#sorry for the lack of writing lately been busy with life

[nevalizona]

xxv. No Prayers.

     Not a lot can comfort him right now. He’s so jumbled up inside he’s not sure he’ll ever be untangled again. His brain is racing a million miles an hour. He remembers once when he was like this, his mom told him to lay his head on her lap and try to calm down. It didn’t help too much, but the thought counted. She ran her fingers through his hair and said prayers. But there are no prayers that will heal him, this isn’t something that can be fixed.

     “Are you doing okay, Johnny?” Aldridge asked, slowly entering the tent that has been designated as John’s. He looked somber, no one seemed to be handling this well. John felt a little relieved, maybe it wasn’t so bad that he felt this way.

     “Honestly? I don’t want to fucking admit it but- not well.” John felt naked, he’s being so vulnerable and he’s not used to that. If there was anyone that he would feel comfortable being open with, it’s Aldridge.

     Aldridge nodded his head and slowly approached John, sitting next to him on his cot. He reached over and set his hand on John’s shoulder giving it a squeeze.

     “That was some tough shit. It’s not on you though, Johnny. There’ll be more and more and more. You’ll get used to this.”

     “I don’t see how that’s any better. I don’t want to see anything remotely close to what we saw today and not feel something from that shit! That’s the kind of ‘fucked up’ you don’t come back from, Aldridge.” John’s voice wavered near the end of what he was saying.

     Aldridge sighed and dropped his hand. He wasn’t looking at John which was a relief to him, he wouldn’t see the disappointment that slid onto John's face. He could still feel his tight grasp on his shoulder.

     “Yeah, but you can’t stop it. It’ll happen. You’ll get desensitized to this shit. It’s just part of the job Johnny. You’re still new enough. There’s plenty you have to learn. I’m going to let you get some sleep.” Aldridge got up, the cot squeaked at the shift of weight.

     “Do you have to go? Can’t you just- stay here? We can drink a beer or two.” John looked up, eyes big, pleading. Aldridge couldn’t turn him down looking like this. Vulnerable.

[osarina]

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

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you ask: 

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did,” you confirm.

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

“Truth,” he murmurs.

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

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

He voices his first lie, “No.”

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

He refrains, if only barely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

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

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

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

He knows his next question.

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

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

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

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

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

He halts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai snorts.

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

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

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

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

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He forces it out anyway.

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

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

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

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a very lonely four years without you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

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

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

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

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

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

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

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

Dazai gags.

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

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

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

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

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

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

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

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

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

“How-”

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

Okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

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

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

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

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of our lives.

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

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

Of course, you know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(I love you, he means)

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

(I love you too)

[mizu0xox0]

Self aware! Hsr males learning that you simp for Aventurine (Dan Heng, Dr Ratio and Sunday)

Note: kinda crack ig? I mean it sounds like crack already, kinda ooc as I wrote this for fun

Self aware! Dan Heng does some research through the data bank to look at what qualities does Aventurine has that stands out much more then other characters that makes him so intriguing to you

Self aware! Dan Heng who silently judges you if you say anything involving you simping for Aventurine like he's not jealous but it kind of concerns him with the amount of phrases you can say about this certain subject

Self aware! Dan Heng who isn't easily ticked by anything but sometimes when he heard Aventurine boasting about being your ideal type or something around that well let's say Aventurine is knocked out by Dan Hengs spear

Self aware! Dan Heng who might crit more and might even do more damage then Aventurine no matter how bad his build is, just to try to impress you more

Self aware! Dan Heng who doesn't really mind you talking but maybe once in awhile switch the subject to something other then Aventurine but not like you knew he could hear you

Self aware! Dan Heng who really questions what you see in Aventurine, what stood out from the gambler more than the other characters was it his luck? His clothing? Or something else...

Self aware! Ratio who questions your idiocy sure you're a somewhat higher being then them even if you didn't know of it but of all the people you could've chosen to simp for why the damn gambler

Self aware! Ratio who is losing years and years of his life the more he hears you yap about Aventurine and when he hears a single down bad one believe me when I say the "Zero points! Get out!" voice line was intentional

Self aware! Ratio whose voice lines seem now scarily on point whenever you start talking about Aventurine and you swear you can feel him side eyeing you through the screen

Self aware! Ratio who doesn't hesitate to chuck chalk and hit Aventurine with his codex repeatedly if he starts boasting

Self aware! Ratio who starts to crit less and less if he hears you yap about Aventurine during battle and if Aventurine is in your team somehow he's taking damage despite having his shield active (Ratio is actively throwing chalk at him)

Self aware! Ratio who takes a look at what intrigued you so much about Aventurine maybe he could learn a few pointers or maybe not

Self aware! Sunday let's be honest during the one part of the story where he used the order on Aventurine well he makes it hurt more intentionally but he also feels bad since it's not something Aventurine could control

Self aware! Sunday who used his birds to spy on Aventurine to see what of Aventurine's mannerisms caught your eye to like him to this point

Self aware! Sunday who looks completely calm on the outside but on the inside he's questioning many things you've said about Aventurine

Self aware! Sunday who's boss seems to attack Aventurine more than your other team

Self aware! Sunday who covers his ears with his wings sometimes when your yapping starts getting down bad and very down bad by that

♡

Thank you for reading and I apologize if any of these were ooc and sorry for the lack of writing as I've been busy grinding wuwa and PGR as of late

[astermath]

title taken ✧*

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: ethan makes an offhand comment about potentially “dying a virgin”. you ask him if he’d like you to help with that. and how could he possibly refuse?

word count: 3.8K

notes: first time fully writing smut on this blog! I hope I did okay lol I probs got a bit carried away,, I remember hearing his comment in the movie and being like I VOLUNTEER I CAN HELP lmao, anyways,,, comments / reblogs are highly appreciated, and requests are open! lmk if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further ethan landry related content!

warnings: cursing, protected sex, oral (f and m receiving), ethan realizing how much he loves going down on you lol, MINORS DNI!!!! normal sized font below!

notes: guys hot take but I think ethan is a boobs guy, but what do you think? sound off in the comments ethan nation

P.S.: this is a REPOST with some slight edits, sorry for the inconvenience!!

You distinctly remember the moment when Ethan made that comment.

You were all sitting outside, discussing your theories as to who the Ghostface killer could be and who you guys should be watching out for. When Ethan realized he was part of the core friend group, and as a result, also a target, he looked panicked.

“Am I gonna die a virgin?”

It was an offhand comment that no one paid much attention to, it seemed like everyone pretty much expected that from him. But you didn’t. Sure, he was a total dork, and really bad at talking to girls, but he was a pretty boy. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered hooking up with him before, but… That comment truly solidified the thought for you.

The two of you were sat on the couch of Chad and Ethan’s shared dorm. Despite Mindy telling you she didn’t trust him and that you shouldn’t be hanging out alone with him, you did very much need his tutoring. You’d rather get killed by Ghostface than have to retake econ.

But you couldn’t focus on the material. Not when Ethan’s virgin comment was making all kinds of images appear in your mind. You weren’t even listening to what he was saying, your brain having a field day with the thought of you taking that title away from him.

“Hey, Ethan.” You finally spoke up, looking away from your notes.

“Yeah?” He looked at you, the end of his pen held to his lips. He always had a habit of biting his pen when he got distracted.

“Are you really a virgin?”

The bluntness of your out of the blue question completely took him out of it. His eyes widened and he just sort of froze up, like his brain short circuited. You could tell he started blushing, and god did it look adorable.

“U-Uhm…” He put down his pen and tried to look anywhere but where your eyes were. Frankly, he was a bit embarrassed about it. He’d never even had a girlfriend, let alone have sex before, and as much as Chad tried to get him involved with girls he always struggled with it. Not just because of how awkward he generally was.

But because he had a crush on you already.

No one knew, not even his roommate, but lately he’d been struggling with keeping it to himself, especially as the two of you had been hanging out more on your own. There were so many moments where he just wanted to be closer to you, move all these papers aside and just kiss you right then and there.

His eyes were fixated on his laptop as he swallowed hard, clearly nervous about the whole ordeal. “Uhm… Yeah. I am…” He brought up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to keep his hands busy so his nerves wouldn’t show as much. “Just… Never got around to it.” He chuckled nervously.

You closed your laptop, realizing you’d made the poor boy uncomfortable with your sudden interest in his sex life. Or, well, lack there of. “Hey, it’s okay! It’s nothing to be ashamed about, there’s no, like, expiration date on when you have to fuck someone…” You tried to make him feel a bit better.

Ethan nodded awkwardly, genuinely wishing this couch would just swallow him whole so he could disappear. The girl he liked knew he was a virgin loser with no game, there was no way you were ever going to want him now.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, Ethan wondering if it was too late to jump out a window and forget this ever happened. You, however, had a different turn of events in mind.

“Do you want me to help with that?”

Those words made Ethan look up from his laptop and his eyes widen. If your previous question was a pitch, this one was a home run. He wasn’t even completely sure if you actually asked that or if he imagined it, until he met your gaze. But he wanted to be sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. “W-What?”

You shuffled a little closer, legs touching his, putting a hand on his thigh and leaning in slightly. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

Ethan can feel blood rush to his cock from the question alone, his gaze darting from your lips back up to your eyes. If this was a dream, it was definitely the best one he’s had so far.

“Yes.”

Your lips meet his only a second after his reply, the book on his lap falling to the floor as you both lean in at the same time. You could tell he was nervous, but that didn’t stop him from trying. You tilted your head to the side and opened your mouth slightly to run your tongue across his bottom lip, an action that elicited a slight whimper from him.

His arms snaked around your waist and you raised yourself up onto his lap. A hand soon found its place in his curls, tugging gently to tilt his head back as your lips traveled down to his jaw, then to his neck, peppering gentle kisses and love bites on the way.

“S-Shit…” He spoke between hot breaths, one of his hands now resting on the soft flesh of your thigh, squeezing slightly whenever your teeth would bite down on his sensitive skin.

You giggle softly at how sensitive he was, lips sucking a darker mark on the spot below his ear. His hips were shifting beneath you, and even through multiple layers of clothing, you could tell he was getting harder by the second. You pulled back, hands coming up to cup his pretty face. He was already panting a bit, cheeks tinged pink from all this newfound excitement. “You look so pretty...” You press another soft kiss to his lips. “This okay?”

Ethan looks up at you with an almost desperate look in those doe eyes of his, nodding at your question. As much as you wanted to fuck him right then and there, Ethan deserved to be taken care of a little, especially since this was his first time experiencing most of this.

“Good, good...” Your thumb rubs gently across the soft skin of his cheek. “Wanna... Take this to the bedroom?”

“Please.” He breathes out against your lips.

The walk, or almost run to his bedroom, was a blur in your mind. You wasted no time, quickly getting inside and locking the door behind you both. Ethan was eager now that this was finally feeling real, hands swiftly finding your hips again and pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

“Hmm... Someone’s excited...” You mumbled in between kisses, stumbling backwards onto the bed until your back hit the mattress. Ethan held himself above you, brown curls perfectly framing his face as he admired how beautiful you looked on his bed.

He kissed you again, tongues playing with one another as his confidence was spurred on by his pure exhilaration. “Been... Wanting to do this forever...” He spoke against your lips as your hands searched for the hem of his shirt. “With you...” He pulled his shirt off in a hurry, diving back to meet your neck, pressing feverish kisses to your skin.

“Yeah?” You bit your lip, hand coming up to further push him into the crook where your shoulder and neck met. You let out a soft mewl when he bit down, wondering if he’d imagined this before. One of your hands moved over his chest, nails raking over the skin and undoubtedly leaving red lines in their wake. They travelled over his abs, down to his crotch, palming slightly, which earned a delicious groan from him.

You tilt your head to kiss the side of his head and get his attention to meet your gaze. His eyes find yours, half lidded, pupils blown out like he was high off the moment. “Me too.” You say, and you could swear it activated something in him when you did.

His hands start roaming under your shirt, and you take that as your cue to take yours off too. He stops for a moment, purely to admire the newly exposed parts of your body. Sure, he’d snuck glances at your chest when you wore tighter shirts, or when the collar would dip down just enough to give him a peek. But he only imagined touching your tits, how soft they were, how well you’d react to his hands.

His hand reached out and he gently cupped your breast, still a little careful. “So soft...” He mumbled to himself, his thumb slowly rolling over your nipple, almost teasingly so. You whined softly, arching your back a little into his touch. His other hand joined in and he squeezed them a bit, seemingly entranced by just how soft and pleasant they felt. Like they were made to be held by him.

He leaned down to your chest and looked up at you with puppy eyes. He could ask you to rob a bank with those eyes, and you’d do it. You just hoped he didn’t realize how you weak you were to that look.

“Can I?” He licked his lips.

“Y-Yeah, Ethan, anything...” You rubbed your thighs together. You knew he was just taking things slow, for both of your sakes, but god it felt like he was teasing you so badly.

He licked your nipple, a little hesitant, but he took the hand in his hair as a sign that he could continue. He wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud and suckled softly, closing his eyes as his fingers played around with your other nipple. You swore he was getting off on just sucking and touching your tits, noticing slight movements of his hips grinding into the bed.

He let go with an audible ‘pop’, earning a delicious whimper from you.

“E-Ethan...” You whined, catching your bottom lip under your teeth.

“Yeah...?” He hoped he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“Touch me...” You spread your thighs a little more. “Please?”

“O-Oh, right... Sorry, I just... Got a little caught up in the moment.” He chuckled nervously and you did the same. You were glad there was still an air of lightness surrounding the whole ordeal. The last thing you’d want was for him to feel judged or uncomfortable.

He moved back a little between your thighs, hands exploring the soft skin of your legs with a pleased hum. He’d dreamt about moments like these so many times, ever since you became part of the friend group, he just couldn’t stop imagining what it was like. What you’d feel like, what you’d sound like... He was still processing a little that it was all actually happening.

His hand hesitatingly moved over your inner thigh, bringing a finger to gently trace over the fabric of your panties. His eyes widened a little at what he felt; you were soaked. He felt a little more confident in knowing he did that to you, but also a little shocked. “You’re... So wet...”

You brought up your hands to cover your face. You were, yes, but the way he was saying it made you all the more conscious about the effects he was having on your body. “Ethan... That’s-- You can’t...”

He grinned slightly at your reaction. He never knew you could get shy like this, you were usually such an open person. “Alright, let me just...” His fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties. He bit his lip when he discovered the hot wetness there, gently running over your slicked folds. “Is this okay?” he looked up at you.

“Mhm...” You nodded, your thighs twitching slightly when his finger grazed over your clit. “F-Fuck, yes... There, keep... Keep doing that.” You felt a little guilty for a second, remembering this was supposed to be about him. But you were doing him a favor, really, he was bound to have to find out how to touch a girl sooner or later.

His middle finger ran gentle and slow circles over your clit as his other hand kept busy running up and down your thigh. He stopped for a moment, hooking his finger around the elastic of your panties, looking at you for approval to take them off. You said something along the lines of “go ahead” between your whimpers, so he gently removed them from your body.

Again, he was taken aback by how beautiful you were, pussy glistening with juices. “God...” His thumb ran over your clit and you shivered slightly, having missed his touch, even if it was just for a few moments.

An idea sprung alive in his head, something he’d thought about many times before. “Hey, uhm... Can I...” He seemed nervous about proposing it.

“Hm? What is it Ethan?” You propped yourself up slightly onto your elbows, looking at him.

“Can I go down on you?” He paused for a moment, swallowing. “I, uh... I’ve always wanted to try that.”

You smiled at his request. Usually, the first thing guys would want is for a girl to go down on them, but you supposed Ethan wanted to explore all the options a little first. And maybe he wanted this to last longer than he would with your mouth on him. “Y-Yeah, sure...”

He smiled back, arms now on both sides of your thighs as he leaned his head down closer to your aching core. His hot breath hit your pussy, and you resisted the urge to just pull him closer. Instead, you ran your fingers over his scalp with an encouraging nudge. He stuck out his tongue, running it flat over the entirety of your wetness, humming at the taste.

You squirmed when he reached your clit, and his hands came up to settle on your thighs. He flicked his tongue and you moaned, almost obscenely, at the action. “F-Fuck!” He did it again, and your thighs started clamping down on him. “Jesus, Ethan...” He brought his lips down onto the needy bundle of nerves and suckled gently. Your head threw back as his tongue sent waves of warm tingles through your entire body.

“A-Are you sure this is your first time?” You spoke breathily through your moans and it only spurred him on further. He looked up at you with those all too familiar puppy eyes, tongue eagerly lapping at your juices. He moaned into your cunt, rutting into the bed slightly, fuck it felt good to please you.

You felt a familiar knot start to form in your stomach, hips moving against Ethan’s face as you mumbled his name over your whimpers. He sucked down on your clit again and that sent you over the edge, hand gripping his curls as you became undone beneath him. You rode it out on his face a bit before you relaxed back onto the mattress, thighs trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm. “Holy shit... Ethan...”

He slowly got up, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth clean. “I hope I did alright.” He smiled, gently stroking your leg.

“Are you kidding me?” you spoke up after finally catching your breath. “You did so well baby.” You propped yourself up and he leaned down to kiss you, letting you taste your own juices on his tongue. Your hands went to his pants in the meantime, working on undoing his belt. “If you’d just… Help me out with those…” You smiled against his lips. “I could return the favor.”

He wasted no time in taking off his pants, kicking them off the bed until he was left in just his boxers. He kneeled on the mattress, his hard-on straining against the fabric of his underwear. You leaned forward onto your elbows, and he swore just the sight of you like that would have finished him off.

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his bulge through the fabric, and you noticed a twitch from his cock in return. “Been wanting to know what you taste like for months…” You mumbled, hooking your fingers over the waistband of his underwear to free his throbbing cock. The tip was already dripping with pre-cum, proof of just how worked up he got from eating you out earlier.

“Just relax, ‘kay?” You looked up at him and offered a sultry smile, to which he nodded. You reached out and with a gentle grip, pumped his length a few times. He bit his lip, suppressing a groan. God your hand felt so much better than his…

You leaned in and licked across the tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum on your tongue and savoring it. “Such a pretty cock too…” You licked up the length of him and he hissed through his teeth, hand landing gently on the back of your head. Not pushing, not pulling, just wanting to touch you.

He whined out your name when you suckled on the tip, looking down at you with desperate and needy eyes. “Fuck… T-That feels… So fucking good oh my god…” His hand moves over to your jaw, so you’re looking up at him now, and the eye contact doesn’t break, not even once.

His breathing picks up when you start to bob your head, but he stops you before you go deeper, pulling out of your mouth. “Shit, sorry, was that too far?” You look at him with a worried expression.

“No, no, not at all, it’s just… I wanna last longer.” He looked a bit embarrassed, and you felt a sense of pride of almost making him cum just from giving him head for a bit.

“That’s okay,” You got up to your knees and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m starting to get impatient anyways,” His breath hitched when you traced your fingers over his length again. “Need you inside me…”

You gave him a slight push so he sat down on the bed as you leaned over to grab a condom from the pocket of your discarded shorts. You rolled it over his cock, a snug fit, as expected, and your eyes went back to his face. He watched your pussy hover over his length, mentally preparing himself. If you going down on him felt that incredible, then this was about to be an out of body experience.

You put one hand on his chest to stabilize yourself, and reached one hand under to run his tip between your folds, lubing him up with your juices. “You ready?”

He nodded, hands coming up to gently rest on your hips. With that, you sank down onto his cock, slowly but steadily taking him inch by inch. Both of you moaned in unison at the joining of your bodies, neither of you imagining it would feel quite like this. You, surprised by the stretch he gave your cunt, him, surprised by your warmth and tightness.

“Fuck…” You sighed out, before you fully took his length, skin meeting skin with an audible clap. “So... Deep...” You put both of your hands on his chest, leaning forward a little. “Feels good, huh? You fit inside me so perfectly...”

“Shit...” He squeezes your hips harder, not enough to bruise, at least not yet. “So tight...” Ethan moves his hips up a little and you moan at the movement, the head of his cock grazing a very special spot inside you.

“F-Fuck, Ethan, hold on... J-Just...” You raised your hips, almost pulling him out completely.

“Let me...” You lowered again, ass meeting his hips. “Take care of you...” You started to establish a steady rhythm, Ethan watching your body move in complete fascination. You were gorgeous, tits bouncing, making the prettiest noises. Any guy would kill to have you on him like that, and he was no exception.

Your thighs started burning a little after a while, and he could tell as your movements got less intense. But you felt so good, every single change in motion sent jolts of pleasure through his body, his cock twitching whenever you would moan out his name.

He decided to keep chasing this high and take the reigns, putting a hand on your lower back and getting up, laying you down on the mattress as he pulled out.

“E-Ethan! What are you-- o-oh my god--” Your sentence got cut off by him sliding back inside you, his arms resting besides your body. You didn’t expect this more... Initiative-taking side of him, but it was welcome either way. You hooked your legs around his hips to pull him in closer, arms resting over his shoulders.

He quickly began thrusting, hips snapping forward, the room filled with the almost pornographic sounds coming from the two of you. He looked at you, curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, mouth slightly agape. You pulled him in by his shoulders to capture his lips, moaning into his mouth as he picked up the pace.

“Fuck... ‘M close... So close...” He spoke through heavy pants, head now buried into your neck.

“Me too baby, me too, holy shit don’t stop... D-Don’t stop!” You felt the hot coil in your stomach get to a breaking point, the bed rocking slightly with Ethan’s movements as you started repeating his name between your moans.

Ethan’s hips pushed into you one last time, cock twitching as he came, filling the condom nearly to its brim. He groaned your name into your neck, breath hot against your love bite covered skin.

You followed right after, legs clamping down on him, your pussy clenching onto his cock and milking every last drop out of him. Your thighs trembled as you panted, holding him close as he rode out his orgasm with a few last sloppy thrusts.

His body collapsed on top of you, the weight almost comforting, and you wrapped your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his head. He moved his head to kiss you lazily, and you chuckled at how adorable he was being. He pressed a few kisses to your lips, eyes fluttering open soon after.

“Thank you...” He smiled sleepily, still coming down from the amazing high he’d experienced just then. “That was... Amazing...”

“Could say the same to you...” You smiled back, basking in the sweet after sex euphoria while you could. You whined slightly when he finally pulled out, suddenly feeling a bit empty.

Ethan disposed of the condom while you went to his bathroom to pee really quick. He sat back down on the bed and looked at his phone, seeing multiple messages from his roommate.

[chadmeister]: jesus christ

[chadmeister]: are u guys almost done

[chadmeister]: i’ve been here for like 20 minutes now you know

[chadmeister]: pretty sure the entire floor heard u two

[chadmeister]: at least u def won’t die a virgin now MY MANNN

tag list <3

@kometqh 

[your-nanas-house]

Be quick

(Credits to the owner @corodedcofin)

◇ Pairing: Perv Stepbrother!Neil Lewis X stepsister!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, pervy Neil, hanjob, dub-con but not really, indifference, age gap (both off age), shitty writing, curses

◇ Summary: Neil receiving a handjob on the sofa while his stepsister looks at her phone.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Been working on this things since weeks now... it's shit and I'm sorry. 🤷🏼‍♀️🙇🏼‍♀️

A small snort left Neil's lips, he was getting bored for the first time while watching one of the movies he usually liked to watch.

It had been a while since he broke up with Violet and he missed a bit... that thrill mixed with adrenaline. He certainly wasn't the Neil he once was, not even in the way he wished— especially when he thought at his step sister.

The young woman had been such a little tease lately.

The possibilities that she was it while Neil was in the relationship were pretty high but he was always too busy to actually notice and let his body react to it.... every day. Because it kept happening every single day since his eyes took her in, waking up his cock at the mere view of bit of skin.

He blamed it mostly on the lack of sex in his life and the urge of fisting his lenght to make time and stress go away.

Y/n, his mother's new boyfriend's daughter... aka his step-sister, was being a bother even though she was just sitting right besides him, her eyes locked on the phone rather than the TV.

His baby blue eyes couldn't stop wandering around her body, taking peeks at her cleavage and her short shorts she was wearing at home— and he was doing it again. Luckily they were all alone that day, no-one was around, so.... he could finally get what he craved so much.

The only issue that was stopping him from doing anything was the poor plan he had in mind... how could he start it all? he wondered silently.

A short mental battle and Neil shifted slightly closer, his face turned still towards the TV to pretend that he was watching the movie playing on it, as he spread slightly his thigh to brush it against Y/n's bare a couple of time to see if he received any reaction from her.

Receiving none he continued with the plan, taking her hand and placed it down on his lap casually, sending finally the message that he was trying to give her without murmuring it explicitly— he was so aroused, nearly thrilled... thrilled enough to twitch at the mere warmth of her hand.

Y/n not really, she was still cursing mentally for that drunk bet she had with him and her lost which causing her to fall in that absurd situation.

'That fucking perv' she thought while starting finally to move her hand, feeling his hard cock, pressing against his pajamas pants, with her little finger.

Her hand limited to only rub his thigh for the moment as she waited for him to lower his pants and free his lenght— her eyes never leaving the screen of her phone.

Neil glanced at her, his breath peaking up as he bit his bottom lip in anticipation too earger to actually move... just wanting her soft groomed hand to wrap around his thick long cock and lead the way to heaven.

She didn't even needed to glance in his direction to see what to do since her stepbrother's hand moved her own to wrap it around his leaking cock, allowing that way her eyes to stay glued to the screen.

His cock was hard, his skin soft and plesant to touch while his tip was of an angry red... as it let some pre-cum drip on her fingers as soon as she moved his foreskin.

"Oh fuck" Neil curses, biting harder his bottom lip as he watched her move her hand lazily, his hips jerking desperately up to meet her movements. The young girl had been able to give it just a couple of slow pumps before the older man wrapped his own big hand around her smaller one... so to guide her better and not allow her to tease him further.

His fingers intertwined with hers, his thumb caressed the back of her hand before he moved it off his cock, so that he could lean closer and spit on it as a lubricant to ease the handjob.

"Neil! You're fucking disgusting" Y/n cursed at his action, making a face at the odd feeling of his spit on the inside of her hand. He really was so gross sometimes.

"Fuck, say my name again" he breathed out overwhelmed by the situation, his hand guiding hers back around his lenght "Remember, squee—" he started, cursing softly as she interrupted him with her movements.

"Yes, yes... I know how you like it, now shut up" Y/n murmured, scrolling her phone while working his cock... her hand squeezing it teasingly while his rough action kept pleasuring him, her hand hitting his bases before moving fast back up to the tip... up and down, up.. and down.

His balls where already reacting, getting pulled up by the muscles as his breath got heavier, pathetic whines leaving his mouth.

"Don't stop, don't stop, fuck, Y/n!" Neil nearly cried, arching his back while fucking her hand faster, working on his balls with his own hand to reach faster his peak.

"Fucking hell, how much longer do you need?" Y/n's voice exclaimed making him shiver and whine while her other hand, which was previously holding her phone, slapped his hands away so that she could jerk him off faster and better... already without patience.

"Fucking pathetic" the younger woman murmured, cursing when his warm seed got shot... not only dirtying her hands but her face and top as well due to the bend over position she had been in.

"Neil!—"

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand; Part 6

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Shower smut, Slight breeding kink if you squint, Simon Riley being a literal angel, basically all smut with a little bit of plot.

A/N: Hi loves, imma be real, i wrote this entire part in a day. I spent pretty much my entire afternoon writing this after i scrapped about 4 different versions. This is the best i got at the moment. Im still working on this series and requests. Just life is kinda busy. So please bear with me and enjoy the brain rot. This is also not proofread at all so RIP to any grammar police.

Word Count: 3012... This seemed longer.. sowwie, its smol.

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 5

You sleepily make your way towards the bathroom door, hand closing over the knob as the incessant need to pee urges you forward. It was a little after 2am, you had fallen asleep rather early having spent most of the day lounging around the apartment. 

Simon was on base for the day, running training exercises with Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. During the 3 months you have been living with Simon, you have come to learn his patterns. Training days meant that 9 times out of 10 he would spend the night on base. The days before a deployment he would make sure to stock the fridge and pantry with your favorites. On Sundays he did laundry, every 3rd wednesday he would get his haircut. Saturdays after returning for deployment were reserved for going out to Soap’s bar and having a well deserved drink. You also learnt his day to day routine, every morning he was home Simon rose at exactly 5:00am, went on a 12 mile run, when he returned if you weren't already awake he would prepare you a healthy breakfast and leave it out for you before heading to work. 

On days when you were awake when he got back from his run he would shower, and you both would spend some time preparing breakfast together. Although those mornings instead of the nutritionally packed meals he usually prepared you often convinced him to make some sort of carb and sugar filled breakfast. Those mornings he would often leave the flat grumbling about how he should’ve run extra. Those mornings were your favorite. 

Since you moved in your relationship with Simon had not progressed further than friends, sure there was still the burning desire that he ignited within you from just looking at you. And you would often linger just a little bit too long in his arms when he would give you a hug. But there hadn't been any kissing, and you haven't managed to end up naked in between his sheets. But that wasn't for lack of wanting.

As you shove open the bathroom door, you fail to realize that not only was the light on but the sound of running water was coming from the shower. As you quickly beeline for the enclosed toilet space, you don't feel a set of brown eyes watching your every move from behind the foggy glass. It isn't until you wash your hands in the sink and glance up into the large mirror on the wall that you realize you aren't alone. Through the fogged glass of the mirror you can make out Simon’s large silhouette, his tanned skin reduced to nothing more than a tan blob. 

“Oh my god!” You squeak, whirling around, your chest heaving as you finally face Simon. He's mostly obscured by the fogged glass door of the walk-in shower, but his bemused smile is clear. “I didn't think you would be coming home!” You mutter out, your cheeks turning pink as he runs his hand across the glass cleaning away some of the fog. Now you can clearly see his face, although distorted by the water droplets on the glass. 

“I should’ve texted you, I'm sorry.. I just didn't want to be late for the appointment in the morning..” Simon says as he reaches up, running his hand through his wet blonde hair.

“No, no! I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention. I'm such an airhead sometimes I didn't realize that there was someone in here..” you rush out as you try to desperately keep your eyes from straying from Simon's face. You aren’t sure if it's the heat from the shower or the pregnancy hormones but it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes from trailing down his toned body. 

Simon pauses for a moment, his dark brown eyes trailing over you, from the adorable flush of your cheeks to the swell of your stomach under the sleep shirt you have on. “It’s alright. Love," Simon smiles. One of his panty dropping smiles that you swear he reserves for only you. It's the smile that sends shivers straight to your core. That leaves you a hot panting mess behind closed doors. Living with Simon and not jumping his bones at every opportunity was damn near torture during your second trimester. You were able to take care of things yourself, but now that your bump had grown substantially, you hadn’t been able to find relief.  

Without thinking, you walk towards the shower and yank open the door, the hot steam pouring out. Little splashes of water hit your skin as you step into the small space. Your sleep shirt and shorts quickly drenched, as Simon stares at you wide eyed. 

“Sweetheart…” Simon warns as your hands come to rest on his wet cheeks, your thumb catching on his bottom lip as he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide. You quickly close the space between you two, your bump pressing against the firm plains of his abs, your arms snaking around his neck as you sharply tug him down to your height. Your lips capture his in a sloppy, wet kiss. Simon groans low in his throat, his chest vibrating against your overly sensitive breasts. A new wave of need pluses through you as you try to get closer, Simon's cock jumping to life as it presses against your lower stomach. Simon's large hands land on your hips squeezing slightly as he turns you, pressing your back against the cold tile wall of the shower. 

A startled gasp rushes past your lips as your back makes contact with the cold tile. A shiver running through you as your wet shirt makes it feel colder. Simon smiles against your lips, one hand coming up to graze over your pebbled nipples through the sopping wet fabric of your shirt. A breathy moan slips from you as Simon peppers kisses down the side of your jaw to your neck. The spray from the showerhead now sprays off his shoulders as he leans lower. 

“Fuck.. Please,” you whine, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulders Simon wraps his lips around one of your nipples, over the fabric of your shirt. The friction from the wet fabric sends waves of pleasure through you straight to your core, your legs starting to shake with need and Simon has barely touched you.

“Such a needy girl…” Simon murmurs against your skin, as he flicks his tongue across your nipple. Your cheeks flush pink at his words but you’re hanging on to each one like they’re your life line. “Why didn't you just come to me if you needed some help baby?” Simon whispers softly, as his fingers trace the bottom of your bump, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pushes it up.

“I…I don't know,” You mumble your head tipping back against the cold shower wall. 

Simon hums, his lips once again brushing across one of your nipples, pulling another moan from you. “God, your tits are amazing. It’s been hell walking around trying not to stare at them. Knowing that my child is the reason, knowing that they are growing to provide milk for our baby,” Simon whispers against your skin, and you swear you could cum just from the sounds of his voice. 

“Simon… Please…” you whine, it's small and breathy, in any other circumstance you would be ashamed for sounding so weak, but right now you couldn't give two shits if the damn queen of England was standing here witnessing your plea.

“Tell me what you need baby, I don't want to hurt you..” Simon stands back to his full height, his hand coming to cup the side of your face. You force your eyes open, Simon's beautiful brown eyes staring at you. Simon is a large man, in all aspects of his life and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you unintentionally. Especially now, as you carry his child within you, he would rather be buried alive again than accidentally do something to hurt you or the baby.

“I need you to bend me over and fuck me senseless. I feel like I'm going to explode,” you whine, your needy hands coming to rake down his bare chest, sending a shiver through Simon's entire body. 

“Whatever you need, Love,” Simon grunts before he bends down and picks you up, nudging open the shower door with his shoulder as he cradles you against his wet chest. He doesn’t stop to turn off the shower or even dry himself off as he brings you into his room. He sets you down on your feet and quickly drops to his knees in front of you. His still warm hands catching the waistband of your wet sleep shorts. He pulls them down your legs, goosebumps erupting across your skin from the sudden change in temperature. 

Simon presses a series of soft kisses to the stretched skin of your stomach, his hands briefly cupping your belly/ “Hi Lovie,” he whispers softly to your bump and if you weren’t so ravishingly horny you could cry. The sight of probably one of the scariest men you know on his knees in front of you talking to his unborn child makes you want to scream in the best way. But your mind quickly goes blank as Simon's fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thigh. 

“Turn around, elbows on the bed, pet,” Simon stands again, his hands on your shoulders as he gently turns you. As if on autopilot you lean forwards, resting your elbows on the bed, giving Simon a perfect view of your ass. A deep groan hits your ears as Simon's hand comes to massage the puffy flesh of your ass. Your skin prickles with anticipation as his fingers dip lower, gathering the slick wetness from between your thighs. The breath wooshed from your lungs as he thrusts one finger into your slick cunt. 

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl aren't you?” Simon hums, lazily thrusting his finger before he adds a second. You tip your hips back, trying to make him go faster, this slow languid pace he was setting was driving you mad. You needed to be fucked, and god damn if you didn't get it right now you were going to cry. 

“Si…” you whine, pushing your hips back into his hand as he curls his fingers within you. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant, not made of fucking glass. I swear if you don't fu-” Your voice cuts off as Simon slams into you in one quick thrust. Your world spins for a moment and if you hadn't been holding onto the bed for support you would’ve fallen over. A startled gasp passes your lips and Simon all but freezes. “No please don't stop, it just feels different but not in a bad way…” You quickly mumble reaching back haphazardly with one hand to try and grab Simon's hip to force him to move.  

“You sure?” Simon mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your hips, as he slowly pulls out before sinking back in. 

“Oh god, yes, please,” you moan, your face now pressed into the mattress. That was all it took for Simon to continue, his hips thrust into you at a rapid pace, obscene moans leaving your lips as he slams home each time. Sex felt different this time, there was no slight burn from how big Simon was but you felt full, so deliciously full. You had been worried about having sex at any point during your pregnancy, having read that some women have no sex drive during pregnancy, especially the 3rd trimester. But thank the lord above it was not the case for you. Your thoughts turn to nothing as Simon lets out a harsh moan, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Simon grunts as he adjusts his grip on your hip bones,his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Feels so good Simon.. I'm gonna cum..” You whimper as the familiar coil in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release as he pounds into you. Your skin slapping against each other so loud you're sure the neighbors know what's going on.

“Cum for me baby,” Simon leans forward, one hand wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you up slightly, your elbows no longer resting on the bed as he pulls you up against his chest. His hips still pistoning into you as he uses the new position to fuck into your harder. You reach up and grab the back of his neck with your hand, anchoring yourself to him, your other hand coming to find the hand still on your waistline. You guide his hand up to your throat where he gives it a gentle squeeze. 

That small squeeze was all you needed to go tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Stars dance in front of your vision as the world goes quiet for a moment. Simon finds his own release moments after yours, his entire body tensing behind you. As you turn to putty in his arms, “Woah, I’ve got you,” Simon whispers into your sweaty hairline as his arms carefully wrap around you and he manages to slip out of you and hold you up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, fully sated as you lean against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, one arm firmly around you, right under your breasts the other resting lightly on your bump. His fingers softly rubbing along your soft skin. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Simon grunts, maneuvering you to the edge of the bed where he helps lower you into it. 

“I just basically jumped you in the shower… “ you mutter, your eyes heavy as exhaustion hits you like a freight train hitting a brick wall. 

Simon pauses as he gathers your wet pj’s from the floor and shoves them into his laundry basket. “You think I would be upset by you jumping me in the shower?” He asks, a small smile on his face. 

You lift your head, watching as he shoves the clothes into the basket and grabs a black long sleeve shirt from the closet. He walks over, standing in front of you still in all his naked glory, the shirt in his hands. “Well.. I mean.. we haven’t exactly expressed wanting more than friendship..” 

“Love, I’ve been taking it slow because I thought you only wanted to be friends… not because I wanted to. God, watching you walk around the apartment, your stomach growing with my child drives me insane, I’ve wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you sensless every morning since the first day you got here.” Simon pulls the shirt over your head, and you put your arms through, the shirt still fits loosely even over your baby bump. 

“Oh…” you freeze for a moment, you and Simon had gotten closer over the time you’ve lived with him. You had learnt about his past, about his mother and brother. About his nephew. You held him when he cried one night, his words a broken mess of how he was afraid he would turn out to be his dad. How he wished he could talk to his brother one last time, so he could ask him how he got past the fear of turning into his dad. How he handled the fear of being a dad when he had Joseph.

But the entire time you had lived together Simon had always treated you with respect, he never touched your stomach without asking. He always made sure to keep a respectable distance from you when you were on the couch. He never entered your room without permission and never asked about your life before coming to London. 

But it wasn’t to say you didn’t share things with Simon, he knew your favorite color, your worst fear (unrelated to your family’s passing) , your greatest wish, he knew what you used to dream about being as a little kid. He knew that your favorite food could make you smile on your worst days, and that you liked to watch old sitcoms when it rained. If someone was to look into your conversations they would probably think you were already together. That you probably didn’t flaunt the physical aspects of your relationship. Simon had quickly broken down the walls you had put up around yourself, and had comfortably made his own spot in your heart.

Simon sits next to you, now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, his large hand covering yours. You slowly look up at him, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. The small scar in his eyebrow evident this close, you reach out running a finger across it. The skin is slightly raised and water drips from his hair onto your finger.

“Then you should stop fighting the urge…” you finally whisper, your hand cupping the rough skin of Simon’s face. 

“Would you be okay with that? With me touching you whenever I wanted… holding you.. kissing you?” Simon whispers, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your hand.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your forehead coming to rest against his, your eyes closed. For a moment you just sit there. Your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

Could you be okay with that?

Could you let someone in that way?

Let someone get close enough that they could see all the broken and jagged edges of you?

Could you open yourself up to losing someone again?

The thought of Simon being gone suddenly, ripped away from you by some unknown, the same person who ripped your siblings and mother away from you makes you want to vomit.

But a small part of you chimes in, the part that knows Simon isn’t defenseless like your family was. Simon was a trained military man, a man who single handedly killed an entire crew for crossing him. He could handle himself. He had proved that time and time again in the field. He also had the rest of 141, the team who would go to the ends of the earth to find him. 

You open your eyes, and look at Simon, the answer on the tip of your tongue as you stare at his beautiful face. His light blonde stubble, the small scars, the crook in his nose, the slightly uneven line of his lower lip. “Yes… I-I want that.. I want all of it.”

Next Part: 7

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18

[becomingmina]

hey would you be able to write a felix x fem reader angst? when felix falls out of love with her.

“ARE YOU SURE IT'S NOT HATE?" anon request w/ LEE FELIX.

pairing: felix x female reader genre + warnings: angst, reader cries wc: 1.9k mina's note: tmi - my ex fell out of love with me so this hits home a little. we meet when we were 12 and we broke up when we were 21. anyways, i hope you guys like this :)) and to the cuties anon who requested this, thank you very much!! sorry for making you wait, im just like felix i have no reason!

other works here ; any comments and thoughts you can drop them here ; ty for reading.

“I asked you a question baby,” you say from across the kitchen island. Felix was occupied on his phone, sitting on the stool on the other side of the counter.

“I gave you an answer Y/N,” he huffs after a few seconds, not lifting his head from the device.

“Yeah, but not verbally though,” you make your way over to him.

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’re grown enough to figure it out, Y/N,” he replies back, rolling his eyes up from his screen for a second before continuing with scrolling.

“You’re really fine with them being blue?” You questioned again, hugging him from behind, your chin resting on his shoulder.

“They’re just cupcakes, they’ll get eaten anyways. I don’t understand what’s the big problem with the colour of the icing,” he says irritated.

It was Chan’s turn to host dinner for your friend group. You and Felix usually bring over homemade cupcakes for dessert. It was a ritual to spend every last Saturday of the month together in the kitchen baking and decorating two dozen cupcakes. And usually, it was Felix who would have a hard time choosing the colour for the icing but today it seems he just wanted to get the cupcakes over and done with.

“Okay,” you replied defeated, feeling a little hurt at his tone. “Did you wanna help me?” You softly asked, sniffing his shoulder to take in his sweet scent.

“I’m busy,” Felix sighed.

“Okay, I’ll iced them then,” you moved yourself away Felix, walking back to your original position in the kitchen.

Lately you feel like Felix hasn’t been his clingy needy self. He would stick onto you like glue every second of the day but recently he’s been distant. You can’t pinpoint when exactly it became like this, but you were sure it’s been a couple of weeks by now. He’s been telling you that work has been busy for him, and you understand how it can affect him, but you still feel a little bit downhearted when he visually shows his annoyance with you.

After finished up with the icing and getting yourself ready, you sat in living room with the box of cupcakes on your lap patiently waiting for Felix. He had locked himself in the office, saying he needed to go over his feedback for some report for work.

“Hey, how’d it go?” You ask when you hear the office door open, but he ignores your question as he searches for his car keys. You expected it didn't go well.

The car ride to Chan’s was silent as you figured you should probably give him some space. He looks over to your side a couple of times noticing your quietness, but he doesn’t strike conversation with you, only making a few little comments about how bad traffic was. You brushed off his lack of initiative making excuses for him that he was just tired from work.

“He surprised me the other day! He’s going to rent out my favourite art gallery for our wedding reception,” Hana and Hyunjin was giving the group details their upcoming wedding at dinner. They were so cheerful talking about it and although you loved it for them, you couldn’t help envy it and wished for you and Felix to reach that stage in life shortly.

“Who’s next? Felix? Y/N?” Chan teased with a raised brow, and you goofily smile at the older man. You turned your head to Felix to see his reaction, but his head is tilted down and his face was straight. Chan notices the tension and quickly changes subject hoping no one else catch on. It caught you by surprise that he wasn’t as responsive as you were to Chan’s joke. It got you second guessing if it was even work that’s been making him like this.

You spend the rest of the night with the other girlfriends. As they spoke about their recent dates with their partner, all you could do was be happy for them concealing the fact that you and Felix hadn’t been on one in ages. You keep glancing over at Felix throughout the night but he showed you no attention. Usually you would catch him staring at you and blowing kisses and winks at you, but tonight there was nothing.

The car ride home was the same as the car ride there - quiet.

Felix walked in your apartment first, you followed behind him closely. As you put your bag on the entry way table you tripped over a pair of shoes accidentally falling forward on Felix in the process.

“Y/N watch yourself!” Felix yells, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry,” you softly say as you got up. “I just tripped,” you defend yourself, feeling tears start to form in your eyes at his tone.

“God can you look where you’re going?!” he groans turning around to face you. He was red mad. He had never got this angry at you before for tripping over.

“Did I do something wrong to you Felix?” You asked softly, feeling something heavy in your chest. You needed an answer to why he’s been treating you differently, it’s obvious now that it wasn’t because of work. “Last couple of weeks you have just been distant towards me and I’m a little hurt by it,” you say cracking your voice in the process, pulling a string on Felix’s heart. He frowns at your reaction.

You watch him sigh, hesitating little bit before he answers “You know work is hectic-”

“-Is it?” You questioned in an offended tone, dumbfounded that he used the same excuse again - work. “Work is hectic that you have to yell at me because I accidentally tripped on your shoes? Work’s been hectic that you can’t even smile at me in front of our friends? Work’s been hectic that you can’t even answer a simple question about the colour of the icing on the cupcakes that use to mean so much to you?!”

You didn’t expect to have an outburst like this. Felix doesn’t reply, he just takes a deep breath watching you as you continue to lash out at him.

“You don’t ask if I’m okay anymore. You don’t hug me anymore. Because of work?” You chuckle, sarcastically.

“Y/N-” he takes a step closer to you.

“-You’ve leave for work early in the morning and come back home late on the days I’m at home-”

“I-” he tried to speak again.

“And when it’s the weekend you lock yourself in the office all day. You avoid spending time with me, you avoid talking to me.” Your face was red, brows furrowed as you keep your tears from falling.

“Y/N, let me talk-”

“What did I do to-” You cut him off again.

“I’m not inlove you anymore!” Your heart drops at his words. The tears you tried to conceal instantly rolls down your cheeks and you take in a sharp breath. “This relationship is draining me.” He adds, breaking you even more.

You didn’t expect this. He’s been so mean to you lately all because he wasn’t in love you anymore? It doesn’t make sense to you that all of this was done because he fell out of love. You refuse to believe it.

“Are you sure it’s not hate?” You sniffled, pulling another string from Felix’s heart. "Are you sure it's not because you hate me?" you repeat yourself when he doesn't answer, feeling a bit anxious that it might be true, that he actually hates you.

“Never.” Felix replied rapidly this time, his tone a lot more softer now. “I could never hate you Y/N." Felix continues to conceals his emotions, not letting anything pass you.

“But you’ve been acting like you do.” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, your eyes wavering to seek any reaction from him.

“I just needed space Y/N.”

“I gave you space. So much space,” you retorted.

“I think we should..” he stops before he says the last words, letting you piece the puzzle by yourself.

“You want to leave me?” You question and he flicks his eyes away from yours. You got your answer.

He lets out a heavy breath, running his fingers through his blonde hair, his eyes falling back on yours. “It’s for the best Y/N.”

“No, I don’t understand. Where I go wrong, Lix?.” you reached out to grip his forearm as the tears continued down your face, dripping to the floor.

“I don’t want to be here with you anymore,” he says softly, trying to loosen himself from your hold but you latch onto him tighter as you shake your head no.

“That’s not a reason Lix. Tell me where I went wrong,” You needed answers. He owe it to you. “You were the one who chased me, remember? You made me fall in love with you. It’s been 4 years and you want to leave me? Why?” You asked, in a complete mess.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I’m sorry Y/N,” Felix apologies.

“Tell me why?”

“I can’t-”

“Then stay.” If he didn’t have an answer then he shouldn’t leave you, it’s unfair.

Y/N,” he says firmly.

“Just for one night,” you say, taking in a deep breath. “You can leave when I fall asleep,” you surrendered, eyes wavering waiting for his answer. “Please,” you beg.

“Y/N.. Baby I can’t,” it was the first time he called you that in a while and your heart breaks once more. He stopped calling you that and started calling you by name for months now. How is it that you never noticed until now.

“I’ll let you go when I fall asleep.. Please..Just love me one last time, Felix.”

Felix contemplated. He stared at you. Your glossy eyes. Your runny nose. Your red cheeks. He watches your chest rises up and down as you tried to control yourself. He hates seeing you cry, he hates seeing you hurt. It breaks him. He gives in. “Okay.”

He has you on pulled up flushed on him on your shared bed, your legs tangled with his. Your face pressed again his chest as one of his hand is wrapped around your waist and the other traces nothings up and down your back. Your tears haven’t stop, they fall effortlessly out of your eyes on his shirt. You stay quiet. You want to talk. You have so many questions to ask. So many things you want to know. But you stay quiet because you know Felix won’t answer you. So instead you stare into nothing as you replay back your happiest memories with Felix. You can’t help the small smile that is pulled on your face as you remember everything, every detail of everyday with him.

You tried you best to stay awake but you feel your eye lids closing. You don’t want to give in to sleep because you know by the time you wake up, he’ll be gone. But you’re exhausted, both your body and mind.

Felix stares up at the ceiling. He’s guilty. He owes you a reason, he owes you answers but he keeps quiet. He replays back memories but he doesn’t have the same reaction as you. He doesn’t smile. He cries instead. Tears run down his face as you recalls the soft and sweet memories with you. How could he do this to you? How could he make you fall in love with him then walk out like this? How could he say he was no longer in love with you?

Felix doesn’t hear your sniffles anymore. He feels your breathing evens out with his body. You had fallen asleep in his arms.

Felix presses a kiss to your temple, his arm still holding your waist tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hiii! Hru?

I was wondering if you’d write a fic where reader and g!p Donna have been having a sexual relationship for a months but one night ends up with reader becoming pregnant, and Donna did not take it well due to the trauma a of losing her family and just being in shock so she kicks reader out. Reader ends up staying with the Dimitrescu’s (idk why or how but Alvin’s likes her) until a few days when Donna comes to her senses and realizes how horrible she acted and then apologizes with a happy ending?

Yesss!!!! here it is!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Family

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, pregnancy, angst, fluff, slightly dark

Word count: 6,561

Summary: You wanted to be a family, her family....

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I love you all!!!

Only gasps, only your kisses sounded in the old room. Heat, sweat, laughter... All of this mixed, shaping the environment that your life had become for some time.

You, villager at the service of Mother Miranda. Donna Beneviento, Lord of the village. You never thought you could get to know that mysterious woman who caught your attention every time you were near her, every time her shadow appeared at the back of the old chapel. Fear turned into curiosity, and curiosity turned into attraction.

It wasn't until several months later that you somehow managed to catch her attention, leaving your old, boring life behind to become part of hers. Well, at least that's what you thought when you moved to the Beneviento estate.

There were kisses, caresses that showed her lack of affection, entire nights of passion, romantic outbursts anywhere in the old house. Romantic would be exaggerating a bit. Donna was an unstable, sensitive and reserved woman. Despite the desire she always had to love you, to possess you, she never went beyond that, she never told you she loved you.

She never said you were important to her. You could have felt offended, almost like a throwaway toy, but it was too late for you. You were completely in love with her long before you knew what her body felt like on yours, long before your moans bounced off the walls.

At least she didn't say it, she didn't make clear that she wanted you to be hers, but at the same time she lost her mind when you suggested spending a night with your friends, or simply leaving the house for a walk.

So, what were you?

If she didn't care about you, why did she insist on keeping you close to her? Questions for another time, for another time when her hot kisses weren't clouding your judgment.

“Donna, please...” You moaned, raising your hips to make contact with her erection. The woman smiled, placing herself at your wet entrance, hungry for its warmth.

“(Y/N)...” She sighed, just before entering you completely, moving gently so that your walls adapted to her length, to her burning desire.

 You sighed as you felt her inside you, as you felt that heat dissipating the absurd questions that your mind asked when it was not busy admiring her beauty, her voice, her skin...

Always so intense and mysterious, always letting you know with her body what she couldn't say with her words. Donna played with your insides, she worked her way into your depths, giving you the feeling that it was the place where you wanted to be, where your body wanted to be.

Kisses on your mouth, caresses on your cheek, all accompanied by the gentle movement of her hips and her shy moans, it was more than enough to drive you crazy, to drive you even crazier. Sometimes you thought you would lose your mind, other times you thought you already had.

Your legs hugged her waist and your eyes stayed open. It could be that you hadn't gotten tired of seeing her beauty, of admiring the beautiful woman who made love to you with that intensity, with that softness.

It could also be that dangerous thoughts from your subconscious came to light so as not to appear weak and release yourself too soon. Those voices, that hidden consciousness inside you scrutinized her features, the sparkle in her eye, searched in her face for some clue to her intentions, some clue to your future.

 A girlfriend, a lover, a wife, a family. Donna was all these things to you, but you... You seemed nothing but an acquaintance to her, the only person who accepted her conditions without questioning them, the only person who didn’t fear her, who only feared that her heart would jump out of her chest when she felt her caresses.

You blinked, aware that you had lost yourself in your thoughts again, that your body was demanding you to feel the pleasure that hers was giving you, before it was too late and you had wasted the opportunity.

You moaned her name again, and again, earning an erratic smile in return, an increase in the speed of her hips against yours, the intense mix of gasps and messy kisses that preceded her release, the act of possessing you again another night, one more night.

A small frightened gasp and the even deeper pressure of her hips made you clench your teeth, only a simple, childish grunt leaving your lips as your body received her hot, wet release, caressing your insides, covering every part of your entrance, possessing you inside and out.

Donna caught her breath, placing a soft kiss on your lips and pulling out of you slowly, looking at you curiously.

“You're very quiet, tesoro...” She sighed, lying down next to you, letting the cold take over your naked body as it was abandoned. “You have not been able to…?”

“I'm fine,” you said abruptly, interrupting that question, interrupting the fact of having to answer it. No, the orgasm had been elusive with you. It was your fault, for asking yourself things that you should have known a long time ago they had no answers.

“Are you?” She asked, covering you with the sheets. You could see it as a loving, affectionate gesture, but you didn't even know if it was so, or it was a simple precautionary method so her warm toy wouldn't get cold and she couldn't play with it.

You nodded, covering yourself, leaving only your eyes outside those sheets. You started to feel overwhelmed. The lack of your usual orgasm, the questions your subconscious tormented you with, and Donna, especially Donna, had become a small anxiety crisis, one that you could only solve in one way.

“Hey, Donna...” You whispered, turning around and climbing towards her bare chest, always ready to receive you.

She looked at you, beginning to play affectionately with your hair, but with an indifferent expression. You wondered if you were really indifferent to her.

“What are we? You know, you and me,” you asked in a low voice, with an effort to make your voice sound normal, indifferent like her gaze.

“Mm? Well, we're friends, right?” Donna said, not thinking about it for a moment. You wish you had shut up, rolled over and slept, to not know who you were to her. A friend, one with benefits, but a friend.

“Friends?” You asked incredulously, separating yourself from the heat of her body, determined to let your feelings out. “Just friends?”

Donna nodded immediately, again, without thinking about it, without understanding your intentions, your wishes...

“I would like to be something else,” you said, unable to suppress a sob, trying to express yourself with your eyes, without success.

“Yes, well... Why do you ask?” She asked with a curious look, frowning. Bothered? Intrigued? It was impossible to know what she represented with that expression, which made you take a breath and uncover yourself, getting out of bed. “(Y/N), where are you going?”

“I'm going to take a shower,” you said with a dry voice, looking for your clothes scattered around the room. The brunette, completely oblivious to your anger, voluntarily or not, looked at you with that smile, that smile your head refused to stop seeing as the most beautiful one in the world.

“I'll go with you,” she said without stopping smiling, getting up from the bed next to you.

You snorted and shook your head, placing both hands on her chest so she wouldn't get any closer, so her kisses would stop clouding your judgment.

“No, Donna,” you responded bluntly, leaving Lady Beneviento with a confused expression at your reaction. “I want, I want to go alone, okay?”

Donna looked at you curiously. Her breathing heavy as she didn't know what had led you to reject that proposal, one that you always enjoyed.

Her head moved slowly, nodding in the same way as you walked around her to leave the room.

The shower was just an excuse. An excuse to sit down, to let the hot water wash away the remains of that lustful act and finally, you were free to cry, to vent the heavy emptiness in your heart.

After that little cry and the relief of the hot water on your frozen, abandoned body, you went to bed. No, Donna wasn't waiting for you, her deep breathing told you that she was asleep.

“If you only knew how much I love you...” You murmured, running a hand down her back, making her to emit a comical grunt of annoyance. You didn't know if you wanted to say it, if you wanted her to hear you, you just knew that you wanted her to feel the same way.

The weeks passed as always, in that strange spiral of unaffected affection, of stolen but silent kisses, without words of love on her lips, without whispers in your ears, without being able to see any  trace of love in her eyes, in her caresses…

Your body began to weaken. No hungry, very hungry, sleepy, headache, nausea, a whole range of symptoms that further weakened your desire to try, your desire to get to know Lady Beneviento better, your desire to know if you should escape one of those nights.

“Shit...” You protested, leaning back on the couch with a damp cloth on your head to calm the throbbing in your temples. Your stomach danced, threatening to expel your lunch again. Luckily Angie wasn't around to make things worse. Her childish screeching was like drills in your brain.

Beginning to be worried that all this discomfort was the product of a real illness, and not of heartbreak, you got up to browse the shelves of the place, looking for a book that talked about them, or a medicinal plant that would calm the pain in your stomach. They were two months of feeling heavy, dealing with those horrible symptoms.

As you ran your hand over the dusty covers of those books, you felt warmth on your waist, two pale hands pulling you gently. Donna.

“I was working on my dolls and... I was thinking about how soft your skin is, how horrible it is to touch porcelain if I compare it to kissing you...” She whispered in your ear, making you feel her breath, making all your hair stand on end.

You closed your eyes, enjoying that sway of her body against yours, enjoying the bulge of her dress that pressed against you.

You ran your hands through hers while your neck was covered in small kisses, making you gasp, forgetting about the dizziness and your stomach. Damn, she was the solution to all your problems. She was the only medicinal plant that would calm your pain.

You turned your head so you could capture her lips, melting into an intense kiss while her hands went up your body, pulling the fabric of your dress, stopping at your chest. At the feeling of her fingers passing by, gently grabbing one of your breasts, you couldn't help but moan. The sensation of that caress was much more intense than usual, much more, making it almost unbearable.

“You're very sensitive... I love it...” Donna whispered, caressing you more gently while her other hand traveled into the depths of your dress, carelessly removing your underwear before pushing you against the shelf, separating your legs and playing with her dress.

“Donna, wait,” you said, when her hand placed yours on the shelf and between your legs, you could already feel her erection, pressing the tip of it against your too-wet, mysteriously wet entrance.

“Shhh, don't talk, (Y/N)... Let me worship you,” she told you, feigning a reprimand as she entered you little by little, in a strange and improvised position.

It didn't take long for her moans to stabilize as she slowly took you in that spot. A toy, just that, a sick, injured toy. That's what you were to her.

“Donna, stop,” you said, pulling yourself up sharply and pushing her by her shoulders, her breathing heavy and your headache getting worse, more intense, clouding your common sense. “I'm not in the mood.”

The lady in black stuffed her shame back into her dress and looked at you with a mix of anger and confusion.

“What's wrong?” She asked, grabbing you by the wrist when you had already started to run away. You shook your head.

“I don't feel well, okay? So... So do me a favor and keep... That thing, away from me for a moment, okay? Can you do that?” You said with a poisonous tone, with anger and hatred that appeared by surprise, making her blink in confusion, with a sad look.

“Why are you talking to me like that? We are friends, right?” She asked, making you hiss in pain as her grip tightened, pinching your skin through your dress.

You wanted to scream, break things, punch her, but you weren't able to. You gritted your teeth and narrowed your eyes, controlling the intense rise and fall of your chest, feeling like your head was about to explode. Without saying anything else than what your look could express, you disappeared down the hallway.

Time continued to pass and your symptoms worsened. You couldn't be mad at Donna, and she couldn't be mad at you. Soon, everything returned to normal, her caresses and your kisses became the only balm that relieved the discomfort of your body, and your heart.

“I'm not a doctor, Miss (Y/N),” the Duke said, the village merchant, the only human being (or almost) you spoke to after all those months. Donna was not human. She was nothing but a Goddess to you.

“I know, but I also know that you prescribe medicine to the villagers. You cured Mr. Ionescu's fever,” you said impatiently, no longer able to live with all the nausea, pain, and mood swings of the last two months. “Lady Beneviento will pay you quite well.”

After hearing about money, the smile of that sinister man lit up his face, making a gesture with his head to point to the bag full of lei that you were holding with sarcasm.

“Well, well, that's different...” He said satisfied, showing more interest. “Tell me, what terrible symptoms are afflicting you?”

One by one, you told the Duke everything that was happening to you, the mood swings, that strange weight gain, the sensitivity of certain parts of your body and the fatigue and headaches.

The man nodded slowly, searching for something in his carriage and throwing it to you roughly.

“I think this is just what you're looking for...” He said, amused.

You took that small box and opened your eyes wide when you knew what it contained. Your heart stopped beating, knowing why.

“A pregnancy test?” You asked, stunned, pale. You should have suspected it after your two missed periods, but your internal struggles prevented you from realizing it.

The man nodded, taking the reins of his horse, laughing sinisterly.

“Keep the money, you're going to need it,” he murmured before disappearing, leaving you pinned to the ground, sweating the packaging of that test, that somehow, you knew what its result would be.

It didn't take long for you to run to the bathroom and verify your suspicions. Positive.

“Gods...” You said, with the test in your hand, checking again and again that you had not made a mistake.

You had a small anxiety attack, denying yourself the truth of the facts, the veracity of that test, the reality of what your future held.

A child, a baby, a Donna’s baby. It seemed like bad news, an unforeseen event, but when you put your hand on your belly, you felt relief. Maybe being a mother would be what Donna needed to clear up her feelings. Maybe the family you longed to have was closer than ever.

“Donna, I have, I have to tell you something,” you said whispering, entering the workshop where Donna made her dolls. She didn't look up, she simply gestured for you to come closer. “Donna, listen to me.”

She didn't look at you, she simply gestured for you to stay silent. She needed to be focused to paint the details of that porcelain head. But that didn't matter to you at that moment.

“Donna, listen to me, it's important,” you said, picking up the half-finished head and leaving it away from the lady in black, who looked at you with annoyance.

“What do you want, (Y/N)? I'm busy,” she asked, crossing her arms, throwing the brush unpleasantly against the table, giving her work as: spoiled.

“I don't care, Donna, I told you it's important,” you said, suppressing a growl, but not being able to not sound nervous.

The woman in black sighed, turning her chair to look at you impatiently. You knew how much to be interrupted in her work bothered her. You knew it and you regretted it, but not the reason to do it.

“Well, what's wrong with you?” She asked with a softer voice. She never treated you badly, despite her imperceptible indifference.

“I don't know how to tell you, but...” You stammered, looking everywhere but at her bright eye, except at her beautiful gaze. You didn't want distractions. “Donna, I'm pregnant.”

The lady blinked rapidly, changing her sympathetic expression to an indecipherable one, gaping and shaking her head.

“What did you say?” She asked with a voice cracked by shock.

“What you have heard. I'm pregnant, we're going to have a baby,” you said, running a hand over your belly, realizing how changed it was, that it wasn't the same. You should have realized it sooner, you should have done it.

“No, no, that's not true,” she said, shaking her head, putting a sinister nervous smile on her face.

“It's true. I just took the test,” you said, with a bad feeling. You didn't expect that reaction.

“What if you have taken a test? It's not mine,” she said nervously, getting up from the chair and starting to walk erratically. The dagger stuck deep, very deep in your heart.

“Of course it's yours, Donna,” you said with a dark voice, your eyes wet with the imminent tears that threatened to slide down your cheeks. “For Gods’ sake, who else is it going to belong to?”

“It’s not mine!” She screamed, grabbing her head with her hands. “You're lying, you're lying...” She said, with a wild look.

“It's yours, damn it! Is your baby! Our baby! What the hell is wrong with you?” You shouted, breathing heavily, beginning to sob due to the disbelief of what you were seeing.

“No, no, no. You, you're not going to... No, it's not possible...” She said nervously, to herself, with her face changing from sly laughter to the deepest and most intense panic.

“Donna, please calm down,” you said, trying to hold her by her shoulders, which led to an unpleasant push. “No, it doesn't have to be a bad thing, I... We, we can, we can be a family, Donna. You, me, the baby...”

Something, something you said that made her tense, her eye wide and her anxiety threatening to make her chest burst.

“Family… Family!? No!” She shouted furiously, kicking the ground and approaching you, grabbing you tightly by the collar of your dress. “You're a slut, (Y/N)... We're not a family! We won't be a family! That baby is not mine, you cheated on me!”

“Donna...” You sobbed, grabbing her wrist with both hands, stopping her grip from hurting you. She huffed, loosening her grip a bit, but with the same cold expression.

“Liar... That child, is, not, mine!” She screeched, shaking you hard making you, for the first time in a long time, afraid of her. With a desperate growl, you managed to get out of her grasp, walking away from her slowly, tears wetting your face.

“Of course it's yours, Donna. You're the only one who... Damn, don't you understand?”

“It's not mine,” she repeated with her eye growing darker. “It can't be mine.”

You laughed nervously, shaking your head and crossing your arms.

“What did you think would happen, Donna? You've been... Cumming inside of me for months... How is that you deny such an obvious truth possible? The baby is yours and yours is the responsibility,” you said, gaining some confidence in yourself, running your hands again over your belly.

“No, I don't want to know... No, no...” She stammered, now scared, terrified. “Go away, (Y/N)”

“What?” You asked, thinking you had heard wrong.

“I don't want to know anything about you, or about that baby. Disappear from my life, and from my sight,” she said, apparently calmer but cold, cold as ice.

“What? Aren't you even going to take responsibility for the baby? How can you do this to me, Donna? I, I love you…” You said sobbing, sounding pathetic, suppressing the urge to kneel and beg.

“Get out...” She hissed with a dangerous look, pointing to the door to your surprise and terror, feeling the crunch of your heart as it finally broke.

“Donna…”

“Out! Get out of my house! Get out!” She screamed furiously, with white knuckles, clenching her fists on either side of her hips, completely out of her mind.

You got scared, fearing for your life, for your lives. You had no choice. You had to get out of there before the voices in her head told her to hurt you, to hurt both of you.

You ran without looking back, leaving the estate to never come back. Your whole life, the illusion of being a family, of forming a life with Donna, disappeared forever. It disappeared with just a few words, with indifference turned into anger, into rejection.

You had nowhere to go. You didn't know what to do. Leaving the village was not an option, being a single mother terrified you, you were terrified. With no other option but to freeze to death in the cold of the night, you headed towards a possible refuge, towards one of those places that the legends spoke of: the Dimitrescu Castle.

There, where many people said there was only blood and death, one of your friends worked. It was the only thing that tied you to that village, at that time you had no one else.

“(Y/N), Gods...” Irina, your friend, said, opening the door and looking at you, horrified by your appearance. Scratches on your legs, crying turning your eyes a deep red, the small lump on your belly making you nauseous... A horrible sight for your former friend.

“Irina, please help me,” you begged, throwing yourself into her arms and releasing your painful cry into her shoulders.

“Sure, come in,” she said, taking your hand and walking with you into the castle.

“Here you have towels and... If you need anything, call me,” the girl said, preparing a hot bath for you and offering you new clothes.

During that uplifting bath, all those months passed through your head. The conversations during the early hours, the hugs, the kisses, the smiles... Everything you had experienced with Donna passed before your eyes like a macabre movie, one of those in which at the end it said:  The End, ending forever.

You couldn't believe that such a good woman would have that reaction, how her indifference could go so far. No, she never cared about you, you were never better than one of her dolls. You were carrying her child in your womb, a baby who would never know her mother, your baby, her baby.

“What am I going to do...” You sobbed, raising your knees to your chest and sinking into the water, dreaming of disappearing from that place and waking up from that horrible nightmare.

“(Y/N), get dressed, hurry up, the lady wants to talk to you,” Irina said on the other side of the door, waking you up from that hellish dream.

As if your problems were few, Lady Dimitrescu, owner of the castle, a Lord like Donna, was waiting for you sitting in an armchair, undressing you with her gaze.

“Well, well, well... But look what little bird has appeared in the castle,” she said with a seductive voice, taking a sip from a glass of wine.

“Lady Dimitrescu,” you said, making an elegant bow, showing your respect, and your fear.

“Sit down,” she ordered, pointing to a slightly smaller chair. You nodded with your head down and obeyed. “Irina, leave,” she told your friend, who obeyed immediately, looking at you out of the corner of her eye before disappearing from the room.

There was a small moment of silence, ending with a sinister smile from the lady in white, leaving her glass on a table and crossing her legs, studying your appearance.

“Donna's friend has come to my castle,” she murmured amused, raising her eyebrows. When you heard that name, you cringed, feeling your desire to cry return again. “What's happening? Do you want us to be friends too?”

You shook your head, trying to forget that nickname with which Donna defined your relationship, apparently, not only with you, but also for others, you were nothing but her friend.

“I see... What happened, draga? It is not normal to have visitors at this time of the night. Irina told me that you were looking miserable,” she asked with interest, leaning to raise your chin so that you could look into her eyes.

There was no need to lie, not anymore.

“Donna kicked me out of the house,” you said in a low voice, with your throat sore, with your entire body numb and your hand on your belly.

“What? Donna?” Alcina asked, with a frown, visibly surprised by your words.

You could only nod.

“Mmm, that sounds like a lie to me,” she said with a dark tone, cooling her seductive expression a bit.

“It's not a lie, my lady,” you corrected, trembling with fear.

“Donna has been speaking wonderful things about you for months,” the lady in white said, getting up from the couch and approaching you with her hands on her hips. “I think at this point I can say that I know you better than yourself. Why would my sister part with a beautiful girl like you?”

“She will have her reasons, I don't know them,” you said in a serious tone, feeling a chill.

“Don't take the things she says seriously. You already know that my sister is not... How to put it... she is sick, she is not right in the head. Maybe you've misunderstood things.”

“It's not about that,” you interrupted. “She made it very clear. She doesn't want to know anything about me, about us...” You whispered, warming your belly with your caresses. The vampire's expression changed again, fixing her eyes on your hands.

“Us? What are you...?” She asked, getting a little closer, looking at you curiously, not wanting to continue joking.

“I'm pregnant,” you confessed, intimidated by her curious look. Her expression barely changed upon hearing you say that, she simply made a guttural sound of understanding. “It's Donna’s.”

“I'm not sure I'd like to congratulate you, (Y/N)... You don't seem very happy with the news,”  the lady commented, walking away again with a different air, passive, but thoughtful.

“That's why she kicked me out of her house,” you said, nervous and scared by the reaction of the lady in white, who began to pace around the room without taking her eyes off of you. “She said she didn't want to know anything and that... That the baby wasn't hers.  She yelled at me and...” You said sobbing, noticing a warm hand on your shoulders.

“Oh, poor thing...” Alcina murmured, rubbing your back in a comforting way. “What the hell is wrong with that brat? This is too much, even for someone like her.”

“I don't know but I... I don't know what to do, I, I love her and...” You said, with a broken voice, throwing yourself into the arms of the large woman, who received you with understanding, shaking her head.

“Come on, come on...” She whispered, giving you the comfort you would never think to find in her. “Don't worry, (Y/N), she will come to her senses, you'll see...”

“I don't think so.  She said that... That we will never be a family,” you sobbed, burying your head in the chest of the lady in white, who patted your back before separating you from her.

“It's okay, (Y/N), don't cry anymore. It's not good for you, or for the baby,” she told you, speaking in a maternal manner.

“I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do now...” You protested again, running a hand over your eyes to wipe away your tears.

“Rest for now. I'll leave you a room. We will take care of you for as long as you need,” she said, heading to the door “Irina!”

“I, thank, thank you...” You stuttered, nodding gratefully.

“You’re welcome, (Y/N). After all, you’re carrying my nephew...”

Several days passed. The Dimitrescu family wasn't as horrible as they said. They took care of you, of your baby. They made sure you were comfortable. Although that was better than running away from the village or dying of cold, it wasn't your ideal ending. It wasn't the place you wanted to be. You still loved her, cried for her, you wanted to be with Donna, raise the baby together, be a family, a real family.

“You're stupid, Daniela,” Bela Dimitrescu said, sitting next to you on a sofa. “It's going to be a boy, you'll see.”

“You have no idea, Bela, it's a girl, it's very clear...” The sister protested, crossing her arms in a childish manner.

You laughed, distracted by the Dimitrescu sisters' behavior. At least they made you forget for a moment the hell you were in.

“What its name is going to be?” Cassandra asked, placing a hand on your belly, with overflowing emotion.

“I haven't thought about name yet...” You said sighing, knowing that at some point you should think about those things.

“It has to be called Vladimir,” Bela said, proudly.

“Vladimir? It can't be called Vladimir, I told you it's a girl!” Daniela protested. “Her name will be Victoria.”

“Victoria? How horrible,” Cassandra said, shaking her head.

“Vladimir”

“Victoria”

“Girls, girls... Relax...” Alcina said, appearing in the small room, making the three of them stand up and stand at attention, bowing their heads. “Stop bothering (Y/N)... Draga, please, come with me.”

You got up from the couch, saying goodbye to the sisters and following the lady of the castle through those dark hallways.

“Did you know that for many years this castle served as the town hall?” Alcina asked, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. You shook your head, surprised by the question.

“No, my lady,” you whispered.

You entered a kind of library, where Alcina took a small album of what looked like old photographs.

“Before Mother Miranda took over leadership, all of the village's records were stored here in the castle. I've been looking through some of these photographs and documents, and this might interest you...” She whispered, bringing you an old photograph of what looked like a family. A father, a mother, two old people, two daughters and a waterfall and a familiar house in the background.

“What is this?” You asked, recognizing the Beneviento estate and turning over the photograph, where there was a date written: 1992

“The Beneviento family, (Y/N),” the vampire explained, lighting a cigarette. “Marco and Gabriella Beneviento,” she said, pointing to the two elderly people. “He went crazy, killed his wife and then shot himself.”

You gulped as you looked askance at a sheet of paper the lady was holding. It looked like a village archive.

“Giovanni and Bernardette Beneviento. He jumped over the waterfall and his wife followed him,” Alcina continued, pointing to the younger adults. “Claudia Beneviento. She died of smallpox when she was only 9 years old,” she said, pointing to one of the little girls, the younger of the two. “Tell me, (Y/N), do you know who this brunette girl with that doll could be?”

“Donna...” You sighed when you recognized her, when you saw her years ago, as a girl, a normal one, covering the lack of her right eye with her black hair.

Alcina nodded, sighing and leaving the sheet of paper on a table.

“She lost her entire family, her grandparents, her parents, her sister. She was left alone from a very young age, until Mother Miranda took pity on her,” the lady in white explained, taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Why are you showing me this?” You asked, leaving the photograph where you couldn't see it, where you couldn't remember all those tragedies.

“Well, I think I’m beginning to understand her reaction when she found out that you were pregnant...” She said amused, leaning her back on the couch and looking at you curiously.

“No, I don't know what...”

“How do you think someone like Donna, who has lost her entire family, would feel to know that she can have one again?” She asked, pointing to your belly.

“I don't know, I guess she should be happy,” you said in a dark tone, using common sense.

“You think so? Maybe that's what would happen to a normal person, but we both know that Donna is not normal at all,” Alcina responded. “I think she's scared, (Y/N), she's terrified of losing you, of losing her family again.”

“That doesn't explain why I'm nothing but a friend to her,” you protested, hating Alcina's tireless defense of her sister.

“Is what she said, uh? Bullshit, (Y/N). If she believes that she can deceive herself...” The big woman sighed, laughing amused.

“She deceived me,” you said angrily, beginning to think differently about the woman in black, hating yourself for doing so.

“I'm sure that...” Alcina began, interrupted by some noises coming from the hallway.

“Wait, Lady Beneviento, you can't...” Irina's hurried voice said, before a figure in black burst into the room. Donna, with her black veil, breathing hard, looking for you.

“(Y/N), thank goodness I found you... I thought...” Donna said nervously, bending down to the chair where you were and taking your hand, a hand that you pushed away with an abrupt, unpleasant gesture. “I've been looking for you for days.”

You didn't respond, you tried to control your heartbeat when you saw her again and suppress the desire you had to kiss her.

“Donna, don't you know how to knock on the door?” Alcina asked, feigning annoyance but with a sly smile, getting up from the chair and pushing the maid out of the room.

“(Y/N)... I'm so glad to see you... I was so worried,” she said, removing her veil from her face to kiss you, a kiss that, making a superhuman effort, you rejected.

“Were you worried? You kicked me out of the house,” you said with a growl, pushing the lady away from you.

“I know and I... I, I'm so sorry...” She said sadly, upset, removing the veil from her face and kneeling before you. A gesture that didn’t meant anything anymore. “I acted horribly.”

“Well yes, you did Donna,” you stated, with a superb tone, not letting yourself be carried away by your feelings. “You have disappointed me.”

“Forgive me, I beg you, I... I didn't know...” She stammered, squeezing your hand in hers, her bright eye on the verge of crying. “I'm so sorry…”

“What are you sorry about?” You asked, ready to let out all your anger. “Are you sorry for kicking me out home?  For insulting me?For denying that you are the mother of my baby? What are you sorry about, Donna?  For making me think I'm important to you when in reality I'm just a whore?”

“Don’t say those things!” She screamed, horrified by your words. “The, the baby…”

“Oh, are you worried about the baby?” You ironized, freeing yourself from her grip and crossing your arms.

“Yes, it’s a Beneviento,” she murmured, getting up from the floor and pointing to your belly. “It’s my child.”

“A Beneviento? Your child? You said that it wasn't yours, that I had cheated on you. You despised me, Donna, you've always despised me. I was... I'm crazy about you and the only thing you've given me in return is... Nothing,” you said through clenched teeth, standing up and pushing her contemptuously.

“I know what I did! I know what I said!” She squealed nervously. “And I'm sorry! I... I was afraid, I was afraid of...”

“What were you afraid of?” You asked nervously too, trying to relax your breathing.

“I couldn't stop loving you,” she whispered with her head down, letting a tear fall on the wooden floor.

You didn't respond, you just sobbed, shaking your head.

“I know that... I never told you that I loved you but I... I didn't want to lose, I didn't want to lose my... My family again...”

“Family? You have never considered me your family,” you said with a venomous tone, but beginning to melt because of her sincere words.

“If I didn't do it, it was... It was because... I thought that if I did... I would lose you...” She confessed, unable to look you in the eyes. “I love you, (Y/N), I love you since I met you but... But whenever I have loved someone I... I don't want to lose you...”

You relaxed completely, running a hand over the back of your neck. You didn't see the lie in her eye, you didn't see that indifference. She was telling you the truth, a truth that hurt her terribly and that you, thanks to Alcina, now understood.

“And kicking me out of your house was the best thing to do, right?” You said with a softer tone, bringing your hand to her cheek. She held it, preventing your skin from leaving hers.

“(Y/N) I... I, I have learned from my mistakes and... I want, I want to spend my life with you, I want to take care of our child together, I want, I want you to be my family.”

“Donna...” You sighed, wondering if it was a good idea, if the love you felt for her was so strong. It was, it always was. “If only you had told me that you loved me…”

“I love you, I love you very much,” she said, interrupting, getting closer, lowering her hand to your belly. “I, I love you, both of you… I want, I want us to be a family. Please forgive me for my indifference, for making you believe that you meant nothing to me...”

“Donna, stop it,” you said, joining her hand as it caressed your belly. “I love you, I want us to be a family. I have wanted it since before the baby existed. Since I met you I have wanted nothing  but to hear you saying those words.

Her face lit up with a big smile before capturing your lips with hers, kissing you like she had never done before, with love, with the security of wanting you by her side.

“Let's go home, (Y/N), the three of us,” she said, grabbing your hand and walking towards the door.

[starlight-library]

Opposites attract | MV1

pairing: max verstappen x technical theater!y/n (they/them)

summary: you visit max after a long tech weekend, which is in time for the miami gp

warnings: fluff, google translated dutch (so sorry), me geeking out about my profession, maybe accidental OOC??, suggestive

a/n: reader is AFAB gender neutral! request open! sorry in advance cause there's no proofreading, im dying like a man. also first time writing don’t kill me ❤️

wc: 1.3K

Tech was the best and worst time of the year. The best time since the actors, director, crew, and creative all come together to finally put the show together. The best time because the show is officially handed over to the stage manager. It was also the worst time because of such long hours, lots of hold, and the stage manager’s sanity is holding on by a thread.

The first day wasn’t so bad. You arrived at the theater at 8am. You found your table and laid everything out. Your ASM and PA, your life line and team members, made sure everything else was set up. The other technicians arrived at 9am as they stated on the schedule and finally actors arrived at 10am. You had everyone in a circle introducing themselves to the new group: name, pronouns, role, fun fact. Then the director stated you guys would be going from top of the show and this was your time and your rehearsal. It was long but quick.

The second and third day were killer though. It was painfully slow as techs were. You spend most of your day here. Stage managers were the first ones in and last ones out and this tech was a 10 out of 12 (breaks for lunch, obviously, but you spend literally 12 hours in a dark theater just stopping and going while they add lights, sound, props, costumes, etc.) What’s worse is because you’re running the show you have to stay on top of everything, unless an emergency of course.

That includes not being able to really talk to your boyfriend.

You and Max were very keen on communicating and checking in since both your jobs were so demanding. Sometimes you guys could talk for hours while others it was a simple ‘hi dear, hope you have a good day’ ‘hi schatje, hope you’re sleeping well’ but when you were in tech it was a miracle if you sent a good morning text to inform him you were alive.

It’s around one am when you arrive back to the housing provided by the theater. By the time you get ready for bed it’s one thirty. You’re exhausted and your body is so desperately craving the sleep it’s been lacking but you will yourself to check your phone.

10 am:

Good morning, schatje ❤️. I hope you have a good day at tech today.

12pm:

Make sure you eat something today, please. I know how busy things can get sometimes. I’ll send you money to eat. I cannot believe the theater isn’t providing food for you or the crew. I can call them and give them a piece of my mind.

3pm:

Why did tech have to land on this weekend? It’s different with you not here. Are you watching at least?

…you know I can pay for you. You don’t have to work if you don’t want.

5pm:

Practice was okay. The random rain shower made things interesting for sure. Not my best time but I managed.

I miss you.

10pm:

I love you Schatje. I’m going to head to bed. Wish you were here with me. ❤️

Your heart pulls reading the messages. You quickly type out a few replies to Max:

Hi darling, I’m okay Yes, I made sure I ate today. No you don’t have to call the theater. It’s fine.

That’s called a sugar baby, darling. Not that I wouldn’t mind… I miss you too. I wish tech was over already so we could talk more :(

Well that’s Florida for you. But I’m sorry. I bet you still did amazing. I love you too. I’ll talk to you soon love, sleep well ❤️

You put your phone down after and let yourself drift off to sleep.

—————————————

“Alright Jonathan, I’ll talk to you later…bye now.”

Pocketing your phone when the conversation ends, you shuffle around your room as you get dressed. You’re thankful practice and qualifiers are late in the day giving you the extra sleep you need. Checking yourself out in the mirror, you do a spin. Sneakers, skirt, and one of the many fan designed Red Bull shirts you bought. This one was based off of Taylor’s Swift ‘Eras Tour’ but instead had pictures of your boyfriend and said ‘Verstappen’ instead. Grabbing your sunglasses, bag, and paddock pass you triple checked everything before heading off on your adventure.

Arriving to the paddock you easily scan in and navigate your way through. You keep your head down eyes glued to your phone and nobody really bats an eye to you. Thank god. You didn’t want the surprise to be ruined. Your eyes scan before you find the Red Bull garage. You slow your steps as you scan the garage not spying your boyfriend. A frown pulls to your lips as you step in, sunglasses being pushed to rest on the top of your head as you find Christian.

“Christian,” you call out with a smile as the principal turns. You make your way over and give him a quick hug.

“Oh Y/N,” Christian says and you see relief wash over him, “thank god you’re here. Max has been a fucking terror so far.” The remark makes you laugh, “I’m serious! He’s been extra grumpy since we arrived. I had to threaten to ban you from the garage to get him to tone it down. Handle him. Please.”

“I will when I find out exactly where he is.”

“Driver’s room.”

“Thank you. Promise he’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

“He better!” You hear Christian call out as you leave the garage. It does not take you long to find Max’s room and you know on the door.

You hear some shuffling and swearing in Dutch before the door swings open. You’re met with a “what?” and a scowl which causes you to smile brightly. “Fancy seeing you here,” you tease and watch Max’s scowl fall as it takes him a moment to process before you’re yanked forward.

You crash into his chest and laughs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bury your face in the crook of his neck as he hugs you tightly. He pulls away as he cups your face.

“I—schatje! What are you here? I thought you were working all weekend?”

“Between rehearsal and tech, we reached 42 hours. Jonathan said it wasn’t worth calling equity up to try and get overtime. So, he gave us the weekend off,” you beam and burst into laughter as he smothers your face in kisses, smiling widely.

“I’ve heard you’ve been very grumpy these past few days,” you remark through giggles.

“I have,” he replies bluntly, “you’ve been so busy and this Grand Prix has been testing my patience,” it’s his turn to bury his face in the crook of your neck. Your eyes flutter close and you let a breathy sigh escape feeling his lips leave feathery kisses along your neck.

“Max..”

“Missed you,” Max mumbled through kisses as he works his way up your neck to your jaw, “missed my good luck charm on my arm,” he kisses along your jaw, “missed having you wait for me in my driver’s room,” he makes his way up to your bottom lip and nips, “we have so much catching up to do..”

Turning your head away, giggling, “you have practice and qualifiers to get through first, mister,” You say earning a very small pout from the Dutchman, “how about, you place top five for qualifiers and I’ll spend the night at your hotel.” You let a finger gently trail long his jaw, down his neck, and to his chest before he drops.

Max follows your finger eyes darkening as he sticks his tongue out slightly to lick his bottom lip. Looking back up at you, “and if I get pole?”

Smiling innocently, you bat your lashes, “why do you think I wore a skirt?” A voice rings out for Max. Max groans as he squeezes you. He leans down to kiss your cheek before murmuring in your ear, “I expect you back here after qualifiers, bent over, skirt up for me.”

A shiver runs down your spine. He smirks and you want to wipe that smirk off his face. The voice is closer and you quick Max a quick peck with a grin, “good luck, sweetheart.” You purr softly and turn out of his grasp and disappear to the motorhome to enjoy the last few hours of your ability to walk.

[katerina-marie]

The Uncertainty of Domesticity

Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 of 3

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t afraid of much, though he definitely felt so when he became a widower in the same moment he became a father. Years later, he felt it again when you came along with the same hopes and dreams for a future he never thought he would experience again.

Content: JJK universe but no canon events / strangers & neighbors to lovers / medium burn idk / female reader and referred to as such but left descriptively vague / no y/n / out of character and soft Toji / single-father Toji / A little NSFW - brief mention/implication of vaginal sex so please avoid accordingly - but I can't write smut to save my life so it's not very explicit / Megumi-Mama/Mamaguro dies in childbirth and its mentioned once or twice / cutie pie child Megumi / fluff / slice of life / light angst from Toji's inner turmoil / discussions about having children / pregnancy and childbirth for reader / more notes below

WC: 9.2k (*nervous laughter*)

Notes:

Y'all....this thing is 9.2k words. It probably should've been split into another part, but I didn't and I'm just leaving it be. I'm sorry if it feels a bit "choppy?" I could've happily kept writing about all the little moments in between the parts shown, but I'm not sure if it ever would've ended at that point.

Also, I'm posting this at nearly 2:00 am my time because my end of week/upcoming weekend just got very busy and it's now or never, so please forgive any typos. I reread this chapter until I went crosseyed.

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

Toji Fushiguro liked to consider himself capable of many things. 

He, as a single father, had raised his son from infancy into a fine six and a half year old.

He was a teacher, no matter how unwilling, and had successfully kept all his students alive thus far.

He was your partner, doting and caring of your every whim and utterly wrapped around your finger. 

So, when he and Megumi woke up from a late afternoon nap in the middle of the summer only to step into a puddle of water in front of their kitchen sink, Toji was adamant he was capable of repairing the situation, regardless of his lack of experience in such an area. He mopped up the water, gathered tools, and squeezed himself under the sink the best he could considering his size. At some point, Megumi must have run across the street to fetch you because your legs appeared in his limited field of vision followed by your smug grin as you bent down to check on him. 

Your eyes glittered in a way that was betelling of your mischievousness, and Toji grimaced. “Having fun?”

“Just hand me a wrench from the counter, please.” 

You did as Toji asked without comment, and began to fill the silence (and test Toji’s concentration) with chatter about plans for the weekend in between his intermittent string of curses when something went amiss. As an hour went by with little progress to show for it, you made yourself comfortable on the floor next to Toji’s feet while Megumi had since found something outside to occupy himself with. When you felt water begin to tickle your toes, you reached out your foot to nudge it against Toji’s calf. 

“I mean this in the kindest, least offensive way,” you told him, “but don’t you think it’s about time we call a plumber?” Somewhere under the sink, metal clanged and Toji barked out an expletive followed by a groan of pain. 

“No,” he insisted grouchily, and you watched as he used his legs to wedge himself further under the sink. “I think I almost got it.” 

Your answering hum was full of disbelief, but Toji paid it no mind, even if he could start to feel the coolness of water seeping into the cuff of his pants. If only he could reach one more inch…

His concentration was interrupted when Megumi’s scream of pain filtered in through the open windows. Toji lurched upwards out of sheer instinct and hit his head hard enough against the metal piping that he saw stars. Through the haze of pain and spots across his vision, he saw you dash out the door, and primal parental instinct forced Toji out of the cramped space so he could tend to his child’s cries. When he finally managed to stagger out the front door, you were on your knees on the concrete cradling a sobbing Megumi to your chest. His bike lay on its side just a step away, and from how his son’s left arm was sitting limply over his lap and already changing colors, Toji suspected a hospital trip was in order for what was clearly a broken bone. He approached and you looked up at him with eyes that were glassy with your own tears, your heart breaking for how badly the little boy was in pain. Toji brushed a quick hand over your cheek before crouching down to meet Megumi’s eyes. 

“Alright, Megs,” he coaxed, and the sight of his son’s face clenched in distress and wet with tears was a sight Toji would never get over, “we’ll get you up and to the doctor to start feeling better, okay?” Megumi didn’t react to his words, but when Toji reached out to scoop him into his arms, he wailed harder and tightened the good arm he had wrapped around your neck, burying his face deeper into your chest. Surprise fluttered over your face and then it turned apologetic towards Toji, but he shook his head, the shock of his son’s preference for you in this moment not nearly as important. Instead, Toji carefully helped you up while you held onto Megumi and led the two of you to the car with a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

The evening at the hospital passed in a similar manner. You reclined in a bed with Megumi against your chest while a doctor looked at his arm and Toji filled out paperwork. You murmured in the boy’s ear and brushed his hair back in soothing movements to try and distract him from the pain. When a nurse came in with an IV kit in hand, you let Megumi cry into your neck while Toji helped hold his right arm still. Eventually, after he drifted off to sleep, you took a seat next to Toji on the right side of Megumi’s bed while the doctor set his arm and fixed a cast onto it. The entire time, the worried father remained ramrod straight with eyes fixed on every move the doctor made, and he had your hand clenched between the two of his on his lap. You leaned to the side to rest your head against his shoulder, and adoration tightened your chest when Toji let out an anxious huff before turning his head to press his lips to your forehead.

When the whole thing was said and done and the three of you were discharged once Megumi was awake enough, you rubbed a comforting hand over Toji’s back as he carried his son to the car. Once home, the two of you worked to get Megumi changed and ready for bed, a delicate task when having to take caution with the state of his arm. Thankfully, the edge was taken off by painkillers, and he dazedly chatted about the cool blue cast on his arm and how he couldn’t wait to show it off to Yuji. Toji promised to get him markers for him to draw on it with while you persuaded him to get under the blankets after assuring him you’d bake a giant batch of cookies tomorrow in reward for his bravery. 

Toji took the time to place Megumi’s favorite stuffed animals around him and tucked him further into the blankets. You read him a bedtime story while Toji lay stretched out next to the two of you, and by the end of it, Megumi’s eyes were drooping heavily and his mouth had fallen open just the slightest. You gently lifted Megumi’s broken arm up so that Toji could settle a pillow under it, and after bidding the boy goodnight, he got up so you could slide in next to him. He watched with a thudding heart as you scanned his son up and down with fretful eyes and let your hands flutter nervously about him. You pushed some of the hair away from Megumi’s forehead and leaned down carefully to place a gentle kiss between his brows. When you looked back at Toji with a sad, wobbly smile on your lips but a determined gleam in your eyes in order to be brave for the little boy in front of you, Toji realized in that moment that he had fallen in love with you, and in the same breath decided that he was going to marry you, nearly a year to the day he met you in the middle of a grocery store. 

And later, when the two of you lay exhausted under the blankets of his bed, Toji rolled over onto his side to mold every inch of himself against your back and nestled his chin into the crook of your shoulder so his lips could brush against your ear. 

“Marry me,” he whispered, not so much asking as he was pleading. You were already half asleep, but he felt the shake of your shoulders as quiet laughter blew out from your nose, and you threaded your fingers up through his from where they were draped over your hip. 

“Of course,” you breathed, and Toji tightened his arms around you. He left a kiss on the back of your neck and let his eyes slide shut as he basked in the warmth of your body and smell of your lotion and the incandescent joy in realizing that he’d never have to go another night without it—without you. 

“But ask me again later so I can see you properly down on one knee.” 

A week later, because Toji Fushiguro was powerless to anything you demanded of him, he did as you asked in the middle of his kitchen while you, him, and Megumi still lounged in your pajamas and were only halfway done making breakfast. His son clapped excitedly when you squealed out a ‘yes’ and Toji grinned with pride as you admired the simple gold band that adorned your finger. Satisfaction made his heart full and your smile soothed his soul, but eagerness had him marrying you in a government building just a couple days later.

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

It wasn’t until Megumi’s seventh birthday that Toji realized stalling wasn’t going to work much longer. 

The months following your marriage had been busy with moving him and Megumi into your house across the street since it was bigger and didn’t hold the memories of a tragic past Toji was ready to move on from. The end of the summer had brought school for him and Megumi back into full swing, and two weeks into it Toji was ready to quit when all his students could focus on was the new ring on his left hand. Most of them were congratulatory in their teasing, but a few made jests about their disbelief that someone could bother marrying their grouch of a teacher, and while Toji had half a mind to bring you by just to shut them up, he decided it was kinder to not subject you to a particular white-haired menace. 

By the time the three of you got settled into the normalcy of being a new family, the year was already coming to a close and Megumi was turning seven. As requested, you had baked his son a double chocolate cake and covered the top in rainbow sprinkles. Toji had taken the time to pipe little swirls of frosting around the edges, though some were lopsided and varied in size (such small, precise tasks were simply too big of an ask for the size of his hands), but Megumi didn’t seem to care when the two of you placed it in front of him on the table, candles lit orange and reflecting off the wideness of his eyes. 

After singing and clapping, right as Megumi filled his cheeks with as much air as he could manage to blow his candles out in a single breath, you threw your hands out over them in an attempt to keep them aflame for just a moment longer.

“Wait, Megumi,” you gasped, yanking your hands back when the heat of the candles scorched a bit too close to your skin. Toji immediately gathered them into his to inspect your palms, but you shook them away, not minding his grumble as the brief sting faded. “You have to make a wish!” 

Megumi’s mouth dropped open into a perfect ‘o’ as he nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah,” he chirped. “I forgot.” 

He immediately squeezed his eyes closed, and you and Toji watched in amusement as he scrunched up his nose and squirmed in his seat. You took the opportunity to snap a couple of pictures, and when he was done, Megumi’s eyes popped back open and he took in a great inhale before blowing out his candles all at once. You cheered while Toji ruffled his son’s hair, and Megumi looked quite proud of himself as you slid the cake towards you to cut him a piece worthy of being eaten on his birthday. Both of you chastised Toji when he kept insisting you make his piece bigger and bigger, almost so that he nearly had half the cake on his plate alone by the time it was all said and done. 

“Hey, Kid,” Toji said around a mouthful of cake while you pointedly took a polite bite of your own, “what did you wish for?” Megumi begrudgingly tore his attention from his cake, and you swatted at Toji’s arm from across the table. 

“You’re not supposed to ask!” you exclaimed, but he simply rolled his eyes and shook his head good naturedly before returning his focus back onto his plate. At the head of the table, Megumi stared at you with an all too knowing look for a fresh six year old and then set his sights on his father with an unimpressed quirk to his brow. 

“I wished for a baby brother or sister.” 

Toji promptly choked on the large bite of cake he had shoved into his mouth moments prior to Megumi’s unexpected declaration, and your lips parted in shock. Meanwhile, Megumi eyed the two of you expectedly as Toji hacked and coughed. You jumped from your chair to grab him a glass of water, then set it down next to him while rubbing a soothing hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Now, Megumi,” you began, not so much stern but intentionally practical, and he looked up at you with wide, attentive eyes, “babies, uhm, take their time getting here…” you trailed off and turned your head to your husband with an alarmed look on your face, but Toji was still working on regaining his breath and chugging his water and could only offer a shrug of his shoulders while he pursed his lips in defeat. 

You sighed and faced Megumi again with a weary smile. “Babies take their time getting here and that’s after their parents decide to have one. Any baby brother or sister will have to spend nine whole months growing in my belly before they arrive, so you’ll have to try and be real patient for us, okay?”

Megumi’s face fell dejectedly, and if Toji looked hard enough, there was a hint of disappointment on your features too. He watched as you playfully pinched at the boy’s cheeks and tempted him back into a happy mood with the hint of birthday gifts waiting for him in the living room. The whole exchange had guilt weighing heavy on Toji’s shoulders, and he had the bitter realization that it was his own fear—the one that lied solely in the scant possibility that you could meet the same fate as the only other woman he had ever loved—that caused the frown on yours and Megumi’s faces. 

In spite of that fear, Toji had promised you something, and in the six months since the two of you had been married, you hadn’t chastised him or given him grief when he pulled out at the last moment to spend himself across your stomach or back. You didn’t question him when he had a hard time meeting your eyes as he tore open a foil packet to remove the condom from inside. He knew your trust in him far surpassed whatever insecurities he wrestled with, but it didn’t make him feel less like a failure every time. 

So later that night, when Toji found himself above you and nestled in the warmth between your legs, he leaned into the security of your arms and sought reassurance in the taste of your lips as he came to his own end after ensuring yours. You ran your fingers down his back and whispered sweet nothings into his ear when the racing of his heart and trembling of his muscles could no longer be blamed on the energy he expended while pleasuring his wife.

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

You suspected something was amiss a couple months later. Toji had brought home your favorite take-out for dinner, and while the first bite was as pleasant as usual, every one after tasted more and more like cardboard and settled uncomfortably in your stomach until your appetite was thoroughly gone. You questioned whether it was something more and that maybe your period wouldn’t appear in just a couple of days, but when Megumi began to complain of an upset stomach toward the end of the meal, you banished the thought out of your head. 

However, two days after while you were cooking that evening’s dinner, one whiff of the package of raw chicken you had just cut open had you violently gagging and running for the nearest bathroom while ignoring Megumi’s call of alarm when you passed him in the living room. Your knees hit tile as you retched into the bowl of the toilet, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed when you were finally able to lift your head. You trembled on your spot on the floor and felt more tired than you had been in weeks. Nausea made your head spin, and you wondered if you’d ever be able to look at chicken again the same way. Just the sheer thought of it had your mouth souring, and your repulsiveness for it went deep into your bones. 

When you finally caught your breath and were mostly confident you had emptied everything in your stomach, you pushed yourself off the floor and rinsed your mouth before exiting the bathroom. Megumi stood on the other side of the door with his lips turned down in concern and your phone in his hand. When he raised it up to you, Toji’s name was displayed at the top of an ongoing call. 

“Hey,” is all you said when you brought the phone to your ear. 

“Megumi called and said something was wrong with you. Are you okay?” Toji’s voice wasn’t panicked, but you sensed the worry in it, and you could imagine his face looked much like his son’s had moments ago. 

“I was making dinner a few minutes ago, and the smell of the raw chicken…” you had to trail off when just telling him what happened made you gag a little. You hadn’t yet stepped away from the doorway of the bathroom, but you weren’t in a hurry to have to go back in, so you took a few deep breaths until the feeling passed. Megumi hugged your leg as he gazed up at you in concern and you patted the top of his head in reassurance. 

“Ah,” Toji remarked.

“Yup.” 

Toji cleared his throat after a moment of quiet and then asked a question that sent nerves skittering down your spine. “Want me to pick up a test on the way home?” 

“Please.” 

Later that night, after Megumi was tucked in bed, the two of you waited anxiously as the timer on your phone counted down from three minutes. Two pregnancy tests lay face down on the counter. You nibbled on the skin of your cuticle while Toji bounced his knee from where he sat on the closed toilet lid. 

“I mean, it’s not as if we weren’t expecting this to happen,” you pointed out, shaking your hands in front of you in an attempt to dislodge the nervousness from your body, and Toji snorted. 

“Yeah, certainly not.” He wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously, and the smirk that tugged at the scar on his lip made your cheeks flush hot, and you rolled your eyes at him. As the two of you continued to wait as the seconds on your phone seemed to crawl by, a thought popped into your head. 

“Is it as nerve-wracking the second time around? Or is it easier?” you asked him gently, and you saw Toji’s features soften as his eyes went nostalgic. He worked his mouth in contemplation—perhaps in recollection—and then shook his head. 

“No, it’s uh, just as shocking I’d say—at least for me.” He pushed off his knees and came to stand next to you. “I think it’ll be this way no matter how many times we do it.” The thought of one day doing this a second time had the breath rushing out of you, but you filed the image away for a future discussion. It wasn’t something you had the capacity to consider now, not while you were currently waiting to see if you were about to become a mother. 

The shrill noise from your phone that indicated the timer had run down made the two of you jump a foot in the air, and you looked to Toji with wide eyes. 

“Take that one?” you offered, pointing with a trembling finger to the test that would answer with words versus a combination of lines, and Toji was suddenly very grateful he grabbed two different kinds at the store. While he knew he could squint at a test and convince himself that an extra line may or may not be visible, he was almost a hundred percent positive he wouldn’t suddenly become illiterate and unable to distinguish between “pregnant” and “not pregnant.” 

He nodded, and at the same time, the two of you reached for each test on the counter and flipped them over close to your faces only for your jaws to drop simultaneously. You turned to each other, wide eyed and bewildered (as if you didn’t know what the two of you had been doing these last couple months) because “pregnant” and two dark lines could not be misunderstood. 

You brought your free hand up to your mouth to cover it as unabashed laughter poured from your lips, and Toji wrapped his arms around your shoulders to yank you into his chest. Joy spurred him into kissing you deeply, and the pure love and elation in your eyes when you pulled back was enough for Toji to feel the first stirrings of excitement at the prospect of having a child with you. 

It wasn’t until later in the night, in the dark of your shared bedroom with nothing but the evenness of your breathing to interrupt the noise in his head that Toji could admit to himself that the entirety of it terrified him.  

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

“That’s a baby?” Megumi’s voice was full of skepticism, and he eyed the ultrasound photo with disgruntled disbelief as you pointed at the grey and white blob in a sea of black. 

“Yes, Megumi,” you giggled, smiling at Toji over the little boy’s shoulder as the three of you sat cuddled in your bed, “that’s your sibling. They are very small right now, but next time they’ll look bigger and more like a baby.” 

He wasn’t appeased by your answer, and he crossed his arms with a little huff of disappointment that had Toji struggling to muffle his laughter. The two of you had just returned from your first doctor’s appointment and had decided to break the news to Megumi now that you had a picture to confirm it, and while he had taken it well, he clearly was expecting more. 

“How long till it gets here?” he asked, glancing up at you, but Toji replied first.

“Doctor said January. You’re gonna have to be patient, Megs.” Toji grinned at his son, but Megumi looked even more unenthused than before and glowered at his father. 

“Why’d you have to take so long to have a baby?” he muttered, and the words wiped the smile clean off Toji’s face as you shook with laughter. With a pained look on his face, Toji simply shoved a pillow playfully over Megumi’s head and tickled him in the ribs to distract him from the question at hand. 

You used the opportunity to burrow under the blankets as your eyes began to grow heavy. Nausea, fatigue, and a general feeling of being unwell had plagued you from the moment the pregnancy test had turned positive, and you hoped an afternoon in bed and watching movies would offer a reprieve. You had just begun to drift off when you heard Megumi ask for Toji’s attention. 

“Dad, where do babies come from?” 

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

“I don’t think there’s much in that book you have to worry about,” Toji told you on a night that found the two of you lounging in your room after Megumi went to sleep. He was lazily folding laundry from his perch at the foot of the bed. You were reclined back against the headboard with said book in your lap. One hand rested against the curve of your belly that had just started to protrude against the fabric of your clothes in the last week, and the other dog-eared every other page laden with information about pregnancy, childbirth, and newborns.

“Perhaps,” you said, setting the book down on your thighs, and the pointed look you gave him made it clear you didn’t feel the same, “but that’s easy for you to say—you’ve done this before.” 

A harsh laugh fell from Toji’s mouth before he had a chance to stop it, and he tossed a bundle of socks in his hand at the tower he had made of his folded boxers. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. We were barely surviving.” 

He watched as the pile of fabric warbled upon impact, and just as it began to tilt, you shot your foot out to brace it in place. When Toji looked up at you, frustration didn’t furrow your brow or pinch your nose. Instead, your smile was gentle and understanding.

“I know,” you said, voice soft, and it carried an undercurrent of reassurance. 

Toji released a deep breath and tilted up the scarred corner of his mouth in a way that he hoped looked contrite. He reached for the stack of his boxers and righted them so you could lower your leg back down. “I’m probably not the best person to get advice from anyway.” 

You tilted your head to the right, perplexed by his unusual self-deprecation. “I wouldn’t say so.” 

Toji just shrugged and continued fiddling with the last bits of laundry. 

“Sure, you’re a little rough around the edges.” 

“Can’t deny that,” he grumbled. 

“You can be a bit grumpy sometimes, and you have a history of giving in to questionable decisions and habits.” 

Toji shot you a withering look. “You really know how to kick a guy while he’s down.” 

“And,” you emphasized, holding up your hand to indicate that you weren’t finished, “you have a really tragic backstory that just makes the whole thing sad.” 

For once, Toji seemed to be struck speechless, stupefied by the bluntness of your words, and the bundle of socks he had been playing with rolled from his hand. 

“But,” you said, “there’s no one else I’d rather be doing this with than you, Toji.” Your husband, who had clearly been a bit rankled by the conversation, melted. The tension released from his shoulders and the puckered set of his lips smoothed out into a dopey grin as his countenance perked up.

“I love you too,” he teased, his tone light and easy, “even if you are something else.” 

You beamed at him as he got up to gather the laundry in his arms and set it in on the dresser in front of your bed, intending to deal with it tomorrow. He then flopped onto his stomach on the bed next to you, shaking the whole thing under his weight, and if the two of you hadn’t already thoroughly tested its limits, you’d worry about its ability to handle the size of him. The thought had your blood suddenly running hot and you rolled onto your side to nip at his ear when a different sensation in your lower half made you pause. 

For the last two weeks you had been feeling the tiny bubbles in your stomach and knew that your baby had gotten big enough for you to begin to take notice of its movement. However, this was the first time it felt significant enough to be noticed from the outside. You returned to your position on your back and pressed your hand lightly into the skin under your belly button. Nothing happened for a minute, and just as you were ready to give up, you felt the faintest hiccup against your palm. 

“Toji!” you blurted, and you urged yourself to stay still despite your excitement lest your little one move again and hide away. 

“You going to insult me again?” Toji’s voice was muffled from where his face was mushed into his pillow. 

“No,” you scoffed, wiggling your fingers at him even though he couldn’t see, “come here.” He groaned in protest but propped himself up on his elbows to shift onto his side nonetheless, and you snapped your hand out to grab his.

“What are you—,” 

“Shh!” You didn’t bother explaining as you covered his hand with yours and settled it onto your belly where yours had just been. His jaw shut with an audible click. You watched Toji’s expression carefully as you waited for another burst of movement, and even though you knew this wasn’t a foreign experience to him like it was to you, overwhelming joy filled you to your depths when his eyes glossed over with wonder as his child wiggled against his palm. He was quick to gather you to his chest with the arm that wasn’t draped over your hip and you tucked your head under his chin in an attempt to snuggle as close to him as you could manage. 

“Megumi’s going to get a kick out of that tomorrow—literally.” Toji’s voice was thick with emotion, as well as amusement at his own cleverness, and you swatted at his chest. But your laughter deceived you and Toji placed kisses all along the top of your head. 

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

Toji wondered if all the blood on the floor was retribution for the amount of it he had spilled in the years before. It pooled slowly, eating up the white of the tile and creeping closer until it stained the tip of his shoes. He was empty, void of anything really, and maybe this was the curse doomed to follow him. Loneliness, robbed of anyone precious to him, and instead of incandescent joy that should have taken over him at the sight of his newly born child, nothing except for seething rage and despair filled his mind. There was hatred for a family name that he had already tried to escape, a desire to soothe himself in all the previous vices that had once kept him occupied, and bewilderment that he was somehow in the same situation again.

It was all eerily similar, from the sudden rush of panicked movement in the room to the way he fell back into a cushioned chair, just barely conscious of the baby in his arms. The face of his late wife and yours flashed back and forth, superimposed onto each other as the two of you laid still with eyes closed and arms slackened at your sides. A shrill whine, a solid ringing filled his ears and silenced all other noise. 

Not again. Not again, not again, not ag—,

Years of discipline kept Toji from jolting into wakefulness, but he did suck in a mouthful of air when his eyes opened and took in the darkness of your bedroom. He wasn’t trapped in the sterile four walls of a hospital room, nor was he struck numb by the darkness of your blood. Instead, sweat stuck the sheets to the skin of his back, and above him the fan you always insisted be on spun quickly. The thought of you had his hand clambering across to your side of the bed, but when all that met his fingers was the unusual coolness of your pillow, he lurched upwards, flipped on his bedside lamp, and searched the room.

Rationality told Toji that you were probably fine, that you were in the bathroom or the living room and would be back any second. Rationality would tell him that there wasn’t any need for him to seek you out and confirm you were alive with his own eyes. But adrenaline, a tragic memory, and the nausea simmering in his gut drove him from bed and onto his feet, clad only in his boxers.

Toji was still a bit disoriented from his nightmare, and he tried to be extra mindful of his heavy footfalls as he passed the door of Megumi’s room. As he neared the end of the hallway, he heard the faintest plink of metal against glass and the racing of his heart slowed at the sound before ultimately returning to normal when saw you in the kitchen. 

Despite it being well into the middle of the night, you leaned back onto the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in your hands and a happy hum in the back of your throat. Your belly sat low between your hips, pulling taut the fabric of his shirt that served as your outfit of choice as of late, and the sight of it was a reminder that you were nearing the end of nine months now. Nervousness was a constant state Toji was in as your due date rapidly approached, and if he thought too hard about it, panic would shorten his breath and tunnel his vision, such as it was beginning to do in that moment. Thus, Toji wasn’t sure if he made a noise or if you just happened to notice him out of your peripheral vision when you turned your head to him, curiosity taking over your face. 

“Did I wake you?” you whispered, spooning one last bite of cereal into your mouth before setting it into the sink behind you. Toji shook his head and padded over to your side. He dropped his head to rest his cheek on your hair and trailed a hand down your stomach to spread his palm over the front of it. Satisfaction coursed through his veins when you let out a happy, weary sigh and leaned into his chest to rest your weight against him. 

Toji knew you were struggling. He knew your hips ached and it made walking a chore. He knew that your back only stopped hurting after he rubbed the muscles loose for half an hour and that everything including breathing had become difficult for you. The baby kicked you awake during the night, and if you weren’t tossing and turning in an attempt to get comfortable, you were up and going to the bathroom for the nth time. Toji did his best to dote on you in between his job, taking care of Megumi, and doing all the chores around the house. He certainly did want this to be all over for you so you could bask in the enjoyment of motherhood, but each day closer to your child’s birth spiked his anxiety exponentially higher, and he ashamedly wished he could ignore what was to come. 

“Would you like to go back to bed?” he asked, taking a step backwards. 

You nodded your head unwillingly. “I’m too uncomfortable to sleep right now. If I stay up and watch TV in bed will that bother you?” 

“No,” he replied immediately, and Toji was secretly glad he wouldn’t have to stare up at a dark ceiling, too afraid to close his eyes when all he wanted to do was bask in the warmth of your body and the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

The two of you made a slow walk back to your room, and Toji helped you into bed and shifted the pillows behind your back until you were as comfortable as can be in your given state. He scrubbed his hands over his face to rid his eyes of the tiredness that lingered behind them and then slid in next to you as you focused on flipping through channels on the TV. Toji snaked his right arm under the small of your back and wound his left across your lap so his hand could cup the side of your belly and then set the side of his face on the top of it. Your fingers came to scratch through his hair absentmindedly, and the relief that Toji felt from your touch and the quiet thump of your heart was nearly instantaneous. 

As minutes ticked by and most of the lingering tension from his nightmare had subsided, Toji still found himself tapping against the side of your stomach and pushing his fingers against it in an effort to get his child to respond to him. 

You reached an arm over his head to prod at the center of your belly yourself. “He’s been wiggling around a bunch throughout the day, but he might be right about here…” you trailed off just in time for Toji to feel a quick bump under his cheek. 

“I think you meant ‘she,’ isn’t that right?” he said with a smile. Only one of you was to be right about who your child was destined to be, but neither would know until they came out to meet you. 

“No, ‘he’ was correct, thank you very much.” Affection warmed his body and Toji pressed his fingers back into your skin so he could feel the movement again. The baby reciprocated his touch each time until Toji finally relented and figured you’d appreciate the break from being repeatedly poked and prodded. Your palm drifted down to cup his jaw and the swiping of your thumb over it was enough to lull him into the beginnings of sleep. He snuggled a bit closer into your side and let out a great exhale, recalling how you had once made a comment likening him to a large, lounging dog. Toji supposed he could understand what you meant. Really, at the end of the day, all he wanted to do was cling close to you and bask in the pleasure of your touch. 

While Toji knew that no amount of time he spent listening to your heartbeat or prompting his child into movement would prevent a cruel fate from bestowing you both should it be decided, he would let himself pretend if it meant keeping himself together enough to see it through. 

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

As a surprise to no one at all, childbirth was just as nerve wracking for Toji the second time around as it was the first. 

It didn’t help that he had been on pins and needles since your due date had come and gone, so when you stumbled out of bed and into the living room on the morning of the third day passed, your hand clutching your stomach and a harrowed expression on your face, Toji was coiled tight enough that he sprung into movement. He flung Megumi over his shoulder and was across the room at the same moment to grab the bags you kept at the ready by the front door. By the time you walked out, teetering between amusement at how your husband scurried about and uneasiness at the thought of what was about to happen to your body, Toji already had the car loaded and turned on. A few minutes later, you almost felt bad for Megumi when Toji stopped outside the Itadori’s house to practically throw him at Yuji’s dad—followed by his overnight bag—had the boy not already been hollering to his best friend about how he was about to get a new baby sibling. 

At the hospital, the terrible familiarity of the beige walls and speckled tile had Toji desperate to pace the room at how trapped he felt, but the desire to stay put next to your bedside and keep your hand in his won out. Labor could take hours, that he knew, and Toji spent every moment of it cycling his eyes between the baby’s heart monitor, your face, and the clock on the wall. Each time your expression would twist into a pained grimace, your hand would crush his and a potent cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and anticipation would send his heart racing. 

When the day turned into evening, just an hour before midnight, a doctor placed Toji Fushiguro’s second son onto your bare chest, much to his shock and delight. The noise in the room threatened to overwhelm him—the excited exclamations of the nurses, your panted gasps, the shrill crying of a newborn baby--but Toji wouldn’t let anything tear his focus from you. He stared at how wisps of your hair stuck to your temples in sweat, the red of your cheeks, how your eyes were full of tears and wonder and flicked back and forth between him and your child. Toji knew (how he wished he didn’t) that you could be fine in one instant and dead in the next, but for every minute that passed where you still breathed and your heart kept beating, he could feel the fear slowly trickle from his body. 

Once he was an hour old, Toji held his son for the first time as he sat next to you on your hospital bed. The baby had your nose and tufts of hair the same color as yours, and Toji realized with a sudden pain in his chest that he didn’t remember Megumi in his first couple hours. He couldn’t recall what it felt like to hold him for the first time, nor did he know how much he weighed just after birth. All the tiny details he assumed every parent would remember until the end of their days was overshadowed by a curtain of devastation, the death of his wife wiping it clean from his memory. 

So this time, when the room was quiet and he had you leaning against him, he studied every part of his newborn with rapt attention, determined to commit every detail to perfect recollection. And unlike before, in a moment he’ll always mourn, Toji felt peace and quiet and something indescribably blissful. 

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

It wasn’t so much that Toji forgot what it was like to have a newborn so much as he had completely blocked what could be considered some of the worst days of his life from his memory. He had been too sleep deprived to even properly grieve his wife and utterly shell shocked at the prospect of now being a widower and single dad. There had been no one to help, no one to encourage him when Megumi cried for two hours straight in the dead of night for a reason Toji couldn’t begin to figure out, no one to help him plan for a couple months down the line when his savings inevitably ran out and he’d have to figure out a safe, legal plan for employment or consider the risk of something illegal since it paid better. 

Yet two weeks into it, when Toji was just starting to discern the difference between Megumi’s wails of hunger and those of exhaustion, someone knocked on his door. He grumbled the whole way down the hall in fear that the sound would wake the baby he had just spent the last hour putting down, and also because he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten or let alone brushed his teeth. So, Toji figured he looked worse for wear when he swung the door open and glared at the man on the other side of it. He was middle aged and wore dark clothing and an even darker pair of sunglasses. He claimed he was an instructor at a school in the city and came to find him out when he heard that rumors began to swirl of Toji Zenin having a son. Toji had spat at him, snarling and enraged and cursing his old last name with vehemence, and he was all too ready to come to physical blows had his son not been sleeping just a few yards away. In the end, the man had just smiled and extended his hand with the promise of a job and to call him the next day. Toji had been wary, but he knew that pickiness wasn’t a luxury he could afford, and appeared at the gates of the school a week later with Megumi strapped to his chest. 

Things were a bit different now, that at least Toji could acknowledge, and the heavy exhaustion that threatened to wrench his eyes shut and made his hands clumsy as he refilled your water bottle didn’t feel so catastrophic this time around. He squinted at the clock on the wall and sighed wearily when he realized the night wasn’t yet halfway over and the two of you were already up for the sixth time. Five day old newborns apparently would wake up and eat more frequently than he could remember, and each and every time he insisted on getting up with you to tend to any needs you had while ensuring his son got the meal he demanded. With an extra snack in hand and a full bottle of water, Toji shuffled back to your shared bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him. 

“You fall asleep standing up at the counter again?” Your voice broke the silence and got a chuckle out of him as he fell onto the bed in a heap by your side. 

“Something like that,” he muttered, but thankfully you didn’t pry and instead gave him a grateful smile when he unwrapped your granola bar and held it up to your mouth since your hands were preoccupied with holding the infant to your chest. You munched on it slowly, and in between bites you would settle  your head back against the pillows and let your eyes flutter shut, trusting your husband to keep a dutiful watch on the two of you. Toji moved closer to you so he could gently rest his head against your shoulder and peered down at his son as he got his fill of milk. He rubbed a tiny foot in between his thumb and forefinger and grinned at the soft suckling noises he made, amazed at how differently things felt this time. Toji was stunned at how having a new child felt so much like the first time since he could actually slow down to process it all now. Maybe this time, when history didn’t repeat himself and he was at home with the people he loved, contentment would allow the memories to stay. 

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

It happened for the first time three weeks after your son was born. 

That particular Saturday was dreary and wet, but it made for a cozy atmosphere as the four of you lounged about after a late morning breakfast. Toji was putting away the last remaining dishes. The TV played a vintage cartoon on low volume and Megumi sat on the floor in front of your feet as he colored quietly in his notebook. You sat curled up in the corner of the sofa with your newborn nestled in the crook of your arm, and you watched him, utterly transfixed. As he slept, his nose would twitch and his bottom lip would jut forward. Every once and a while, a dainty grunt would escape his mouth and he would squirm and stretch and whimper just a little before going still again as he drifted back into deeper sleep. He let out a yawn that seemed to take over his entire little body, and in the next moment he was blinking up at you with unfocused eyes as his lips smacked together once or twice. The sight of it made your heart feel as though it could burst, and you wiggled your finger into his clenched hand just to feel him hold onto it. 

“Oh, hey, his eyes are open.” Toji’s voice caught you unaware, and you jolted a little at the suddenness of it. You glanced up at your husband from where he leaned against the arm of the couch to your right, and there was a soft smile on his face as he traced a finger gently down the apple of the baby’s cheek. The newborn’s eyes couldn’t hardly focus on his father’s face from how far it was, but it certainly seemed like he looked for Toji in the moment before his lashes fluttered and his eyes slid shut. 

Toji drank in the sight of you two. There was a blissful glow to your features that couldn’t be missed, even through the signs of exhaustion that still lingered from another night of caring for a new baby. You barely paid him any mind as you smoothed your palm over the wispy hairs on your son’s head, and Toji decided that he would give you another couple minutes before gently urging you to take some time away to shower and do your morning routine should you feel like it. He pushed himself off the arm of the couch and made a move to step around it and sit down when Megumi spoke up from the floor. 

“Mama?” 

Megumi’s voice was barely above a whisper, and it was heartbreakingly timid. The single word punched all the air from Toji’s lungs and he stumbled mid-stride, just barely steading himself lest he land in a heap on top of his eldest son. Megumi didn’t move from where he was hunched over his notebook, still coloring carefully onto the paper, but Toji could see the burning red of his ears and how his eyes flicked back to take stock of your reactions before they went back to what was in front of him.

When Toji whipped his head towards you, you were already looking up at him with a wide, helpless expression. You had never once pushed passed a boundary Toji had yet to lift when it came to how you handled your roll as Megumi’s stepmother, and he could see from the way your eyes searched his that you were waiting for his guidance, his acquiescence before you dared to respond back to the little boy who had just referred to you as his mother despite you technically not being such. 

To Toji’s endless gratitude, you had always treated his late wife with the utmost respect. While you almost always fielded Megumi’s questions about her to Toji, you didn’t hesitate to pull out photos of her when he asked, nor had you ever tried to erase her significance as Megumi’s mother over the time in which you had become a part of their family. 

However, as Toji had come to acknowledge, there was no denying that Megumi had come to see you in that way. Not so much as the woman who had birthed him (Toji had explained that to him in child-friendly terms) but in every other way a mother would be seen. Megumi had no tangible connection to his late wife, no emotional attachment to the idea of her that Toji hoped one day would blossom as understanding matured in his mind, but to hold that expectation to him now wasn’t fair. Toji knew, as you looked at his son with tears of adoration and love in your eyes, that you had been making space for Megumi in your heart for a very long time in preparation for this possible moment, and he figured that having the love of a mother in the land of the living didn’t take away from the one now gone. 

If nothing else, he supposed that Megumi would catch onto your shared habit eventually. Frequently did you and Toji refer to yourself as such when tending to the new little one. 

“Shhh, Mama’s here,” you’d murmur when he wailed out his discomfort while the four of you watched TV in the early afternoon. 

“Mama’s comin’, kid, I promise,” Toji would say when the baby would nuzzle into his chest in a search for milk when he and Megumi sat together on your bed while you showered at the end of the day.

So Toji swept a hand along your shoulder, capturing your attention, and his quivering smile paired well with the tear that trickled down your cheek when he nodded at you. Your hand swiped away the moisture from your skin and you cleared your throat.

“Yes, Megumi?” Your voice sounded a little thick and wet, but the boy spun around in astonished elation nonetheless, and his smile was so wide that Toji wondered if it stung the skin at all. Megumi jumped up to his feet but very cautiously approached you until he could rest his hands on your knees and stand on his tiptoes to try and look up at his baby brother. 

“Mama, can I hold him?” You giggled and nodded as you reached out your hand to caress Megumi’s chin, and he squirmed where he stood as excitement made him antsy. 

“Of course,” you told him. “Come sit next to me and your dad will sit on the other side to help you.” Toji felt his heart expand further than he thought possible when the two of you turned towards him with loving, expectant looks that spurred him into movement.

“Up you go, Megs,” he said, lifting his son up from under his arms so he could plop him down on the cushion next to you before taking a seat himself. He threw an arm along the back of the sofa so he could scootch in closer to you three. Once Megumi situated himself, you slowly transferred the sleeping infant to lay him in his brother’s lap, and Toji was there waiting with an open hand to help cup his head and neck. 

“He’s still so small,” Megumi said quietly—wondrously—but you and Toji laughed at how the baby was still too big for Megumi to fully cradle in his arms. 

“Don’t worry,” you said, “he’ll grow big before you know it, and then he’ll be ready to play all day with you.” Megumi offered you a small smile in response before he settled back to watching his little brother snooze in his arms. You propped your elbow on the back of the sofa so you could lean your head into your hand, and Toji stretched his fingers to swirl them against your arm. Your eyes met, still glimmering with the last remnants of joyful tears, and Toji was nearly overwhelmed by a surge of emotion as he took in the little family that the four of you made.

Fear had once hung like a heavy shadow over his hope for an idyllic future and his ability to experience it. Your smile and the small hands of his children were there to whisk it away. 

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

A little bonus:

Three years after the birth of your son, a daughter made her appearance nearly two weeks early, thrilling her eagerly awaiting older brothers. For all the work you did, she came out a near exact copy of her father, and Toji had no problem letting you know how proud he was about it as you laid propped up next to him in your hospital bed. 

“I’m telling you, there was a hint of green in them!” 

You rolled your eyes playfully as you watched Toji recline your daughter against his knees with her head cradled in his palms so you could both gaze at her, and she looked positively tiny in the breadth of his hands. 

“You know a baby’s eye color might shift from what it was at birth once they get a bit older. We can’t know for certain yet.” 

The words seemed to have no effect on your husband, and he simply dropped a kiss to your temple and murmured a soft “we’ll see,” into your ear. 

(To your surprise—and secret delight—Toji was right.)

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

Again, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who took the time to read this<3 I really just love giving tortured characters soft, happy endings, so I hope you enjoyed this endless rambling of fluffy fluff.

[froznwater]

im so sorry this is incredibly random but if i dont write alenoah i WILL die but i cant think of anything to write. do u have any simple ideas. ignore if not

HI!!! tysm for your ask <3 i hope you can find something to write amongst all the ideas. These are a bunch of ideas have written down in my notes/google drive/tumblr posts and have not got gotten around to. I still might at some point in time but feel free to use them. I will still do my own take if I get the time/motivation. There's simply so many, why not share and inspire some fics :)

----

General ideas:

Noah knows/learns spanish. Bonus points if Alejandro isn't aware until the perfect moment.

Alejandro thinks he can get away with flirting with Noah in spanish. Noah starts shit talking in spanish. Noah learns so he can hear all the little comments Alejandro keeps making under his breath. etc. so many possibilities.

Now that the show is over and Noah's off to college, he realizes he’s missing something in his life. Maybe it’s his friends, maybe it’s a lack of ever-looming danger, OR maybe it’s Alejandro. Who fucking knows. He’s too busy trying not to be in love with Alejandro to figure it out. 

Their group project is failing, horribly. There’s one thing Noah knows for certain: Alejandro's to blame. At what point does slippery eel turn into a term of endearment?

They have never ever fallen asleep next to each other. Let alone in each other's arms. Never.

Time loop where Alejandro is stuck on the episode where Noah gets voted out and sticks himself to falling in love because he can’t let go of his pride long enough to simply let Noah stay in the game and move on.

Noah loses his contacts and starts wearing his glasses more often. Alejandro notices. Everyone notices Alejandro notices.

Alejandro and Noah team up to get their friends together (insert whatever ship you like) and end up together in the process/the other two were trying to do the same thing for them.

A commentary timeline on how Alejandro's charisma turn into exploitation, how Noah's patience turned into indifference, and how they parallel each other. (I've written a few hundred words for this one lol.)

Each thinks the other doesn't like them. Cut to third party POV that watches and witnesses them completely a mess for each other.

Noah, once voted out in I See London, learns about Alejandro's family. Who have been very vocal since the show started airing.

Exploration of how Alejandro tries really really hard. Yes, He's at the top of the class, but so is Noah. Noah who sleeps through classes and doesn't turn in homework and shows up late or simply not at all and is still right up there with him.

“I would kill to be like you. To just absorb all the information fed to me. If I were you I might actually- “(beat my brother) “Might actually what?” “I told you. I don’t want to talk about it, Noah.” - "Do you know how long I studied for that test? Hours. And you- You got a 96 with no effort at all." It was a 98. But this seems like a bad time to correct him.

Dialogue one-liners prompts i've written down:

"If we make it out of this alive, I'm going to kiss you."

“Why do I feel like I cant say no to you?”

"I know you don't actually care about me, but thank you for trying to pretend that you do." (Said by Noah is joking. Said by Alejandro is bitter.)

"You can't win against someone who has nothing to lose."(Alejandro OR Noah angst.)

Soulmate aus:

My big two: Telepathy/Mentally linked.(imagine this one as a wt rewrite omg) And Whatever you draw on yourself shows up on your soulmate. Matching tattoos.

First words on each other. (I've done this one already here. but feel free to do it as well!!)

Communicating through dreams. (If you know cardcaptor sakura; like that.)

General AUs:

Until dawn AU.

Gakuen Alice AU.

My Babysitters A Vampire AU. Zombie Apoc AU.

Harry Potter AU. Reality Dating Show AU.

Infinity Train AU!!!!!!

Veronica Mars AU!!!! (i wanna do this one ALOT noah is sooo veronica LMAO) OBLIGATORY IDEAS:

seven minutes in heaven.

wrong number.

trapped in a closet.

movie night. noah is sitting under alejandro and lol they are physically, platonically touching for awhile. (leads to finally getting together).

one gets injured, the other fixes them up in the nurses office :P.

short "prompt-ishs" i've started writing:

“What the hell is your problem, Alejandro?” And this time, the tone was so disgusted, so bitter, that something snapped, deep in Alejandro’s chest.

Fuck it.

“What’s my problem?” He asked, incredulous. “What’s my problem? You’ve got to be kidding me, Courtney. I almost died. I almost died, paralyzed and alone, and the only friend I thought I had didn’t give a single shit! The only person who cared was Noah, of all people. I quite literally come back to life and the only thing you can do is whine about your girlfriend problems.”

Courtney takes a step back.

“I was stuck in a robot for months, my legs barely work, my family moved on- actually, I don’t know if they ever actually even noticed,” He laughs, broken, “- and you have the audacity to ask me what my problem is?!”

Alejandro is over playing nice. He’s had enough.

-

this one is a rivals team up to get out courtney blurb

little idea about Alejandro getting into zodiacs.

moments where alejandro questions why Noah is so attractive

-

SEND MORE ASKS IF ANYONE HAS ANY QUESTIONS ON ANY OF THESE IDEAS!!! / IF THEY HAVE ANY IDEAS OR CONCEPTS TO ADD OR EXPAND ON :)))

[starlostseungmin]

LIE TO ME, LMH.

✰ pairing: idol!minho x gn!reader

✰ genre: angst

✰ warnings: profanity, cheating, allusions to sex but not executed, just pain, grammatical errors and typos ahead. not proofread.

✰ word count: 1.5k

✰ song used: lie to me by 5 Seconds of Summer ー the afterglow series collab. ♡

✰ notes: thank you so much @comet-falls for making this collab possible! it was a challenging fic for me to write but i enjoyed it so much. please, to all who are reading the series, make sure to leave feedbacks and reblog the works of our wonderful authors because they deserve it for their hard work! don't forget it.

✰ series taglist: @fxckedupbitch ,, @rachabreathing ,, @haneuljisung ,, @mm-apples ,, @goblinracha ,, @maknaeswrld ,, @deyareasstuff ,, @michbang02 ,, @unsweetenedpeatea

There’s nothing wrong about breaking up. 

But to Minho, you were just so hard to forget. Maybe it was his fault that he blames himself whenever he thinks about you. Why did it happen? Where did he go wrong?  Where did you go wrong? For the past three years, you have been so happy. Who would have thought that your relationship would end with one repetitive mistake? 

“How many times did you do it?”

They say that the strongest relationship doesn’t depend on how long it is, but it depends on a person’s loyalty and faithfulness. You had seen a lot of it. He cheated because she wasn’t enough, she cheated because he’s stupid, he cheated because she’s not attractive, she cheated because he is just treating her like everyone else, there are a lot of reasons. You don’t know if they’re telling the truth and you have no idea how many times they did it behind your back. The relationship you build with him doesn’t go any different. 

“Did you love me?” 

There are questions unanswered. Lies. Happiness. Satisfaction. The love and domesticity. But a relationship is not complete without suffering and pain. Tears. Drunken messages and calls. 2 am fights and other bullshits. And just like everyone else, you and Minho had the same. It’s just that, one just had to take the ties between. You can cut it in half or he can just rip it apart. 

There’s nothing wrong about breaking up. 

You just did it late. 

“How long has it been?” 

The wind blows as it dances with the branches of the trees around the park. It is cold and your clothes aren’t enough to warm you up. But what feels more freezing is the relationship that turned into stone after years of being genuine. Minho sat beside you on the bench, watching the scenery together with the Namsan Tower standing a few miles away with the city lights glowing on a dark horizon. None of you decided to talk after every question. One had been keeping the answer. 

“I saw you.” A pause. “You were happy with them, and I thought I was making a name in your life,” There was a pain in that smile. One that could hide all the aftermath of what they did and as for youーnothing ever changed. “I went to New York to see you, even had to stay with you for a few days because I know you wouldn’t be home for at least a few months,” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” One said. 

“I did,” A pause again. “I did because I love you and I want to see you. How long have you been hiding this from me?” 

There were tears visible as it streams down to your cheeks. You loved him dearly, but you couldn’t stay like this forever and suffer. You admit your relationship with him had been crucial for the past few months, his life was busier than ever as you work in your family’s business. It wasn’t an issue before, the lack of time was not to blame一maybe it was or you were never really meant for each other. 

Or it was caused by a third party. 

It’s funny how the night changes when it started with Minho who was so head over heels as much as you. But when you woke up from a dream, everything fell differently. 

“I’m sorry,” He said. 

“Did you ever love me?” You asked, trying not to sound petty. 

“I did,” Minho said. “I loved you so much!” 

“Then how can you cheat on me?!” 

There was no answer again but pure silence. Nobody dared to talk, but you are sure it’s over for the both of you. He seemed happy with his new one but you feel the opposite. There are words that you wanted to yell at him, scream at him and tell him how fucked up this situation was. But there was none. It’s over, and if you were smart, you’ll forget about this and move on. Words come out makes it easy but how could you do it in just one snap?

And now, you couldn’t get something from him. 

Even those nights when you were lying naked on his bed as he kissed your body filled with warmth. The I love yous between heavy breaths and kisses. The way he made you feel his love and how your brain settled to think of him, and just him. Or those days when he would take you out on dates and escort you to your favorite places, cook for you, attend to his cats with you, and take care of you when you get sick. Minho was perfect, he was perfect, everything was perfect. 

He welcomed you into his arms as you cried harder. It hurts so much. You wondered why, how, and when. But all he said was, “Sorry,” 

Bullshit. 

“I bet he still thinks about you,” You heard Seungmin say beside you. 

“No,” You smiled bitterly. “He doesn’t,” But you weren’t sure. 

It is the night of the event that you were personally invited by the boys. It was a party to celebrate their success in completing their world tour and the awards they received from their recent album. And that closure with Minho that happened a few nights before has led to no changes at all. Seungmin patted your back as he gave you a small smile. He is your protector tonight and asked for a separate table from the 8 of them. Jisung also joined in. 

The staff already served the food but you don’t seem to have an appetite to devour it. Seungmin noticed how tired and exhausted you were from the breakup, and he knew he couldn’t do anything but keep you company. He understood how big of a jerk his hyung is, and still furious about why he had the guts to cheat on you. As if something changed overnight. 

“How long did you know?” You asked him. 

“4 months,” Seungmin answered as you gave him a nod. 

“Y/n, we did everything to stop him,” Jisung butted in but you just shake your head. 

“Thanks Jisung but, it doesn’t matter now,” You smiled at him. 

You looked at Minho from afar as he shared conversations with the CEO and his new partner. He looks happy, more than he ever was when he was still with you. And there, you wished you never started that relationship. You wished you never met him that night at the animal shelter. The pain he left still bothers you until 3 am. You couldn’t sleep at all, overthinking and everyone close to you knows you’re not happy. 

Seungmin held your hand when he sees tears running down your cheeks. It is such a pity to be this sad at an event when the public knows he is dating that person but your relationship was private. There are thoughts you wanted to tell him but just like what happened at the park that night, all he said was sorry. Seungmin pulled you into his arms and let you cry as Minho stole a glance at your table. You knew you are going to spend the next few months taking care of yourself and cleaning up the mess he made out of you. He licked his lower lip and contemplated to carry on another conversation with you again. 

“That damn asshole,” Jisung said clenching his jaw when Minho asked to talk to you. 

“Let them,” Seungmin said. 

And there you found yourself with him at the parking lot, standing face to face. 

“I have questions,” You started. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever get some answers from you. Sometimes I just don’t want to ask them.” You added, laughing bitterly in between. “Are you happy?” 

Minho bit his lip and took a deep breath before opening up, “I am,” He said as you gave him a nod. 

“After what you did, you are happy?” You asked again but before he could even speak up, a bunch of words followed from you. “You know what? I think you’re just a pure asshole who doesn’t care about me even if you showed affection. I still can’t believe you could turn your back away and the next morning you are already seeing someone else while you are still with me.” 

“But I loved you!” He argued. 

“Exactly!” You cried again. “But how about now? No, right? I’ve been dying to know but at the same time, it’s pretty stupid of me to think that you still love me because I still love you. But I’m not asking you to take me back. Just tell me you still love me, for the last time, please? Lie to me,” Your sobs were uncontrollable now and Minho just stood there, watching the mess he made out of you. 

“I love you,” He said, but sure there was hesitation before he spoke. 

“Thanks,” You smiled bitterly. “I hope you live happily,” You added turning away. 

And that was it. 

He lied. 

It is over. 

official taglist: @lix-ables ,, @zoe8stay ,, @gwynsapphire ,, @cherryhanji ,, @seungly ,, @sleepyleeji ,, @ppiri-bahng ,, @snow-pegasus ,, @milkybonya ,, @l3visbby ,, @djeniryuu ,, @tangylemonade ,, @hwan-g ,, @awkwardnesshabitat ,, @chrispychans ,, @therealhyunjingf ,, @hyunverse ,, @lino-jagiyaa ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @svngiem ,, @foxinnie8 ,, @ohish ,, @alyszaen ,, @dreamingsmile ,, @skzfelixlove ,, @stealanity ,, @minluvly ,, @flirtyskzbutterfly ,, @iadorethemskz

[xo-cod]

could you tell us more about ghost and price in the au? 👀👀 i love bridgerton so much 🥲💕

of course nonnie, i hope you enjoy. idk if i'll ever write it but it's so fun to think about lmao. i included gaz/soap/könig just in case :) 🤍

continued from: here

price: the leader, the gentleman of the bunch if you will. but just as witty and cunning as the rest of his comrades, though that side isn't often shown. he lacks affection and warmth after years of spent alone, he's especially learnt not to trust and rely on people. bears the burden of his team, holds many responsibilities from his higher position that keeps him occupied. upholds his honour and role in society as the viscount but he is unmarried and purely looking for someone that ticks off the boxes for being a viscountess, at best looking for an understanding of sorts since love is a fickle thing and he doesn't believe feelings should be mixed with business. that's not to say there isn't a heart that beats under all that armour. perhaps you may be his undoing

ghost: maybe the brute would interest you, his devious ways certainly able to spark a light in someone. he's blunt and brash, harsh and cold. doesn't really converse to anyone that isn't his companions, fiercely protective and loyal to them, holds them in a high regard. he is knighted like all of them, fulfils his duties during the day and fights during the night. the years of abuse have taken its toll on him, doesn't believe he could love or that it could be reciprocated. he bears a dark past, harbouring secrets he's vowed to keep to the grave but perhaps you may be the one to tempt his heart, to show him the true love he's always yearned to have. to ease some lightness in the darkness he carries

gaz: the mastermind, he is the sarcastic witty type when conversing. being of a higher class has brought about many attention, attention which isn't something he rather enjoys. gaz is a man of few words, usually appreciating intellect of an individual someone who challenges him and keeps him thinking. his time is mostly occupied with his responsibilities but there's a soft ache that runs through him in the stillness of the night all alone and away from the buzz of society. something in him dares to linger on a dream, a hope that perhaps he isn't an unlovable as he thinks himself to be. perhaps you may be the one to secure the viscount

soap: lastly the playboy! he's got that devilish smirk that results from having a decent conversation to all hot and flustered in bed. but to him sex doesn't equal love. he's rather emotionally closed off, love has usually been full of pain so he gave up. sex is good enough, gets rid of the physical need of a soft body and he doesn't see them again afterwards. he does allow himself the pleasure but of late as he grows older he finds himself wanting more, something he can't seem to find in the other ladies in the town. maybe you'd be the rare diamond he's after, able to quench his desire for a lover

plus könig: the earl, he's calculating and calm. rarely ever seen conversing with others outside his circle. societal events aren't much his thing and he won't go if his presence isn't required. könig again doesn't care much for love, looking for a countess and nothing more. he too doesn't much believe in love, won't allow his heart to even entertain the thought so he closes himself off away from others. he just needs someone that's compatible on paper, to secure his right in his position. but maybe you could teach him that love isn't black and white, that perhaps he too can indulge himself for once in his life (tolerates the 141, personal beef with ghost)

it's a fun idea to think off, sorry if it's repetitive. i haven't yet fully thought this out so there are mistakes but i hope you liked it anyway :)

[razertail18]

Miguel O'hara and daughter! Reader

I dunno why, but I'm an absolute sucker for Miguel O'hara and daughter!reader(its platonic, I can't stand incest)

My head just thinks of all the possible angst it has. One of these days, I'll finally be able to find the time to write other fics and this one in a proper way and just a rough idea!

~~✨💗🎀💗✨~~

You always love your papa, Miguel O'hara, but it's painfully obvious how he has been lacking recently. Well... As recently as the past few years.

Ever since the start of high school, Miguel has been absent in some events of your life.

It started when he would be late from picking you up from school, you would stay up late just to wait for him to come home, forgetting your traditional daddy-daughter sunday bonding time.

You didn't mind it at first until he stopped taking you out to celebrate your achievements, more specifically, every time you won a medal or got first place into any academic competition(specifically math and science).

Yup... You were a genius like your papa but he didn't send you to any gifted schools. He thought you deserved a normal childhood.

It was back in grade 9 where you won in an international math competition and won a gold medal... Like... Shock! Biggest achievement yet.

You already called Miguel about it and you just straight lied to him that all you got was a participation award. You were planning on surprising him, you take pride in the fact that you are just like your papa.

You went home with a medal in your hand and a bunch of empanadas on your other.

You wait.

And wait..

Oh, look at that it's 12:00 am. You could always skip school the next day...or technically today.

4 am and no calls... Is he... Okay?

And then Lyla pops up

"Oh, Lyla? Did papa have another all nighter at Alchemax?"

"Look, kid... I'll be honest with you... Miguel... He won't come back for a while."

"What?! Why? But... He said that he'll be here, besides, we always celebrate after I-"

"Y/N. I'm sorry, really, I am. And I'm sure your father does too."

You don't know why but you swore the way she gritted her teeth. Is that possible for holographic AI?

"Anyway, congrats, kid. I know it's just a participation award but, heck, you were against international kids. The best of the best. I mean, competing against hundreds of students in more than 20 countries. That's wild-"

"It's actually gold.

"What?"

"Won first place... I... I just wanna surprise, papa... But, um, thanks anyway..."

After that, it just got worse month after month, year after year. You are used to being alone now. Sometimes Tio Gabriel is there to take care of you. Lyla helps you to keep yourself sane.

While Miguel might still live at your house, it doesn't feel like it.

"I'm busy right now, hija."

"I'm sorry, biscotcho... Maybe some other time."

"Y/N, please! I am tired, I just need some peace at the moment."

Excuse after excuse. That's all you get.

There are the occasional times he did spend time with you that you both enjoy

But it got butchered when you were 15.

He was just gone. For months.

Tio Gabriel had to move in with you.

"Mig- Your papa is just busy. He's, um-"

"I get it... He's busy. What's new?"

Gabriel could see just how you were struggling to keep it together. He knows how close you and Miguel used to be.

Gabriel was debating on whether he should tell you that it was because Miguel had an accident that made him half-spider, half-human.

That Miguel became Spider-Man, a figure you slowly idolized and internally wished he'd be your father instead(Ironic, I know), that's why he's late.

That Miguel is out there saving the multi verse.

That Miguel does love you.

Granted, Gabriel didn't know that Miguel ditched you and him to live happily in another universe where he doesn't bear the burden of being Spider-Man.

After months, Miguel came back. You didn't recognize him at first.

His hair is unkept, dark circles under his eyes, more agitated, he's depressed. It's Miguel alright but a shell of your father.

It was one night where you found out the truth when a strange portal appeared and a few...Spider-Man or Spider-Men? Women? Cat? Spider-People.

Along with them is the Spider-Man you were familiar with. There's that skull shaped spider in his costume.

You were trying to get a closer look and caught them on camera. You didn't expect them that your Spider-Man would reveal his face

"P-Papa?"

After that you started digging deeper, snooping around Miguel's things and researching about Spider-Man in general.

You were fangirling at first until you realize that's the whole reason why he had always been so absent

You were furious. You don't know whether to shout, cry, punch, wail, or anything to let your bottled up emotions out

You hated him.

He left you to save other people. He abandoned you to be a superhero. And he didn't tell you! He lied to you.

Did Lyla knew? Of course she does. And tio Gabriel, he might as well have.

Would he really abandon his child to just play the hero...

You wanna tell him.

You were already walking down Miguel's office until you heard him talk about some anomalies and how these villains keep taking up his time.

"I shocking swear, Miguel, you get to see these villains more than you get to see your own daughter!"

"Several universes depends on it! You think I have enjoyed doing this for the past several years, Gab?!"

So the villains get more attention than you, huh?

Maybe it's time to have that so-called 'Bad girl era' that almost every teen goes through. But how...

You huffed as you landed on your bed filled with Spider-Man comics from the Golden Hero era as part of your research. And then you saw a particular villain in one of the pages.

"I'm a genius, right?... How hard could it be to pull off Doc Oct's metal arms... Besides... Nueva York still hasn't had a version of him. It's about time for one."

You immediately got to work. You had experience when it comes to robotics and tech, thanks to Miguel since he introduced you to it.

Miguel and Gabriel thought of nothing about it when you requested several metal parts and wires. It was not uncommon for you to mess around making robots.

The other materials that will gather suspicion, you have to buy it yourself or steal it.

You did feel bad for stealing but you love that adrenaline rush in your blood as you almost got caught and ran away scot free.

You made some changes to the original idea of Doc Oct's metal limbs. You read something about an inhibitor chip and there's no way you are implanting a chip in your body.

So you have to work your way around it. There's also something about an A.I., a huge no for you since you learned the hard way that you are still beyond mastering it.

So you just went with the voice command and controlling it manually.

At first you only have two limbs and the other pair was only used after you got the handle of it.

"Soooo... What crime should I do first... I don't exactly wanna hurt people. I just wanna fight pap- I mean, Spider-Man but how..."

You walk through the city carrying that heavy ass backpack containing the metal arms while looking where to cause crime.

Then you saw how a bunch of the policemen were abusing their power...again. And you look back at the police that was parked just near you.

"Hello there..."

It took Miguel by surprise when he saw a clip sent by Lyla about some weird Doc Oct wannabe making a ruckus in Nueva York about...destroying police cars and the police department? Odd.

Nonetheless, Miguel is pissed and was forced to fight the new villain any way whom he had found to be annoying.

"What in the shock are you achieving in destroying cars, Doc Oct?"

"Ummm, don't you think Doc Quad fits better... I only have, like, 4 metal limbs. But it makes me sound like a body builder.

It was strange how much you enjoyed causing mayhem or was it because Miguel's focus is on you. Regardless, your 'villainy' continued on for months.

You never hurt innocent people. More like an inconvenience to everyone in the city and just being a stupid teen who thinks there being bad but cool.

Of course, Miguel hated you. You were there being a distraction to his responsibility of keeping the multi verse in tact.

Strangely enough if there were any anomalies in Nueva York, you were the one to fight them off and the Spider-People sometimes just needed to pick them up to send them back home.

And as time goes on, you actually manage to strike a peaceful conversation with Miguel and some of the other Spider-People like Peter B. And Gwen(if they were around Nueva York) if you weren't feeling like being a menace.

"I'm just saying, Miguel. Your Doc Oct could be a great member in HQ. Just think about it." Gwen is trying to convince Miguel, she sort of made a weird friendship with you.

"She's practically harmless." Peter added.

"Uhuh. I think flooding the streets of Nueva York, releasing several animals free in pounds, painting government halls in rainbows, cleaning the river while tossing the thrash back in front of company's headquarters, and destroying police property is pretty harmless.

"Sounds more like an angst teen to me. At least, she never tried killing you." Peter joked.

He did give it some thought. Maybe you are a teen behind that black mask and shades you always wear but he couldn't really know.

Except for one particular event.

It was your sixteenth birthday. Miguel promised to make it special for you since you never got the quinceañera he promised you before.

You didn't really care you just wanted the whole day with him.

You didn't go to school that day only spending the day with Miguel.

This was it. Your prayers have finally been answered and then- oops...

Miguel left you in a diner while taking lunch to 'go buy something' and he didn't return.

Everything is turning out so well. A bed in breakfast, giving you tons of hugs and kisses from your papa, letting you pick out a new dress, and watching that new monster movie you've been waiting for about some overgrown lizard.

You knew he had been called to his 'job'. That is more important than you. Than his own daughter.

You left the dinner as you ran back to your home. You don't wanna cry. Not this time. Your heart is burning with all the rage and pain of his neglect over the years.

When Gabriel saw your tear-stained face, he already knew what happened.

He was ready to hear you breaking down in your room but he didn't expect to see your bedroom walls breaking down with tentacle claws visible through the smoke and rubble.

"Y-Y/N?" Gabriel didn't wanna believe it. But he saw you put on that mask and the shades that Doc Oct always wears.

You refused to listen to anybody as you thrashed everything that comes in your way. And you went directly to the electricity company and turned the lights illuminating the city night off.

You thrashed the broadcast and signal of the city (a/n: how do you even describe that)

No electricity, no signals, everything is off. You hoped that the HQ Miguel is in is affected as well.

You got bored as you ruined the streets, letting your anger out in the destruction you havoc.

Now...where was that HQ located? You swore you saw it in your father's plans.

Okay. Plan B.

Time to pay a visit to your papa's office.

~~✨💗🎀💗✨~~

A/N: might continue it as an actual proper fic but I really wanna write the reader as a villain. I know it's such a mess but way too sleep deprived but I might continue it later

[vshthestmpede]

Hi there!

Could we get some headcanons for vash, nick, and knives and what pet names they use for their s/o and how they would use them? Like in what situations they would use them? And what their s/o would call them in return?

Thank you 🫶🏻

the boys & their nicknames for their significant other

word count; 896

warnings; none, this is just some sweet stuff to alleviate the constant trauma our boys (and subsequently, we enjoyers) go through

note; i am such a damn sucker for cute nicknames, so this request was super fun to write!! tysm for requesting, i truly appreciate it <3 so sorry for the lack of things, covid has been kicking my butt lately on top of college ;-;

cross-posted to ao3

VASH

mayfly + lovebug

to make up for the lack of pda, vash makes sure you know how he cares by the way he calls for you

as soon as it starts, your real name is out the window and you're only to be called by the pet name he bestowed on you

you love the way it rolls off his tongue, like it was meant for you

started as a private thing as vash prefers to keep his love life under wraps but eventually became something he was proud to use in public amongst those he trusted

"good morning, mayfly."

you stretched the sleep out of your joints, blinking to adjust to the bright sunlight. vash had himself propped up on his forearms, twirling your hair around his fingers gently.

"sleep well?" he asked as you turned on your side to face him. he leaned forward and kissed your forehead as you nodded. "good. we don't have to leave for another hour or so, wanna snuggle?"

you responded by pulling him closer to you, burying your face in his chest. he wrapped his arms around you, his fingers lazily drawing shapes into your back.

"how'd you sleep, lovebug?" you murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

vash grinned. "lovebug, hm? that's new."

you shrugged and readjusted, looking up at him. "well i thought with mayfly i needed to come up with something similar."

"fair enough, i like it." vash chuckled. "very creative. i slept okay, had a weird dream though."

"is that so? tell me all about it."

WOLFWOOD

my star + handsome

you never took wolfwood to take to romance or any of the cheesy aspects of being in a relationship

however, being a man who wasn't given any real love growing up, he craved it more than anything

of course, he'd never show it to the other three, so things like nicknames were saved solely for time between the two of you

you savored those times, enjoying the softer side of the undertaker

he would tell you how there were billions of stars in the sky yet only you were his, the brightest and most dazzling in his eyes

you pounded on the bathroom door, fed up. "c'mon, princess, i'm sure you look amazing now open the damn door!"

the door swung open and nicholas, hair still wet and messy, gave you the coldest stare behind his sunglasses.

"the hell did you just call me?" he asked, blocking you from moving past him. "no, no, no. you've never called me any sort of name before and now you just -"

"i'll keep calling you it if you don't let me use the damn bathroom," you snapped back, grabbing his arm and literally pulling him out of the bathroom. "thank you!"

coming out of the bathroom after finishing your business, you held back a laugh when you found nicholas sitting on the edge of the bed with his lips pressed into a tight frown. you flopped on the bed next to him, pulling him down with you.

"oh my gosh." you laughed as he turned away from you with a small 'hmph'. "c'mere, handsome."

instantly, he melted into your embrace, clearly much more pleased with the new nickname.

"that's better," he murmured.

"you're such a big softie," you chided playfully, brushing his hair from his face. "never change, okay?"

"yes, my star."

KNIVES

sunshine + sweetheart

if you thought it would take knives forever to even acknowledge the feelings you two shared, just imagine how long it took for him to take up on any sort of romantic gesture

you were at the helm in this voyage, showing him acts of affection first to egg him on

quickly you both learned he wasn't the biggest on physical touch but definitely enjoyed the whole concept of nicknames, something that made you stand above the rest even more to him

despite that, he found himself fighting on what he thought would fit you perfectly

you had cycled through the generic ones (babe, baby, etc.) but decided that sweetheart was the winner the way a goofy, almost childlike smile appeared on his face when you called him it the first time

knives refused any help on coming up with your nickname, demanding he figure it out himself

"i've got it!"

your head snapped up from your book as the piano playing suddenly ceased and knives stood, knocking the bench over at his abrupt movement.

"are you alright, sweetheart?" you asked, pushing yourself up out of your chair and heading towards him. he met you halfway, taking your hands in his excitedly. "what's going on in that head of yours?"

"you're my sunshine, (name)."

he had said it so happily, staring right in your eyes as he declared his newly thought of nickname. you felt your heart race at the simple gesture and the look on his face, basking in the joy that radiated off of him.

"i love it." your hands moved from his up to cradle his face. "what made you think of sunshine?"

knives leaned into your hand, proud of himself. "you just. . .you light up my life. you're so warm and caring, it's like you're if sunshine was a human."

your heart swelled at his kind words, this soft and sweet side of knives - albeit rare - was something you treasured and would always hold close to your heart.

[xhoneygirlxx]

Love Ridden

Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: moving sucks, especially when you don't know anyone and you don't have any friends. one day a black cat comes and keeps you company, maybe he won't be the only friend you make.

warnings: pure fluff. neighbor!eddie. pronouns aren't used, reader's body/ethnicity/skin tone is not mentioned. reader and eddie are both in their twenties. swearing. slight angst: mentions of loneliness. I'm an 18+ blog, minors please go away. not proofread, shitty writing and grammar errors.

*if i miss anything lmk know!

a/n: day three of my birthday week!!! you guys have been so lovely, i love you all so much!! i hope you guys have been enjoying this week as much as i have!! I'm so sorry for the late upload, life has been pretty busy this week!

I guess I wouldn’t mind to fall in love a little bit. 

Ouch, I think I feel a little more.

Stepping out onto the small porch, you're met the chill of the morning air, your nose and cheeks being victim to the cold nip of the wind. The watercolor gray sky hides the sun behinds it's endless clouds. Birds chirp a song in the empty trees before they flap their wings, taking off in flight.

It's peaceful here, quieter than the city life than you were so used to. Out here in Forrest Hills you didn't have to worry about honking cars or the chatter of drunk college students walking home from the bar at odd hours of the night. Out here in the middle of nowhere, you had yourself and the company of strangers you had yet to meet.

Only being here for two weeks, you haven't been able to meet the other people that occupy the surrounding trailers. For now they're only nameless faces, people who go to work and mind their business. Sometimes, like today, you like to sit on the front steps of your porch, drinking a piping hot cup of coffee, and just watch them as they go about their day.

You like to imagine what they do for living, what their names are, and what their story is. This has become your entertainment, the highlight of your day before you go back inside all by yourself. It's scary moving to a new place, meeting new people, and trying to make friends. As of right now, your only friend is the lady at the supermarket, Suze. Besides the people watching, hearing Suze say "Have a good day, dear" have become the highlight of your life.

It's not that you don't want to be social, you just don't know where to start. You're awkward, even back home it was hard to find the right social circle. So the safety of your trailer, the comfort of your four walls, and your once a week interaction with Suze the cashier was enough for you.

Lifting your Snoopy mug to your lips, you let the warm liquid coat your throat and fill you with warmth that the fall air seems to lack. The small gravel path lays still, everyone seemingly already off to work or school. Since you missed your morning entertainment, you stick to keeping your eyes on the sky and letting the comforting silence fall around you.

Meow.

You don't move your gaze, rather shutting your eyes and letting the small breeze move past you.

Meow.

Cracking an eye open, you gaze around the small area of the road in hopes of finding the animal making noise, hoping you're not going stir crazy with your lack of human interaction.

Meow.

Meow.

Meow.

You're neck snaps back and forth, trying to look around the general area for whatever kitty that is trying to communicate with you. It's high grass on the one side and an empty dirt path on the other, no sign of life in sight. Yup, you've seemingly have lost all of your marbles.

Meow.

The feeling of something brushing your leg startles you, but not enough to scare the chubby black cat, who purrs against your plaid pj bottoms, away. When it turns it's green eyes to you, it meows once more.

"Hi little guy," You coo softly at the animal, placing a hand out tentatively for it to sniff, "whatcha doin' out here in the cold?"

Leaning it's hand onto the tips of your fingers, you get the hint and start scratching lightly on it's head.

"Aren't you cold out here, honey?" You question and it only responds by lifting its chin. You oblige and rub along it's next causing the cat's eyes to close in enjoyment.

"You were just talkin' earlier, now you don't want to, huh? Not when you're gettin' all this love." Your voice is baby like, lips perched just a bit as you move your fingers to the tips of it's ears.

Quickly the cat moves away from your touch and looks at you wide eyed and curious like. Not wanting to scare it away just yet, you lightly tap your lap, beckoning it to move closer to you.

Surprisingly the cat listens, trotting up the two steps and curls itself into you. The purrs that carry through it's body settles into you and brings you a kind of warmth no hot temperature could ever do.

With the chunky fur ball nestled on your thighs you feel wanted, excepted for the first time since you moved here. The loneliness that you've felt, encaged into the tin walls of your trailer, suddenly evaporates with the simple presence of the animal.

"Do you have a name, little guy?" Speaking softly to the comfy cat, you hesitantly run a finger along it's neck in search for a collar.

With no collar or any sort of tag to tell you the cat is someone else's, you begin to check for other things without disturbing it. The black fur is soft in your fingers and lacks any sort of dirt buildup, no signs of fleas, and the fact that it seems like it's well fed point to it being a house cat.

Checking your surroundings, you try to see if anyone is out looking for their lost animal. No other porch in eyeshot is occupied, only the empty street and the quiet noise of bare trees rustling.

"Well, you don't seem to belong to anyone," It's as soft as the wind that flows through the grass, "You can live with me. Would you like that?"

Meow.

The cat nudges it's head further into the plush of your thighs and you take that as your answer. "Yeah, I'd like that too. How do you feel about the name Ozzy?"

The question doesn't seem to spark any sort of reaction from the cat, still cuddled up against you and purring in satisfaction.

"Okay then, Ozzy, do you wanna come in and have a treat?" Your finger continues to brush through the short hair of the cat, raking over the spots it can't reach on it's own.

Letting Ozzy lay on you for a moment more, you go to pick up your coffee mug hoping that the brown liquid inside is still somewhat warm. With the slightest move of your arm, Ozzy wakes up and stretches.

Before you can offer the warmth of your trailer, Ozzy is off of you lap and trotting down the steps. It's desperate and selfish but you're not about to lose your first friend, so you follow after it in the hopes you can scoop it up and take it home.

"Ozzy, come on don't you want some tuna?" Even with the promise of an appetizing bowl of breakfast, the cat continues to make it's way across the dirt path street.

When Ozzy makes it to the trailer cat corner to yours, it trots up the steps and settles on the small porch. Blinking slowly at you, it continues to stare at you and your efforts of trying to capture it without trespassing.

"Come on Ozzy, I'll take you home and you can eat. Maybe later we can take a trip to the store for some toys! What do you say, Oz?" As you stretch your arm out to the animal, a gruff voice stops you in your tracks.

"May I ask why you're trying to kidnap my cat?" Trailing your eyes to the side porch, you take in the shape of the person sitting on the couch.

Covered by the shadow of the awning, you can't really make out the stranger. You've been caught red handed, mouth agape and wide eyed with your arm still frozen in it's outstretched position.

"I-I, um I wasn't trying to kidnap your cat. I just, he came up-"

"It's a she and her name is pumpkin." The gruff voice cuts you off, semi annoyed and frustrated.

"Sorry, I didn't know." Like a child who's been reprimanded, you pull your arm back to it's place, lacing your fingers together in front of you where they twiddled in anxiety.

"I know, I was just fucking with you." The shadow figure stands from it's sitting position and walks over to you, jumping down the small ledge of the side porch.

As he stalks over to you, you drink up his features. In sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a too small of a hoodie that reads "Hawkins High Phys Ed.", he looks pretty. Wild brown curls blow lightly in the wind, lips puffy, and eyes so brown it feels like you're drowning in chocolate.

Standing toe to toe, you realize just how much taller he is than you. Slim and fit is the best way you can describe it, and boy is he breathtaking. His scent picks up with the breeze, swirling around you and making it's way into your nose were it lingers. Coffee, smoke, and laundry soap.

"I'm assuming you're the new neighbor down in trailer 48." It's not really a question rather a statement when he says it.

Nodding your head slightly, you gaze up at him still in awe. "Yeah, that would ugh, that would be me." Trying to cover up your nerves you throw him a tight lipped smile.

Nodding his own head, he slips his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. "Well, I'm Eddie and you already seem to have met pumpkin."

"Nice to meet you Eddie," Unlocking your still laced fingers, you throw him a small wave, even though he's right in front of you and tell him your name.

"Well it's lovely to meet you." His smile is just as pretty as the rest of him, nice white teeth that shine brighter than any sunrise you've ever seen.

"I'm sorry about your cat," It comes out rather awkward and abrupt, "she came over to me and I didn't think she belonged to anyone, I swear. I- well honestly, she's kind of like my first friend here and I wasn't about to let her go that easy."

Shame burns within you, as well as embarrassment. The shame of trying to take someone else's cat and the embarrassment of admitting you have no friends. You want the ground to shallow you whole, hide so far in the ground the cute boy next door will forget all about you and your inability to act like a normal human.

"Hey, don't worry I was just messin'. Plus she's like my only friend too, so I totally get it." Whether he's lying or not doesn't matter to you, in fact you laugh along with him when he speaks.

"To be fair, they're kind of pretty," Still smiling, he focuses on Pumpkin who sits contently on the step waiting to go in.

"Yeah, she really is. Sweet too." You agree, also looking at the cat you befriended just moments before.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the cat," He says and you look back at him confused, "I mean she is definitely pretty, in fact she gets it from her dad. But I ugh, I was talking about you."

Pink paints the apples of his cheeks and you're certain that it's not from the bitter chill.

Your own stomach jumps and flips, butterflies tripling as his eyes burn into you.

"Oh." It's all you can muster, at least verbally, your face on the other hand tells him everything he needs to know.

Eyes shining and a smile threating to pull on your lips, even with the extra help that tries to hold it in place.

"Yeah." His own smile spreads bigger and you want to take a picture of it. You want to memorize every single detail of him so when you go back to your mundane four walls, you'll have something to feed your aching, lonely heart.

"Well if you want, I have a pot of coffee and a pack of Oreos back at my place. You and Ozzy, I mean Pumpkin are more than welcome." Looking up at him from under your lashes you see that his expression changed. Dimples and canines more prominent than before.

"Only on one condition." He says, crossing his hands over his chest and leaning towards you. "Do you have any cool mugs?"

"I have a cool Garfield mug." You shrug your shoulders.

Eddie ponders for a second like he's really taking the time to think it over. "I think, you have yourself a deal." Placing a hand in front of you, you clasp it in your own and shake it, letting the feeling of him sink into your skin.

Pulling his hand away from yours, he calls Pumpkin and pats his thigh. Getting up from her spot, she circles through his slipper covered feet. The two of you make your way back to your trailer, comfortable silence settling over the two of you.

"I do have one question." Looking over at Eddie, you raise your eyebrows telling him to continue. "Why Ozzy?"

Chuckling softly, you shrug your shoulders once again. "Well she's a black cat and she kind of reminds me of a bat. Bats just happen to remind me of Ozzy Osbourne, ya know cause the whole bat on stage thing."

You cut yourself off when you realize the boy next to you stopped dead in his tracks, along with the black cat.

"You know Ozzy?" He gasps, hand to his chest like you've just struck him with a sharp object.

"Who doesn't know Ozzy?" You scoff, eyebrows pinching together in bewilderment.

After what a long pause, Eddie stops clutching his chest and beams happily at you.

"Yeah, we're gonna be best friends." It's soft and sincere, hitting you right in the heart, lighting it with a million twinkling lights.

"Come on neighbor, I was promised Oreos." Picking his pace back up, he bops you on the nose with his finger before continuing his journey to your home.

Maybe Hawkins wasn't as lonely after all, you just needed to be patient.

Thank you all for reading! I love you guys <3

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