#the editing on this day specifically was so against me

[deadpoets]

GEORGE HARRISON’S OUTFITS: DAY TWENTY TWO – JANUARY 31, 1969 The Beatles: Get Back (2021) dir. Peter Jackson

[pranabefall]

✸ — MISC NOTICE. ; minors dni. zhongli x reader. again, some pure fluff but as an mdni blog i'm holding repellent XD. mostly silly silly stuff ihgfghj reader is implied to have studied in the sumeru akademiya. not edited!!!

"You're awake."

It's more a statement then anything else, Zhongli's arm snakes round you, steady in it's grasp. "I know you are." he adds, in a way where the depths of his chest seemed to rumble slow, slow, slowly.

You crack an eye open and stare straight at him, a sheepish grin flickering across for a moment ( only for a moment. You're incorrigible, as Zhongli liked to say ). "I've been thinking." You begin, your breath half caught at the back of your mouth. An excited thrum dances over your fingertips and you're half dizzy from the buzz and the tire. So much, there's so much, your stomach feels like it's about to explode.

"It's too early." he glances over at you with a pointed raise to his brow. "You can barely hear the birds out. Go back to sleep now." His hands are gentle against your cheek and you're almost swayed by the rumbling timbre of his voice and the low cadence. It's lulling you, but by bit, deeper and deeper.

"I've been thinking." You repeat with a little more force, lifting your head up to state your point across. You collapse back down a moment later when the room spins a bit. Perhaps you were too hasty ( goddammit ) and you content yourself with settling into the mattress and pulling the blanket over your shoulders.

His lashes flutter. There is fond exasperation there, melting into his chest and his nearly-there smile like butter. Its the most Zhongli thing about him, the tiny moments and peeks in through. "Alas." He sighs, nudging you close, laying your head over his bicep. "Tell me then."

Zhongli watches the way your shoulders hunch and your lips quirk. "A willing audience? How grand..."

"A little too willing, I'm afraid. I spoiled you so."

Your hands splay against his shoulders. He's warm.

"It's only going to take a minute. In fact, it's only a question. All I need are answers and that will only take as long as you want it to."

Ah there it is, the narrowed squint, the subtle shift and the signs of a slightly more alert Zhongli ( the Zhongli who'd straighten his back and cattishly stare at someone who dares to mention the name of some obscure historic even or little known tea ). "Ask me, then."

You fall silent, looking for your words.

"I was wondering. Is geo resonance susceptible to tearing apart organic tissue? How little is needed for it to do so, and how little for it to...not...?"

You don't think there is a sane way of phrasing that, to be fair. But you'd ask stranger things, always digging and questioning and presenting the wildest little ideas on odd days of the week. It's a side effect of the Akademiya and a lack of sages sushing you into a corner with a pile of textbooks and dry edged annoyance. And maybe the very aforementioned abandonment of shame.

"And by organic tissue..."

"Human flesh, Zhongli."

"Ah."

"More specifically muscles, tendons, bones...maybe even neural tissue to be fair. Any of that stuff."

Zhongli has the grace to not react, or give much away in his contemplation. You knock your head against his chin in gentle assurance. "You don't have to answer of course."

"It's certainly a strange one." He admits.

"It is." You grumble.

"Well..." He trails off before a breathy little chuckle trembles past. "We'll, I can't say I know a proper answer to this one. It's quite specific isn't it?"

"Horribly so. Different tissue have different densities. You can afford to be a little rougher with bone, for example. But something softer like grey matter would require far more finesse."

His hand is steady against the small of your back. "And you ask this because..."

Your lips tug at the corners. "An old junior of mine sent a letter in. The boy graduated from the Spantamad Darshan in my absence and had plenty of news to share regarding a few new experiments with elemental energy and the like." You turn over a moment. "If we could find the precise frequency needed, we may just be able to utilize geo resonances for medical diagnostics."

Zhongli blinks. It's a slow, thoughtful thing.

"That is fascinating." He muses. "So you seek to map put internal injuries then? Or perhaps tumours?"

"Yes!" You eagerly nod at that. "There are Fontanian inventors...and skilled akademics. They're calling a few alumni in to aud in the research."

Your cheek tucks into the crook of his neck. You feel his warmth and the too-slow heartbeat carefully wrapped in his chest, between ribs and flesh — made of anything but stone ( You're filled with a hunger. Zhongli calls it endearing, your passion, as quiet as it can be sometimes ).

"You were invited too." He guesses.

"Yes."

His lips test against your neck. "How long?"

"A while." You look outside, to the balcony and the horizon in the distance. Then you see Zhongli's face, his hair undone and sweep against your temple as he kisses you proper.

"Then go, little love."

"Are you sure?" You suddenly feel awful, and small, and selfish. Liyue had stuck fast to the buttery feelings in your chest and Zhongli had made himself a home there as well. A part of you wants to sneak him into your trunk, sprit him away to Sumeru. It's greedy, immature ( he's always waited for you, patiently ).

"Quite." He kisses your cheek next. "What's a few months?"

"An eternity." You grunt.

Zhongli is silent for a long, long moment. "Right now...it would be, yes." He says in the afterthoughts. "And will miss you terribly. But I've waited before, and I don't see why I cannot now."

He laces his fingers against yours.

"I'll write to you every week." You promise.

"Every week." He promises and he smiles his almost smile. You kiss his forehead. He sighs. "For now...I will say it again. Go to sleep."

"Yes, yes." You mutter, snuggling in. Zhongli tucks his hand beneath your knees and swings one leg over his waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

Let me be greedy, he seems to say.

You let him.

TAGLIST ノ join the taglist. — @silentmoths @meimeimeirin @sleepynoons @iuzas @endursent.

@jessamine-rose @ofoceansandtombsanew @chiyoso @loveliluc

[azzifuddfanpage]

Paige catching Azzi masturbating and she doesn’t let it go but instead tease her and join her in helping her cum

Caught

———— thank you for the prompt!!!🫶

ALSO PLEASE GIVE ME UR FEEDBACK AND COMMENTS OR IM NOT DOING ANOTHER PROMPT TN THANK YEW

———-

3.1k words tw: smut

themes: smut like all smut good luck 👍 (hope u sluts are happy 🤷‍♀️)

———— Paige and Azzi had spent the majority of the year attached at the hip. 

When the espys rolled around and Paige had to fly out to Los Angeles, Azzi couldn’t help herself but miss her after spending almost every waking minute together.

“U really have to go?” Azzi asked, her arms connected tightly against Paige's waist, and her face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. 

Paige took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Azzi’s coconut lavender shampoo. 

“I know baby, I have to go, but it’s only for a few days, and I’ll FaceTime you every night.” 

“Better be everyday too.” Azzi pouted. 

Paige's heart warmed seeing her girl all clingy to her, and she tightened her grip around her.

As happy and blessed she was to be given this opportunity, she was sad she couldn’t have her best friend/ girlfriend beside her.

———

Seeing Paige in the suit, her hair pulled back into the low messy bun, her eyes sparkling under the spotlight. Azzi couldn’t hide the nagging heat between her thighs that was desperate to be settled.

Paige was originally supposed to come home 2 days after the espys.

The first day after was filled with parties, and then the second day she had to meet with someone to work on her nil deal with her shoes. 

What Azzi didn’t know was that Paige had changed her flight, and instead of flying out that next morning, she would fly out that afternoon. 

———

Azzi on the other hand had more important things to worry about, more specifically, the evolving heat in her core that had been growing since the day Paige left.

She tried to ignore it, she tried to distract herself by watching frozen (5 times), working on extra skills in the gym (even though there was only so much she could do since her last injury), or even learning how to make baked Mac and cheese from scratch (one of paige’s favorites), but none of it seemed to scratch the itch that was so badly limiting her.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to skip out on watching the espys that night.

So when she clicked on the tv and saw the way Paige's fingers wrapped around the mic, she was already very fragile.

Somehow she managed to hold off that entire night and into the next day.

She continued to keep herself busy like she had done before, going to rehab, focusing on the summer classes she had taken to work through her masters, but by the time that evening rolled around and she opened TikTok she knew she was screwed.

The first video on her for you page was an edit of Paige in her espys fit.

Azzi’s eyes glazed over as she saw the way Paige's nimble fingers grasped the microphone, the level of confidence seeping out of her as she spoke. But what did it for her most was the way her veins popped in her arms the same way they did when her fingers were thrusting in and out of Azzi’s lower stomach, desperate to please her.

Azzi looked at her phone, the ache in her stomach too strong to ignore, she moved her fingers down to her waist band and slipped them into her panties, her clit already sensitive  to the touch as she rubbed against it, collecting her stick from the entrance of her hole.

She moaned at the contact, her eyes focusing on the video of Paige, her Paige, she imagined her fingers were Paige's needy long fingers that could never stay off Azzi.

Azzi didn’t even feel embarrassed at this point, it wasn’t like she had never done it before, when they had been long distance before they had to use similar methods, but now, she wasn’t used to this.

The feeling of her own fingers against her skin, would never match Paige's.

Paige knew her body better then she did, knew what made her whimper, what made her legs shake, what made her white syrup spill as Paige thrusted against her g spot.

As Azzi slugged off her shorts and began to lazily fuck her fingers into herself, she could already feel a release brewing, but it wasn’t the same. She felt as though the release she had was bottled up for so long that it was stuck. 

Azzi fucked herself, transitioning between thrusts in and out of herself, to soft rubs and aggressive rubs on her clit, she went back and forth with this for a while, her orgasim remaining close but still so far.

Azzi let out a frustrated moan, her focus going back to the video, pretending her fingers were Paige's, persistent and begging to be swallowed by Azzi’s needy pussy.

Azzi threw her head back moaning Paige's name.

——-

Paige was honestly tired from her long day of flying, but after 3 days without seeing Azzi, she too not only missed her emotionally, but she also had an ache between her legs that only a curly haired brunette guard from UConn could cure.

Paige walked into the suite and was met with an overwhelming layer of silence. 

She wanted to surprise Azzi. 

When Paige finally pushed open the door, she saw Azzi’s legs spread open, her fingers desperately against herself.

Paige felt her knees buckle at the sight.

The way Azzi was folded over, her body spread out on the bed, a bead of sweat running down her forehead. 

She watched as Azzi’s fingers dip lazily into her hole. 

Paige continued standing there, her eyes unable to leave her girlfriend's vulnerable frame. 

Azzi threw her head back- eyes still shut- as she moaned.

“Paige.” Azzi whimpered, her phone still lying forgotten in front of her. 

Paige smirked hearing Azzi’s breathy whimper of her name.

“Not even locking the door first damn az.” Paige finally spoke, breaking the silence.

Azzi let out a yelp, jumping at the sudden unexpected presence in her room.

Pulling out her fingers she threw the blanket over her.

“JESUS PAIGE WHAT THE FUCK” Azzi said a little out of breath from how startled she was.

“you actually just scared the living fuck out of me.” Azzi continued rubbing her face with her hand (not the one that was just inside of her) 

“Ya literally” Paige snorted, walking closer to her and pulling down the sheets exposing Azzi’s naked frame.

Her nipples were hard from the cold air, and Paige could see how wet she was under the light.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, could you baby?” Paige said, running her finger along Azzi’s abs.

Azzi shuddered under her contact, shaking her head embarrassed.

“I tried- just missed you badly.” Azzi said ashamed, her eyes subconsciously darting to her phone.

Paige looked at Azzi’s phone and then back at her. Both their eyes darted back and forth.

Paige lunged for the phone at the same time as Azzi, beating her there.

Flipping it over she unlocked it and smirked when she saw the edit of her playing on the screen.

Azzi threw a hand to cover her face.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of this am I?” Azzi asked, burying her face in the pillow. 

“Not if you want me to help you baby.” Paige says, putting down her phone with a smirk. 

She pulled Azzi's hand away from her face, using her fingers to tilt her chin towards her. 

“Missed this pretty face so much.” Paige whispered, leaning forward and climbing onto the bed so she was now hovering over Azzi. 

Paige ran her hand along Azzi’s neck, moving it up and tracing along her jaw.

She leaned forward and placed a soft open mouth kiss on the soft skin under her ear.

Azzi let out a whimper, her hips wiggling as Paige adjusted her position, her legs straddling either side of her. 

“So needy baby.” Paige whispered as she sucked a little on Azzi’s skin, releasing it and licking over the reddened skin with her tongue. 

“Please.” Azzi moaned as Paige's tongue licked at her lip, dipping inside.

Paige pulled her tongue away, sitting up slightly so she could look at Azzi’s desperate state underneath her.

“Tell me how much better I am at fucking you.” Paige whispered, as she watched Azzi’s lips pucker in the air, reaching out for Paige's. 

Azzi’s eyes opened as she pouted.

Paige laughed, her finger tugging at her puffy bottom lip. 

“Do u want me to help you finish or should I just let you finish yourself off.” Paige said simply, her finger running back down and connecting with her neck as Paige's lips connected back to Azzi’s.

As their tongues massaged against each other, Paige smirked against her.

Paige softly bit against Azzi’s lip, tugging at it and listening to the soft sigh that left her.

When she finally sat up, Azzi whined. 

“Paigeee.” She whined.

“Fine if your gonna be difficult, you’re gonna keep fucking your sled and we’ll see how far you get.” Paige decided, sliding backwards off Azzi’s bed, and facing her.

Azzi’s face turned red as she watched Paige needily stare at her throbbing pussy. 

“Don’t be shy now baby- all u have to tell me is how much better I am at making you finish.” Paige said with a smirk, her eyes running over her folds. 

Azzi, being the stubborn person she was, refused to let Paige win this.

She rolled her eyes and moved her fingers back down to her pussy, running them through the wetness that had collected near her hole.

She moaned at the much needed contact, and began to rub her fingers in small circles over her clit.

“Look at me while you do it.” Paige said her voice was soft but firm.

Azzi looked up at her slowly, her breath shakily.

When her eyes met Paige's, and she saw how dilated they were-drunk on the sight of her pussy, she almost came right from that.

“You know if I was touching you right now, I would have had you cum by now.” She said confidently, smirking as she watched Azzi crumble under her eye contact.

Azzi blushed even more, looking away from Paige and focusing back on pleasing herself.

Her fingers moved away from her clit, traveling down and dipping into her entrance. 

She inserted two of them gently, thrusting and curling them against herself.

She let out a seductive moan that sent shivers down Paige's spine.

Paige wanted nothing more than to shove Azzi’s hand aside and take her right there, but she was also stubborn.

She watched helplessly as Azzi’s fingers curled into her pussy, thrusting them in and out, speeding up.

Azzi moaned, sitting up on her elbow to give herself a better angle.

As much as Azzi didn’t want to give in, she knew she wouldn’t even have to. She knew paige. 

If Paige wanted to eat, she would eat.

Azzi looked up at her, “Paige.” She moaned, staring at her intently until Paige's eyes- that were entranced by her fingers- found hers.

“Fuck it.” Paige said practically jumping on her, ripping her hand away from herself and diving her mouth into Azzi’s pussy. 

Azzi let out a laugh as Paige tongue tickled her inner thigh.

“Fucking always get ur way don’t u princess.” Paige said as her tongue ran against Azzi’s wetness, spreading it across her pussy.

Azzi moaned loudly, her hand coming and wrapping in Paige's hair tugging her closer to her core.

Paige dipped her tongue into her whole, thrusting it in a couple times as her finger played with her clit.

Azzi let out a whine, needing more stimulation.

Paige brought her tongue up to her clit, exchanging the pressure of her tongue, for her pressure of her fingers, now filling her.

As Paige sucked and pulled on Azzi’s clit, her 3 fingers went to work, thrusting in and out.

Azzi, who had already gotten herself very close before, was now gripping at Paige's scalp, Paige's fingers slamming against her walls.

“Fuck P.” She moaned as paige lapped at her clit. 

Azzi adjusted her position, sitting up on her elbows to watch her as her fingers stilled inside her.

Feeling Azzi’s eyes on her, Paige looked up, still pulling on her clit. 

The sight of Paige's big blue eyes completely drunk off her pussy, the feeling of her fingers thrusting back into her, and her tongue flicking at her clit, was all too much for her.

“Fuck paige I’m gonna cum.” 

Paige smirked as she could feel Azzi’s legs shake.

Her fingers stilted inside her, and she lifted her head to her ear, letting her lips tickle it.

“Tell me how good I am to you.” She paused, pressing her lips to Azzi’s ear. Azzi moaned, the throbbing between her legs, too much for her to take.

“Fuck need you to fuck me paige please.” She whined, giving in as Paige sucked at her neck. 

“Tell me how much better I am at fucking you.” She whispered, her tongue soothing the now purple skin.

Paige moaned into her ear and Azzi caved, “fuck you know my body so well baby. You’re so good, please continue.” Azzi whispered, her hips thrusting up to get some type of friction.

“If you insist.” Paige winked, her three fingers diving back down and fucking into her. 

Azzi moaned, her abs flexing as she hunched over from the pressure of Paige's fingers hitting at her walls.

Azzi moaned, and Paige's fingers dove deeper inside.

Paige’s other hand grabbed Azzi’s stomach, pressing on it to stabilize herself.

Azzi felt her finger brush her g spot, and the band in her stomach snap.

Paige lowered herself down so she was angled at her pussy as she could hear her fingers squelching as Azzi released.

She drank up every bit of liquid that spilled from Azzi’s cunt.

“tastes so good, baby.” “Missed her so bad.” She said as she pulled out her fingers, letting more of Azzi’s cum spill out of her.

Azzi was a pile of moans, and Paige eventually pulled away from her cunt, climbing back up to connect with Azzi’s lips, letting her taste herself.

Paige swallowed Azzi’s moans as their tongues fought together.

After Azzi had caught her breath, she pulled Paige away from her.

“Hey just cuz I gave in and let you fuck me doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own.” Azzi assured, her eyes finding Paige's. 

“Whatever you say baby.” Paige said, snuggling herself into the crook of Azzi’s  arm.

“Wait no.” Azzi said, pushing her off of her.

Paige's head fell onto the bed. 

“What are you talking about Azzi?” Paige sighed.

Azzi climbed on top of Paige so she was straddling her.

“Why don’t you think I could fuck myself as good as you do?” Azzi asked, holding Paige's arms down so she couldn't resist her.

“Nah I know u could, I’m just better.” She replied cheesing. 

Azzi teasingly shoved her face away. 

“Ya we’ll see about that.” Azzi said as Paige's face contorted into a confused look.

Azzi pulled up Paige's shirt, placing soft kisses above her sports bra. 

Paige moaned as her teeth nipped gently at her skin. 

Azzi pulled down her bra, exposing her hardened nipples.

Azzi looked up to find Paige already looking at her with big needy eyes.

Without looking away, Azzi leaned down and wrapped her mouth around Paige's nipple, pulling on it and releasing it with a pop.

She watched as Paige moaned, throwing her head back.

Azzi smirked as she left her bra up, keeping her tits out as she trailed down to Paige's waist band.

“Lift up for me baby.” Azzi said as she dipped her fingers into the band of her sweats.

Paige lifted her hips so Azzi could pull off her sweats.

Azzi threw them behind her, leaning down to level herself with Paige's pussy that was still covered by her boxers.

Azzi ran a finger over her clothes pussy feeling the slick through it. 

“God Azzi.” Paige whimpered as Azzi pulled down her boxers too.

“Need you so bad princess.” Paige said, tangling her fingers in Azzi’s curls pulling her mouth towards her slick.

“Oh is that right?” Azzi said, her breath hitting against Paige's wet clit, sending a shiver through her body.

Paige whined at the feeling against her slick. 

She nodded, but Azzi wasn’t satisfied.

“Well maybe u should just fuck yourself since you’re so much better than me.” Azzi teased, running her fingers on her inner thigh, dangerously close to her aching clit.

“Bruh come on you know I didn’t mean it baby.” Paige whimpered as Azzi’s fingers traced over the sensitive bundle of nerves.  

“Maybe but I want you to tell me.” She whispered seductively, triggering a submissive reaction in Paige's body.

“Need your pretty fingers so bad sweet girl.” Paige moaned.

Azzi could have cum again just from Paige's words, instead she licked a long stripe up her pussy, rewarding her for good behavior.

Paige moaned, shifting her body so her hips were elevated and pressing into Azzi’s mouth. 

Azzi switched to kitten licks against her clit, motivated by her words.

“Such a good girl- doing me so well.” Paige moaned, running her fingers through Azzi’s curls, pulling them back and away from her face.

Azzi sucked on her clit, and her fingers ran through her wetness, dipping into her hole.

“Please baby- need you so bad pretty.” Paige moaned as her fingers inched deeper into her slowly.

Azzi felt Paige's breath shift underneath her.

“Ya you like that don’t you. Just love fucking this pussy huh baby?” Paige growled.

Azzi didn’t answer, instead she responded by thrusting her fingers deeper into Paige's pussy, thrusting them in and out.

Paige groaned, her hand pushing Azzi’s head into her pussy so she was sucking on it harder.

“Right there fuck baby you’re so good.” Paige moaned as Azzi’s fingers pounded against her g spot.

Azzi smirked against her clit, Paige's hand directing her movements so her tongue was now rubbing up and down against it.

With her fingers still fucking deep inside her walls, and her tongue sucking and lapping at her clit, paige could feel the orgasm closing in on her. 

“Gonna cum baby…fuck.” Paige moaned, her legs shaking around Azzi's body.

Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige's thighs, pulling her so she was closer to her.

Azzi sat up a little, pulling paige into her lap to change her angle, fucking her fingers deeper inside her, letting paige’s moans fill the air. 

Paige moaned loudly as Azzi’s teeth grazed her sensitive clit.

Before she could even realize what was happening, her cum was pouring out of her and Azzi was greedily drinking it up.

Paige was still out of breath as Azzi rode out her high.

“You like the way I taste mama. you’re so perfect. Such a good girl eating me so well.” Paige says as she pulled a strand of Azzi’s curls out of her face and pulled it behind Azzi’s ear.

Azzi continued to fuck her through her high until paige was physically pushing her away and pulling her up so she was laying her on her stomach. 

“You did so good pretty.” Paige whispered again to Azzi's cheek as she rubbed small circles against her bare skin.

Azzi sighed contently as she nuzzled deeper into Paige's chest, letting the warmth of Paige's skin surround her.

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 9 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 7.4k (hoo boy. i did say i would end this with a bang. i wrote and edited this in two days.)

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of food, mentions of physical & mental health issues, explicit...themes. y'all see for yourselves what those are

a/n. and here we are. a little over two months since i posted the masterlist in the hopes that it would motivate me to see this series through, and i actually did it!!! i poured my heart and soul into this chapter, specifically, so i hope you enjoy it and find it a great way to wrap up the story. see the end for a message <3

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the sound of a honk—a blaring sound that you think can only be from one of those humongous passenger buses that circle the city.

Except they never really pass by your neighborhood—your apartment being located in the outer peripheries of Musutafu.

So why, all of a sudden, are you hearing these noises?

Wasn’t it just recently that you shot up awake like this?

Clenching your eyes back closed, you shake your head vigorously. The dull thumping that stretches from your parietal straight to your frontal lobe is unmistakable, such is the dryness of your throat. You look to your left, letting out a sigh of relief when you see a glass of water on the nightstand. You quickly grab it and take a sip, finally eyeing your surroundings as you do so.

The room is dim—the city lights emanating through the window the only source of illumination within the four walls, enough to cast a faint glow on what you’re now sure is Bakugou’s bedroom. You’ve only been here one night, but the plush mattress beneath you feels familiar, and you’re a hundred percent sure that’s your suitcase in the corner right next to his wardrobe. The wardrobe where he retrieved the futon…last night?

You shift to be on all fours, wincing to a halt when your back screams in protest at the motion. You try to rotate your neck next, grateful when all you feel is a slight strain and a sting—like you’ve got some bruising at the front. The rest of your body seems to be working alright—fatigued, yes, but not enough to cause you a new wave of pain with every maneuver.

And so with that thought, you slowly crawl toward the foot of the bed, right until you catch a glimpse of the said futon. It’s somewhat undone—arranged exactly how you think Bakugou left it the morning of the mission. Well, how you two left it. You remember accidentally stepping on it once or twice while trying not to invade Bakugou’s personal space as you simultaneously got ready, making a mental note to fix it before you left.

You guess you never got to. Apparently, neither did Bakugou.

Which only means one thing.

It’s still D-Day.

Only then do the events from earlier today come flooding at you, and you find yourself stumbling out the door, barefoot and maybe still a little too out of it to be rushing like this.

Regardless, you burst out of the room—fully expecting the twins to be there—although you’re not hit with a sobering visual confirmation, nor are you hit with a menacing glare followed by a ripping out of your tracker, which you note has already disappeared from its spot in the middle of your chest.

Instead, what hits you is the heady yet comforting smell of ramen broth.

You glance in the direction of the kitchen, and sure enough, Bakugou’s standing there—decked out in lounge clothes under an apron with a ladle in one hand—staring at you, surprised.

“Hey,” he finally gets out after a beat of immobility, before facing back toward the stove and turning down the heat. “You’re awake.”

You nod, although he doesn’t see it with his back turned against you. You pad toward the kitchen as quietly as you can, stopping a few feet away from him where he looks so normal, like he didn’t just wrestle a murderer a couple of hours ago.

What the hell is going on?

Bakugou glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question—and it just dawns on you that you said that last bit out loud—before spinning to fully face you again.

“You had an anxiety attack,” he says as a matter of factly, and you feel yourself flame. “They told me to take you home after they did first aid on the both of us.”

So, he got hurt, too.

You tamp down the shame from your breakdown and note the bandage on his cheek, right where his scar is.

Still, it’s not exactly the two of you who you’re most concerned about right now…

You gulp, willing yourself to hold Bakugou’s gaze. “What about Masaki?” you ask. “D-did he—make it?”

At that, Bakugou sighs, and it’s enough for you to know the answer. Despite yourself, you feel a surge of guilt wash over your body.

“He was rushed to the hospital,” the pro-hero explains, solemn, “But he didn’t make it.”

And when you don’t say anything: “It’s not your fault, Y/N. You didn’t kill him,” he huffs, “I did.”

You shake your head decisively, before tossing him a stern look. “You did what you had to do.”

Bakugou stares at you for a second, an inexplicable expression on his face, although you don’t get to study it further because you look away first. “Did you know he was a consul?” you inquire, suddenly feeling the obligation to change the topic.

Bakugou turns, once again busying himself with the stove. “I heard.”

You pull a stool from underneath the kitchen island and hoist yourself up into it. “Explains why he was never around in the headquarters.”

“Explains why he was never home, either,” he piles on.

You feel your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, he just went through a divorce and lost custody of his daughters to his ex-wife, who that guy Hiroto described to have a pretty weak quirk. Said the man always had supremacist views, but changed for the worst when the woman filed a case against him.”

Huh.

“Speaking of quirks,” Bakugou continues, stirring the broth, “I’m sure you figured it out, but his was called retaliate. He could absorb attacks, especially explosions, and redirect them with—”

��Double the power, yeah,” you finish for him.

“Quadruple if he’s feeling confident—an ironic clause for a relatively meek guy like him,” Bakugou remarks. “Explains why he still took you with him despite suspecting we were doing something behind his back. He needed your luck and was planning to blackmail you into boosting him.”

That makes you frown. “But they didn’t figure out it was actually manipulation, did they? He mentioned luck to me, too. In the car, before we went into the building.”

“No, they didn’t,” comes Bakugou’s cool response. “Masaki and the rest still thought it was luck, just that you may have been using it beyond their instruction. Plus, at that point, they already had my bombs, so they could easily dispose of me and use my life as leverage to get you to do what they said.”

Bakugou reaches for one of the condiments in the rack, lightly shaking the contents out of the container and into the soup. “Explains why they told me last night to follow suit and get dressed in normal clothes. Didn’t matter that I’d be easily identified in them—I was never gonna get to the Prime Minister’s Office anyway.”

That fucking reminds you. “Where did that bastard even take you?”

At that, Bakugou stiffens. “An industrial-grade refrigerator,” he mutters.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he spews, perhaps a bit miffed. You can tell he’s not enjoying talking about this. “I was bolted in, and Kouki disappeared before I could wrangle him into letting me out.”

You can only gawk at him as he drawls on. “Took me a while to gather enough sweat for one massive blow to break the lock.”

“H-how?” you manage to croak out.

“Push-ups,” he answers curtly, still stirring. “I lost count at around 300.”

He takes your stupefied silence as a sign to continue.

“After that, I figured the old geezer couldn’t have gotten me too far—otherwise, he would’ve depleted his capacity to conduct mass teleportation if things went south for them. I boosted myself up to get an aerial view and find a landmark, and got going when I did.”

“Were you still wearing your tracker?” you can’t help but probe.

“I had to,” Bakugou responds, “If I wanted him to come to me. When he found out I was on the move, he teleported to where I was—probably to teleport me to my death, leverage be damned—but I was faster, and he couldn’t catch up.”

“I blasted him unconscious before he could retreat and bring everyone else with him,” Bakugou says as he takes what looks to be a lid and puts it over the pot, leaving a small gap for the steam to come out. “He’s in custody now. Shitty hair’s talking to him as we speak.”

At the mention of the redhead’s nickname, you straighten up. “How is he? And Sero?” you say so quickly you almost stumble over your words, “Are they okay?”

“Yeah,” comes his prompt retort, and you find your shoulders sagging in relief. “The twins put up a fight, but they eventually had them wrapped in Sero’s tape and chased you to the elevator. But then somebody pulled the fire alarm and they got stuck.”

“It was Masaki,” you swiftly supply. “He did it just as he hauled me out of the elevator.”

Again, you watch as Bakugou visibly tenses, but he doesn’t say anything. At least, for a moment, before he sighs.

“Yeah, well, they couldn’t get out for a while because the system needed manual operation to send the elevator back to ground floor, and nobody was around to do it. They couldn’t smash their way out of there, either. Could’ve caused the entire thing to crash down.”

“Wasn’t there any other hero besides them?”

“No,” Bakugou says almost regrettably as he takes the bowl of uncooked noodles into his hands. “They thought I’d be there just as planned, so they assigned the rest of the pro-heroes involved to the rest of the schools.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “I guess that explains why they went for the twins first instead of Masaki. Maybe they thought you’d be there to handle him?”

“No, they had eyes on you,” he corrects, just as he pours the noodles into the soup. “Shitty hair said they prioritized the two because they seemed stronger than Masaki. His packing that much fucking strength came as a shock to everyone.”

You chuckle dryly. “Even you, right?”

He grunts, unamused. “Even me.”

You let yourself sit in silence as Bakugou continues to tend to what he’s cooking. It goes on like this for a little while, before it hits you belatedly.

“Did anyone else get hurt?” you suddenly ask, “You know, aside from Masaki?”

“None, unless you count property damage,” he quips, and you let out a half-hearted laugh. You can hear him smirking when he adds: “Luckily, Kirishima and the others had enough foresight to evacuate the place entirely.”

“I’m guessing you know how they did it?”

At that, Bakugou nods. “…Although, I can’t say I agree with it.”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“They used government surveillance information to send targeted texts to the potential victims—parents on behalf of the students, staff, employees,” he reveals, voice low. “Something about a suspension that they needed to be quiet about for their safety. Except the guards, who had to be there at the entrance.”

“But—”

“That would’ve meant Masaki and the twins would receive the message, too, I know,” he interjects. “Good thing I managed to put their names on that piece of paper. Otherwise, we would’ve been fucked.”

“No shit,” is the only thing you can mumble, head reeling from the revelation just now.

“…We barely made it, huh?” he rejoins, quiet.

“Yeah…” you reply.

A pause.

Then—

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out of the blue, startling Bakugou. You refuse to meet his gaze, though, even as you continue. “For losing it back there.”

At that, Bakugou whips to look at you, and you have no choice but to look up at him. “Hah?”

“I didn’t think I’d use everything up, and it’s been so long since I last depleted my quirk like that,” is the only thing you can get out.

You let your eyes fall to your enjoined hands in front of you. “I couldn’t control myself. I’m…sorry.”

Another pause.

“Tsk.”

Your eyes widen at the unexpected sound, and despite yourself, you find your line of vision going back to Bakugou, who’s now scowling at you.

“The only thing you should be sorry for is that unnecessary as shit apology,” he spits, before turning back to the stove. “Now, come on. Help me with the plates.”

You do just as Bakugou says and assist him.

You end up situating the placemats and cutlery just as he finished up the dish, serving it not even a few minutes later in a luxurious-looking, suspiciously Todoroki-esque bowl that you’re sure costs more than a well-functioning arm.

You try to ignore it as you navigate yourself in his kitchen, although it eventually becomes apparent that a peculiar kind of tension lingers in the air still, but you figure it’s not entirely unfathomable.

It’s only been a few hours, after all.

You repeat this like an incantation in your head—again and again until it somehow sticks—even as you quietly say your thanks and dig in. Not one word is uttered in between spoonfuls of food, the silence reminiscent of yesterday’s dinner—even though yesterday now feels like a whole month ago.

At least, that’s what you were thinking, until a booming voice erupts throughout the room, entirely juxtaposing the earlier stillness. You startle, then ease up when you realize it’s All Might’s, and that it’s merely a ringtone. Bakugou scrambles to fetch his phone from the island, although whatever urgency he had just now goes out the window when he sees the caller ID.

“It’s Asahi,” he grumbles.

You hurriedly swallow your noodles. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Bakugou glares at his phone for another second before shaking his head and turning it off, walking back toward you.

“Isn’t he gonna get mad?” you ask just as he reseats himself.

“We’ve been on duty for over two weeks,” Bakugou snarls, picking back up his chopsticks. “He can kindly go fuck himself.”

That makes you snort, which earns you a smirk, although his face falls almost immediately after.

You swallow the discomfort that shoots to your throat at the sight of it.

You try not to get caught, but you secretly sneak glances for the rest of the meal, and only by the end of it do you notice that his hair’s gone back to its normal, unruly state—probably due to a shower that he took after you got home.

That, and there’s definitely something weighing him down.

You just don’t know what.

You don’t attempt to comment on it as you help him clean up the plates, or even as you start drying the dishes after he washes them beside you. He doesn’t try to start a conversation, either, focus seemingly trained solely on the task in front of him, although you know better than to believe what your eyes are telling you.

It’s that thought that ultimately emboldens you to speak up a few minutes in.

You clear your throat, eyeing him as subtly as you can. “…Something on your mind?”

To your dismay, he doesn’t answer you, only passing a plate without sparing you a single glance.

Well, then.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself deflate at his snubbing.

You had your doubts about coming forward and asking him, although that’s when the memories of the things you had to go through together came in and you thought he’d trust you enough to share—but you guess you’re getting ahead of yourself, because there’s no way he’d—

“You used your quirk on me, didn’t you?

You freeze, all thoughts wiped out from your brain.

You feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare turn to look at him, nor do you open your mouth.

He turns away, nodding. “I knew it.”

Fuck this.

“People don’t normally notice—” you blurt, and he shifts to face you again, “—when I use it on them.”

You scratch at your cheek, feeling weirdly restless. “I think it’s only because you’re perceptive to begin with, and because you know about me and what I can do.”

“Why’d you do it?” is his immediate response, catching you off guard. You splutter, although—to your chagrin—he only raises an eyebrow at you, expression nothing less than expectant.

What the hell are you supposed to say other than the truth, then?

“Fine,” you hiss, pulling your lips into a thin line. “It was because I noticed you were getting frantic.”

At that, Bakugou’s eye twitches. “You calling me sloppy?”

“No!” you exclaim, then backtrack. “I was just—I just did what my instincts told me…”

And really, you did.

That’s all you could’ve done in that situation, for a person with your experience.

And you’re about to expound on that to a skeptical Bakugou when, to your surprise, he nods.

“Good call,” he mutters so silently, but you hear it anyway, and your eyes widen.

You must be gaping at him like he just said you are the greatest person to have ever graced the earth because he immediately looks away, embarrassed, a sudsy bowl still in hand.

“It’s stupid,” he continues, and you barely clock him having resorted to aggressively toeing his house slippers—the pair you bought for him. “I’ve never really lost my cool like that before.”

Now, that you’re not sure of.

Still, you force out a decent reaction.

“R-really?”

You’re instantly granted with a side-eye. “Don’t sound so fucking shocked.”

“It’s not that—” you choke, “It’s just that—”

“I have a short temper, I know. Sue me,” he spews, shutting you up.

“But I never let that get in the way of my work,” Bakugou pushes, suddenly serious. “Never.”

You frown, placing the plate you’ve been holding in the drying rack. “Well, they did fool us by separating us last minute,” you offer just as you look back at him, “I’d be pissed, too, getting betrayed like that.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything in reply, opting to stare at you—borderline scowling—for what feels like a minute. He eventually sighs, and you find yourself mentally sighing at the break in eye contact as he puts down the dish he was in the middle of washing.

But then he turns to you again, face blank, and says the strangest thing.

“Tell me. Are you playing with my emotions right now?”

“What?” you cry, “No! Why would you even—”

You’re cut off when—without warning—Bakugou coaxes the towel from your hand and takes a step close, invading your space.

“Good,” he rumbles, voice low and gruff as he leans even closer. “Just wanted to make sure.”

That’s all the warning he gives you before he grabs your neck and dives in, pressing his lips firmly against yours. You instantly shut down at the contact, your body going rigid against his just like when he kissed you out of the blue this morning. But unlike earlier today, you don’t relax, and he must’ve sensed it, because he quickly pulls away, the hand that was just on your nape now resting on your shoulder.

“Shit,” Bakugou curses, a mortified look on his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” you interject, “I mean, it’s okay. It’s just…”

“Just what?” he breathes out, releasing you from his hold, and you don’t know if you’ve finally gone crazy, but did he just sound…hopeful?

No, he didn’t.

Which is why you muster up the courage to say the next thing.

“You’re just confused,” you finally get out, looking him straight in the eye.

His reply is instant.

“Believe me, I’m fucking not.”

That makes you frown, because why is he giving you such a hard time? You’re giving him an out, for god’s sake. A wake-up call, if you will.

That none of these is real.

And that he’s confusing make-believe with reality.

These very thoughts must be evident on your face because he studies you closely for a bit, a similar frown etched on his features. He then shakes his head, the same way he does when he’s getting impatient.

“You don’t believe me?” he finally says, and you’re about to say no, you do not, when he suddenly takes a step closer, and you find yourself stumbling back.

“What if,” another step forward for him, another one backward for you, “I tell you that I’ve been wanting to kiss the crap out of you, even when no one’s watching?”

Yet another step, and he finally stops. “Especially when no one’s watching.”

You can’t help it—you sputter, and to that, Bakugou only flashes you a devilish smirk. “Nothing?” he taunts, “You’ve got nothing to say?”

“J-just kiss?”

The second you say it, you know you fucked up.

His crimson eyes widen in surprise. “I mean, I want to fuck you, too, but—”

“No!” you cry, and he shuts up, “I mean, not like that. What I meant was, is this thing you’re feeling purely physical? Not that I think I’m all that—” you quickly disclaim, “—but is there something else, or…?”

At that, the motherfucker chuckles, and you’ve got half a mind to bury yourself in the very ground you’re standing on. But then you remember you’re on the top floor of a high-rise building, so that would only mean—

“I want to date the crap out of you, too, dumbass.”

“…Oh.”

A raised eyebrow. “Just ‘oh’?”

You flush. That was too soon of a reference.

Still, you have to respond.

“Oh, as in, oh, great,” you croak, “Because, believe it or not, I feel the same way.”

You can only watch in delight as Bakugou releases a breath you think he didn’t know he was holding, utter relief written all over his body. There’s no controlling the smile that breaches your mouth at the sight of it, earlier’s dreadful anticipation now morphing into a hoard of rabid butterflies. Bakugou sees the change in your countenance and grins.

“Does this mean I get to kiss you now? And that you won’t just stand there like a fucking corpse?”

That earns him a punch to the arm, which he takes in stride, laughing. “Can’t you just do it without teasing me?” you grumble, “You’re such a dickhead.”

“Got it, princess,” is the last (pestering) thing he says before reaching for your neck again and pulling you toward him, wasting no time in bringing your lips to his.

It doesn’t elude you that you’re still somewhat tense, but you eventually manage to will yourself to ease up just as his other hand shoots up to hold your cheek, tilting it so he can deepen the kiss. You can’t help it—you groan when he does, and he takes that as an opportunity to slowly enter your mouth with his tongue, and you squeak at the intrusion. He only laughs at that, but he doesn’t let up, his tongue seemingly having a mind of its own as it swirls and explores without restraint.

You don’t know how long this goes on—your brain filled with nothing but the sensation of Bakugou’s soft lips against yours—but he eventually pulls away, and you have to stop yourself from ogling at how debauched he looks with just his flushed face and swollen lips. You guess you aren’t any different, because Bakugou’s eyes rove over your face—hungrily—almost as if he’s drinking you in.

“You’re a good kisser,” you offer lamely, desperate for anything to fill the tense air.

At that, he coughs, as if he didn’t expect you to say that of all things. “T-thanks. You, too.”

You flash him a grateful smile, although it’s quick to falter.

A beat.

“So…” you try again, “What now?”

Bakugou looks down at his feet, suddenly shy. “I—uh, meant it, you know.”

You gulp. “Meant what?”

“That I want to fuck you.”

Shit.

“But I understand if you don’t want to, or if that’s moving too fast. It’s only been two weeks and—”

“Correction,” you cut in, “It’s been over two weeks. You said so yourself.”

That makes Bakugou pause, who only looks at you in bewilderment. “What are you trying to—”

“I’m ready,” you declare, voice nothing short of sure. “I want this.”

That seems to set something off in the pro-hero, because his entire demeanor shifts. You don’t get to comment on it before he’s back on you in an instant, encasing your lips in a searing kiss. You stagger back from the sheer force alone, grabbing onto his shirt for purchase as you stumble across the living room, not parting ways for even a second, his mouth hot against yours. He seizes you by the waist just as you almost crash into the wall, expertly maneuvering you through the door and into his bedroom, lips still molded together.

He only pulls away when you reach the foot of his bed, letting go of his grip on you to lift you bridal-style, the brazen display of effortless strength sending a shot of arousal into your veins. You loop your arms around his neck as he climbs over the mattress, inching toward the headboard before gently placing you down into the pillows. You waste no time pulling him back closer to you, initiating the kiss this time, and you think he must like that, judging by the way he groans quietly.

“What,” you mumble against his lips, “You like it when I take charge?”

“Fuck off,” he mumbles back, although he doesn’t break away, only biting your lower lip as if in punishment. You wince, but he’s quick to lave over it with his tongue. “Hurry up and—” a kiss, “—take off—” another kiss, “—mm—your clothes.”

That makes you laugh. Of course, he’d order you to strip after just cussing you out.

You don’t complain, though, lightly shoving him away so you can pull your shirt over your head. You glance at Bakugou when it’s off of you, and sure enough, he’s staring at your chest.

“Aren’t you gonna undress as well?” you ask pointedly, hoping your embarrassment isn’t showing on your face.

“Shit, right,” he blubbers, and you find yourself smiling as he hurries to take off his shirt.

Only that smile doesn’t get to last for too long before it’s instantly replaced with an ‘o’ at the sight of his ridiculously defined abs.

You point to it, honestly perturbed. “How the fuck is that even possible?”

Now that makes him laugh, the motion causing his abdominal muscles to flex and you blanch. “What if I tell you I’ve had them since high school?”

“Liar.”

Bakugou grins. “Had you known, would you have forced me to listen to your confession?”

“That’s it,” you make a move to get out of the bed but he tugs you back, flashing you a boyish smile that you don’t want to admit makes you—kinda—all weak in the knees.

“That was the last one,” he promises, still grinning, “I swear.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do I feel like you’re lying straight out of your ass.”

“Me?” he asks, feigning innocence as he crawls closer, towering over you again until you’re back to lying on the bed. “Never.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, looking anywhere but at him or his broad chest. Although, your efforts are all for naught because he lifts one hand and takes your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Can I take off your bra?” he inquires, the earnestness in his tone almost causing you to squirm.

You thankfully don’t—you’ve decided you’ve embarrassed yourself enough for today—and instead, nod. He doesn’t bother to say anything else as he reaches for your back, and you arch—slowly, Masaki did a number on you, after all—just in time so he can feel your clasp. It takes him a second to undo it, and a few more to lift it off of you, but when he does, the first thing he says is—

“Fuck.”

You snort. “I’m guessing that you like them.”

“Obviously, dumbass,” he spits, although it’s more playful than scathing. Then, he’s back to staring, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. “Wow.”

“What, is this the first time you’ve seen boobs?” you joke—because there’s no way a guy like him has never been with a girl—although the jesting lilt in your voice immediately dies out when his face falls and he looks away.

Shit.

There’s only one thing for you to do.

Reaching out for his nape, you tug him down until he’s only a few centimeters away, taking his lips into yours before he can protest. To your relief, he melts into your touch, back to eagerly returning the kiss in a matter of seconds. Wanting to make him feel good now more than ever, you let your other hand snake up to his hair, grabbing a fistful before pulling tentatively—as if to test the waters. You don’t end up disappointed—in fact, you’re far from it—when he groans against your mouth, louder than before. Emboldened by his generous reaction, you pull again—harder this time—and it’s your turn to be surprised when his hips buck involuntarily against your own, giving you the slightest bit of friction that’s nowhere near enough.

You rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache as discreetly as you can, although this motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who withdraws ever so slightly to study you.

“You okay?”

“Yes—it’s just,” you hesitate, before deciding you owe him the truth. “…I want you.”

Whatever Bakugou expected you to say, it sure wasn’t that—and so candidly, too—because he splutters, face evidently flushing despite the dim lights. “I-I want you, too,” he says honestly, “But I should warn you, I’ve never really done this before.”

“I thought you were gonna say you were massive,” you quip.

“Yeah,” he smirks without missing a beat, and you choke, “That, too.”

You slap his chest, which you instantly regret. “You’re the worst!”

He doesn’t say anything to that, only grinning as he leans in and—to your surprise—latches his lips onto your neck. You barely stop yourself from jolting in pleasure when he finds and nips at your pulse point—no doubt leaving a mark that you’re going to have to color correct tomorrow if you don’t want to get any funny looks. To your chagrin—or delight, you don’t fucking know at this point—Bakugou doesn’t stop his assault on your neck, instead bringing one hand up to graze the skin below your breast.

Suddenly tired of all the teasing, you grab his hand yourself and place it right on your boob, smiling when a curse is immediately muttered against your neck. You don’t let go of your hold, choosing to guide him on how to grope and fondle it instead. Bakugou catches on quickly, and before you know it, he’s already playing with your nipples, twisting and pulling them just the way you like.

“You can use your mouth, too, if you want,” you tell him a few moments later, stifling a moan when he sucks on a spot at the crook of your neck one more time, before nodding and easing down so he can be face to face with your chest.

He doesn’t let you get another word in before he takes a nipple into his mouth, and this time, you can’t stop yourself—you jerk against him—which only pushes it further. He takes the opening and starts sucking, and you’ve got half a mind to push him away. You don’t, though, and you doubt you could’ve anyway, his grip on your waist unrelenting as he switches between breasts, doing all sorts of things with his tongue that have your mind swimming.

“Still think I’m the worst?” he eventually looks up and asks roguishly, lips even more swollen and glistening with saliva.

“Jury’s still out—” you hiss when he pinches a nipple, and you swat him away. “Never mind, you are the worst.”

“Even when I do this?” he drawls, and you’re about to clarify with him what he’s going off about this time, when he unexpectedly slips a finger underneath your panties, and you barely, barely manage to bite back a moan.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re so wet.”

You fight back a shudder even as he traces the outline of your sex, seemingly entranced. “Are you—are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“What, you saying I’m a liar?” is his snarky retort, although he thankfully doesn’t stop his ministrations. In fact, your question only seems to provoke him, causing him to apply more pressure.

“N-no, it’s just that, fuck—” you huff, “I-I wouldn’t be surprised if you went d-down on me and you’d be good at that, too.”

That makes Bakugou pause, and you almost whine at the loss.

But then he practically rips your underwear out of the way, and you somehow don’t find it in you to care at all. They were granny panties anyway, and you’re too engrossed in how the pro-hero urges you to open your thighs for him, and then prying them open himself when you take too long to do it.

Not to mention the look on his face when he finally sees you.

“Stop staring at me, Bakugou,” you can’t help but grumble.

“Katsuki.”

“What?”

He doesn’t shift to look at you, gaze still focused between your thighs. “Call me Katsuki.”

That’s all the foreboding he offers before he dives in and licks a long strip along your slit, and you almost scream, if not for the hand you slap over your mouth the second that he does. He’s relentless—even as you squirm and tremble underneath him—lapping on your wetness like a man who hasn’t had a drop of water for days. You jolt when he flicks his tongue right at your clit, hands instinctively shooting up to grab at his hair. But then he makes the mistake of pushing the wet muscle into your entrance, and you inadvertently pull—hard—hard enough that it causes him to groan against your core, sending a surge of vibrations straight into your pussy.

“Fuck,” you warble, looking down at Bakugou only to see him peering up at you with half-lidded eyes that’s got you almost moaning again. “Keep on doing that.”

Fortunately, Bakugou doesn’t tease you for sounding pathetic just now, only choosing to do as you say. He resumes, with renewed vigor, paying particular attention to your clit this time. He keeps on licking it, and then sucking, before licking it again, that you almost don’t notice when a finger presses against your hole. But then he’s inching it slowly and you’re suddenly all too aware of the intrusion.

The first thing that registers is that his fingers are definitely bigger than yours.

The second thing is that fuck—did he just insert a second one?

You look down to where he’s stuck to your body, but you can’t see anything beyond his head of ash blonde hair.

But then he does a scissoring motion inside you just as he suckles at your clit, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You can’t help it—you finally moan—and you barely miss him grinning against your pussy at the sound of it.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes out, lifting his head a bit so he can speak. “I thought you were never gonna moan for me again.”

“Again?” you barely manage to answer, already missing his mouth on you. You may be out of it, but you’re certain you haven’t cracked until just now.

“Already forgot?” he goads, pulling his fingers out of you. “Let me remind you then.”

Before you can get up and coerce him to just shut up and continue what he was doing, he’s back to towering over you, smashing his lips against yours.

And then he does it—the thing he did before. The first day in your shared bedroom. You still don’t know what it is, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t fucking know, but it’s coupled with his scalding hold on your body, and despite yourself, you moan.

He promptly pulls away, a proud smirk on his face.

“Now, don’t hold back,” he commands cooly as you gape at him in half offense, half shock. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He then makes quick work of taking off his boxers, and at this point, you can only stare at him as he eases it off.

He wasn’t kidding.

If he’s noticing you practically eye-fucking him, though, he doesn’t comment on it, although the faint tinge of scarlet on his cheeks is undeniable. Instead, he only crawls over you again, right until he’s hovering over your pelvis.

Wait.

“Bakugou—” you start.

“Katsuki,” he corrects petulantly.

“Katsuki,” you force yourself to say, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, “Let me make you feel good, too.”

“Next time,” he quickly responds, and you feel your heart lurch at the promise of a continuation. “I just need to be inside you, or I’m gonna fucking nut.”

You frown, although his honest admission sends an undeniable thrill down your spine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he seethes, “Now, come on.”

You don’t waste another second, opening up your legs just enough for Bakugou to position himself between them. He’s got an arm propped at the side of your head to support his weight, while the other reaches down to finally grab his cock. He instantly hisses at the contact, and you don’t have to look to know it’s his pre-cum that’s dribbling down your thighs.

He then mutters a curse to himself, but it’s not exactly laced with lust just as it has been the past how many minutes.

And that’s when it hits you.

The guy is nervous.

You reach up to touch his cheek, his eyes shooting up to meet yours when you do. You offer him a small smile, one that you hope says ‘I’m alright’ and that ‘I want this’. But then you remember this is Bakugou freaking Katsuki, and the last thing he needs is to be placated.

“Relax, Katsuki,” you coo, grinning when he shoots you a glare.

“And you’re gonna have to do that on your own,” you tease, “I’m all out for today.”

That lights a flame under his ass, because the glare just now morphs into a look of determination, and one glimpse of it is enough to tell you you’re fucked.

“Spread your fucking pussy,” he growls, and you immediately do as he says. He’s back to gripping his cock in an instant, giving himself a few pumps before he’s aligning it with your entrance.

And just like that, he pushes in.

You both groan when he does, his massive dick barely breaching your hole, and yet, it already feels like your nerves are on fire. You sneak a peek at the pro-hero, and you’re glad you do, because you’re met with the glorious sight of Bakugou with his eyes clenched close, lips bit in a fierce attempt to stay quiet.

“Tell me when to move,” he rasps out, refusing to open his eyes.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, bringing your arms up to wrap them around his torso. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” he seethes, just as you feel his cock twitch inside you. “Or else I’m gonna finish.”

Knowing better than to press him, you nod instead, before wiggling your hips slightly. That grants you a curse from him, but before he can cuss you out, you speak up.

“I think I’m ready. You can move no—” you hiss when he pushes without warning, and he freezes.

“Fuck, I’m sorr—”

“Just—slowly, Katsuki. Go on, move.”

He pushes again—slowly, this time—and you can only sit there and take it as he eases in, inch by inch—stopping sometimes when it gets a bit much for you—until he’s finally, fully sheathed in.

“Shit.”

“God.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Bakugou grits out, head nestled within the crook of your neck. He still refuses to look at you, but apparently, that doesn’t matter as long as you’re being praised, because his comment inadvertently causes you to clamp down on his cock, and his breath hitches.

“Jesus,” he drones, burying himself further into your neck. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

You don’t answer him, choosing to tentatively roll your hips against his instead. He moans in your ear, and this time, you can’t help but whimper.

“Move, Katsuki,” you plead, “I can’t wait anymore.”

That seems to sober him right up, because he grunts in acknowledgement, before slowly lifting himself with his arms. Only then does he opens his eyes, and it takes everything within him not to cum at the sight of you.

He knows better than to fucking give up, though—not when he’s come this far—so with renewed purpose, he starts with small, shallow thrusts that have you mewling at him and him grunting at you, until he gradually builds speed and he’s pulling almost all the way out only to slam back into you again.

He does this again and again—somehow deeper and deeper each time—all the while panting and moaning above you, until he prods at a particular spot that has you jerking violently against him, cursing. “Fuc—”

“Shit,” he freezes, “What—”

“No, no, no, no,” you cry out, clawing at his bare arms, “Don’t stop!”

At your request, Bakugou’s back to pounding into you in an instant, and you barely miss him looking at you with feral eyes before he hits the spot again, and you scream.

“Right—fuck—right there!”

At that, Bakugou rolls his hips once more and hits your G-spot squarely, and you moan.

“Right there?” he breathes out in question, chest puffing in pride as he watches you bob your head desperately, too blissed out to even care what you look like.

But then your walls are clamping down on him again, and Bakugou curses. “I’m not gonna l-last any l-longer,” he manages to get out, choosing to look at anywhere but your face.

“P-play—fuck,” you choke out, “—play with my c-clit.”

And when you don’t immediately feel his finger on your bud: “Hurry.”

That has Bakugou rushing to rub your clit, and you can only beg for more as the overwhelming feeling of his cock inside you mixes with the euphoria brought by his fingers—until you feel the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm.

“K-Katsuki,” you shudder, “I’m gonna c-cum.”

“I’m g-gonna—” he grunts, eyes clenched closed, “—fuck—I’m gonna cum, t-too.”

“Katsuki,” you call again, and he turns his head to face your direction. “Look at me.”

And when he does—open his eyes—you roll your hips against his as best as you can, and you say it.

“Give it to me, hero.”

And just like that, he cums.

Hard.

And you cum right with him, digging your nails into his biceps as you moan, so loud you wish he’d kiss you to shut you up, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he moans with you—a strangled one that strangely sends a pang of longing straight to your chest, a longing that you can now finally admit is for the very person in your arms, who you so ardently wish would stay there, even if the mission is long over.

You don’t say any of this, though, even as he kisses your forehead before slowly pulling out, or even as he silently pads to the bathroom to get a towel so he can get you cleaned up. You thank him as he does, and watch him as he puts it away and hesitates for a moment—as if the manual he’s read about sex as a high schooler ends at physical aftercare and he’s run out of instructions.

It’s after a few more moments of awkward silence do you finally sit up and move, scooching over to make space beside you. Bakugou’s eyes trail your movement, widening when he realizes just what you’re doing. He’s stiff even as he crawls to the spot next to you, promptly taking the duvet cover that was tossed to the side in the middle of…everything, before laying it on top of your bodies.

“Thanks,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say.

“‘s nothing,” is his reply, voice equally quiet.

Neither of you says anything for a while, even as Bakugou gently tugs your head so you can rest it on his shoulder.

It’s you, though, who breaks the silence.

“You know, had I known things were gonna end this way, I would’ve just slept in the same bed as you.”

“Fucking tell me about it.”

a/n. :') first off, i want to thank you, friend, for taking a chance on this series and reading it up 'til the end. this has been the biggest endeavor i've ventured into as a writer, and it still feels surreal to me that i'm writing this now as i am about to post the last chapter. that being said, the biggest thank you to everyone who's shown love to all out of luck, especially the ones who left even just a single-worded comment. with the series having reached its end, it would mean the world to me if you let me know what you think about it / how it was for you <3 thank you so so much!!!

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[prickly-paprikash]

Kendrick doesn't just hate Drake as a person. He hates the very idea of Drake.

Hip-Hop is rooted in revolution. In defiance. These are the songs of an oppressed group of people, and decades upon decades people have hated it. Accused of being meaningless and invalid. Media outlets took steps to belittle hip-hop and make sure it isn't recognized as an art form and as a means to fight back.

2Pac spoke of wealth disparity and inequality. Tupac was literally a member of a communist organization when he was younger and never stopped speaking against capitalism.

Lauryn Hill spoke of the struggles a woman faces. Not just women, but black women. Salt-N-Peppa. Queen Latifah. MISSY FUCKING ELLIOT.

N.W.A made sure people knew about police brutality and violence against the Black community.

And now, in this day and age, we're also experiencing an explosion of Queer Hip-Hop. Lil Nas X is at the forefront of this. Lil Uzi Vert came out as non-binary and uses they/them pronouns, even when they knew that a lot of their fans would never use it or even respect them for it. Auntie Diaries, a song about a young man who grew up in a transphobic environment and bought into those beliefs, but could never fully do it because his Uncle loved him so much and taught him a lot of life lessons, and that wisdom translated to him accepting his cousin as a woman as well.

Drake is none of that.

He's the perfect representation of what people think hip-hop is. Flexing. Posturing. Objectifying women. A fucker so insecure he bought 2Pac's ring just to feel like he's part of the black community. Rejected by Rihanna publicly. Tried to groom Millie Bobby Brown. Kissed and inappropriately touched an underage girl during his concert. His songs have inspired so many young boys to treat girls like shit. His belief that the amount of rings and chains and cars he has is the true meaning of success.

Additional Edit: This is my fault. If this post gains more views, then it would be remiss of me not to add to this. It was my fault to begin with, not stating this beforehand because while I did know, I got lost in celebrating Hip-Hop in a place that doesn't usually do so, and rightfully so.

2Pac did fight for wealth equality and better social living for the black community. He also has a long, long history of battery, domestic abuse, and sexual harassment against women. Specifically against women of color. He made a song to celebrate his own mother, but outright refused to give the same show of respect to other women in his life. His hypocritical nature was brushed off in later decades, just the way I did now.

N.W.A is the same. Sexual assault charges, violence—they spoke of Police reform, but refuses to give the same treatment back towards the women in their lives.

50 cent refuses to backtrack on any of his misogynistic lyrics.

Modern rappers of today, such as the dead XXXtentacion. 6ix9ine. Kodak Black.

I do love Hip-Hop. I love rap. And the music itself has always been anti-authoritarian at its core, because those are its roots. And I was happy that circles that did not normally know of it or enjoy it were getting into it, even for one thing like this rap feud.

Lil Nas X, Little Simz, Childish Gambino, Missy Elliot, Queen Latifah, Lauryn Hill—rappers who have at the very least consistently tried to put their money where their mouth is. Who have tried to act in accordance to what they rap and write and sing for.

@shehungthemoon @ohsugarsims finnthehumanmp3 were the ones who rightfully clarified in the comments. I know an apology won't correct my hypocrisy or my stupidity. I should have added all of this before making this post, but I wanted so badly to celebrate a genre of music but failed to do my due diligence in showing a better, holistic view of it. If anyone felt triggered, offended, troubled, frustrated or any other intense negative emotions surrounding this, please do block me. I'm sorry.

[sunrizef1]

Milk and Sugar

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isn’t anyone specific don’t @ me

Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesn’t actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.

Word Count: 9.6k

Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldn’t write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao

You were just doing a favor for a friend.

Or that’s what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadn’t even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and that’s what friends are for, right?

So that’s how you’d ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.

You’d met Max a few years back. You’d moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.

“Apollo! Stop!” You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didn’t listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.

The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.

Once you’ve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see who’d saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. You’re met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.

You’re too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.

“Are you okay?” And then he speaks for the first time and you’re captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.

You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.”

The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, “I’m more of a cat person, anyway.”

You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, “Ahh, guess we can’t be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.”

He laughs again, grinning warmly, “Any way I could help you with this? Can’t imagine it’s easy moving in with a dog running around.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, “Only if you’re free! I wouldn’t want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.”

Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, “It’s no big deal, I’m surprisingly free today.”

You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.

“Usually I learn a man’s name before I invite him into my apartment,” you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.

“I’m Max.”

You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.

“It’s nice to meet you max,” you say, smiling as you see Max’s face light up happily, “How inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?”

Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, “I’d love to help, y/n. Can’t have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?”

Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldn’t try and run away before closing the door behind you.

Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that it’d be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didn’t bring up the fact he’d been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.

That had been three years ago and you’d been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.

He’d had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, you’d casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.

He’d also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldn’t watch them if they hated each other.

All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.

It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.

You were very content.

This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. You’d given him a key for emergencies, although you couldn’t possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.

You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.

“Hello, Max. Can I help you?” You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.

“Bad time?”

You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, “Maybe a little, but it’s fine, really. Did you need something?”

Max nods, sitting up straighter, “I may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, “Okay?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, “You know how I just went through that breakup, right?”

You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.

“Well,” Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, “It’s been weird on the grid since then.”

“Okay,” you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.

“Ever since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like I’m a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though I’m completely fine!”

You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasn’t very fine for a while, although he’d miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes he’d soon get to the point of the conversation.

“They also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,” Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.

Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, “I was wondering if you could, maybe..”

Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry?”

Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.

“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?” Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, “Just long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you don’t even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-“

Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before he’s cut off by you interrupting him.

“Max!” You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since he’s crashed through your front door, “I’ll do it.”

He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, “Really?”

You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, “Why not? You’re my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesn’t want to travel around the world to all those different cities?”

Max’s face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, “Thank you so much! I owe you one.”

You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.

“Where are you going? Did I scare you off already?” You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didn’t really think he’d scared you off.

He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.

Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.

What had you gotten yourself into?

————

“Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Max’s car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping they’d hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.

You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering he’s the one who’d asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.

You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.

The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish you’d opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, you’d always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. You’d also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.

As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You don’t even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.

You finally do notice that Max hasn’t let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.

As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel people’s eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.

You’re sure you’ll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Max’s hotel room the next day. You’re sure your mom will send you whatever article they’ll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity “boyfriend”.

You’d been curled up in Max’s hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. He’d wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to step out as “Max Verstappens new girlfriend” until you’d woken up Sunday morning.

You’d woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Max’s soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.

You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, you’d immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasn’t the only reason.

You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.

You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.

You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadn’t. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.

The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You don’t glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.

“There was only those little creamer pods,” Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, “Hope that’s okay.”

You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, “That’s fine, thanks.”

You’d usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but you’d had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that you’d be able to survive with just the creamer pods.

You watch Max’s side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You don’t quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.

You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.

“You coming to the race today?” Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail he’d just been looking out over.

Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times he’d dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days he’d come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when he’d attempted to cook you soup when you’d been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day you’d met when he’d helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.

As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why you’d agreed to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.

————

That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Max’s car passes the finish line in second. You’d been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You weren’t the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. You’d even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.

Because of Max’s insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what it’s worth, didn’t seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, you’d only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.

Max doesn’t get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know he’s talking out of his ass but you’re grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.

“Landos gonna have a big celebration,” Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, “He’ll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.”

You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, “Good for him, seems like he really deserves it.”

Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, “Yeah, I’m not even that mad about losing. Nothing I could’ve done really. Im just glad he got his win.”

You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, “You should go to his party, I’ll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.”

You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, “What are you talking about?”

You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, “You should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!”

He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, “Why would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? I’d rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, you’ll be there to see me win.”

You’re already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, “That okay?”

At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You don’t notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.

“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.

You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Max’s shirtless back etched into your mind.

Jesus Christ.

————

“What do you wanna watch?” Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, “Come get some food.”

He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasn’t currently sitting on.

Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You don’t notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.

Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. He’s wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. He’s also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you can’t understand.

You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.

You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.

“What?” Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, “What’s so funny?”

Your head turns toward the driver who’s grin is now matching your own, “You chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words “Grand Prix” can’t even get away from racing in your hotel room.”

He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, “It’s a good movie.”

You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamilton’s voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.

You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Max’s face, you’re right back into it again, Max laughing in response.

You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you don’t move from your spot, using the reasoning that it’s just easier to see the screen from his bed.

You try not to notice the proximity between you. You’d been holding hands all day and you’d pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldn’t bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Max’s arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.

He doesn’t move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that you’d know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesn’t notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.

You wake up before him again the next morning, don’t the same thing you’d done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.

When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact you’d woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.

————

The São Paulo Grand Prix.

It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. That’s right, you’d managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. There’s been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.

The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.

He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, you’d end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. You’d also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.

He’d eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.

This specific morning, you were watching the city of São Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadn’t completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it should’ve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing you’d worn something other than a t-shirt.

The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as it’s placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.

After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but he’s still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.

You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.

The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you don’t really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.

Once you’ve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.

You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that you’d missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.

You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man who’d handed you the drink, “Is this milk and sugar?”

Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, “Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.”

You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, “Where’d you get milk and sugar?”

“Couldn’t sleep last night, went for a walk. There’s a corner store down the block and I picked some up,” Max says it casually, like it’s not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.

You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.

As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what you’d been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.

You were in love with Max Verstappen.

You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didn’t just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches you’d flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.

You wanted this life with him. All the time.

“Max-” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.

“My ex is going to be at this race,” he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, “Just wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.”

You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Max’s ex rolling around aimlessly.

You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you don’t even look up as you rush into the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay?” Max says as you close the door behind you. You don’t notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.

You’re too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee he’d handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.

For a moment there, you’d thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didn’t want you to come back around the next weekend.

Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one he’d loved, you were just a girl he knew.

You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where you’d been anxiously picking at them.

You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.

————

A few hours later, you’re by Max’s side again, although there’s a slightly larger distance between you than usual.

That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.

But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.

Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your… situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.

At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.

So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.

Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.

Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.

You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.

The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.

The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.

As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.

But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.

You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people you’d gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.

When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.

It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.

He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.

You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, “Good job, you did amazing Max.”

His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, “Thank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.”

You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.

He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.

But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.

Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.

Throughout all of that, you’d almost forgotten you were in love with him.

But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.

“I’ll see you in a minute, yeah?”

You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.

Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, “Let’s get to the podium, kid.”

You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.

The podium celebration is cute, Max’s happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.

But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.

You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.

As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.

It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Max’s voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.

And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Max’s ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.

He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.

You roll your eyes when you catch Max’s eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, “Hey, baby.”

Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, “Hey, Max.”

You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, “Oh my god, hi! You must be Max’s ex!”

She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, “Yeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.”

You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, “I am, yeah. He's just so perfect. We’re so happy together!”

She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.

“Well, I’m happy you moved on, Max,” She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, “You seem… perfect together.”

Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, “Yeah, I’m really happy.”

His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, “Have a great life, Max!”

“Thanks, I guess!” Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.

“Thank you!” Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, “Did you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.”

You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, “Yeah, you're welcome.”

You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.

“You okay?” He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.

“Yeah,” you nod curtly, looking back ahead, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.

He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.

While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.

And with the departure of Max’s ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Max’s life and give him the solitude he so longed for.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.

When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.

He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.

You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.

You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.

"What is your problem?" You hear Max’s voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.

"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.

Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."

"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.

You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.

Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.

He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Max.”

"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.

"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.

Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"

He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"

"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.

Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.

How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?

"What?" Max’s voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.

"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,” Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.

"What are you talking about?" At Max’s purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.

His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence you’d had at the start of your outburst.

The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.

"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,” you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.

You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.

But he doesn't.

His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.

"I do, though. I do need you."

You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.

He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.

As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.

Max’s hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.

“I love you,” the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, “I'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.”

You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.

“I only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, “But I'm kind of glad I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.

But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."

You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.

And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."

Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.

Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Max’s eyes, a special glint shining through.

You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.

“I love you too, by the way,” He says softly, “Dont know if you noticed.”

You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, “I assumed so, yeah.”

You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, “Shut up.”

And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.

The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.

You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.

Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you don’t even have to look to know it’s Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.

You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesn’t walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.

You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.

Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.

——————

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

...

“Huh… whazat—?” 

A shrill—earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud—noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it? 

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice—fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call—quite literally in this case. 

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress – along with the charger cord still attached to it – and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you’re perfectly content to just leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake. 

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.  

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?” 

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?” 

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—” 

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?” 

“Should I need a reason to call my only daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—” 

“Mom!” 

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.” 

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?” 

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.” 

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.” 

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, your laundry– gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop. 

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. “Mom, I swear–” 

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.  

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new. 

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards. 

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as that sounds. 

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you. 

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum–depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue. 

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do. 

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you–almost accusatory. 

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived. 

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words. 

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update—although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game—so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament. 

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead – probably tonight when you do your daily login – you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus. 

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling up your throat. 

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word—from what even—so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation: 

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?” 

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming–but there. 

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh. 

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you. 

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell dropped on you and you might just blow. 

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

-

-

-

If you didn’t switch your phone to silent, didn’t make the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend–nope, nothing unusual here–you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now. 

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust. 

Thanks for reading! 

[astonmartinii]

hey girlie!! idk if you're still taking requests but if you are, can you please do a max smau where fem!reader is an interviewer (specifically the one who asks the grill the grid questions). maybe max kinda just flirts with reader during grill the grid vids.

behind the camera | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x reader

max was never a fan of his media commitments, but maybe there's a reason he perked up in the more recent grill the grid episodes.

masterlist if you want to leave a tip

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, alexalbon and 1,209,874 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: somebody tell 2019 max that one day he'll thank the gods for "those stupid fucking videos they make me do", stick it out chief it's definitely worth it

view all comments

user3: alpha male tiktok flirting coaches fear him

user4: grill the gris is now love island???

yourusername: glad i could make you enjoy media duties ... though i will miss the sass, max and alex hating on the media is one of my comfort videos

maxverstappen1: comfort what?

yourusername: it's cute, but you're even cuter when you're having fun !!

maxverstappen1: please show me when i get back

yourusername: be prepared it's like 20 minutes long

maxverstappen1: @alexalbon maybe we should stop complaining ...

alexalbon: i'm happy you're happy but never make me sit through you trying to drop game again

user5: the way it wasn't even that bad ...

alexalbon: it was so bad they edited 90% of it out, you couldn't waterboard the shit he was saying out of me

maxverstappen1: it really wasn't that bad you're being dramatic albono

alexalbon: you said she should give you a chance because you are one in "emilian" you dork

yourusername: and i thought that was super cute, sue me

landonorris: ^^that is tragic mate

maxverstappen1: i haven't forgotten how you exposed me in that video, i'll have you know that was a heart felt christmas gift from sebastian

landonorris: oof my bad, though it was more about the spider

maxverstappen1: well i'm sure seb is against the unlawful deaths of innocent spiders

sebastianvettel: they are killed for the crime of being small

landonorris: are we reciting poetry right now?

yourusername: what happened to the original plot of the movie ?

note: ahhhh i hope this is what you were thinking!! i had so much fun making this though i suck at writing flirting (probably cause i never do it lol)

[runningupthatvecna]

get the peach(es)

bestfriend!eddie munson x reader

it's the day after chrissy got vecna'd and you and the gang decide to check up on eddie at rick's. he's still in so much distress that you can't help but selflessly stay with your best friend (who you've been harboring a crush on for quite some time) and keep him company. 6k words, not proofread.

cw: the good old friends to lovers trope, eddie is an anxious bean who just needs to be held (by you, ideally), mutual (and not so secret at all) pining, i wrote this with fem!reader in mind (she/her pronouns) but can also be read as gn i guess, fluff, hurt/comfort (for eddie), pet names, mentions of chrissy's death, there shall be kisses and a lot of softness. nothing too explicit but minors are still advised to LEAVE

a/n: totally not self indulgent, that scene of him being so terrified in 4x02 ripped me to shreds so this is my fix-it attempt, trying to still my need to hold him and scratch his head. disclaimer: this piece of writing is based on the ending of that episode, meaning all credits for the setting go to the respective writers. sources to the header images here, here and here. lovely divider by saradika. ok thank you so much for reading byeeee love y'all <3

–––––

The overwhelming need to befriend the satanic metalhead found you at that party at the Wheeler house. You had almost said no to Nancy when she invited you, knowing damn well how the night would end. Steve passed out with a girl on his lap, Robin silently pining after Vickie from some corner of the room while clinging onto the red plastic cup in her hand, Jonathan getting higher than a kite with his old school mates, the younger kids asking you every five minutes if you could give them a ride since you usually were the one staying sober.

Additionally this time, there would be Eddie Munson. This familiar stranger Dustin, Mike and Lucas had met and somehow befriended over the last months, due to them joining his DnD club. "He might come off as a bit intimidating ... but I promise he's super chill and easy going!", Mike had tried to convince his sister, poking the tip of her shoulder repeatedly with a bunch of pleases during lunch break in the editing room of the school's newspaper. Until she rolled her eyes theatrically and agreed to let the ambiguous stranger, which the whole town collectively perceived as not really fitting in (and who you both certainly knew under the not so chill reputation he carried around), attend the celebratory events at Casa Wheeler. Occasion: Karen, Ted and their youngest leaving the house for more than one day, off on vacation.

You'd always kinda stayed out of his ways, used to observe his antics back at school with a silent laugh and this .. intrigue poking at your guts. To you he always stood out, and if anyone asked you'd be hesitant to admit it, but his willingness to go against the flow and not conform to the acceptable standards set by society was honestly impressive. And besides, surely this whole mysterious drug dealer rockstar image must just be a fassade and deep down he's just a dork, right?

His eyes follow you through the living room, an echo of your name crossing his mind repeatedly after having pulled Dustin into a corner for a brief interrogation. He finds it endearing how quickly and almost bashfully you look away every time your curious gaze meets his. As you redirect your focus to the conversation you're becoming engaged in, there's a soft smile creeping onto your lips. Little did he know it would soon start to haunt him in his dreams at night.

"Anything specific you're looking for?"

God, his voice. The close proximity invites your nose to inhale a mix of fresh cigarette smoke, bergamot and sandalwood, allowing you to sense what can only be him standing behind you as you skim through the cabinets of the Wheeler kitchen. You turn your head for your eyes to confirm your assumption and what they find is the deepest brown of round baby cow eyes they've ever met, up so much closer now. The paring of his gaze and plush smile somehow manages to dissolve every little prejudice you've been involuntarily harboring about him. Eddie Munson, the town's freak. Prime reason for the existence of the satanic panic. Drugs. And then you realise that you should probably do the polite thing and give him an answer. "Yeah uh, I was just trying to find the peach syrup", holding his gaze with a small lopsided smile, lost in its warmth which you wouldn't have dared to expect from it, before facing away from him again. He snorts a little, "peach syrup?", pauses to bring a thumb to his upper lip, lightly scratching the skin above as if to wipe something away, before he removes it again and the dimples appear around the corners of his mouth, "that is oddly specific." His response spreads a smile over your face, and the next thing he says widens it, "looks like you have taste though."

You move one step to the side, about to investigate the insides of the next cabinet, the kitchen itself almost empty of people with only three others chatting away in the corner across the island. He follows, undoubtedly trying to stay close, and the heat from the fire he just ignited somewhere inside of you rises to your cheeks. "Thanks, I really like peaches. Especially in my drinks. It adds a little ... kick to my sobriety", you explain, Eddie now quirks an amused eyebrow paired with a lopsided smile at you, and as you get to the last cabinet it dawns on you (and also Eddie) that this household severely lacks peach syrup. An atrocity. Thanks Ted.

After he helped you rummage through the entirety of the kitchen without success but under a lot of small talk, the metalhead vanishes from the function for an hour or so. At least that's what your brain concludes when your vision fails to spot him among the people who are in attendance. Maybe he's selling out of Nancy's bedroom. Maybe he's puking up his insides in the bathroom because he had too much of that weird beer he's been downing all night. Maybe he's banging some random girl in the bathroom upstairs. Or summoning a demon. Or both. At the same time. You once again try focusing your attention back to the conversation you are involved in. Munson already feels so dear to you that the lack of his presence is starting to form an ache in your heart. It's tugging on those strings with how much you already want him near you. Yeah. You're gonna be in trouble with this one.

And then he stumbles into the room from the direction of the front door, an event you're totally unable (and unwilling) to miss. He doesn't look like he just puked, nor sold a whole lot of the stash since you notice it still bulging out the left ass pocket of his black jeans. Instead, as he pushes past the small groups of people socialising – and towards you – while you notice a red net of round fruits dangling from his right hand, and you start to think that his disheveled hair and that rosy tint on his cheeks might actually not be from shagging either. He meets your gaze again as he approaches you with a grin and your heart dares to swell at his attentive gesture (you think you might as well pass away on the spot).

"Have some, peach."

It's not syrup, but you'll take them anyway. And with your next drink, you swallow down not only that peachy sweetness on your tongue, but also whatever this tingly feeling in your chest is.

"Chchhrhch.."

Pause.

"Hey, uh– chrhchhr.."

Silence in your bedroom, the only thing illuminating the space is the moonlight softly falling through the window.

"Chrch– a-are you there?"

You stirr awake from dozing off in your bed, trying to piece together the information your senses are giving you.

Eyes gone dry, you have to blink a few times. Figure out which year it is and so on.

Confusion lies between the static crackle for a moment. That nap after your shift at the diner was necessary. God, you need to fucking quit.

"No I'm sure she'll pick right up, just– hey pleeease b-be awake, goddamn it!–"

Is it already past midnight?

You don't know and you can't tell, the clock on your nightstand still broken. What you do know though is that the familiar voice belongs to your friend Dustin and it's desperately trying to get ahold of you.

They must have found him.

"Dustin? I copy, where are you? What's going on?", you finally grab the device from the nightstand, fully awake and aware of your surroundings now.

You need to know. If he's okay.

There's that all too familiar instant tingle in your chest again, an ache that made itself familiar to you for the first time when he was introduced to you at the one and only Wheeler party several months ago. The dungeon master of Hawkins High's Hellfire club, the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin and a super chill and easy going guy, to put it in Mike Wheeler's words.

What you didn't expect back then was your heart starting to develop that feeling, that tingle you'd always get to feel when you were in his presence, or like now, when his name is threatening to spill from your friend's lips on the other side of the connection at any moment.

"Aha! See? I told you she'd respond in no time."

You can practically feel Dustin's shit eating grin through the frequency, basking in being correct over Steve Harrington once again. It never gets old between these two.

"Oh my god", Steve's muffled voice is what you can make out vaguely from the off, he's probably palming his face.

"Dustin!", your voice disappears into the device, and your impatience grows with every passing second, hoping he gets the hint.

There's the sound of a door falling shut, leaves rustling under shoes, he must be outside now.

"Alright, okay yeah, so we found him at Rick's and he's really upset and he's been asking for you. I know it's late but can you meet us out here? And maybe, uh, stay with him?"

It's not even worth questioning. You're already wearing shoes. Your biggest hoodie in tow, you stumble into your kitchen with the intention to raid your own snack drawer. Pulling out Eddie's favourite, which you of course had stocked up on ever since hanging out with him at your place had become more of a weekly routine for the both of you.

Ten minutes, you told him. You'd be there in ten.

The drive feels like forever. The longest ten minutes of your life, you think.

You know the route like the back of your hand, having driven along the gravelly road leading from the last intersection before Hawkins' border to the outer world, to the serene woods surrounding Lover's Lake countless times. Eddie would take you here ever so often, for picnics, an occasional smoke after picking up a new delivery from Rick's, cloud or star gazing, listening to Metallica and Tears for Fears on Wayne's old walkman.

The gravel crunches underneath your white reeboks as they land on the ground. You close the door to your car as quietly as possible after you've taken out the bag and your hoodie.

Dustin and Steve are stood outside the boathouse, waving like madmen in the darkness once you come into their periphery.

The younger boy hugs you tightly.

"So glad you could make it", he gets out, the relief palpable through his voice as well as the grip he holds you in for a brief moment.

You look at them both after Steve presses you against him cordially, and breathe out through your nose, making your nostrils flare.

Dustin cracks open the case to you as he starts to ramble about the state in which they found your best friend, "well first he attacked Steve with a broken bottle, we had to put in great effort to convince him that we'd be on his side, and we came to the conclusion that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, basically."

What you want right now goes without saying. Everyone here knows how close you and Eddie are. As friends, of course. No one would think anything different.

Without wasting another second, the boys lead you inside where Max and Robin are knelt on the wooden floor. Heads turning towards the entrance of the room where you're now standing.

The sight of what's offered to your eyes, sitting opposite of them, breaks your heart.

You can see that he's slightly shivering, eyes glassy in the dim lit room. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips though once his brain grasps your presence, and he can't help anymore but let the water fall once his eyes lock with yours.

The pain that is swimming in those two deep warm brown oceans hits you like a dagger to the chest. Over the months of being friends with him you'd seen him various different states, none of them comparable to this.

"Peach", his shaky voice announces your arrival and the sound of your nickname spilling from his lips cracks through your bones. The bag that's slung around your shoulder drops onto the wood with a dull thud.

Wobbly legs carry him towards you with a gentle shove past Robin and Max. You're once again reminded of your best friend's sheer physical strength as he wraps his arms around you, instantly burying his face into the crook of your neck.

One arm of your own sneaks around his torso, pressing him against you as tightly as your own strength allows you, while your other hand comes up to bury itself underneath the mane and to end up scratching soothingly over the scalp above the nape of his neck.

Eddie lets out a muffled sob, sniffling into the collar of the sweatshirt you threw on in a haste. He doesn't really want anyone to see him like this, certainly not Steve Harrington, so he clutches onto you so tightly that he thinks you might just feel his heavy heart beating anxiously against your chest.

And you do. How could you not with the amount of world he means to you? Like an automatism your other hand rubs slow circles over his back. Comforting him in the best way you could. Not a conscious decision you make.

"Okay so, m'not meaning to ruin the party, in fact I'd love to stay for another round of doom talk, but I really should get home soon, guys", Robin scratches the back of her head after she gets up from her huddled position next to the wooden crate Eddie had been sitting on. Max joins in and agrees, mumbling something about having to move her mom from being passed out on the couch again into her bed.

"Yeah me too, actually. My dad's gonna be fucking pissed. We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?", Steve's voice echoes through the room and you can tell he's already shoved Dustin back outside, itching to drive the kid home.

As Eddie processes having to stay in hiding, added the possibility of everyone leaving without him, his grip on you tightens even more.

"It's okay, Eds", you speak softly, head slightly tilted so your cheek rests on the dark frizzy mop you could call his hair. The skin on his neck and scalp so warm underneath your fingertips as you keep scratching it, emphasizing your presence, "I'll stay."

A soft muffled whimper is what you get as a response, and the way he lets you see him in this state melts your insides to a puddle.

You just need him to be okay.

They wave their goodbyes behind your back, accompanied by mumbles of "see you in the morning", and you can't even bring yourself to turn your head around, fully focused on making the young man in your arms less terrified of the world. A world he was sure was now going to come for him with all its force – in deep conviction of him being responsible for Chrissy's misfortunate end.

The door falls shut and Eddie muffles a quiet thank you into the fabric of your sweatshirt. The skin on your neck is damp with his tears, wet eyelashes tickling every time he blinks.

"It's okay, Eds", you softly keep repeating your words to him while continuously rubbing over the denim of his signature Dio vest in a slow motion, when he feels the urgency to claim the truth into the collar of your sweater about what has happened, "I– I didn't do it, I swear."

As if you would need any convincing.

"Oh no of course you didn't, I know that", you're looking for a way to ease the distress this entire situation is causing him, his quivering voice adding to your desire to soothe him to inner peace, "can I make a suggestion?"

Eddie nods with another sniffle against your collarbone, the round wet tip of his nose brushing against the column of your throat lightly. To his ears, your voice sounds like silk right about now.

"How about we head over to the main house and get ourselves a little more comfortable? Since we're gonna be here for a little longer? My god you probably haven't slept or eaten at all, have you?"

You can feel him nod his head again with a hum this time, and you start to think that the tears might not just be pouring because he just witnessed someone suffer a gruesome death right in front of him, but also due to physical exhaustion.

It makes your heart ache even more, that tingle still present, even more so now. It hurts to see your best friend hurt.

He just needs to be okay. And in that heart of yours there's that little spark of hope that leads you to believe you could be the one helping him with that.

You'd really want that. Be all his to find comfort in, to hold close, to kiss stupid

Stop.

A sigh escapes your lungs at the thought. That tingle, that longing, it's selfish. It familiarly pools in your belly and slowly drips downwards. You push your brain aside. This is about soothing your best friend now.

"C'mon then", you utter softly, encouraging him with your hand to lift his head from where it leans against your shoulder.

For your heart it's almost too much to look at, the hurt still swimming in the glassy big brown irises, his waterline red and puffy. The soft smile returning to his lips causes the wet apples of his cheeks to push up slightly, reflecting the dim light coming from the one torch Robin left you, placed on one of the crates.

He really hadn't been able to close an eye for a single second since he he'd gotten up for school the day prior.

You smile back at him almost bashfully as you slowly create space between your bodies.

Eddie is grateful that it's you who grabs his ringed hand next.

He squeezes yours, hoping to get the message of this meaning something to him across.

And he closely trails behind you as you lead the way.

The house feels empty, like no one's really been here in months. You'd never been inside. The few times you'd accompanied Eddie grabbing stash you'd stayed in his van, waiting. But as far as you now can make out in the darkness, there's a couch with knitted blankets, a little TV with a whole stack of VHS almost rising as high as the screen itself, spilled and spluttered empty cans and papers and wrappings littered all around. Maybe this is why he never let you come inside with him. Keeping you out of this definitely not sterile mess. Along with keeping you out of the business.

In the middle of the living room, you let go of his hand and shuffle one step away from him. He's inside now. Safe. Job done. Doesn't need physical contact. You shouldn't, he's your friend. You feel like something between you would break if you'd go there.

Eddie thinks otherwise, regarding close proximity at least. He promptly follows you into what you believe to be the kitchen where you hope you might find a tea bag or two. He comes up behind you and encases you in his arms as you rummage through the cabinets (feels familiar, hm?), not at all ready to say goodbye to the warmth of your body pressed against his own just yet.

You giggle at the silliness of him putting weight on you just to make it harder for you to reach into the cabinets. It's endearing. And very Eddie.

Twenty minutes later and there's two mugs – cleaned to your best ability – with steaming hot liquid on the sixties wooden coffee table. Next to them a plate filled with the almost equally hot insides of a ravioli in tomato sauce can. Thank Rick for a still functioning microwave.

You drape the knitted blankets over both you and Eddie as you settle into the cushions. The only light existent coming from two lit candles on said coffee table. It wouldn't be too wise setting up the torch you think.

The side of Eddie's face glows in the orange yellow, his wide brown bambi eyes dried after the first grand storm, and there's this tug on the corner of his pink plush lips again. He exchanged his leather jacket for the freshly washed hoodie for comfort and a small part of you hopes he doesn't spill his dinner onto any of it.

You lean back into the backrest of the worn out couch and watch as he eats, a domestic thing you've done a thousand times already, yet you still find comfort in knowing that he's nourishing himself.

Or well, in this case, inhaling the raviolis.

"Thank you Peach", he moves to put the empty plate back on the coffee table and it makes the spoon chink and glide along the edge, "I really needed this."

His voice is a little hoarse, probably from the emotions of the hours behind him. Maybe he has indeed calmed down a little. His hand moves down to your thigh, squeezing.

You give him the most empathetic smile you can bring yourself to display, painfully aware of the blaze that is transpiring through your leggings and seeping into your bones, "it's no big deal, really. I mean it is– uh, being there for you, is."

And he can't bring himself to look up at you. Instead, he stares at the empty plate on that coffee table in front of him.

"And to me as well. It really helps that you're here."

He doesn't bother moving the calloused warmth of his hand from the soft warmth of your thigh. It lights your entire nervous system on fire. In a good way.

And that's when you begin to wonder if everything that has just happened and is still happening right now changes anything.

"I'm so glad it does", is all you're able to get out.

Eddie decides that it's time to lean into your side and wrap his arms around your torso once again, drop his head back to its favourite place with a soft content little hum.

He just needs physical comfort. Of course. Just that. Nothing more, nothing else.

The words are redundant but your mouth articulates them anyway, "try to get some sleep, yeah?"

His back already lifts and falls evenly. You place your hand on the back of his head that rests in the crook of your neck again, scratching through the curls lightly, searching to help him shut off even deeper.

–––––

The candles have gone out by the time your eyelids slowly open. It takes you a moment to recall the location you fell asleep in, and you hope that the nightly darkness the whole room is now filled with hasn't invited any stranger to take advantage of your unconsciousness.

There's a warm hand holding your face, the pad of a thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek softly. It makes its way from the bridge of your nose to the outer corner of your eye, and back. And forth. And back. And forth.

You must have moved to lie down on your back in your sleep, with Eddie's weight still on your body, legs entangled. It's not the first time you've slept like this, there had been movie nights that had ended similarly.

His hand caressing your cheek though, yeah that is new. There's something unspoken in the air this time around. Your stomach is doing flip flops when you realise that he is propped up on his elbow, just .. looking at you. With eyes that don't require light to hint at whatever it is he is trying to say, or maybe not trying at all.

"Eds, what are you doing?", you ask almost in a whisper followed by a lopsided smile, expecting an unserious answer, because he always tends to make a joke whenever he tries to avoid conversing about emotions regarding his heart.

His thumb stops its acrobatics on your cheek, comes to a halt.

"I'm–", he takes a deep breath before he continues, "I'm just so grateful it's you that's here right now."

Your hand comes up to cup his. Brush over his rough knuckles with a thumb of your own. Enjoying the warmth that is seeping from his palm into your skin.

"Yeah, I figured you were gonna be a little opposed to spending the night with Harrington", you laugh, an attempt to turn your nerves into humour.

Eddie snorts a little, "yeah right, it's almost like you know me", he grins and pushes himself even closer to your face than he already is. It doesn't necessarily help in extinguishing the fire that's consuming you whole at this point.

"It's almost like we're best friends and I know what you think of him because every time Dustin or literally anyone else mentions his name around you, you're not necessarily secretive about it."

"Hey, my own worldview is not my fault, it's just– ... he just kinda seems like a douche of the highest order."

"He's quite alright, Eds. Try giving him a chance, I think he'd look great as Coffin's tambourinist."

He snorts again and you feel his breath on the column of your neck next when he dips his head down, nose pressing against the soft skin, his small giggle being swallowed by the collar of your sweatshirt.

Your favourite sound. Ever. Followed by the relieved moan Eddie lets out at the way your other hand is softly rubbing over his shoulder blade. The vibration against your neck makes you twitch as much as being pinned into the couch cushions by his body allows you.

It's soothing as much for you as it is for him.

When he lifts his head, the soft gaze he eyes you with is enough to let the goosebumps erupt. Even in the darkness of the room you can still make out those round buttons that could melt the entire north pole.

"Thank you, Peach, really. I'd be goin' mental right now and probably tryin' to counter that by smoking an equally mental amount of the stash I've been hiding here."

Your heart aches.

"I'm just glad I can be that kind of comfort to you, Eds. You don't have to go through whatever the fuck this is alone."

"I know I'm never gonna be alone as long as you are there."

You almost cry yourself now, his words making your hand travel from his own to his cheek, almost passing out from the way his eyes bore into your own once again.

Eddie isn't sure what it is that is making him feel lightheaded right now. The whole rollercoaster of events of the past hours. Or your words of affirmation. Or mayhaps it is your cute soft hand with that little ring on your thumb which is gently swiping over his damp skin.

That cute soft hand he'd been imagining countless times at night, silently yearning for your eyes to look at him differently, to finally see him in a different light the next time you'd hang out.

Probably a combination of just everything.

You reciprocate his soft half-lidded gaze, hand moving from his cheek to tuck some of his hair behind his left ear, revealing that delicate silver hoop earring you'd gifted to him for his birthday, after having talked your ear off about getting his ear pierced for literal months.

He'd insisted you join him for the appointment, "another metal moment for the books", as Eddie had called it, the need to have his hand held during the stab comically urgent in the way his voice sounded when he called you that day. And in the pace in which he picked you up.

"I'm here no matter what", you respond to his sentiment, that hand that brushed his hair away resting on the side of his neck while leaning the weight of your head into his palm that is still attached to your cheek.

Eddie's confidence reaches a new all time high with the admission of your unconditional support being stirred into the cocktail of hormones and emotions that's been circulating in his bloodstream for a generous amount of time now.

Because then he goes on by saying impossible things.

Impossible things with a slightly less platonic undertone.

"You're so fucking sweet, has anyone ever told you?"

You smile as you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks once again and you're sure he won't be able to see just how flustered he's getting you (joke's on you he does).

You're also sure he's out of his mind for saying that. Now.

"A shame, honestly. You should scold your best friend for not telling you sooner. Tell him what a fucking idiot he is."

Eddie earns another giggle from you. Music to his ears. Better than Metallica. Okay maybe not but .. pretty fucking close.

"I'll let him know next time I see him", you say with a grin, playing along with pleasure, and you ask yourself why it is only now that you realise just how fucking close his face is to yours.

There is a moment of silence in which Eddie hesitates articulating whatever is seemingly bugging his mind.

"Do you, uh, still like him?"

If you lifted your head just a little your noses would be touching. A silly and utmost redundant question, and yet, Eddie dreads your answer. If the circumstances were different, less dystopian and tragic, you'd seriously wonder what would spark the doubt in your friendship in him, but considering that everyone else would be going to pour their judgement over him, you understand.

Every word exchanged between the two of you at this hour is soaked in mutual infatuation, something the idiots in both of you are slowly starting to fathom as well.

"Of course I do, he's everything to me."

As you say it, you can't help the grin which reappears reliably each time you finish verbalizing your thoughts. It's contagious, you notice.

"And do you think – just hypothetically of course", it's only then he breaks eye contact to clear his throat, "of course", you interrupt him still smiling and cocking an eyebrow at him, "d'ya think it would be okay for this best friend to, uh, maybe...", Eddie pauses, internally watching the ship containing his confidence set sail slowly and ultimately letting the irrational thoughts win for tonight, "would you let him..."

Eddie generally wasn't someone who lacked confidence. It showed in the way he boisterously wandered the halls of Hawkins High, the way his demeanor never changed, his mask never faltered no matter who was around. Except for you. You who he had always granted a look underneath the impulsive, extroverted surface.

"Eds", you try everything in your power to stay calm even though everything inside of you is screaming right now and you're certain you can feel your pulse in your earlobes.

"Would it be just insane of that best friend to kiss you right now?"

You want to squeal and kick your feet, pull him into your face, pinch your own forearm, pass away, leave the house and never return, and stay right where you are forever, buried underneath your favourite metalhead, the parts where your bodies are touching practically on fire, cosy and content.

Instead, the most fond smile spreads over your lips as you try to contain your internal overwhelm.

It's still dark, the only light source being the full moon outside. Eddie's so hopeful of your reciprocation and even more terrified of ruining his entire life at the same time, those deep doe eyes at this point pretty much resemble the shape of the space rock orbiting earth. Rejection from you, his pretty Peach and the Bonnie to his Clyde, would be unbearable.

"I think so," you almost whisper, the hand that's been rubbing over Eddie's back coming up to lightly trace one of his eyebrows with your index finger because you just can't seem to not touch him in some way, "but you should know that I love his insanity."

Your small giggle is being silenced by a soft and cautious kiss from Eddie Munson. Like he doesn't want to break you. Or he's afraid you'll snap out of a haze, slap him and leave if he starts kissing you like he really wants to.

And then it's you who goes for it, you feel at home, right where you belong, you don't think you've ever felt this good. The hand on his jaw tugs him closer softly, pressing your lips to his with a bit more urgency.

It gives him all the confirmation he could possibly need.

That tingle, it grows and fills up your chest and shoots through your entire being, goosebumps and all. Eddie moans and breathes against your lips, tongue dancing over the thin skin, asking for permission.

His ringed hand digs deeper and slowly moves to the nape of your neck, intending to hold you in place, afraid you could slip away from him if he didn't. This blossoming thing between you could slip away from him. If he didn't.

It's so soft, the way his lips touch yours, and before you know it they move to your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck before Eddie comes up again, smiling from ear to ear, to gently bump his nose against the tip of yours and his lips return home with a soft and deep hum escaping from his lungs into your mouth.

Relief floods his veins along with whatever it is you're doing to him. The ability to shut out the insanity of the past hours is what he so desperately wants to cling to for as long as you allow him, even if the dawn will remind him of the horrid reality he's involuntarily become subject to live through now.

"You're making things so much better, Peach, you're so sweet, so fucking cute, so fucking good for me, do you even know for how long I've been dreaming of this?"

Eddie greedily pulls your face into his again, not even giving you a chance to reply and not nearly getting enough of your affection it seems with how fervently his tongue searches for yours.

A gentle collision of skin.

The soft whimpers you let out only spur him on. You not backing away from him, staying with him, letting him be this close to you?

You, the only constant source of consolation Eddie's ever really had.

Life changing.

Soft touches follow soft touches, your thumb traces his jaw repeatedly.

"You don't–", kiss, "for how long–", kiss, "I've been dreaming–", kiss, "of you as well", you breathe against him and Eddie thinks he might be about to resort to sniffling into your collar again with the amount of relief he is experiencing.

You'd let him.

"Yeah?", he presses his nose into your cheek with his eyes closed, smiling from ear to ear, relaxing his entire body into yours as you let him slide inbetween your legs.

"Yeah, you know how much of a sucker I am for peaches", you grin, another peck to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, your hips slowly finding a rhythm against his own.

Eddie groans at your allusion with a wide grin on his face (and the feeling of your warmth against his dick), before pressing his lips against yours again lovingly, "me too baby, me too."

–––

taglist (thought you might be interested): @josephfakingquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @analogkraken, @wroteclassicaly, @songforeddiemunson, @joejoequinnquinn, @somnambulic-thing, @trashmouth-richie, @eddddiemunson, @ceriseheaven, @userchai

comments, reblogs and other forms of affection towards the author are greatly appreciated thank youuuuu <3

[sexlapis]

[◉°] … TOJI FUSHIGURO READS THIRST TWEETS…6.4M views

actor!toji, crack, fluff, implied toji x gender neutral!reader, depraved tweets…

⤷ synopsis: our favourite actor, toji, discovers more of his fanbase’s depravity…

a/n: i’m sorry this took so long. actor!toji hasn’t been forgotten about okay! ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

*

“hey everyone, i’m toji fushiguro and i-,” toji exhales deeply, like he’s disappointed, shaking his head and closing his eyes, “i’m gonna be reading your thirst tweets? thirst twee-is that what they’re called?

he looks dashing - his hair boyishly messy, donned in black shirt that is far too fitting, along with dark blue jeans which are far too tight around his lower body, more specifically his thighs. denim stretches around the thick muscle with each of his movements, rippling through the thick material.

those will probably be very distracting to viewers.

toji holds up a smartphone, pressing on its screen with his large index finger, “…how’s this thing work again?” faint laughter can be heard from behind the camera, “‘cos i don’t use phones like this. my phones usually have buttons and stuff…”

after five painful minutes of two crew members explaining how a smartphone operates (condensed into a ten second clip) toji he is good to go.

“ahhh, right, right, right. okay. thanks,” toji clears his throat, shifting in his chair a little, “because i really didn’t know…”

tweet 1

toji sighs and lets out a strained laugh. “look i appreciate the thought but that doesn’t even sound nice…in fact, this just sounds like a threat. is this a threat? it’s a threat to me. also you can’t spell.”

tweet 2

“why are they all so threatening? why do mean beaten up and bloody? why do they all want me in pain? what wrong with you people?!” toji exclaims, shaking his head and sighing, before pondering, “i do enjoying doing fight scenes though, so i’m not against this…”

tweet 3

toji makes a face and his mouth twitches. “huh?! what? what is this? what are they saying? is this what kids are saying these days? is this a compliment?” a crew from behind the camera explains that it is, indeed, a strong compliment. “oh, okay. what happened to ‘he looks so nice’ or ‘he’s so handsome’? they’re so damn strange.”

tweet 4

“just when i thought they were getting normal…all the way to my elbow?” he questions in disbelief. “ and my hands?” he holds up both of his hands, “is that what women like?”

there were many edits made with that clip.

tweet 5

“alright well this one is kinda nice for the most part. i’m gonna ignore the penis part. they’re not not wrong of course.” he states as a matter of fact. but then says, “…me and y/n are not together though…” laughs are heard from behind the camera, “what? we’re not together! if we were, i’d make sure everybody knew, trust me.”

tweet 6

toji clears his throat, breathing in deeply and shaking his head. “i think…i think that’s enough for today. or ever. there’s nothing more to say to this. thanks.”

*

a/n: actor toji is here guys he won’t be back for another 5 months 👍

tag list: @tiredslepz | @hayatslife | @shxyxyxxxx | @snowprincesa1 | @laylasbunbunny | @mimiemie | @ncentic | @rosesored | @imover-18 | @gintokhi | @suzuperstarr | @lostgxrlblog | @jallie10 | @nnsav | @bunnyx-sakura | @bubbabobabubbles | @ladytamayolover | @keiva1000 | @morgyyyyyyy | @studiecoherence | @earth2fae | ce-namonreads | @ib4ryuguji | @hisjaegerist | @basiloverthyme | @sweet-kiwi | @sayitowshi | @iovemytoru | @thecompletechaosmaster | @sugutoad | @inumakiiz | @uzxotic | @1meshugge1 | @kunikuzushisbeloved

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

ooooh a fic where reader and Tom reacts to the tiktok edits of them pls✨

Internet Boyfriend || Tom Blyth x Actress!reader

A/n: I LOVE THIS HAHAHHAHA also yes, I did add the links to the tiktok edits 😋

Warnings: none :)

Wc:

Divider by @pommecita

“First of all, congratulations on satisfying this fan of the original series,” The women points to herself, “Thats what we like to hear,” You smile, “Like this film is epic! But uh we need to all about something really really serious first,” You nod, anticipating the questioning.

“Y/n,” You eyebrows shoot up as you tilt your head, “Do you think Tom is ready,” You and Tom look at each other, “to become the internet’s boyfriend? Cause I don’t think he realises what’s about to happen,” Tom looks taken aback as he looks at you.

“I’ve been saying this for so long too!” You meet Tom’s gaze, “I did not expect that question,” He shakes his head lightly laughing. “Beyond the internet boyfriend, it’s just he gives such a beautiful performance in this film and after our first premiere in Berlin, I grabbed his face in the car on the way back to the hotel and I just bawled my eyes out to him, remember that?” You look to him, a smile on your face.

“Yep,” He chuckles, looking down, “Because as an actor and his girlfriend I was just so proud to witness the rise of Tom Blyth in movie making, it’s such a beautiful thing and there’s no one more deserving out there, truly.” You say in appreciation as you and Tom lock eyes.

He puts his hand on his heart, “Thank you,” He says, truly moved by what you said, “That’s so sweet of you,” You lean your head against his shoulder and his arm wraps around your shoulder. “You’re welcome,” You say to him, looking up as you place a light kiss on his jawline.

“Both your performance is honestly just spectacular, I love the two of you, I wish I was there in person to witness it,” She jokes as you all laugh along with her. “Another thing I wanted to ask, specifically aimed to you Tom,” He looks at the women expectantly.

“The girls on tiktok are loving it already, are you ready,” Tom scratches the back of his neck, “Oh God,” As you already start laughing knowing where she was going with this question, “Are you ready for the Snow thirst edits? How do you feel about them,” It’s silent for a few seconds as Tom looks at the floor, a smile on his face.

“It’s begun babe,” You squeeze his arm. “Uh- I’m not on tiktok and I try to stay off online, as much as possible, uhm which is difficult these days- but I don’t see them often until people send them to me- So stop sending them” Tom looks at the camera as you throw your head back, losing it already as you laugh.

“As someone who has tiktok and thoroughly enjoy the edits of the movie, I do send them to Tom-“ “You send them all the time! It’s embarrassinga” You both intertwine hands and laugh out loud. “I don’t really send you the thirst trap ones, mostly just the ones about how blue your eyes are and how great of an actor you are,”

“Well speaking of it, we actually have a few thirst traps of you Tom, lined up for you to react to,” Tom drops his head as you start giggling, “Oh my god,” “Here we go,” You say in as you watch a crew member past you an IPad.

“Oh dear god, this video is going to turn into a try not to cringe challenge video with y/n and Tom reacting to Coryo” You sigh as you watch the first tiktok which is of Tom as Snow. https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNC4EmV8/

You immediately smile knowing you have already seen this tiktok. The interviewer starts laughing as you both watch Tom’s reaction to it. “I must say, It’s very good,” Tom admits, “This tiktok has 5.4 million views, and everyone is saying that this is the Coriolanus snow edit,” She says as you click on the comment section and read through the comments.

“I agree that is the Coriolanus snow edit aswell,” You chuckle. “Okay next one,” You say as Tom groans beside you, already very much embarrassed. https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNCVJCRX/

Your jaw immediately starts to drop upon hearing the audio. Tom covers his eyes as you and the interviewer laugh. “I love the beginning!” You say in between laughs, “Wait what was the beginning?” Tom asks, “Did you not watch it?”

“I covered my eyes the second I heard my voice,” He admits with a silly grin on his face as you shake your head and rewatch it. “Oh, I see,” He rubs his chin as you watch the next one. “Oh I’ve seen this one!” Tom says as you both rewatch it. https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNCVkrxh/

“I’ve always told Tom that everyone obsesses when he says Snow lands on top,” “Yes! The fans go crazy!” The woman laughs along as Tom looks uncomfortable. “Tom say it,” You nudge him as he gives you the ‘don’t make me do it’ look as you give him your puppy eyes, “fine,” He huffs.

He clears his throat as a joke before staring into the camera, “Snow lands on top,” He says in an insanely attractive voice as you fake faint. “Watch them edit this too,” You point out, “Please no,” He covers his face in embarrassment as you pat his back, silently laughing.

“This one, is one my favs actually,” The woman says as she shows you and Tom the tiktok. https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNC4wS5J/ You both crack up at the ending as actual tears started forming in Tom’s eyes. “Oh my god he’s crying,” You slap his thigh as you lean over in your chair from laughter.

After a good 5 minutes the two of you calm down. “For the next one, Y/n you can just go ahead and search up Tom Blyth on TikTok and pick whatever tiktok you want him to react to,” Your eyes lit up at the offer and you hurriedly take the iPad from Tom’s lap and type his name. Tom leans over to look at the iPad as you hide it from him, a mischievous glint in your eyes that he knows all too well.

You take your time as your scroll before one catches your eye. You watch it and your jaw immediately drops open. “What is it?” Tom says impatiently as your eyes flicker from Tom to the woman. “I don’t know if I can even show this,” You cover your mouth.

“Babe, I don’t think you want to see this,” You continue while Tom becomes impatient and curious. “Just show me!” You give a look to the interviewer as you show him the tiktok. Almost immediately, Tom turns it off and gets up from the screen as you stifle a laugh, watching him as he walks behind the camera, his hands on his hips.

“What did I just watch,” He says as you full on start to laugh to the point where you were on the ground laughing and had a stitch. “I should have stayed curious” Tom runs a hand down his face as he sighs and sits back down on the chair, laughing at you on the floor dying from laughter.

“I’m so glad you find this amusing, sweetheart,” He playfully rolls his eyes as he offers his hand and helps you up. “My eye makeup is most definitely ruined,” You say in between laughs as Tom grabs your face and wipes away the smudged mascara.

“Oh my god! I’m sorry I didn’t even show you the tiktok!” You realise as the woman doing the interview snickers. “We probably looked mentally insane,” You fan your face. The TikTok was of Coryo kissing your character in tbosas and the next clip was of Billy kissing Dulcinea which also happened to be played by you and the writing on the TikTok said “This man kisses like he is starved, like she is the oxygen he needs to breathe,”

Tom was beyond embarrassed as he recalled both moments when he was kissing you on screen. “This may be abit of TMI but ladies, he’s always been like that,” You cover the left side of your mouth as you whisper it to the camera before winking.

[juniperskye]

Pornstar.

Based on the following ask: If you have listened to the song Pornstar by Nessa Barrett awesome if you haven’t please do because I want my ask to make sense. I want a Reader x Aaron Hotchner fic based on that songs specifically because it’s just spicy and smutty honestly. Even the song Do it for me by Rosenfeld works too. They are just good songs, and they are spicy and when I hear them all I see is Aaron Hotchner – Honeyyyy these songs were SPICY! So, I really liked the beat at the beginning of Pornstar – I ran with that, and this takes place at a club.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

SMUT

Word count: 1456

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, SMUT, Age gap (non-specified), one night stand, sex with a stranger, alcohol consumption, sex while intoxicated (not drunk), explicit language, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than female anatomy, use of pet names, fingering, semi-public sex, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this), choking, pure filth tbh…let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

He couldn’t believe he was here right now. The last time he was in a club…for something other than a case, was never. He had never been the clubbing type, but the BAU had been on back-to-back-to-back cases for the last six or so months, so the team decided it was time to let off some steam. With some mandatory days off, the team finally had the time. Thankfully they were all passed the point of judgement with one another, having spent as much time together as they all had over the years.

Tonight had started that way too. A silent agreement amongst everyone that no matter what happened, there’d be no judgement, and it wouldn’t be spoken of ever again.

That’s why he hadn’t hesitated to order a third whiskey and boldly sent a vodka soda to the woman across the club, sitting in a booth with her friends. When she glanced in his direction after the waitress had delivered the drink, she blushed and send him a smile.

He couldn’t exactly remember what happened next, because one moment you’d been sitting with your friends and the next, the two of you were making out in the back hallway.

--

You were nothing but a mess of tangled limbs and clashing mouths as the two of you kissed fervently in the hallway, hoping to move things to a more private space.

He had one hand gripping your hip while the other held your jaw in place as he allowed his tongue to explore your mouth. You’d tasted like the vodka he sent you along with something inherently sweeter, vanilla lip-gloss maybe?

He pulled back to look at you, your lips were kiss bitten and your skin was glowing as the lights in the club flashed red. The bass of the music had been so loud you could feel it in your chests. It just added to the rush you were currently feeling.

He grabbed your hand and dragged you to the bathroom, quickly locking the door behind you, before pressing himself against you. His hands encased your jaw, holding you in place and your back arched against the door. His lips pressed to your for a second before they trailed down, burning into the skin of your neck.

You let one of your hands pull at his hair while the other pressed against his strong back. You needed to feel him, and you felt like you couldn’t get him close enough. You were desperate at this point.

--

He tugged at the strap of your dress, pulling it down enough to reveal the tops of your breasts. He kissed, bit, and sucked at the skin there, easily eliciting whines from your mouth. You moved your hands to begin unbuttoning his shirt, allowing them to roam over his broad chest. His skin was warm, and he was this solid wall of muscle in front of you…you’d never felt luckier than in this moment. To have captured his attention was your greatest accomplishment.

You hadn’t noticed the shift in his hand placement until it had slipped your panties to the side and gently caressed your heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He groaned.

All you could do was gasp. Your hips bucking forward to press further into his touch. He’d pulled your dress down more, revealing your breasts completely, swiftly attaching his lips to your hardened nipples, alternating from one to the other. He sucked harshly, sure to leave marks…not that you cared one bit.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He growled in response to your moans.

You reached your hand down to rub at his prominent bulge, trying to signal that you were ready for more. He took the hint. Grabbing you by your hips and spinning you around, his movements were precise and fast…it was almost dizzying. He lifted you up, so you now rested at the edge of the counter, his finger slipping into your heat as he bit onto your collarbone.

Your head fell back in ecstasy. Your hands busy stroking him through his slacks and pulling at his now tousled hair.

“Oh my – Fuck it feels so good.” You cried.

Another finger slid into you as the heal of his palm pressed deliciously into your clit. Your body was moving of its own accord now, grinding into his palm desperate to find your release.

“That’s it baby, use my hand.” He demanded, thrusting his fingers with a newfound speed.

It only took another moment of this before you were screaming out, allowing your climax to take over you.

--

As you calmed your breathing, you pulled at his belt, needing nothing more that to have his cock splitting you open. With his belt undone, you tugged his slacks open and freed his throbbing member.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed at the fact that you were obviously gaping at his impressive size…the man that stood in front of you was gorgeous in every way.

“You’re beautiful.” You whined.

You could see a hint of a blush rush up his neck, but he didn’t let that overtake the dominance he’d been portraying.

“I want to ruin you.” He whispered, nipping at your earlobe.

“Then do it.” You gasped.

--

His cock slammed into you in one swift motion, taking your breath away. The scream that escaped you was animalistic. One that was reserved for pornstars…not everyday people.

Your hands gripped him tightly, nails dragging down his back, causing a hiss to escape him. His hips snapped into you with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. You were loving every fucking moment of it.

“S-so big. You’re so b-big.” You stuttered.

“You’re gripping me so t-tight. Fuck.” He exclaimed.

His hand slid up, fingers digging into the sides of your jaw as he forced your gaze to his own. You had to force your eyes to his…having a difficult time doing anything other than letting them roll to the back of your head.

You brought one hand up to his, shifting it down to your neck. Pairing it with a subtle nod permitting him to make his next move. He allowed his fingers to press ever so slightly into the side of your neck, restricting your airflow the slightest bit.

This new position had your upper back pressed back into the mirror, ass hugging the edge of the counter, while he stood in front of you pistoning his hips into yours over and over again, his hand still wrapped around your throat as the other was bruising your hip.

You were sputtering out gasps with every thrust that met your cervix. His movements refusing to let up. You were filling the bathroom with his grunts, your gasps and the sound of skin slapping skin. The whole experience was euphoric.

--

Things continued this way a bit longer before you felt that all too familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. The coil tightening too much…just waiting to snap.

“Jesus, fuck. Are you gonna cum for me?” He huffed.

“Yes. God yes!” Your eyes finally rolling back.

Your orgasm came crashing over you with a strength you’d never experienced before. Your entire body was trembling against his. He let his hand slip from your throat, wrapping behind you and gripping onto your shoulder, chasing his high.

“That’s it. Fucking fill me up.” You whispered.

“Nghhhh Fuck.”

His hips began to stutter, slowing as he pumped his cum into you, filling you completely. He rested his head against your shoulder and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.

--

After cleaning yourselves up, readjusting your clothes, and assisting one another to smooth out your hair, you made your way out of the bathroom. Not without noticing the glare you were getting from the blonde, who’d clearly been waiting.

“So, um-”

“Did you-”

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You offered.

“I was just going to ask if perhaps you’d like to continue this evening elsewhere.” He suggested.

“I’d love that.” You smiled. “Let me just go let my friends know I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, I should do the same. Meet back here in a few?”

“Okay!”

The both of you moved back toward your respective groups, your girlfriends cheering for you and giggling at all the marks currently littering your neck and chest. While his colleagues gave him knowing looks and smirks at his uncharacteristic behavior. You blew your friends a kiss while he waved his friends off. Coming face to face with you in the spot you’d just been.

“You ready to go?” He asked.

“Yes! But first…what’s your name?” You blushed.

“Oh shit, it’s Aaron.” He laughed sheepishly. “I guess we never really got around to introductions.”

“It okay!” You giggled. “Nice to meet you Aaron, I’m – ”

Tags: @seraphenaadria @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust

[lovevalley45]

i feel like this take is gonna make me sound like a pretentious english major but it feels like they care more abt the book being pretty than its actual contents. in my main post i admit i was. mean abt the overall quality of the fourth wing series. however i have already seen reels of ppl complaining abt reselling them and upcharging them in the range of 200 USD and higher for a book that released Yesterday. i saw a woman taking off the cover to "rebind" it as a leather book n she was like 'no spoilers i haven't read it yet' like i have to respect the hustle but u aren't even going to read it first???

and frankly i've heard abt the publishing company behind them (red tower) specifically and i think they really lean into the special edition craze, a lot of people have complained about the handling of the release and the fact that it advertises "exclusive" art but just uses art that the artist has used for other things like d&d modules n edited it slightly so it's like. why would i buy an extremely overpriced copy of a book with art not original to the series from a reseller. for sprayed edges? no

i'm not really that much on booktok (or rather booksta bc i don't use tiktok) but i'm hearing abt the drama with the onyx storm release and i kinda just have to ask... why. like i feel like i haven't heard many good things abt the fourth wing series and i never have gotten the hype of special editions, maybe i just need to find more book series i'm rabid for but

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I PRAY, DON'T FALL AWAY FROM ME

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: murphy's law has never been more true. anything that can go wrong will go wrong. and it does.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY FRIDAYYYYYYY, we're finally getting into the thick of this series, the next few chapters will be INTENSE, i hope you enjoy them as much as i enjoyed writing them ;) this chapter was actually a doozy for me - i struggled a bit with reconciling civzai with canon!dazai and figuring out how to make civzai react to everything that's happened in a way that a civilian would, but i didn't want to make it too far removed from how canon!dazai would act. i ended up rewriting a few times, but i'm mostly happy with how it came out. anyway!! reblogs and comments greatly appreciated as always!! ENJOY heheh!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. depictions of dissociation, brief depiction of gore in first scene, dazai's implied to be in a bit of a manic episode in the second scene and then crashes hard in the third (he is not coping well with everything that happened), reader is all strung up and agitated most of this chapter which leads to some very stupid decisions, dazai also makes some very stupid decisions.

ANOTHER THING TO NOTE: our lovely reader IS A MAFIA EXECUTIVE !! as a port mafia executive, she does port mafia things, this will become very apparent in the next chapter and the rest of the upcoming chapters. it hasn't been as apparent in the past few, so it might be a bit jarring to read but it is something to keep in mind. additionally, she is FLAWED and that is very apparent in how an argument goes down in this chapter. i wanted to add this warning just to give you all a bit of a heads up.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You look so… serene. 

Dazai’s knees are tucked to his chest as he sits on the bed next to you, watching as you rest. You’re fast asleep, even puffs of air escaping your lips as you curl up close to him beneath the comforter. You look a lot younger right now, not anything like the hardened mafia executive that he knows you are. Dazai’s breath catches when he sees you shift to get a bit more comfortable, moving closer to him so that your forehead is pressed against the side of his thigh.

Still, none of this feels real. He hardly breathes as he reaches out to brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, watching as you let out a soft noise in your sleep before nuzzling a bit closer to him. Dazai believed that he was a man destined to be alone for his whole life; never in his wildest dreams did he ever think someone would love him for who he is, much less someone like you who could have anyone you wanted.

It doesn’t feel real.

Was it all just a dream? 

A nightmare? 

He blinks and suddenly blood stains the back of his knuckles where he’d been touching you, dribbling from your lips to the mattress below. Your eyes are still closed, but Dazai knows if they were open, they’d be glassy and empty. His breath quickens and his gaze flickers down the bed to your torso where he knows the gaping wound is hidden beneath the sheets. He feels the weight of a gun in his right hand and hears a thud to his left of a body hitting the ground and-

“Stop thinking so hard.”

He physically jumps at the sound of your voice, eyes widening as he looks down at you. Your eyes are still closed and you haven’t budged an inch, but the blood is gone and the weight in his hand has disappeared. For a split second, Dazai thinks he might’ve imagined your voice, but then, as if you can sense the thought, your eyes crack open, sharp and squinted, not at all glassy or empty.

Just his mind playing tricks. 

“I can feel the shitty thoughts tossing around up there,” you mutter with a yawn, stretching a bit next to him. His face heats up when you press your lips against the sliver of bandages peeking out from where his shirt is riding up his sides. You sigh as you push yourself into a sitting position, dropping your head on his shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Half-past seven ish,” he answers, voice catching as he looks down at you. “You slept late. Your meeting is in twenty minutes.”

“Did you sleep at all?” you ask with a frown. You sit up straight again to look at him, a concerned expression on your face. “You’re not usually up this early.”

Dazai did not, in fact, sleep. Besides the fact that every time he closes his eyes, he’s plagued with the sight of your dead body, his mind has been in shambles over how easy it had been to pull the trigger of the gun you’d given him. Odasaku had instilled morals into him, morals that Dazai has strictly followed since the day he met the man, even more so after he died to save Dazai to honor the older man. And Dazai had known that being with you would compromise said morals but…

But it’s different when he’s actually the one stomping all over them.

Life should be treasured. Spend your days helping people.

Why had pulling the trigger been so easy?

Dazai stares down at his hands, willing an answer to come to him. He thinks the worst part is that even now, he can’t muster guilt. He should feel guilty—he knows that—he took someone’s life, someone who had people waiting on him if what you were saying held any merit, but he’d done it to protect you and he just can’t seem to feel guilty when it had been a choice between your life and an enemy’s.

Still, he thinks, it shouldn’t have been so easy.

He shouldn’t feel nothing.

Not for the first time, Dazai thinks there’s something fundamentally wrong with him. Something that sets him painfully apart from the rest of humanity. Something that leaves him grasping at straws as he tries to put on a face and convince the world that he’s just like everyone else. Something dark and empty that festers—it festered while he was on his own in Suribachi, it festered after Odasaku’s death, and it festers now with blood on his hands and no remorse to be found. 

“Osamu,” you say, more concerned now, but you sound like you’re underwater and Dazai can’t even turn his head to look at you.

That’s not even to mention the message from Professor Ui. The more he thinks about it, the more anxious he gets. A tip-off. Professor Ui hadn’t given enough context for him to try to narrow down what it might be about, and there’s been so much going on recently that Dazai couldn’t possibly hope to narrow it down on his own. The only given is that it would be bad for you.

He almost doesn’t want to tell you.

No, he doesn’t want to tell you. Not at all. Not yet. Not when all he can give you is more to stress about, more to be paranoid about. All he’s been able to do is come to you with issue after issue, he’s been a burden—the least he can do is figure out the scope of this new problem before saddling you with it.

He can handle it himself. He can. He’ll go to the meeting and figure out what Professor Ui’s tip-off is about so when he brings it to you, you can formulate a plan of action to handle it. He can’t just tell you ‘Hey! Remember that journalist that’s trying to target you! He got a tip-off that he’s planning to do something about!’ when you already have so much on your plate.

He-

“Osamu,” you say, reaching for his wrist but the sudden touch jolts him out of his spiral.

His heart rate spikes and his surroundings blur and Dazai is instinctively pushing you away from him as panic subsumes all coherent thought, unsure of where he is and what’s going on. The sheets feel too much like the soft dirt, the fingers on his wrist are too tight, the air is too brisk and cold, the early morning light shining through your blinds into your apartment is so reminiscent of the way it shone through the tall trees into the forest.

“Don’t touch me.”

His feet tangle against the sheets as he scrambles away and tumbles right off of the side of the bed—pain shoots up his ankle and for a moment, Dazai forgets where he is and it’s not you on the bed reaching out to him, but the rotted skin of Arahabaki, your blood dripping off its fingers. Dazai can hardly breathe as he tries to reorient himself, nails digging into his palms.

It takes a concerning amount of time for Dazai to remember where he is, who he’s with. By the time he does, you’re kneeling at the edge of the bed, an expression on your face that Dazai is just too out of it to understand, and Dazai can feel his face heating up in embarrassment, a heavy feeling of mortification spreading through his chest when he realizes how he just lashed out at you.

“Osamu,” you try again, voice a bit softer and there’s no mistaking the concern in your eyes now, but Dazai just wants to bury himself alive, throat spasming as he hides his face in his lap. “Hey, it’s-”

“Go away,” he snaps, humiliated. “Go away. I’m fine. Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

“It can wait,” you say, too understanding. “Osamu, I-”

A burden. 

He’s a burden—he brings you issue after issue, distracts you from your work and gets you in trouble. For some reason, despite all of that, you still want him, and all he can repay you with is lashing out at you and causing more trouble. Now because he’s fucked in the head, you’re going to be late to another meeting that you can’t afford to be late to because you’re worried about him and he’s just so tired of being a liability all the time. 

“Go.” His voice cracks over the word, he hates the way it comes across as more pleading than angry; he doesn’t have to look up at you to know the way you must be looking at him. “Please just go. I’m fine. Please.”

For a terrible, terrible second, you don’t respond and Dazai thinks you might be about to press more. He’s not sure if he can handle that. He just needs you to go to your meeting so it’s one less thing that he’s fucked up for you. He needs you to go.

“Okay,” you finally say after a few moments. “Okay. I’m going to get dressed.”

The breath that Dazai lets out is too heavy and too relieved. He doesn’t dare to look up until he hears you shuffle off of the bed and make your way to your closet. His eyes slide shut as he leans his head against the wall he’d backed himself against, forcibly calming his unsteady heart.

After a few minutes, you finally come to kneel in front of him, dressed in your suit and ready to head out. He looks up at you, hoping he doesn’t look nearly as much of a mess as he feels, but he thinks he fails because the conflicted expression on your face only becomes even more worried.

“Please go,” he repeats, voice raspy.

You sigh, gaze lowering to the ground, but you nod so Dazai can only feel relief. His lashes flutter shut as you lean in to brush your lips against his forehead and again, Dazai’s chest swarms with guilt and self-loathing because he wishes he could just be normal.

“I’ll order you some takeout,” you finally say as you lean back to look at him again. “I probably won’t be back until late tonight. You have any preferences for lunch and dinner?”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows. “Crab?” he asks, voice too strained for comfort.

You roll your eyes, but you smile. “You’re not eating crab for lunch and dinner,” you say lightly, and Dazai smiles back a bit, but his smile feels a lot more wobbly than yours looks. “I’ll order it for lunch, I’ll pick dinner.”

Dazai’s nose wrinkles. “No mushrooms.”

“No mushrooms,” you agree as you rise to your feet. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Call me if you need anything.”

He definitely won’t, but he nods anyway. “See you,” he whispers.

You don’t immediately walk away, lips drawn tight as you look down at him. “I love you,” you say after a few moments and Dazai inhales sharply, gaze flickering up to you.

“... I love you too,” he echoes, the tightness in his chest easing when he sees how your expression smooths out at his words. You linger for a few seconds longer before sighing and leaving your bedroom without another word.

Dazai doesn’t budge until he hears the elevator bing, signaling its arrival to your floor.

Even when he’s sure that it’s gone—and you with it—he doesn’t move. 

He doesn’t want to. His hands sting where he’d pushed you away from him and his legs feel bolted to the ground beneath him. He can hear his phone buzzing somewhere in front of him, probably tangled in the sheets he’d dragged off of the bed with him. He knows that he should get up and check—the meeting is in two hours and Dazai not only needs to get dressed, but he needs to figure out how he’s going to sneak out of this building without alerting any of your subordinates.

For you, he reminds himself as he sighs and pushes himself to his hands and knees and drags himself over to the mess of sheets on the ground, rifling through them until his hand closes around his cell phone. He’ll go to the meeting, get the information, and come back before you’re even finished with work… before that actually, he’ll need to get back by noon when you send someone here with takeout. If they show up and he’s not here, they’ll definitely report that back to you and he doesn’t want you to know that he’s going out because that’ll just cause you more stress and the whole point of this is to try to lessen your burden.

He unlocks his phone to see a few messages in the group chat and he cringes as soon as he reads them.

Koda Hinami: Is it okay if we meet a bit later today? I have an appointment in Tokyo and the soonest train I can catch is at 14:30.

Professor Ui: Does 15:30 work?

Otsuka Ayato: good with me, i’m free all day

Koda Hinami: Yup! That’s perfect.

Professor Ui: Dazai-kun?

Dazai supposes that this gives him more time at least—he doesn’t have to rush back before you send food for lunch. He doubts that you’ll be back before nightfall, and you probably won’t send dinner until 19:00 so that gives him almost four hours, which is more than enough time. He can spend the morning plotting out how he’s going to get out of the building without being seen.

Dazai: that works

He puts his phone back on the charger, a bit more pep in his step as he tells himself that he’ll make everything up to you. He pushes away all of the thoughts plaguing him, dressing himself in one of the outfits he’d left at your apartment. Those nagging feelings of doubt and self-loathing linger in spite of his attempts to shoo them away, but he does his best to ignore it. He needs to get himself into a better mood before seeing his professor and classmates—he doubts they would notice, but on the off chance they did, he needed to be ready to distract them from it in some way and he most definitely is not ready for that now.

But he has time now, so-

Was that the elevator?

Dazai’s head whips to the side to look out your bedroom door just as he finishes pulling on the new sweater you bought him. He creeps out of your bedroom slowly, wondering if you came back because you forgot something, but when he steps out of your room to the top of the staircase, he freezes because it is not you standing in the living room but instead a different, but unfortunately familiar, face.

Great, he thinks bitterly, expression twisting into distaste when he sees Nakahara Chuuya leaning on a pair of crutches. The man looks equally irate at the sight of Dazai standing on the balcony, making no effort to hide the way he scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Why are you here?” Dazai asks, eyes squinted as he stares down at the other man. 

He looks awful and Dazai isn’t sure why it makes him feel smug, but it does. Chuuya looks like he’s hardly able to hold himself up, leaning heavily on his crutches, face pale and beaded with sweat. He’s dressed in a thin t-shirt and sweats, so Dazai can see the aggravated scars running up his arms, but his eyes can’t help but linger on Chuuya’s hand. 

His left hand—the same one that had torn through your body, that had killed you, the same one that had tried and failed to kill him. If Dazai looks hard enough, he swears he can see the rot spreading across the other man’s skin again, from his fingertips to his wrist to his elbow, as Arahabaki takes back over, so Dazai forces his gaze back up to his face.

All of the aggression that had been plain on Chuuya’s face disappears when he notices where Dazai was looking. He shakes his head and asks roughly, “Where the hell is she?”

Dazai scowls. “Why do you want to know?” 

“You little-” Chuuya hisses, gaze sharpening. “Where is she?”

Just to be annoying, and because Dazai has no sense of self-preservation, he asks, “Why should I tell you?”

“I’m going to rip your head off,” Chuuya spits out, unnervingly quick on his crutches as he makes his way over to the staircase. Dazai darts into your bedroom, hand on the door so he can quickly slam it shut if Chuuya tries to come closer, although he’s not sure if a door is going to be enough to stop him. “Get back here.”

“You tried that already,” Dazai says lightly, watching Chuuya’s reaction carefully. “You failed, remember? … Or that’s right, you wouldn’t, would you? What’s his face… Fireboy? He mentioned that you probably wouldn’t… So, was he right? How much do you remember?”

Chuuya’s entire expression shifts at Dazai’s words, lips tightening and gaze averting down to the ground. The shame is clear on his face as he lets out a sigh, glancing up to see the bruises around Dazai’s neck just too shake his head and look away again.

“Enough,” he says quietly. “I remember enough.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side as he examines Chuuya. The scars on his arms indicate the shadow of Arahabaki’s presence in his body—Arahabaki, the violent and destructive god who had killed you and tried to kill Dazai. He expected to be more anxious around, or even scared of, Chuuya after what happened. He supposes he is to some extent, he can feel the itchiness on his tongue that always signals those unwelcome emotions approaching, but Dazai thinks it’s not because of Chuuya himself like he expected—he still feels the ever present urge to antagonize the man due to petty jealousy and the acute irritation his appearance and existence in general causes him.

 It’s natural, he rationalizes. It’s not like Chuuya is Arahabaki or Arahabaki is him, so there’s no reason for Dazai to be scared of Nakahara Chuuya. Arahabaki, on the other hand… he watched you die to it and he nearly died himself, although the former is decidedly more traumatizing, so it makes sense. But Dazai has never been fond of fear, he’s learned through his own experiences alone in Suribachi and from Odasaku that it’s the most treacherous emotion, the quickest to kill, so he’s swift in his efforts to channel those lingering nerves that Arahabaki is causing into an emotion he’s much more capable of processing: curiosity.

To kill fear of something that’s mostly unknown to him, it must first become known.

He doesn’t know much about Arahabaki, only the few vague things you mentioned and the fact that it seems to be incapable of touching Dazai without being neutralized, which Dazai supposes he can also use as a blanket of security. But he has to know more.

“Can you speak to it?” Dazai blurts out, unable to help himself from firing out the question, hardly holding back the forty more.

“What?” Chuuya asks, voice flat.

“Arahabaki,” Dazai says, and then adds, “obviously.”

Chuuya gives him a withering look and instead of responding, he repeats his question from earlier. “Where is she?”

Dazai’s lips flatten as he squints again, not appreciating the way the man blew off his question entirely, but this time he decides to respond. “She went to an executive meeting, shouldn’t you be there if you’re up and about?”

“I thought I could catch her before she left,” Chuuya sighs, suddenly looking very tired, which naturally piques Dazai’s interest because why was he trying to catch you before you left? “I’m not supposed to be up yet. Doc’s gonna fuckin’ skin me alive when he finds me.”

“Why were you looking for her?” Dazai prods.

Chuuya pointedly doesn’t respond, side-eyeing Dazai before turning to walk back down the stairs. Dazai’s jaw drops in disbelief at the way he was so blatantly ignored and darts forward, kicking his leg out to drive it into the back of Chuuya’s knee. He’s smug when the other man lets out a surprised yelp, knee buckling as he drops; he’s not quite as smug when he steadies himself with his ability and turns back to Dazai, eyes blazing.

“I’m going to kill you, you shitty bastard,” Chuuya spits out and Dazai’s eyes widen as he darts right back into your bedroom, slamming the door shut hard behind him. “Do you really think that’s going to stop me, you dumb fuck?”

Dazai presses his full body weight against the door as Chuuya drives his shoulder into it to force it open. He’s the one yelping now as he goes sprawling forward onto your floor when Chuuya pushes the door open so hard that it comes off the top hinge.

“She’ll kill you if you kill me in her apartment,” Dazai threatens before he can take another step forward, voice a bit too squeaky for comfort. “She will.”

Chuuya sounds and looks like an angry bull when he lets out a heavy breath as he tries to calm himself. Dazai almost comments on it, but he bites his tongue. He might seem to be impervious to the man’s gravity manipulating powers, but he’s not quite as impervious to the brute force he’s capable of.

“What the fuck was that for?” Chuuya hisses.

“I asked you a question,” Dazai says, raising his chin as he stands back up and looks down at Chuuya, enjoying the way the mafioso’s eye twitches when he has to look up to meet his gaze. “You ignored me.”

“You-” Chuuya begins before taking a deep breath again. “I just wanted to talk to her, that’s all.”

“But why?”

Chuuya doesn’t look amused by Dazai’s insistence, but that only makes Dazai more insistent. He clearly had a reason for seeking you out and it must’ve been an important one considering how upset he seemed after realizing that you’d left already, and nobody could really blame Dazai for being curious.

Chuuya stares at Dazai for a second before sighing. “She’s… not doing good. Boss has been putting her through the wringer lately and Piano Man said it was even worse yesterday, probably gonna be just as bad today. I wanted to check in on her before she left.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, suddenly all of the amusement he was getting out of irritating Chuuya withers away as the man’s words register. He knew you weren’t doing good—he knew it, he could tell from the tense expression you had whenever you thought he wasn’t looking, could tell from the way your laughs and words seemed strained, could tell from the way your smile was frayed at the edges. It’s why he doesn’t want to come to you with another issue and no solution, but hearing it from someone else…

“Don’t feel bad if you didn’t notice,” Chuuya starts to say, noticing the expression on Dazai’s face. “I’m sure she’s careful to put up a front to not worry you, does that with everyone, but she’d do it especially with y-”

“I noticed,” Dazai says, bristling. “I just… Why is he putting her through the wringer? How?” 

Chuuya looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to respond, and Dazai has his answer.

“Because of me,” he realizes, a lump in his throat.

“No,” Chuuya snaps before hesitating. “Not just you. He blames this whole shitshow with the Guild on her, and then there was the stuff with the Inagawa-kai and Shimazaki-kai-”

“Which happened because of me,” Dazai interjects, lashes lowering as he looks away. Dark claws pull at his heart again and Dazai can’t push them away this time.

“We were gonna go to war with them sooner or later anyway,” Chuuya says, shaking his head. “Whether it was then or later, doesn’t matter. Not on you or her.”

Dazai doesn’t think he agrees with that, and he doesn’t even think Chuuya agrees with that considering how he reacted to finding out that Dazai was the reason for you deciding to rush the attack on the Inagawa, but he doesn’t feel like arguing about it. Chuuya doesn’t let him anyway, starts talking before Dazai can get a word in.

“Now he’s pissed about the battle with Lovecraft and Steinbeck. I had to use Corruption, and I’m pretty sure he figured out that damned doctor from the Agency was the one to save her life,” he continues, grimacing. “He’s gonna hold that over her head.”

Oh? 

Dazai’s focus zeroes in on that, brows furrowing. He’d been wondering how you managed to survive the wound Arahabaki dealt but every time he asks you, you evade.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Chuuya asks brusquely, looking a bit startled almost, as if he’d forgotten he was talking to Dazai and had started venting on his own.

“Why is he going to hold it over her?” he asks carefully.

“That’s not for me to say,” Chuuya says after a few moments, much to Dazai’s frustration. “You’ll have to ask her-”

“She wouldn’t even tell me how she survived,” Dazai interrupts, annoyed. “I just want to… I want to understand what’s going on so I can help her.”

Chuuya looks conflicted, so Dazai takes the opportunity to press.

“I can’t help her if I don’t understand what’s going on, I can try to help. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” Dazai demands, and then adds through gritted teeth, “Please.”

“Did she… tell you about her past with the Boss? During the war?” Chuuya finally asks, leaning against the railing as he waits for Dazai to respond.

“She told me that he brought her in after her town was massacred,” Dazai tells him, fingers thrumming against his thigh. “That she spent two years trying to figure out how to use her ability to help him create an immortal military unit.”

Chuuya lets out a breath as he looks away. “She wasn’t the only one that the Boss had taken in. There was another girl—Yosano Akiko—who had the ability to bring people back from the brink of death over and over and over again. From what she’s told me, and that’s not much, Yosano was prodigious with her ability and she… wasn’t. The Boss held it over her, pit the two of them against each other and to this day, compares her to Yosano. It’s a… touchy subject for her, I’m not surprised she evades it.”

Dazai’s face twists. “But she’s good at using her ability now,” he protests even though he knows it’s not that simple.

“I know,” Chuuya says, voice solemn. “Doesn’t matter though. It’ll never be enough—not for her or for him.”

Dazai has never met the Boss of the Port Mafia, but he thinks that he hates him more than anyone else Dazai has ever known. A bitter feeling claws at his chest as he thinks of a much younger you being rescued from a warzone only to find yourself in the hands of a cruel and manipulative man that guises as your savior. Dazai is not a man who has ever been inclined to turn to violence—he much prefers battles of wits—but god, if his fingers don’t twitch for it now.

The words slip from his lips before he can stop them, tight and angry: “He’s a piece of shit.”

Chuuya stares at Dazai for a moment in disbelief before barking out a laugh and then promptly slapping his hand over his mouth and forcing himself to quiet down. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he says dutifully. “He’s still the Boss.”

“Your boss, not mine.” Dazai rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” Chuuya replies dryly, ever clever in his response. “I’m going to go try to run into her before Doc manages to sniff me out… Don’t do anything stupid while she’s gone.”

Dazai gives Chuuya a side eye. “Wasn’t planning to,” he lies, possibly. He hasn’t decided yet if going to this meeting is a stupid idea—it might be, but the rewards outweigh the risks anyway.

Chuuya stares at him for a second suspiciously. “Whatever,” he repeats, so astute. He hesitates as he moves to leave and Dazai raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to say whatever might be running through the slow brain of his.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Chuuya asks after a few moments, looking uncharacteristically unguarded as he stares at Dazai, waiting for an answer.

“Why would I be scared of someone the size of a slug?” Dazai counters, giving Chuuya a simpering smile as the man’s face immediately tightens in anger.

“You’re incorrigible,” Chuuya spits.

“Big word for such a small brain,” he taunts, “did she teach you it?”

Chuuya doesn’t even respond, hissing out insults under his breath as he promptly makes his way back down the stairs. 

Dazai is unbearably pleased with himself as he gives the ginger a mocking wave while he waits for the elevator, leaning over the railing looking down at the first floor. Chuuya promptly flips Dazai off, face so red that it clashes painfully with his hair.

As soon as Chuuya’s in the elevator and out of sight, Dazai disregards the warning and begins the first phase of his plan—finding your laptop to see if you happen to have a layout of the building anywhere on it so he can figure out how to sneak out—suddenly feeling significantly more inspired to do whatever he can to ease the burden that’s been placed on you.

You know something is wrong when you get up to your apartment and find it dead silent—there’s no trashy reality show playing in the living room, no sound of that new fighting game that Dazai had bought on your card, no excited call of your name because you came home early with food instead of sending someone with it. The elevator closes behind you and the takeout in your left hand weighs uncomfortably heavy, your gaze draws from the hallway leading to the guest room over to the kitchen.

He’s not in the living room and you don’t see him in the kitchen, so you look up at the stairs leading to your bedroom. Maybe he went back to sleep—you could tell this morning that he hadn’t slept much, if at all, last night, and when Albatross stopped by with lunch for him (after much complaining, naturally), he said that Dazai looked half dead on his feet. 

It’s why you made sure to finish up your last meeting early—it was a video call with Tolstoy anyway, he didn’t mind you running out early, only wanted to let you know that he had to go with Repin to New York but could be in Yokohama by the end of the day on Thursday if you needed. You don’t really want to rely on the Three Deaths for help in this conflict, it would make the Port Mafia look weak, but depending on how this vote goes in the Diet on Friday, you might not have a choice. The Port Mafia isn’t in the position to handle the full force of the Guild and the military at the same time. 

Why didn’t he come down when he heard the elevator?

You place the food down on the table in the living room before making your way to the staircase. He must be up there, so you don’t know why you suddenly feel so dreadful and you don’t know why it’s suddenly hard for you to make yourself move forward, like you’re walking through waist-deep water and the current is running against you. Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom.

He’s sleeping.

Since when was your staircase so long, it feels like each step you go up, ten more appear in front of you. You’re half convinced that it’s an ability messing with you and not just your mind playing tricks.

He’s a light sleeper. He would’ve woken up.

By the time you get up to your apartment, you know he won’t be there, but your heart still sinks to your feet when you push your door open and see the bed empty and the bathroom door open. 

Dazai is nowhere to be seen.

Your lashes flutter as you force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. You’re stiff as you walk back out to the balcony looking over your apartment. Your voice is just as tense as you raise your voice to call: “Osamu?”

No response. 

Shit, you think, vision spinning a bit as you shut your eyes, counting your breaths as your heart rate spikes. Shit, where did he go? Did someone break in? No. No one could have gotten through the building’s security. He must have left… but why? Why would he do that when he knows how dangerous it is out there? How did he sneak out with no one noticing? It doesn’t make sense.

You shouldn’t have left this morning. You knew that you shouldn't have left the moment you stepped into the elevator, but he’d just been so distressed and the longer you lingered, the worse it got. It was only when you agreed to go that he finally started calming down, so you thought you were doing what was best for him, regardless of how it made you feel, but fuck, you should have known better.

You blame Mori. You always blame Mori, but the bitterness and anger is so intense now that it has your blood pressure skyrocketing. He’s been keeping you busy on purpose—busy and angry and stressed—you’ve hardly even gotten the chance to talk to Dazai since everything that happened. When you do have time with him, you’re either exhausted or in a bad mood trying to mask it from him. He watched Arahabaki kill you, he almost died, and-

And he killed someone.

It’s a fact that you've yet to fully acknowledge yourself; it makes you sick with guilt and self-loathing, knowing that it’s your fault that it happened and that you had promised him it wouldn’t. And it’s selfish because it means he’s been coping on his own and how is a twenty-two year old kid whose biggest problem three weeks ago was a group project supposed to cope with the fact that he killed someone?

This morning had been a red flag—one that you should’ve listened to, but instead, you took the easy way out. You didn’t know what to do without being able to use your ability to calm someone down, you’ve done it for Chuuya countless times, Klaus and Akutagawa too, but for Dazai, you could only watch as he worked himself up into a panic attack over everything that happened, the only thing seemingly calming him down being you leaving. So you left. 

But you should have stayed. You never should have left him—not yesterday after the attack, not this morning. He doesn’t belong in this life, he never has, but you dragged him into it anyway and now what? You’re leaving him to process it on his own? You’re leaving him to cope with the consequences of your actions? Your selfishness? What else was supposed to happen besides him getting overwhelmed and having a breakdown over it? 

Of course he ran—you can’t blame him, how else is he supposed to react to all of this? There’s no way that the average kid would ever be able to come to terms with what had happened yesterday, especially not alone, without any sort of support system to help him. Cooped up in your apartment with only his own mind as company—of course he ran.

You had been his life jacket and you had left him to drown. 

You need to find him. He had to have gone back to his apartment, unless…

Your throat feels tight as you swallow, remembering the morning you woke up to the call from the hospital.

Fuck, you have to-

The elevator?

Your gaze cuts down to the first floor of your apartment, watching as the elevator doors slide open. You watch with bated breath as you wait for whoever came up to your apartment to step out of the elevator, fingers wrapped tight around your phone. 

It’s only when a familiar head of brown hair steps out of it can you finally breathe.

Dazai doesn’t look half as much of the mess he was this morning—there’s more of a pep to his step, his face doesn’t look as gaunt and pale, he’s dressed in one of the cashmere sweaters and comfortable dress pants you bought him. He looks… good, like he did before everything that happened—untainted by all of the darkness you’ve brought into his life.

What changed from this morning?

He freezes as soon as he sees the takeout that you dropped on the coffee table, shrugging his backpack off of his shoulders and dropping it to the ground near where you hang your jackets. His eyes are wide as he looks around the apartment trying to pinpoint where you are, it takes him a few seconds before he finally looks up and sees you staring down at him from the balcony.

The smile he gives you is nervous and it puts you on edge. 

“Hi,” he says sheepishly. “You’re back early.”

You’re relieved—you are. He’s okay. He’s safe. He’s back. He didn’t run off and get himself hurt, or worse. The Guild didn’t get their hands on him. He’s safe and you’re relieved. 

So why are you still so tense and angry?

“What did you get to eat?” he presses, creeping forward to look at the bag of food on the table. He sniffs as he peeks inside. “Chinese?”

“Where were you?” you finally ask. 

Your voice sounds distant even to your own ears, your body feels tense no matter how much you try to relax. Dazai looks up at you with wide eyes, a hesitant expression on his face like he doesn’t want to admit to wherever he went and you can hear blood rushing through your ears as frustration washes over you. 

God, you’ve just spent a whole day dealing with Mori and various other unsavory people—you’d been looking forward to coming home to Dazai and now he’s pulling this. You know you need to calm down, that you shouldn’t take out your general irritation of the day onto him when he’s already had a rough few days, but fuck the least he could do is-

“I went for a walk.”

The least he could do is not lie to you.

“You went for a walk,” you echo flatly.

“Mhm. I went for a walk,” he agrees.

You stare down at him from the balcony, not budging an inch. Dazai shifts uncomfortably under your stare, and a part of you thinks you should go downstairs and just drop this but you can’t. Dazai is lying to you—why he’s lying to you is an issue in itself, but you’re more concerned with knowing where he actually went because you need to make sure that no public CCTV tapes caught him going to and from the headquarters.

“Where did you walk to?” you ask, voice tight.

“Just… around.”

You inhale sharply and look away, biting your tongue to force yourself to calm down. “Osamu,” you say his name, low with warning when he tries to evade answering the question properly. 

He bristles. “I didn’t realize I was under house arrest,” he says defensively, raising his voice a little.

Your eye twitches as you take a sharp breath and step away from the balcony. You pace a few steps back to your room and look up at the ceiling, willing yourself the patience to not let this blow up into an argument. It’s the last thing the two of you need right now, but god he’s making it difficult.

After a few moments, you drag yourself back over to the staircase. This time, instead of leaning against the railing and looking down at him, you make your way down the steps so you can stand in front of him, arms folded across your chest. Dazai looks guilty already, chewing the inside of his cheek as he refuses to look you in the eye. 

“Osamu, I’ve had a long day. Please just tell me where you went so I can make sure no cameras caught you going to and from the headquarters,” you say tiredly. “You’re not under house arrest, I just-we need to be careful the next few weeks, okay? Just until things calm down.”

“I just went to the school,” Dazai finally admits.

Instantly, your brows are furrowing. “The school?” you question, confused. “You don’t have classes today after twelve. Why did you go there? And why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve had Albatross drive you.”

The way Dazai refuses to meet your eyes is unsettling. You feel even more on edge than before as you wait for him to respond. Fuck, you just wanted to have a glass of wine and watch him play one of his stupid games. 

“It wasn’t for class, I was meeting people for a group project,” he says after a few moments, pointedly not answering your second question.

A group project.

The only ‘group project’ he has is for his journalism class… and the fact that he didn’t tell you so you could have someone drive him…

“You met with Ui,” you realize, staring blankly at Dazai. “Why?”

“I was helping,” Dazai says and however much on edge you might’ve been before, you’re even more now. “I was-”

“You were helping?” you ask, not sure what that might mean and not even sure if you want to know. 

Ui is bad news and for Dazai to go out to meet him now of all times… He’s supposed to be smart. You rub your face with your hands, feeling the tightly wound cord that’s been threatening to snap for the past twenty-four hours becoming even more strained. It’s only a matter of time before it does snap and you don’t want Dazai to take the brunt of your anger, not when most of it is directed at Mori.

“I was!” Dazai insists, voice getting louder. You can see the way his fists are closing and opening at his sides and how his nails leave bloody crescents in his palms. You tell yourself to calm down and talk this out with him, that you’re both not in the best mental states and you need to be lenient with him, but his next words are enough to send you teetering off the edge. “I was helping, I helped. He texted last night saying he had a tip-off about our project and I went to go figure out what it was so I could warn you.”

What the fuck?

“Why on earth would you ever go there on your own?” you hiss, just barely maintaining enough control to not raise your voice at him. “Especially after what happened yesterday. The Guild knows about you, Osamu. It could’ve been a set up.”

God, you almost want to rip out your hair. In what world could he have possibly thought that was a good idea. The Ivory Eagle getting a tip-off the same night after a major conflict with the Guild is not a coincidence and you should probably be more focused on that than you are, but you just can’t get over Dazai’s stupidity. 

If he had used that brain that you know he has, he would have realized it was no coincidence. The Guild must have gone to the Ivory Eagle with information about the Port Mafia and considering that Steinbeck made a comment about Fitzgerald getting the confirmation he needed about Dazai…

Fuck, you feel sick. 

“Oh yeah, because my professor is going to set me up to be captured by a criminal organization, right,” he says sarcastically.

“You don’t know shit about this world, Osamu,” you snap at him, taking a step closer but he doesn’t budge, unrepentant. “The lengths people will go to so they can take the Mafia down. Do you even know why the Ivory Eagle is so set on us?”

“That doesn’t matter-”

“Of course it matters-”

“No, it doesn’t,” he interrupts, voice pitched with hysteria. “What matters is that I helped. I got the information you need and-and I can help more. I can help more, I’m not incapable, I don’t need to be a liability anymore. You should be thanking me, not yelling at me. I-“

What is your life? 

You almost want to cry as you shake your head and take a step away and press your hands to your lips. You can’t do this right now—not after the day you had today and yesterday, you’re going to snap and say something you regret. You need to end this conversation before it goes any further.

“No. No, I am not having this conversation with you. Sit down on the couch, eat the food I bought and be quiet.” 

“I’m having this conversation,” Dazai, much to your distress, presses the conversation. “I’m tired of being a liability, I want to be helpful-“

Helpful? What is he even getting at? He better not be getting at what you think he’s getting at?

“What the fuck, Osamu?” you demand. “You’re not a liability, where is this coming from?”

“If I’m not a liability then let me help-“

Oh my god.

“No.”

“Why?” He sounds more like he’s begging than arguing now and your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat because you don’t know what you’ve done to make him feel like he’s a liability to you, and more importantly, you don’t know how to fix it. “I can do it. I can. And this way, there doesn’t have to be push back from your friends about us—not if I’m part of the organization too, and-”

What the fuck is your life?

You can’t even hide the way your expression twists at his words, can’t hide the way you instinctually step away from him, can’t hide the way that your hands tremble so you stuff them in your pockets and shake your head furiously. A part of you wants to believe that you’d just imagined those last few words but they ring so soundly through your head that you know you didn’t.

“What the f…” You don’t even know what to say as you stare at him in disbelief. He’s still talking, you can see his lips moving but you can’t hear anything. Your ears are ringing and you’re desperately trying to make sure the wound up cord inside you doesn’t snap. “Hold on. Hold on. You are not part of this life, Osamu. You’re a civilian-“

“I killed someone,” Dazai cries out. His voice wavers and cracks, his eyes are wide and wild, and his hands are shaking just as much as yours but he’s not even thinking straight enough to hide them like he usually would. “What type of civilian kills people? I don’t-I don’t belong there anymore. I don’t belong there, I belong with you.”

“You killed one person in self defense, someone who was trying to kill us. That’s nothing compared to being in the Mafia, Osamu.” You try to calm him down but you don’t think there’s any calming him down now and you feel sick at the sight of him collapsing like this. You do your best to soften your tone as you continue, “Why would you want to be in the Mafia? Come on, Osamu, you’ve got good things going for you, your friend’s book to write, you don’t want this.”

“I can’t just go back to worrying about classes and homework after all of this,” he says, voice pitched as he shakes his head and tugs his hair a bit. “I can’t. I don’t belong there, I belong here, I stopped being a civilian the moment you let me into your life-”

“That’s not fair,” you breathe out, shaking your head. “That is not fair, Osamu. You forced yourself into my life just as much as I let you into it. That’s not fair.”

“It’s the truth. You could’ve cut me off at any point and you know that. You admitted it,” he hisses at you, throwing your words back into your face and it feels like a slap. “So, you can’t sit there and judge me for trying to make the most of it so things can be easier on both of us. I can do this. I belong here, belong with you. I helped you figure out how to try to get the Guild out of Yokohama, I sat there and helped you with plans, I killed someone, and I got this information for you—the Port Mafia would’ve stumbled right into the trap if I hadn’t. And you should be thanking me. You should be thanking me.”

Just like that, the cord snaps.

“This isn’t something to be fucking proud of, Osamu,” you shout at him, but he doesn’t even flinch, stands his ground about what he wants and it only pisses you off more. “None of this is shit to be proud of. Do you think I’m proud of who I am? You think Chuuya, or the Flags, or Klaus are? Do you think any of us are proud of what we do? Fuck, Osamu, how can you sit here and ask me to let you be part of this?”

“Because I could help. I could help you. Arahabaki couldn’t kill me, couldn’t even touch me—I could help, I could be the one sent to handle it instead of you. And-and I could do more, no one would expect a college kid to be part of the Mafia, I’d be able to get information for you, and I could-”

“Enough!” Your voice goes hoarse as you yell at him, unable to listen to this anymore. “Enough, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t see the way Dazai’s face falls at your words, the crestfallen expression that crosses over his face as soon as your words process through his head. You turn away from him, breathing heavily because you think you feel nauseous. 

How the fuck did this happen? 

You can’t let anyone find out about Dazai—his type of ability, the nullification, not even the West has developed anti-ability technology to this degree, they would kill to get their hands on Dazai. They’d put the bounty that had been on Atsushi to shame and you wouldn’t be able to protect him. He’d spend the rest of his life in labs being experimented on so they could replicate his ability in weapons.

Your phone starts ringing and you don’t even look to see who it is before you’re muttering out an excuse to Dazai and lifting it to your ear, pacing back to the stairs to go up to your bedroom for a few minutes alone to calm yourself down.

Except naturally, the person on the other line only induces more stress in you.

“How prompt, you’re not usually so quick to answer the phone when you’re with that little distraction of yours, little hime… lover’s spat, perhaps?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I thought you were someone else,” you say, voice dry and sharp. “Why are you calling me so late? Haven’t I seen enough of you today?” 

Mori laughs airly on the opposite line. “My, your time spent with that boy has sharpened your tongue… To think that all it would take for you to start stepping out of your shell is this…”

“I’m not in the mood,” you cut him off before he can continue, tongue running along the back of your teeth in frustration. “What do you want?” 

“There’s an issue at a warehouse by our ports in Shinko. The ones with the weapons being ready for transportation to Brazil. Take your subordinate and go ensure nothing is out of order—we can’t afford to be late on another shipment to Machado considering you redirected the last one to Paz.”

Instantly, you’re rolling your eyes. “Shinko is Ace’s port. Send him to get control over his territory,” you snap. “I’m busy.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve asked you. So, you’ll be going. You’ve caused enough trouble the past few weeks, I recommend you do as told without making a fuss.”

You grit your teeth but you bite back the next comment threatening to spill from your lips. Instead, you ask tightly, “What’s the issue there? What am I walking into?” 

Mori doesn’t respond for a moment. “... I’m not sure. Ace got word from one of his subordinates that something was going down there, but the line went dead before he could get a response. Our cameras are down. Take your subordinate, I can have the Black Lizards ready if you wish too.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, wandering over to your closet to grab one of your longer dark jackets. As you shrug it over your shoulders, you say, “I’ll go figure it out. I’m not making it into a big operation.”

Mori sighs. “If that’s what you want… Call me once you’re done.”

You roll your eyes as you hang up the phone, stuffing it in your pocket before leaving your room. “Look, Osamu,” you say loudly as you head down the stairs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let that escalate like that. I have to head out for a bit but…”

Your voice trails off when you make it down the steps and find that Dazai is nowhere to be seen. Instantly, that sick, dreadful feeling returns.

“Osamu?” you call louder, voice a bit more strained, cracking over his name. 

No response.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” you shout, slamming your hands against the back of the couch before resting on it, trying to push back the nausea that builds up quickly in your through. 

You fumble for your phone, finding Dazai’s contact so you can call him but your hopes are quashed when you hear it buzzing on the floor near where you’re standing—must’ve fallen out of his pocket in his rush to leave. Your vision blurs and your eyes sting with tears, your breath becomes so shuddered that you think you might be on the verge of a panic attack.

God, you can’t even remember the last time you cried, but your cheeks are unmistakably wet and there’s no torrential downpour for you to mask them with.

Now’s not the time to cry, though. You need to move. The ports are on the way to Dazai’s apartment—you’ll check out what’s happening there and if there’s some sort of disturbance, you’ll… shit, you don’t even know. Chuuya is out of commission from Corruption, Akutagawa is out of commission because the wounds he received from Arahabaki aggravated his respiratory issue, and Klaus is out of commission because he’s still suffering the effects of using his ability to heal himself as much as he did.

Maybe you’ll see if Iceman and Albatross can handle it, but Albatross already did you a favor today…

You’ll figure it out as you drive there. You can’t waste time on it now, you need to get moving. The quicker you get to the ports, the better.

Because you need to get to Dazai. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Your words ring through Dazai’s head on repeat as he stumbles down the sidewalks in the direction of his apartment complex. He can hardly even breathe, his breath is ragged and uneven and his vision is so blurry that he can hardly see where he’s stepping.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Dazai doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He’s always known that there was something wrong with him—it’s why people could hardly stand to look at him, why his mother killed herself, why his aunt abandoned him, why no matter how hard he tried to be likable, people still turned their back to him. He’s always known there was something fundamentally wrong with him, but when he’s with you, you make him forget that. 

You make him feel normal. Make him feel human. Like there was never anything wrong with him, but it was everyone else in the world who was wrong instead. Like he didn’t deserve everything bad that’s happened to him. 

Dazai has never had faith in anything—not in any god because that would mean he had to admit that even god had forsaken him and certainly not in himself because Dazai has only ever failed himself, but he had faith in you. He let himself have hope when he was with you because you looked at him like he was worthy of being loved, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to you.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You looked at Dazai like you’ve never really seen him before that moment and he just… He couldn’t stay there, not with you looking at him like that, not when he realized the day that he’s been dreading has finally come to pass. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You’ve finally seen what everyone else does when they look at him. He knew this day was coming. He knew it, and he knew he’d been pressing his luck, that he was on borrowed time, but he had hope. He had hope that maybe this time would be different, that someone would see past all of his fronts and love him for him but he should’ve known better. Dazai is not someone capable of being loved. His own blood scorned and rejected him, the woman who gave birth to him killed herself to be free of him—Dazai is not someone capable of being loved. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

He hiccups over another intake of air, tripping over uneven ground before steadying himself against the brickwall of a nearby building. He can see his apartment complex in the distance, it’s not far now, but Dazai feels sick. He feels sick and he can hardly breathe and-

And he misses you. He wants to go back to your apartment even if he’s met with contemptuous looks and rejection. He presses his hand to his mouth to hide the way he nearly chokes over a dry sob, feeling far too lost and alone. If he doesn’t belong with you, he doesn’t belong with anyone. Doesn’t belong anywhere. He wants to call you and ask you to come get him just to see if you’ll show, but he’s too scared that you won’t—and he doesn’t feel the familiar weight of his phone in his pocket anyway.

He forces himself to keep moving forward. He’s tired and it’s cold and Dazai just wants to lay in his cheap futon and cling to the thinning hope that you might come for him even if you did think he was a monster just like the rest of the world.

His feet drag against the concrete, the noise around him drowns out and his surroundings blur together, he keeps his gaze pinned to the ground as he moves forward. 

What is wrong with him? He’d known you were stressed with work, Nakahara Chuuya had told him that you were doing a lot worse than you were letting on, and he thought going out and putting himself in danger would be helpful… He’d just been so blinded by the idea of doing something useful…

It’s not until he gets to the steps of the complex that he realizes something is wrong. That someone is watching him. His gaze lifts as he looks around, eyes wide—for a moment, he doesn’t see anybody and he’s about to rush into the building but then he sees the shadow of a figure shift out of the overhang, waving his hand in the air.

“There you are, we’ve been waiting for ya,” a cheerful voice greets and Dazai’s hair stands on end as his gaze focuses on an unfamiliar redhead. He has an accent—American—and holds a handgun haphazardly in the hand he’s waving. “Damn, you look like you’ve had a shit night.”

This must be a member of the Guild.

You were right—they have been looking for Dazai and he… he just walked right into their hands. He lets out a breath, gaze darting up to the gun before swiveling around the area. He can’t outrun a gun, but he doubts that they’re going to shoot to kill if they plan to use him against you. If he could at least get a bit further out on the sidewalk… you have your subordinates monitor those cameras, they would see him get taken and report to you and-

And you would come for him. You would. You had to. 

Right?

“Thanks for the flashdrive, by the way,” the man grins as he bounds down the steps closer to Dazai. Dazai takes steps back to match the steps the Guild member takes forward, hoping that he can get far enough into the view of the cameras. “We can finally get little miss princess out of the way. Now that girl is a piece of work, takin’ this city’s gonna be much easier with her behind bars.”

Dazai stops dead in his tracks.

“What?” he breathes out. “What did you just say?”

His smile sharpens as he lifts his hand, showing off a very familiar hard drive tucked between his middle and index finger. “Gotta give you props, we’ve been trying for so long to get something to hold over her. She’s one slippery bitch, that’s for sure. And she’s got way too many allies. I kinda wanted to meet her just to see what all of the hype is about, but guess I’m not gonna get the chance.”

Dazai can hardly think—or, he is thinking but he’s thinking too much, so much that he can’t even tell one thought from the next because they’re all tumbling over each other and jumbling together.

“Give me that,” Dazai whispers before steadying his voice. “Give me that back now.”

The redhead shrugs and tosses him the flash drive. He cradles it to his chest instantly, throat spasming as he swallows.

“Sure,” the other man says. “Not like it matters, damage is already done. Hear that?”

Dazai becomes acutely aware of the sirens in the distance and he shakes his head, not willing to believe what’s happening. He-he can’t even do anything—he can’t call you to warn you, can’t out run a gun. Dazai feels so frustrated that he’s almost sick again. He’s never felt so entirely helpless before, never not been able to think his way out of a situation.

This is all his fault. 

He never should have sought out this footage, he should’ve destroyed it ages ago. He can never do anything right. He understands now why so many people were against him being in your life and for a brief second, he wishes that they’d succeeded in convincing you to cut him off because you’d be better off that way.

This is his fault.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Sorry kid,” he sighs lazily, not sounding sorry at all. “I fear I’m boutta make your shitty night a whole lot worse. Go on, James. Let’s bring him in.”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to react when he catches movement from the corner of his eye, a baton cracks against the side of his head so hard that his brain rattles against his skull and he doesn’t even register hitting the ground until he can feel the cool concrete against the side of his face.

Dazai’s vision blurs before it starts fading in and out, his body limp and uncooperative even as he tries to drag himself away from his assailants. He feels two hands grab him and hoist him over their shoulder, and as his body finally starts to succumb to the tantalizing lull of darkness, all he can think of is you.

I’m sorry, he thinks, wishing you could hear him. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryimsorryimsorryi-

You hear police sirens in the distance as you arrive at the ferry leading to Shinko. It takes about five seconds for irritation to cloud your mind, realizing that the ferrymaster is not, in fact, waiting for you even though you called Ace and told him to have the ferry ready for you so you can check this out as soon as possible. You hate that despicable man but you need to get to Dazai, so speaking to him was a displeasure you were forced to deal with.

What a bastard, you think bitterly, shooting a text to Albatross to ask if he’s busy. You sigh as you lean against the cool wall, tilting your head up to look up at the colors the setting sun paints across the sky as you wait for a response.

You never should’ve let that fight escalate.

The thought has been plaguing you since you left your apartment. You knew better. Dazai is a civilian, he’s struggling to cope with everything that’s happened, of course he’s going to feel out of place with other civilians after what he saw, after what he did. He’d already opened up to you about his struggles to fit in with people and you knew this would make those insecurities worse but…

But hearing him say that he belonged in the Mafia scared you. He doesn’t belong there and he seemed to well and truly believe that it was the only place for him. The thought of the likes of Mori getting his hands on Dazai’s nullifying ability… It scared you beyond words could describe. Dazai belongs with you, yes, but he doesn’t belong with the Mafia. 

Still, you shouldn’t have reacted the way you did. Of course he ran, he’d been on the verge of collapse and you yelled at him, you scorned him, he was lost and looking for something to hold onto, looking for you to tell him everything would be okay, and you walked away.

Your eyes sting again. Even though no one is around to bear witness, you still close them to hide the way they mist over with regret. You’ve made many mistakes in your life—mistakes that got Itou killed, mistakes that ruined Chuuya’s life, and now mistakes that might’ve pushed away the only person who you could safely say loved you for who you are, unconditionally and unrepentantly.

You only force yourself to reopen your eyes when you feel your phone buzzing again, hopefully Albatross responding to your text. Before you can even unlock your phone, there are several more texts coming through, too quick for you to read what they’re saying—Chuuya, Kouyou, Doc, Lippmann, Piano Man, Klaus. You straighten, a heavy feeling settling over you as you look down at your phone and get ready to click one of the messages from Kouyou.

It’s only when Iceman calls that you pick up.

“What’s going on?” you ask, your voice steady even if your throat spasms with nerves.

Is it Dazai? Did something happen to him?

“Where are you?” Iceman demands. “I’m in the car with Albatross. Give us your location now.”

“I’m at the ferry terminal leading to Shinko. What is going on? Is Os-Dazai okay?” you question sharply, fingers tight and trembling around your phone. “Iceman-”

“I don’t know shit about your boyfriend,” Iceman snaps. “Have you even seen the news?”

You pull your phone from your ear without another word, fingers trembling as you pull up the news app. Your ears ring with the approaching police sirens as you read the trending headline, vision swimming and a shaky breath escaping your lips as you lean your weight against the wall so you don’t crumple to the ground. 

Vice Chair of the Mori Corporation suspected of Mafia affiliation after the release of footage from behind the Tokyo City Hall. What does this mean for the rest of the Corporation?

“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head as you stare down at the news article. You can hear Iceman and Albatross yelling on the opposite line, trying to get your attention, but you can hardly make out what they’re saying. The sound of the sirens is too loud, too near. “This isn’t real. We… got rid of the…”

“Footage from behind the Tokyo City Hall… you and the ginger with the ugly hat… splattered six guys against the wall.”

Dazai… what did you do?

No, he would never. No matter how upset he is at you. He would never hand over the footage. The real question is: what happened to him? How did they get ahold of the footage he’s been hiding? What did they do to him?

You feel sick as soon as the thought crosses your mind. The regret you felt moments before triples, quadruples, weighs on you so heavily that you think if you jumped in the bay, you would sink to the bottom. You never should have let the fight escalate, never should have given him the chance to leave.

You can see the flashing lights now, they’re rapidly closing in on you. You need to think—you don’t have much time left. You need to figure out how the Ivory Eagle got their hands on the video; they had to have gotten it through Dazai, but because Dazai would never give it up willingly… And the meeting about the tip-off right after the conflict with the Guild where Steinbeck confirmed that Fitzgerald knew about Dazai… 

The Guild must be involved. They must have worked with the journalists. They did the dirty work to get the footage from Dazai and passed it along to the journalists. You could send Klaus after the journalists, but it would condemn you if they were attacked or killed the day after they released an exposé on you. It would all but confirm your position in the mafia.

But Dazai could be in trouble.

And just like that, your decision is made.

“It’s too late, the cops are here,” you finally tell Iceman, “don’t bother coming.”

“But-”

“Shut up and listen to me, I don’t have much time,” you say sharply. “Ace set this up—have Piano Man call an executive meeting to have him executed. The Ivory Eagle journalism house. There’s a journalist called Ui Koutarou working there. He needs to be captured and interrogated immediately. Tonight. There’s a good chance that they worked with the Guild to get this video. Have Klaus do it, he’ll know what to do once he has the information… Kill the rest of them, I want them dead before I’m out on bail.”

“If we kill them now-”

“I know,” you spit. “I know what it means for me. I don’t care. Have it done.”

With Klaus behind the interrogation, as soon as Ui cracks and admits they had the Guild get the video through force from Dazai, he’ll know to go after the Guild to get to Dazai, and hopefully, Ui will have decent enough information about how he should go about it. If all goes well, Dazai will be back in your apartment and under a serious protection detail before you even get released from holding.

If it doesn’t go well… you’ll be arraigned by the court either tomorrow or the day after, Mori or Lippmann will handle bail, and you’ll put the Guild in its fucking grave before the prosecution is forced to drop the charges against you.

Dazai just needs to wait for you. 

He needs to trust you, even if he doesn’t have much reason to right now.

You toss your phone into the bay as several police cars skid to a stop at the front of the pier. The sirens are loud and piercing, the lights blinding, and you can hardly hear the words the officers are shouting as they approach you with guns drawn. You can hear the rotor blades of a helicopter thundering in the air above you as a spotlight shines down on you and the approaching officers.

You lift your hands in the air before you’re forced to your knees, arms twisted painfully behind your back as metal cuffs are locked around your wrists. You're dragged back to your feet, and the charges against you and your rights are read, but you don’t hear any of it. Your mind is only trained on one thing—one person.

Dazai, you think desperately, wait for me.