes you feel nothing,” he says in a low voice, running his soft hands up my thighs and then up to the small of my back where he holds me like I’m weightless, like I’m a dancer.

I gasp sharply. All my oxygen stolen by a thief with emerald eyes. The same theif who stole my heart.

“Look me in the eye and tell me this makes you feel nothing,” he repeats again.

I can’t do it. And he knows it. This makes me feel more than I’ve felt in a long time. I open my mouth to reply but two rough unfamiliar sets of hands grab my arms. I look behind to see two guards on me.

Kitt grins, something cruel in his smirk make my heart ache, “two can play at the manipulation game sweetheart,” he says.

Sweetheart. My toes curl at the thought of being his sweetheart. I want to kick myself and then sob in a heap. I’d let my guard down again. I’d been vulnerable again. I’d let myself take it all as one big joke again. He wasn’t my Kitt anymore and I was naive to think he could be. I’d failed the mission, I’d failed to kill him, I’d failed to manipulate him, I’d failed to play it smart.

He just stands there, over me, crown looking too heavy for his head. I hate that look he’s giving me. I attempt to lunge at him but the guards’ grip is too strong and I’m held back. He’s still smirking at me. I spit in his face.

“Aren’t you beautiful when you’re angry,” he taunts, unbothered by my undignified behaviour.

I’d been so cocky before. How stupid did I look now?

“Fuck you Kitt,” I shout, a rawness in my voice that I didn’t recognise.

He chuckles, “not so sarcastic now are we?”

“I’m going to kill you,” I look at him, a dead seriousness set in my expression.

“That’s what you came here to do though and as it happens I’m not dead,” he shrugs at me. I wish his eyes weren’t so pretty to stare at.

“They’ll end you Kitt,” I tell him, “they’re planning to end you.”

Am I threatening him or am I warning him? I can’t tell anymore. My mind is too conflicted to decide.

“And I will destroy every last one until there’s just you and I,” he murmurs, before standing up and issuing his kingly orders, “take her to a holding cell boys.”

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍 I promise more of my req fic will be posted soon

powerless masterlist

#bella writes 🤍#powerless fics #powerless oneshot #kitt powerless #powerless lauren roberts #kitt azer #kitt azer x reader #powerless #powerless fic #reckless lauren roberts #lauren roberts #kitt azer x y/n #kitt azer x you #kitt azer oneshot #kai azer x paedyn gray #kaipaedyn

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bsdawgz · 6 months ago

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「 ✦ Perverted ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Osamu Dazai

... NOW PLAYING ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| Perverted by Elita ...

a/n: it has been so long i'm sorry for disappearing </3 I LOVE YOU ALL THANK U FOR CONTINUING TO SUPPORT ME, new and old followers ILY. SPECIAL THX TO @amo-bsd, @little-miss-chaoss, @starrs20 THEY R THE BEST. also idk if this fic is ur thing cuz its dark content so u dont have to read it but i tagged y'all bc everyone who comes across this post SHOULD FOLLOW U BC UR THE BEST

content: f! pm! reader. MDNI! dark content + nasty! knifeplay. knifeplay is consensual, BUT keep in mind that unequal power dynamics are still at play because dazai is an executive and f!reader is a subordinate. (aka if this were real life this is not consensual)

++ blowjob (incl. facefucking). degradation and name-calling ("slut"), praise and pet names (i actually used bella LOL). dazai is possessive. like he actually treats you like a possession KEEP THAT IN MIND B4 READING

Dazai has always been calculating and cruel. Perhaps it was one of the things that drew you to him the most, as twisted as it were, knowing that these bloodied hands could sometimes hold you so tenderly, and that you of all people were the one he chose to see him naked at the end of the night. You took some sort of pride in it, in the fact Port Mafia's youngest executive had chosen you as his personal plaything, out of all the women that could easily fall into his arms.

His room is dark, ceilings tall, his face shrouded by velvet curtains that cast a shadow over you like a gaping mouth. His desk is stacked with papers, neatly organized in a pile, but there are painkillers and used-up bandages sprawled across the floor beneath it. Dazai is in the corner, staring down disdainfully at the broken city that is Yokohama. He doesn't greet you when you enter. Rather, he looks down at you condescendingly. "You were reckless today. You're lucky Akutagawa was there to save you, or you would have been killed."

"I'm sorry," is all you can say. As his subordinate and, for lack of a better term, his lover, you never know which Dazai you're about to face. Your apology is well-received, a grin forming on his lips as you bow your head. You're always so quick to submit to him. He's used to it, being an executive and all, but it feels especially good coming from you.

"Yeah?" His voice is a low hum now, seductive and rogue. He comes closer, then you feel his thumb graze your chin, then he forces you to gaze into the empty void of his dark eyes. You stare, captured by the intense nothingness behind them that threatens to swallow you whole, gulping as you realize that in those moments of enchantment, those slender fingers of his have crawled along the sides of your neck. He leans in, and you can feel his lips tracing along your collarbone. "How are you gonna make it up to me?"

Your knees are weak; you're always falling right into his hands this way. He guides you to the dresser, hands on your hips, then presses his body against yours from behind, fingers toying with the hem of your blouse. "How about I kill you right here, myself?" you hear him whisper in your ear, breath warm against your skin. Then, you feel cold metal pressed against your neck. "Would you let me do that to you?"

You catch a glimpse of silver, gleaming with the reflection of the city lights as Dazai runs a blade along a vein.

Trusting a man like Dazai can be such a fatal flaw – ...

... but he must be using the dull edge for a reason... right?

"I would let you do anything to me," you reply. You hear him sigh, almost disappointed by your courteous response. He lets go of you immediately and scoffs, tucking the knife back into his pocket.

"You always know what to say," he mutters, as if irritated by your predictability – but you know that it means he's pleased. You’re loyal to him. You always have been.

Then, as if on cue, you turn to face him, getting on your knees in front of him.

"Oh," he muses, entertained. "So, you're gonna use your pretty mouth to make it up to me instead?"

– but of course.

You're eager to please him, hands fumbling for the zipper of his slacks. He grins at how desperate you seem to touch him, petting your head as you bury your face into his hardness. You trace him through his boxers, marvel at the way it grows with your touch. This is the way you command him – the way you bring to his knees while you're on yours. You feel him shudder as your lips caress him, feel wetness seep through his boxers against your cheek as you mold against him.

In this moment, the most dangerous man in Yokohama is yours and yours alone.

"Get on with it," he mumbles lazily, stroking your cheek gently. You're staring up at him admiringly, watching the way his breath catches in his throat as you tease him.

He's gorgeous when he’s weak for you, gazing back down at you with half-lidded eyes, waiting on you to make him feel something. He's the desperate one now, you think to yourself. It’s as if he’s begging,

'Give it to me.'

You'll give it to him – you'll give it to him over and over.

Maybe it's perverted, but it makes you feel good inside, knowing you're needed by him like this.

So, you strip him slowly, kissing along his firm abdomen and thighs as you peel the boxers down his legs. He's impatient, hands trembling as you reach for him and run your fingers slowly along his length. His reactions are all the praise you need – he sighs softly into your touch when you finally wet the tip with your tongue, then you feel him fade into you. You taste the salt that drips so bitterly on your lips, swirl the precum in your mouth and let it melt against your saliva. "You're good at that," he whispers, and you feel yourself grow wet between the legs at his words.

Then, you take him. Slowly, at first – stroking him with your pretty hands while you lick the vein that runs along the underside, then slide him down your throat. You feel his grip tighten on your hair, then hear him make a stifled sound. When you look up, he's staring down at you in amazement, lips parted so slightly as you do your best not to choke on him... If only he looked at you like this all the time, you can't help but think to yourself shamefully.

It's too cruel to continue these sort of thoughts, so you force yourself to take him deeper... You shove him into your mouth until your vision blurs, until you gag on him, until saliva dribbles down your chin. He matches your pace, burying himself into your throat until you choke on his length, until you're tearing up and your vision is blurred. Then, you hear him laugh condescendingly. "This why you were so reckless today?" he asks you roughly, eyes darkening as he peers down at you. His fingers ravage your hair, his nails digging into your scalp as he pushes your head down. "You like it just like this, don't you?"

And maybe he’s right – he has you throwing your life away in this wretched mafia… and for what? He has you following him around like a dog… and to what end?

When you're forced to look up at him with your mouth stuffed full of him, it's almost as if there's no trace of a humanity left in him. There’s nothing in those wild eyes, scornful and resenting. There's some twisted grin on his face, something sadistic and perverse you've only seen a few times before, in the moments before he’s stolen someone’s life. "You act so fucking innocent, but look at you taking me like a damn slut. Do you do this for the others? Tell me..."

You can hardly breathe now, cheeks swollen and red, jaw aching, but you know he expects a response, so you shake your head frantically. No, of course not, you'd never give it to anyone else but him. Never, ever – but he doesn't relent, looking down at you demeaningly with that same sick look on his face. "Yeah? I've seen the way you look at Chūya. You wanna fuck him too, don't you?"

This time, when you open your eyes, the knife is right against your throat – the sharp edge almost tracing along your skin. Would you bleed for this man? Would you die for this man? Wouldn’t he like to know…

You shake your head as if to say, 'Only you... only ever you.' Then, you claw at his legs, pushing him away to tell him enough...

– and he withdraws immediately, shoving you off of him and leaving you coughing and gasping for air on the cold, wooden floor. "I would have killed you if you said yes, you know," he says, point blank. "You're mine alone."

This time, you're not quite sure if he means what he says – or what he means as laughs mirthlessly as you pull yourself together. But in a playful tone, he adds, "But of course, I knew from the start that you'd say no."

Then, you feel it –

His embrace. Gentle. Endearing. Fond.

His soft, tangled bangs fall against your shoulder as he pulls you into his chest.

It’s like he’s become a different person again.

“Come here, my precious Bella," you hear him murmur into your shoulder, tracing a delicate finger along your back as he presses his lips to your spine, and your heart stills.

"Let me draw you a bath."

For a man so cold, his body feels surprisingly warm.

author ps: ANY BDSM should have CLEAR communicated boundaries (established beforehand) and during AND include AFTERCARE. the aftercare was not written (it would be the bath, basically). if you are new to BDSM or considering BSDM please be INFORMED and do not use fanfic and dark content as a basis for it

#BSDAWGZ #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai smut #pm! dazai #bungou stray dogs smut #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs dazai #pm! dazai smut #bsd dazai smut #dazai x reader #bsd dazai x reader #dazai x you

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causenessus · 2 months ago

Text

leaving soon. | dazai o.

dazai x f!reader

written in 3rd person bc i can

song recc: the fear of losing this by florist

word count: 2.8k words

notes: use of pet names angel, love, and bella; WARNING for mentions about suicidal ideation,, not heavy angst, it's just dazai. and also the reader thinking she'd be fine dying if she's with dazai. not in a manipulative way, just a way of loving him in every universe and state <3 lots of hurt/comfort, overthinking, and insecurity. basically both dazai and the reader are horrible at communication so they have to figure it out together. established relationship implied. takes place during cannibalism arc after dazai is shot. civilian or ada reader not specified on purpose. thank you for reading!

she was the first person they called when they found out.

well– the first after an ambulance had been called. after that, she was the next most important person to call.

not important enough to have any part in saving his life, though. not just as a doctor; she wasn’t good enough to prevent him from thinking of killing himself every day. she wasn’t important enough to keep him from throwing himself into the way of danger, not worth enough that he thought about what would affect her before he wound up in these situations–

it was wrong of her to be angry at him for something like this. she knew what she’d been getting into when she first met him. when she first started falling for him, and when she confessed. she knew all along what he was like, and she still loved him anyway.

yes, he had a past. yes, he joked about committing suicide every day. yes, he was reckless. yes, he was a mastermind. yes, he was selfless and willing to always put everything above himself. yes, he was bad at communication. yes, he was worthy of love. yes, he could give love.

relationships were a work in progress. they would always be until the day she ended up buried next to him, hopefully. deep down, a part of her had already forgiven him for the episode of panic and stress she'd had as soon as she'd recieved the broken call from atsushi. but the other half knew it also wasn’t wrong of her to feel upset when she'd heard that her boyfriend had been shot in an alleyway.

she knew him well enough to know he knew he was putting himself in risk of danger in that alleyway, whatever he'd been doing there. she reckoned he probably knew he was going to be shot, too. and if he knew all that, she just wanted to know why he didn’t give her a heads-up. she wasn't asking for all the details. even just a text, moments before, saying "hey. i'm about to end up in the hospital. someone might will call you. don't be too worried." she didn't expect them dating to miraculously change him into a man who didn't crave death at every moment, but had it been so wrong of her to hope that maybe being in a relationship would cause him to think twice before getting himself in situations like these, no matter how much he assured her he knew what he was doing?

one day, as much as she hoped it wouldn’t be the case, she feared there’d be something he failed to account for. one day, he'd go missing, and no one would be able to find him, and it'd stay that way. she feared one day they wouldn't be so lucky as to find him bleeding out in an alleyway when there was still a chance to save him.

but there she went again, being angry at dazai, then being angry at herself for being angry at him, and then shoving down her feelings before she even had the time to process them. because she didn’t want to be the overbearing girlfriend who always plagued and worried about her boyfriend, but she couldn’t help it when her boyfriend quite literally wanted and was trying to kill himself.

everyone she had talked to had agreed that it wasn’t wrong of her to feel worried about her partner and that they would support her if she decided to distance herself from him for her own sake, but she could never bring herself to do that. if anything, to be completely honest, she’d rather she die with him than leave him to die on his own.

maybe she was weird or morbid for thinking that way. maybe she needed to seek help. but all she knew was that she truly loved him, but maybe he didn’t feel the same way. maybe their entire relationship was just temporary for him and he didn’t want to die with her at his side. maybe death was something sacred for him that he wanted to experience alone, or she just wasn't the perfect one for him and he was still looking for that "special one." she wasn’t entirely sure what his thoughts were on the concept, or what he really, truly thought of her. she didn't know if she was really of any value to him.

maybe she could figure it out for herself. maybe she was a horrible, terrible, awful girlfriend for not knowing what her boyfriend thought of committing suicide with her, but she had no idea. she wasn't sure what was okay for her to bring up, and what wasn't. how was one supposed to go about asking their partner's opinion on a double suicide? she had been frozen by this fear as she stood outside her hospital door, but it was something that had been on her mind long before now. the fear of bringing up something that might ruin their relationship started even before they were dating; with even the thought of confessing her feelings. even though she'd gotten past that, it never became easier bringing up touchy subjects with him, out of fear of triggering something without the intention to.

she had been stuck outside his door for more than ten minutes since she'd been left by a nurse to open his door and check on him. she was unsure of what to think of herself, and what to do. her hand was fisted and raised, ready to knock but then she decided ‘i’m the first person on his emergency contacts list. i don’t need to knock; he’s mine. he probably wants to see me. i’m his.’

she swung the door open.

what was she doing with her face? what was she supposed to be saying? why had she decided to come in so abruptly? she should have knocked after all. she was reminded of the fact that she was not enough to stop osamu from wounding up in a hospital in the first place. she didn't have any right to barge in like this.

then, all of her worries melted away when he turned away from the window to see who’d entered his room and his face softened.

“[y/n],” he whispered, and she saw his bandaged hands loosen their grip on the sheets he'd been holding. his shoulders dropped, and his whole demeanor seemed to relax.

“osamu,” she called his name back, letting her body do what felt normal. she was glad it had a sense of what to do, because she felt like she was at a loss for words. if she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure if a tone of concern or of anger would come out.

she took a seat in the chair pulled up to the side of his bed, loosely intertwining her fingers with his nearby hand. the bandages that adorned his skin didn’t bother her. in fact, she was often overcome with an urge to kiss over every inch of his body and tell him how beautiful he was. the hospital gown he wore was what bothered her; she thought everything about him was beautiful and she couldn’t stand the thought that there’d be a scar on his body because of her. because she hadn’t done a good enough job of telling him how loved and important he was. that he didn’t think of himself nor her as important enough to keep himself out of danger.

her lips were pressed into a grim line as she ran a thumb over his knuckles. she wished he would eat more.

“everything go well with the surgery?” she asked, talking softly as if the silent atmosphere in the room was fragile.

he hummed in response, “yeah, they took good care of me. i should be good to leave by tomorrow afternoon.”

her head perked up at the answer, “that soon already? are you sure?”

“yep! as long as i take it easy, they’ll let me go tomorrow which is good. thing are tense between the mafia and agency right now. ranpo and kunikida are fine, but we'll have to work together with them against the one who caused all this, and i’m the only one who can faciliate that.”

she liked it when he explained everything to her, it made her feel helpful, as if at least he could share his thoughts with someone else rather than keeping them all wound up in his head. she nodded along, trying to push down the concerns she had for him. the mafia wasn’t always nice to work with; even if dazai was right and their cooperation was the best course of action, that didn’t mean they would agree to it–at least not without a fight.

“you are going to take it easy when you’re discharged. right?” she gave him a look, in which he gave her a wry smile in return.

“of course i will, bella! who do you think i am? and i’ll have you, my guardian angel to make sure of it, won’t i?” he laughed, squeezing her hand as he talked boldly.

it had been easy for her to forget that he would want her by his side but the reminder made her smile, “you’re right. i'll be there to make sure you don’t hurt yourself again.” she almost added something else to her sentence but the "again" spoke well for itself, she thought. she didn’t want to ruin the mood so she kept it vague and her mouth shut. dazai looked at her expectedly, as if he was waiting for her to say something else but she only smiled at him, “i think i’m going to go take a walk real quick, just to clear my head. is that okay? i’ll be back soon.” she made an excuse as she stood up, turning to walk towards the door of his room before a hand gripped her wrist, pulling her backward.

she yelped as she fell onto the bed, flush with his chest. she could feel and hear the groan he let out when she hit his torso and on reflex tried to push off of him to lighten the pressure on his wound but his grip remained strong around her wrist, pulling her closer.

the prick of pain that shot through his stomach was a small price to pay for having his girlfriend on his chest, where he had wanted her from the moment she’d walked through the door. he wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her secure and from escaping his arms.

she allowed herself to be held in his arms, knowing it was useless to try to fight it now. she sighed, trying to enjoy the moment as her ear rested against his chest, allowing her to hear his heartbeat while she looked out the hospital window to the orange colored sky.

“why take a walk away from me?” he mumbled playfully, nose buried in her hair. when she didn't respond, he placed a gentle hand on both sides of her face, tenderly guiding her head up to look her in his eyes; warm, chocolate-brown pools of adoration.

this is pathetic.

how did she come in here upset and worried about him and end up being the one comforted?

“you’re thinking too much in that pretty head of yours, angel. you’re thinking way too much about things way out of your control. that isn’t good. i can’t let you worry yourself to death like this, love. you gotta let me know what’s up. pretty please?” his voice was soft and pleading, but she winced at the mention of the word death, averting her eyes from him, instead opting to lay her head back on his chest, focusing on the steady rhythm inside of it. it was the surest sound in the world, the only thing she felt that could silence her head at the moment.

“sorry, angel,” he brushed a hand through her hair again, “didn’t mean to upset you, but i can tell, you know. and it makes me worried. i want to know what’s upsetting you so much.”

“says you,” she replied, huffing in frustration. he waited for her to continue, and she did, “you think you’re worried? i’m worried. about you! you’re the problem.” his fingers stopped moving at the mention of him.

“‘don’t worry about me,’ i can already tell what you're about to say. ‘yes i know i was shot but don’t worry it was all part of an elaborate plan i didn’t tell you about after promising to try to communicate better,’” she mimicked him, trying to explain to him her point. she feels the hum in his chest as he processes her words and starts to grasp it. “it’s just– i’m sorry if that’s mean. and i’m sorry for worrying because you don’t need that added to your plate, but i can’t help it. i didn’t want to tell you this at the start because i don’t want to overstep your boundaries or give you one more thing to fix. i don’t care much about you breaking your promise to communicate better because it’s a lot to ask and it can’t always be done. i know you’ve had a difficult past and i don’t mind, osamu. i’m not mad, all i want is for you to be safe. and i know that’s a lot to ask from a suicidal man and that’s why i don’t know where i have a say in all of this– but i love you and it hurts for me to see you put yourself in danger so carelessly without telling anyone, as if i’m not enough to make you think twice before injuring yourself. sometimes– sometimes it feels like i’m just something for you to toy with before you die. something for you to entertain yourself with before you inevitably end up leaving. and i don’t want you to leave. i don’t want you to die, or at the very least without me– but i also know that’s nearly impossible to ask of you.”

he had started to rub her scalp as some sort of apology while she’d explained her feelings to him, and she still couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. she felt pathetic and weak with the tears in her eyes, and even worse when they began to slip from her eyes, no doubt seeping through his shirt and bandages. “you have every right and place to say whatever you would like, bella.” he spoke up after a beat of silence as he thought. still, it didn’t make her feel any better. he could just be saying what he knew she wanted to hear, but what she wanted was the truth. how much time did she have left with him? how much was she worth? was he leaving soon?

“you're the closest person to me and you deserve to say whatever you would like and to know what’s going on. i love you, too,” she could practically hear the smile in his voice as he said those words which made her face turn red as she turned away from the window to hide it in his hospital gown. her own confession had slipped out of her without a second thought, but she hadn’t meant for this to be a serious moment of testing how much he loved her. “i wouldn’t have agreed to try to change if i didn’t want to, but that’s why i made you that promise. i do want to change and be better for you, whatever that entails. i’d rather talk to you about my plans even if you don’t like them so that you know what’s going on rather than leaving you in the dark. because i never want you to feel like you’re just a toy or anything of the sort. you’re so much more than that, bella, and i should show as much. i’ve been and am forever grateful for your love and patience, [y/n]. i don’t deserve either. ask whatever you want of me and i will do it. will you give me another chance, my angel?”

“of course,” she mumbled in response, nuzzling and kissing the center of his chest, finally feeling the truth and love behind his words spread through her body like a warm fire. “i love you,” she whispered, not expecting him to hear it.

“i love you too,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her scalp.

a noise from the window made them both jump as they turned to see a spotted orange cat with a sardine in its mouth waiting outside. it was posed too well to be a normal cat, and the pair shared a glance as she moved to start to get off of him.

“do you want to come along with me this time, bella?”

“always.”

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