#the near beginning and i am just so proud of him. so so proud i could cry

[napsaps-archive]

the first ever minecraft speedrunner vs hunter video was uploaded on dream's channel 3 years ago as of yesterday btw. he's come so far :(

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 SOMETIMES ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU (LATE NIGHTS IN THE MIDDLE OF JUNE)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: realizing you have no idea when dazai's birthday is, you and chuuya embark on a massive quest to figure it out. and you do—but you also find out something far more worrying in the process, making you question if you ever really knew dazai osamu. the issue? you have no way of bringing it up to him. but you'll have to worry about that later anyway. first things first: you have to plan a birthday that dazai will never forget. {sfw, 14.8k}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: AHHHHHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOYYYYYYYY im so proud of how this fic came out genuinely its my favorite thing ive written to date. i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it (warnings: fem!reader, mostly fluff with some angst sprinkled in at the beginning and end)

“Hey, do you know when Dazai’s birthday is?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever stop thinking about him?”

Your jaw drops as Chuuya lets out the loud complaint, head snapping to the side to focus on where he’s sitting in the chair at the tattoo parlor near headquarters, cheek pressed against the headrest, glaring at you as the artist continues to work on the right half of his upper back, finishing up the last section of the art spanning across his entire back. It’s his biggest one yet, you can hardly see an inch of unmarked skin—bright reds of camellia flowers and different types of animals and objects centered around the skull of a ram decorate his back. It’s beautiful, you have to acknowledge that, you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a stunning tattoo before and Chuuya is beyond pleased with how it’s turning out considering how he’s constantly pulling off his shirt to look at it in a mirror whenever he gets the chance.

To honor the Flags, he’d told you when he dragged you along for the first session. You didn’t know most of them—you’d worked with Lippmann a few times considering his job within the Mafia, and you’d met with Iceman to give him the rundown on targets that needed to be handled when Mori would send him to you in Kyoto, but that was about the extent of your interaction with them. Chuuya’d been closer to them—he didn’t like to talk about them at first, but he’s gradually been more and more open with it.

You think it’s because he’s afraid of forgetting them.

“You’re an asshole,” you snap after getting over the shock of his rude comment, turning your head away to look out the window.

Dazai evades the two of you whenever Chuuya has one of his sessions scheduled. You think it’s kind of funny, honestly; you know he does it because he hates pain and he knows that if he joins you guys, Chuuya will somehow goad him into getting a tattoo with a dare or a challenge that he won’t be able to back down from. So, instead, he makes excuses for missions that you both know damn well he doesn’t have.

“No, I don’t know,” he finally says irritably. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You give him an appalled look. “He’s your friend, and your partner. What do you mean you don’t know?”

“That bastard is not my friend,” Chuuya instantly hisses, but you can’t help but notice that he suddenly looks troubled by the realization that he doesn’t know Dazai’s birthday.

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes, knowing damn well that it’s a blatant lie. “That’s a fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Is not,” Chuuya spits.

“Is too.” 

Chuuya would have kept going with the back and forth, but he’s given a sharp look by the tattoo artist working on his shoulder and he settles down, but not before shooting you one last withering look.

“I bet he knows your birthday,” you add after a few moments of silence, just to trigger Chuuya again.

It works.

He lets out a noise more befitting of an animal, head snapping back to the side to look at you. “He definitely does n-” He cuts himself off before he can even finish the sentence, glaring at you. “That’s because that freak knows everything somehow.”

You only give him an easy shrug. “Just saying, it’s a bit…” You give him a twisted expression, nose wrinkled and lips pressed together rather than saying the word out loud, and Chuuya looks murderous. 

“It’s a bit what?” Chuuya demands. “You don’t know his birthday either.”

“I’m not his partner,” you counter to hide the fact that you are very bothered over not knowing his birthday.

“No, you’re just his girlfriend,” Chuuya says snidely.

Your face heats up. “I am not his girlfriend, Chuuya,” you scowl. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chuuya replies sarcastically, giving the tattoo artist an apologetic look when he gives the ginger another sharp warning with his eyes. “If Dazai wanted us to know his birthday, he would have told us. Y’know how secretive he gets over his personal life—he’d be shouting it off every rooftop if it was something he wanted us to do something about.”

You’re not quite as convinced.

At first glance, Dazai doesn’t shut up—he finds any and every reason to hear himself speak, whether it be random facts about crabs or ranking methods of suicide from least to most painful. Because of his tendency to run his mouth, most people don’t realize just how secretive he is about his personal life. You’ve realized that he probably uses it as a tactic to evade questions, because when people do poke and prod about his personal life, he becomes avoidant, expertly redirecting the conversation to something less personal by subtly changing the subject or pissing off whoever (Chuuya) is talking to him. You always catch it—conversation manipulation is your thing, you’ve finely honed your skills in guiding discussion to your discretion, it’s a skill that comes in handy at the negotiation table and in politics. You know he knows that you catch it too, always watching you carefully to ensure that you don’t call any attention to what he’s doing.

You don’t, of course, you’re not going to put him on the spot like that, but you don’t understand it. Well, you can to an extent—if you had random people prodding at your personal life, you’d also evade the topic. But you and Chuuya aren’t random people. You’re his friends, and you can’t for the life of you understand why he won’t open up to the two of you a little.

Every time you bring up the subject of him to him, he starts acting strange and cagey, like he knows that his evasion tactics won’t work with you and he wants to say something, but simply can’t get the words out. Maybe it’s his mistaken belief that he doesn’t deserve all of the things other people take for granted: comfort, friends, happiness. But still, you can’t imagine that Dazai doesn’t crave the experience of a normal birthday—well, as normal as things can get for teenage mafiosos—because you know that Dazai at his core simply wants to be a normal teenager.

As to why Dazai would rather deny himself happiness than to let you and Chuuya closer than arm's length? The answer alludes you even you.

When Chuuya grimaces, letting out a heavy breath and averting his gaze, you think that he’s come to the same conclusion as you.

“I assume since you’re bringing it up, you have some sort of plan?” Chuuya sighs, tired.

You smile.

“Naturally.”

You think Chuuya might kill you after this.

You can’t help but snort to yourself as you kneel on the floor next to Mori’s desk, rifling through his drawers to find the key to his file cabinet. Chuuya is somewhere downstairs trying to keep the man distracted with a fake medical condition while you try to find Dazai’s file in his office. You can hear him in the ear piece you’re wearing, flustered and stuttering over his words. You can almost picture how red his face is. 

Chuuya isn’t a bad liar, usually—in fact, he can act his ass off on missions—but lying to the Boss is an entirely different story. You think that you probably should have been the one to keep Mori distracted, but you worried that if Mori got up here and Chuuya was still searching, he wouldn’t be able to play it off. So, this was the lesser of two evils. 

Mori is getting increasingly more irritated as Chuuya keeps miswording the symptoms and backtracking, then blaming it on how ‘his head just hurts so bad, he can’t think.’ You’re sure he’s starting to suspect something—or more likely, the man probably figured it out right away—but you also know he’s too hyper-paranoid about losing his strongest ability user to dismiss Chuuya’s blatant lies for what they are.

You let out a victorious puff of air when your hand encloses around the key you’d been searching for, immediately shuffling over to the file cabinet, unlocking it as quickly as you can to shuffle through them, trying to find Dazai’s.

Mori has too many files, you think to yourself frustrated, eyes scanning as fast as you can as you flip through them, trying to spot the one you need, becoming increasingly more frantic when you hear Mori and Chuuya enter the elevator, not sure if they’re coming up to his office or if Mori’s dragging Chuuya down to one of the lower floor infirmaries.

Fuck, you think, finally flipping through to the D’s and letting out a frustrated groan when his file isn’t even there. You go through it again, more carefully this time, and nearly tug out your hair when you realize that either Mori misplaced Dazai’s file or there isn’t one. But you can’t imagine either of those options being true.

Getting increasingly more anxious as the seconds pass, and knowing that Chuuya actually will kill you if he embarrassed himself like this for nothing, you start rifling through the other letters in a panic. From the A’s all the way to the Z’s, it’s only on your second scan through that you pause, spotting a thick, unnamed file in the T section.

You stare at it for a moment, brows furrowed, a gut feeling twisting inside you as you try to pull out the file. It’s a struggle—the file is thick and the drawer is stuffed, but when you finally get it out and flip it open, your eyes widen when Dazai’s face stares back at you in the top left corner of the first paper in the file. He’s younger in the picture—no older than thirteen or fourteen—both eyes uncovered, black and void of life.

You let out a shaky breath, heart racing as your eyes scan dismissively over any information that’s not his birthday, because you know damn well Dazai will not take kindly to yours and Chuuya’s snooping and you want to mitigate the damage, only to halt when your gaze catches on blacked out information right above the date.

His name?

You pause, eyes focusing momentarily as you try to understand what you’re reading.

NAME:  ████████████████ 

ALIAS: Dazai Osamu

What?

You don’t know how long you stare at the file, lips parted and a torrent of emotions clawing at your chest. Mainly confusion, but also something else—tighter, more unwelcome. You don’t even have time to try to figure out what you’re looking at because at once, the remote in your pocket is buzzing, the last signal from Chuuya that Mori is on the floor of his office.

You let out a string of curses, putting the file back where you found it, locking the cabinet and putting the key back before darting to the other side of the desk. You mask the confusion and nerves rattling your mind and body with an irritated expression just as the door opens.

“… ggest that you take some time to rest, Chuuya-kun. Physically, there is nothing wrong with you.”

You look over your shoulder, eyes meeting Mori’s as you frown deeply. “You’re late,” you say. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes.”

“Ah, apologies, I’m afraid young Chuuya-kun has spent the past twenty minutes following me around with nonexistent health issues,” Mori replies with a thin smile, purple eyes carding over you before he looks around his office curiously, as if he knows you’d been up to something but doesn’t know what. Chuuya cringes next to him and gives you a withering look, he opens his mouth to protest but Mori is speaking again before he can get anything out. “What did you want to discuss?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation in Vladivostok,” you say, eyes following Mori, waiting for him to sit down so you can. You watch as he glances around his desk, as if trying to figure out what you’d been doing before he showed up. You almost smile when his eyes narrow after coming empty handed. “I think it would be in our best interest…” 

As you sit down across from Mori, you slip your hands behind your back, giving Chuuya a thumbs up, letting him know that his humiliation was not in vain.

Step one, complete. June 19th.

“I will never fucking forgive you for that,” Chuuya hisses when the two of you finally leave Mori’s office. “Never. That was humiliating.”

You snort. “It was pretty bad.”

“Fuck you,” Chuuya snaps. His face is still on fire, has been for the past twenty minutes as you explained your plan for the new organization rising to power in eastern Russia. “Well? When is his birthday?”

You cringe and Chuuya is instantly glowering at you. “Don’t even tell me you didn’t find it. You gave me the thumbs up. I’ll-”

“No, I got it,” you say dismissively. 

That’s not what you’re cringing over—you’re cringing for two reasons: 1) his birthday is less than five days away and you have no idea how the two of you are going to figure something out before then, and 2) the reminder of Dazai’s file, its misplaced location and the blacked out information where his name should have been, the alias labeling what you thought was his real name.

Your lips part to bring it up to Chuuya, but you hesitate because you don’t know if you should. The last thing you want to do is upset Dazai because you let something out that he didn't want anyone to know.

“Well?” Chuuya demands. “What is it?”

“June 19th,” you say, watching as Chuuya blanches. “Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do in four days?” Chuuya hisses, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look at him. “I don’t even know what that bastard would want.”

You’re just as lost, grimacing as you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Dazai never really… wants for anything.”

You stare ahead listlessly, leaning against the elevator wall as the two of you head down to the first floor. Dazai likes playing video games, but he gets bored of them quickly. His room is stacked with games he’s played once and then tossed to the side. He likes crab, but you’re not going to get him canned crab for his birthday. He likes suicide, and you’re pretty sure a new edition of that wretched book of his came out, but you also don’t want to get him that for, well, obvious reasons.

“Maybe we can get him a pet crab?” Chuuya frowns.

“He’ll kill it,” you dismiss, “and then he’ll spend months whining over it. And blaming us.”

“Fair enough.”

The elevator door slides open as the two of you reach the bottom floor, and you watch as the subordinates meandering about incline their heads toward the two of you as you pass by. You only absently wave them off, mind racing as you try to figure out what to do for Dazai’s birthday. Crab, suicide, video games—what else could Dazai possibly like?

You think the only other thing is-

Oh. Oh. You have an idea.

A smile spreads across your face. “Chuuya,” you say, relieved, “I have the best idea-”

“There you guys are,” Dazai’s familiar voice rings from the right, and immediately, Chuuya gives you a sharp, panicked look and you shut your mouth, stiffening. “I was…”

Dazai trails off, and you briefly shut your eyes, because wow, that was entirely unsubtle. Dazai’s smile is more strained now and the shine in his dark eye fades, the palpable excitement withers away in a matter of seconds.

Fuck.

“I see,” Dazai says, voice cool and withdrawn. “You guys are busy. It wasn’t important anyway.”

“Dazai,” you call after him, taking a few steps, but the boy has already whirled around, stalking off the way he came. He ignores your call of his name. “Shit.”

“He totally took that the wrong way,” Chuuya says, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“How astute, Chuuya,” you say dryly, chest tight as Dazai disappears around the corner.

“You know, for someone who brags about not needing anyone, he’s pretty fucking sensitive,” Chuuya notes.

“Don’t be a fucking asshole, Chuuya,” you snap at him, but the redhead only shrugs carelessly in response.

“It’s the truth. Anyway, what was your idea?” 

Even with the weight of Dazai clearly being upset heavy on your chest, the reminder of your idea for his birthday still causes a sly smile to spread across your lips.

“You’re gonna love this.”

Not only was Dazai upset, but he was upset enough that he hasn’t come back to your apartment in three and a half days. You figure he must be back at his shipping container, or maybe staying with those other friends of his, but you feel lonely without him. It’s weird not coming back to your apartment to find him lounging on your couch eating your favorite snacks; it’s different when he has missions and can’t be here, right now? He’s choosing to not be here, and that makes you feel gross and uncomfortable.

You feel bad, and no matter how many times Chuuya tells you to look on the bright side—that you guys can plan his birthday without him constantly hovering, figuring out what the two of you are doing—it just makes you feel worse. 

You’re sitting in your apartment waiting for Chuuya when the elevator bings, signaling someone coming up to your apartment—and considering there’s only two people who the front desk let up without your explicit permission, and one of them is still dealing with issues at one of the ports, which flooded from all of the rain the past few days, there’s only one person who it can be.

Your eyes widen as your head snaps up, looking to the elevator as the doors slide open, revealing Dazai fumbling with something in his jacket as he steps out. He doesn’t even notice you until you rise to your feet, and when he does, he’s instantly guarded. 

“You’re supposed to be on a mission,” he accuses, voice low.

You’re a bit hurt that Dazai only showed up to your apartment because he thought you wouldn’t be here but you mask it with a tilt of your head and a curious expression.

“I am on a mission,” you say, and it’s not a lie—the mission is finalizing the plans for Dazai’s birthday, step two starts in four hours and you need to confirm things with Chuuya before it begins. What awful timing, you realize mournfully, because you do want to smooth things out with Dazai but right now you can’t afford to. “It’s one I can do at home.”

Dazai makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, gaze focusing on the folders laid out in front of you. Closed, luckily, you’d been skimming through one but you got bored while waiting for Chuuya and decided to scroll on your phone.

“I only came to pick up my other jacket,” Dazai finally says, voice still cold and distant—you hate it.

Your eyes track down to Dazai’s coat, noticing the blood that’s dripping from it onto your wood floor.

You cringe, but then extend an olive branch by asking, “Want me to throw it in the wash?”

Dazai hesitates, a reluctant expression crossing his face but he nods, slipping it off his shoulders and padding over to you slowly, handing it to you carefully so as to not get the blood on your couch. Your fingers brush his as he does and your throat spasms a bit.

Dazai draws back quickly, but then he looks down at the files in front of you, and then back to you and asks, “… Want help with that?”

Shit.

This is Dazai’s olive branch, and you have to reject it. Because then he’ll realize this is no mission, and all of the plans for his birthday will go to waste.

“Nah,” you say easily. “It’s fine. It’s quick, where were you heading out to?”

Dazai looks a little put out by your rejection, but he doesn’t look too bothered, so he probably took your lie as truth.

“Bar Lupin.”

You roll your eyes.

Dazai gives you a dirty look.

“I don’t know why you get so jealous about them,” Dazai says pettily, obviously trying to get a retaliatory dig in for whatever wound he thinks he received the other day. Your eye twitches at the accusation. “I knew Odasaku before you.”

You pause at that.

Does Oda know Dazai’s real name? You’re hit with a wave of vicious jealousy, and faced once again with the back and forth you’ve been dealing with the past three days—do you really know Dazai? He’s always hid a lot from you, you knew that, but to realize that you only know him by an alias… You don’t understand it—is it by choice? Does he just no longer want to associate with that name? If that’s the case, then you don’t even want to ask and make him uncomfortable. 

But what if it’s not? What if Dazai Osamu is just a fake persona he’s built to hide his real self? You doubt he’s a spy, Mori would obviously know but… if it was Mori that forced him to take on a new name and identity? If he wants to let people in but can’t? You remember all of the times when you ask him things and he stares at you as if he wants to answer but doesn’t know how.

“You shouldn’t think too much, your small brain will implode.”

“Fuck you.”

Drawn from your thoughts, you glare at Dazai, who only gives you a simpering smile in return, eye regaining that little bit of shine it’d lost when he ran into you and Chuuya that day. Then he hesitates again and you raise your eyebrows.

“I’ll call things off with Odasaku and Ango? … You picked out that movie last week, we never watched it. We can watch it after you finish up?” His voice is quiet, uncertain and you feel like a cunt, because you have no way of saying no without being a cunt. 

You’d already told him that the mission wouldn’t take long, so you can’t use that as an excuse. You think maybe you should just call off tonight with Chuuya, meet at his apartment later on to try to get things for dawn, when everything is to take place. It would be risky, you don’t know if you can pull off such an elaborate scheme with such little preparation and Dazai, of all people, as the target, but you think you’d rather risk that then say no to him right now. 

Your lips part to agree, mind already racing trying to figure out how to get all the folders out of here before his nosy ass can peak at one of them, but you’re interrupted by your elevator binging. Again.

Oh, fuck.

Dazai stills as his gaze cuts backward, eye sharp as the elevator doors slide open and reveal an irritated Chuuya, soaked up to the waist and covered in mud.

“Fucking hell,” Chuuya seethes. “I’m never helping out at the ports again. They’re fucking incompetent, I-”

Chuuya pauses when he sees Dazai. Dazai doesn’t budge. For a split second, not a single one of you dares to move. You can see the quick cogs within Dazai’s mind turning as he pieces together an answer—why you didn’t accept his help, why you took so long to respond. Dread piles in your stomach as you try to figure out what to say only to come up empty-handed. For someone known for a quick tongue and sharp brain, you always somehow find them failing you when faced with conflict with Dazai. 

Finally, Dazai breaks the silence with a cool smile and a mirthful look in his eye, glancing back at you.

“That’s why you wanted me out of here. Okay.” He leaves no room for questions, doesn’t even bother to go into his bedroom to grab his other jacket before stalking forward and entering the elevator Chuuya just came out of, not even acknowledging his partner before smacking the button to the first floor.

“Dazai!” you call after him, taking a few steps toward the elevator but he only turns his chin as the doors slide shut. You shout after him angrily, “And you say I’m the jealous one!” but you doubt he even heard it.

“That bastard has the worst fucking timing ever,” Chuuya says as soon as he’s gone, unperturbed.

You give Chuuya a withering look, wanting to curl up on your couch and die. So you do that. The weight on your chest that had only just finally started to relieve itself from you returns with a vengeance, and you suddenly feel like you want to cry, unsure of how everything has gone so wrong the past few days when you just want to do something nice for him. You tuck your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, placing your chin on top of them.

“Relax,” Chuuya says, tossing himself onto the couch next to you; you don’t even have it in you to be annoyed by the water and mud, shoulders slumping as he tosses an arm around you and lets you lean into him. “It’ll be fine. Blockhead won’t even know what hit him tomorrow. C’mon, let’s get this finished so we’re ready to go.”

“… You want us to… kidnap the Demon Prodigy?”

Your subordinates stare, expressions pale and aghast as they share looks with one another. You stand resolute, head held high, and Chuuya raises his eyebrows next to you. Your eye twitches at the moniker that follows Dazai everywhere.

“That’s what we said, yes,” you say, frowning. “Was I unclear?”

“No, hime-” You roll your eyes at yet another one of Mori’s ghastly titles.

He must find it quite amusing, pleased with himself every time he watches you turn green with disgust when he insists on using the term. Even worse, it seems he’s somehow managed to coax your subordinates into using the shitty moniker too. The old man must really enjoy pissing you off, he’s certainly very skilled at it. 

Your lip curls up in irritation when your subordinate continues.

“It’s just-what if-”

“You will not be punished for targeting an executive,” you say dismissively. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“We fear that the Demon Prodigy will… draw his gun when threatened,” the man continues, grimacing as if trying to choose his words carefully. You don’t recognize him—you think you should probably get to know your subordinates better, you’ve left most dealings with them to your partner, Itou… who you also have to get in contact with for this plan to work. You wince, realizing you still have much more to do within the next few hours. “How should we proceed if he does?” 

“Dazai probably will.” You stress his name, giving the man a withering look. To his credit, he winces and looks away. “But he will also be drunk, and slower, taken off guard, so you will… Well, I suppose you wouldn’t have the advantage over even a drunk and surprised Dazai, but there are more of you, so there’s that.”

“Way to inspire confidence,” Chuuya mutters dryly.

You shrug, “I’m not going to delude them before sending them out. They should be prepared to take a bullet or two. Hopefully nonlethal—you have bullet proof vests.”

“You’re fucked up,” Chuuya snorts, before turning his attention to the dozen or so gathered subordinates. “There will be minimal risk, and remember, nobody is to know about this. Nobody. Not even the other executives, or the Boss.”

“Especially not the Boss,” you add. “For the next day and a half, you’re relieved of duties. Go back to your families, or get shit-faced drunk, but don’t come back to headquarters. Under any circumstances. Clear?” 

The men exchange looks with one another, uncertain. “And if he draws his gun?” the man prods again. 

You share a look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye. “He’s not to be injured,” you finally say, voice firm, not leaving any room for doubt. “Under any circumstances. Inject him with this, you’ll be fine.”

You pull from your pocket a sedative that you’d pocketed from Mori’s office before, dangling it in front of them, waiting for one of them to reach out and take it. When they do, you lean back on your heels and look at them.

“This has to be successful,” you tell them, finally starting to feel the pinpricks of anxiety run through your chest the closer it gets to go-time. Dazai is so mad at you right now, and if this fails, it’ll make things ten times worse. Failure isn’t an option—it never is, but especially not now. “I won’t accept anything less.”

“Yes ma’am,” one of your subordinates murmurs and the rest echo, half of them look as if they’re marching off to their death and you absently make yourself a note to give them a big bonus this month. “Can we at least know why we’re kidnapping the De-Executive Dazai?” 

You smile. 

“It’s his birthday gift.”

Dazai is in a bad mood.

Oda watches curiously as the boy downs his seventh (eighth?) drink, wondering if he should tell him to slow down. From the corner of his eye, he sees Ango cringing, lips parted as if to speak but then reconsidering as he shakes his head and takes a sip of his own alcohol, looking thoroughly concerned. Dazai hasn’t said a word since he showed up two hours ago in a foul mood, and every time Oda opens his mouth to ask, Ango gives him the sharpest look and Oda instantly shuts his mouth.

“I think the slug is dating-” Dazai finally speaks, voice rough, right hand clenched around his glass of whiskey. It’s as if he can’t even bring himself to say the words and Oda’s eyes narrow as he studies him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “I think the slug is dating… her.”

Her. He must mean you. You’re pretty much the only ‘her’ that Dazai ever refers to—goes on about you nonstop whenever he gets a few drinks in him.

“That’s nice,” Oda says without thinking, until he sees the horrified look cast his way by Ango. “That’s awful.”

“It is awful,” Dazai agrees with a hiss. “It’s awful. I hate it. It’s disgusting.”

Oh, Oda realizes, a bit more amused, grateful that Dazai is too busy glaring into his drink to see the smile that curls to the corner of his lips. Oda had suspected that Dazai has a crush on you just from the way he talks about you—going from long winded rants of how agonizing you are to live with (as if he doesn’t actively choose to live with you) to wistful recounts admiring your missions (although those quickly shift into rants, as if Dazai catches himself yearning and has to make up for it by acting like it never happened). 

Oda and Ango realized that Dazai was obsessed with you months ago—back before the Dragon’s Head Conflict even ended, not long after you showed up, actually, when he first started talking about you. Oda assumed that it was a kiddie crush that he’d grow out of, but here he is a year later, just as infatuated—if not more so.

Cute.

“What-” Ango begins only for his voice to waver, glaring at Oda when he sees the smile on the man’s lips. He sighs, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose before retrying. “What makes you think they’re dating?” 

“The other day I went looking for them and I found them together, and I was gonna ask them to go to the arcade with me, but as soon as they saw me, they got all stiff and uncomfortable like they didn’t want me there.” 

Dazai almost sounds hurt by it—words strung out a bit long, lips curved down. It’s not often that Oda gets to see him act like the sixteen (seventeen now? Oda realizes he doesn’t even know the boy’s age and makes a note to ask) year old that he is, and while it’s unfortunate that this one is stemmed by him feeling rejected by his friends, he also can’t help but smile at it. Which Ango catches from the appalled look that the other man gives him.

Oda smothers the smile again instantly.

“That doesn’t mean that they’re dating,” Ango begins, trying to be reasonable, but is cut off when Dazai tosses him a sharp glare.

“And then,” Dazai continues, “I went home before because I thought she was going to be on a mission, but she was there working on it, and I offered to help her with it so she could finish faster, but she said no. And I didn’t think anything of it, but then I said I was going to reschedule with you guys for another day so we could watch a movie, and she didn’t respond at first, and I thought that was weird, and then guess what? The slug showed up. She was blowing me off to hang out with him.”

Wow, Oda thinks to himself. That’s a lot to break down. 

Home. Oda is careful this time to not let his lips quirk up into a smile but it’s impossible to hide the fond look in his eyes as he looks down at a sulking Dazai, who has slumped over the bar top, absently playing with the spherical ice in his drink. Oda has never heard Dazai refer to anything as home before. His shipping container had always just been the shipping container, and up until, well, today, your apartment had always just been your apartment. Ango catches the wording too from the way his eyes widen a bit.

And then on top of that, Dazai? Offering to help someone with work? Oda thinks there’s a better chance of fire raining from the sky. Oda is realizing that this really is more than a kiddie crush—not that Dazai would probably ever acknowledge that. Oda wonders if he should help him get there. 

“That doesn’t mean they’re dating,” Oda finally says, taking a sip of his drink and ignoring the way Ango gives him a side eye, focusing instead on how Dazai turns his head to the side to look at Oda. If Oda didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy is pouting. “They might be planning something for you, don’t want you around for it. You had that mission recently, didn’t you? The one everyone said would fail?”

Oda realizes, a bit too late, that if that is the case, he just ruined the surprise and silently apologies for it. But Dazai doesn’t seem to take him seriously anyway, rolling his eye as he returns to bouncing the ice in the glass.

“Yeah, right,” he says dryly. “No one does anything like that for me.”

Oda purses his lips, not responding, and Ango sighs as he looks away. Oda tries to figure out what to say, testing some words on his tongue but they all feel wrong.

Finally, he chooses to just be blunt. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

The noise Ango lets out is all but a whimper, he buries his face in his hands as if to disappear. Dazai’s gaze cuts to the side, head turning slowly as he focuses on Oda.

“What?”

Oda thinks maybe he should stop talking, but he doesn’t, naturally. “Y’know—you could just tell her how you feel,” Oda repeats, seeing the way Ango is shaking his head frantically but he continues anyway. “Telling her would save you from doing this once a week.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Dazai says icily, taking a tone that he rarely uses with Oda as he pushes himself off of the barstool and turns to leave. “I’ve had too much to drink. I’m heading out for the night.”

Dazai doesn’t wait for either one of them to say goodbye as he all but storms out of the bar. Oda sighs, taking a sip of his own drink.

“That could have gone better.”

Ango slaps the back of his head hard.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Alright, it’s time.”

You watch the live CCTV cameras from the sleek black car you and Chuuya are huddled in. Your partner, Itou, sits in the front seat, rubbing his temples as he spares you guys a short look. You raise your eyebrows at him but he only shakes his head.

“I don’t know what goes through your head sometimes,” he tells you, tired. “I want no part in this beyond this right here.”

“You’re no fun,” you say, squinting at him, “and we still need you to get the footage from the headquarters.”

Itou sighs so heavily that you think he might be trying to expel his lungs from his body. He glares at you from the corner of his eye. “Nothing beyond that. You’re insane for this. You’re going to get us all thrown in the torture chambers.”

“Relax, don’t be so serious. It makes you ugly. You’ll be fine,” you complain, focusing back down on Chuuya’s laptop, straightening as Dazai finally comes into view on the screen. 

You and Chuuya exchange an excited look with one another, a smile twitching onto your lips as you wait for the scene to unfold. You pointedly ignore the noise Itou makes when he notices how thrilled the two of you are at the prospect of kidnapping Dazai—but Itou doesn’t get it, he doesn’t know Dazai. Dazai will love this, and he’ll love it even more when you get your hands on the footage of Mori’s and Kouyou’s reactions to the kidnapping.

You’ve got your subordinates disguised impeccably as members of a low-rung gang that’s been trying to make moves into the northern wards of Yokohama. You had a meeting with them a few days ago to determine whether they’d be worth absorbing or if Mori should just send Dazai and Chuuya to deal with them. You decided on the latter, and the two of them are supposed to go in and exterminate them next weekend.

You figured they would be the perfect cover to pose as Dazai’s “kidnappers.” They’ve been aggressive and violent in Port Mafia territory, making increasingly larger steps into the Naka Ward. You were honestly curious to see how far they’ll try to go, but you doubt Mori will let it get any farther than he has already anyway, so you thought you might as well get some use out of them to stage a realistic-looking kidnapping.

You think Mori will probably assume this was intentional at first when he gets the report. He’ll call you and Chuuya, the two of you will act bitter and angry as if you’re not on speaking terms with Dazai currently—which, you suppose it’s for the best that he stormed away from the two of you that day in headquarters, because it’ll make it seem legit—you’ll hang up and tell him that you’re busy for the night, tell him not to bother you again. 

When Mori realizes that neither you or Chuuya know what’s going on, he’ll start to get suspicious. He’ll seek out the tapes and see Dazai drunk and lost in thought wandering home, see the way he genuinely struggles against his “captors” before being knocked out—none of the casual arrogance he usually has when getting himself captured by the enemy—and then? Then, you don’t know how Mori will react. You assume that he’ll call you and Chuuya again, get the two of you on it, but by that point, your phones will be off.

You’re giddy as you, again, focus back on the screen, watching as Dazai meanders down the street. His movements are slow and unsteady, and your giddiness fades when you see the downcast expression on his face. It’s hard to tell from the footage, but he’s clearly bothered about something. You wonder if he’s that pissed about what happened earlier, or if something else happened with his other friends—he’s usually at Bar Lupin for at least another two hours.

“Okay,” Chuuya says into his earpiece. “Begin stage one of the operation.”

“He looks kind of upset, doesn’t he?” you murmur when Chuuya takes his fingers off the button on the earpiece.

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

You ignore the curious, knowing look that Itou gives you through the rearview mirror and instead tunnel your vision onto the laptop screen… although you find you don’t really want to look at that either. You grimace as your subordinates finally make their move—and it’s testament to how lost in his own thoughts he is because Dazai hardly notices what’s happening until they’re on him.

He goes for his gun instantly, but your subordinate—Kirishima, you learned his name was—is quick to disarm him, knocking the gun out of his hands and reaching for his arm. Dazai is still swift on his feet, nimble even with a dubious amount of alcohol in him. He’s able to worm out of Kirishima’s grip, darting backward. The expression on his face is lethal, gaze cold as he tries to assess his situation, and you watch as the realization that he might be in trouble finally hits.

Just as Kirishima is about to motion for two of the others to go for him again. Dazai slips his phone out of his pocket and dials a number.

“Fuck!” Chuuya spits. “If he calls the Boss-”

But Dazai evidently did not call the Boss, which would have been the smartest decision on his part considering Mori would have gotten one of Verlaine’s special ops units to him within a max of three minutes, because after a second, your phone starts ringing.

Oh.

You stare at it, heart lodged in your throat, unsure of what to do.

“Shit,” Chuuya says, just as caught off guard. “I didn’t think he’d call you. You can’t pick up.”

You shoot Chuuya an accusatory look. “I have to pick up,” you hiss. “He called me when he actually thought he was in trouble. I can’t just ignore him, that’s fucked up.”

“We staged the kidnapping, it’s already fucked up,” Chuuya snaps right back, “and he can read your ass like a book. If you pick up, that bastard will figure out it’s us.”

“Chuuya,” you bristle, ready to ignore him and reach for your phone but he’s quicker than you, arm darting forward to grab your phone before throwing it out the window. You stare at him horrified, “Chuuya!”

You think you might throw up when you watch Dazai take one last glance at his phone before an unreadable expression crosses his face. He elbows one of them hard in the gut to get away, but Kirishima is on him with the sedative before he can make a run for it. Dazai grimaces when he feels the pinprick in his neck, and you finally look away when he slumps over onto the ground.

“Don’t start feeling bad now,” Chuuya says, glaring at you. “What did you think would happen?” 

“I don’t feel bad,” you lie, and when Chuuya gives you a doubtful look, you sigh and say, “He just looked so…”

Human. 

He looked surprised, uncertain—it’s rare for Dazai Osamu to be caught off guard by anything. You think in the year or so that you’ve known him, you’ve only ever seen him genuinely thrown off like this once, and it was when the Colonel’s operation against the Bishop’s Staff went haywire during the Dragon’s Head Conflict and you got caught in the crossfire, captured by the enemy.

You’ve always been of the belief that Dazai is one of the most human people you’ve ever met. You’ve fought people over it, you’ve fought him over it. The issue is that he’s also ridiculously intelligent, likes to portray himself as inhuman, be it to intimidate his subordinates or enemies or to fulfill whatever fucked up image he has of himself, you don’t know, but he’s good at it. It’s only when he’s put into situations like this, where he’s got no shot of keeping up his mask, surprised and trying to push away the rising panic when he realizes that there’s no way to think, talk or fight his way out of a situation, that you really see his humanity. It’s stark compared to his usual demeanor, almost palpable.

You sit there simmering in your own thoughts until Kirishima knocks hard on the window to the car. Dazai looks small in his arms—he’s tall, but thin and lanky because he doesn’t eat properly no matter how much Chuuya belittles him for it and you try to get him to eat. His frame is small, and it’s especially apparent without his coat to create the illusion of a larger stature, when his face is lax, visible eye slid shut as he lays limp and unconscious in his arms.

You push open the door and Kirishima bends down to shuffle Dazai into the car with you. His body slumps against you, head falling onto your shoulder and you push your lip out a bit as you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

“The sedatives?” Chuuya asks, leaning around you to focus on Kirishima.

Kirishima lifts the empty syringe, glancing at Chuuya before focusing on you. “Are we free to go, hime?”

You scowl at the nickname but you nod, more focused on shifting Dazai into a comfortable position. “Go get drunk or go to your families, I don’t care. Don’t come back to headquarters ‘til Monday, but be there early, we’ve got a mission.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kirishima replies, inclining his head to you before shutting the car door and leaving.

As soon as the door shuts, you sigh and let Dazai’s body fall over, head resting in your lap. He looks so completely at peace that you almost forget that it’s because he’s been drugged. He never sleeps well, even now that he’s staying at your place—you hear him wandering around at night, restless, and the few nights he does sleep, he seems to be plagued with nightmares. You rest your hand on his hair and absently brush your fingers through his damp locks before turning to look at Chuuya, who’s watching you with an expression nothing short of judgmental.

“What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “How long do you think the sedative will last?” 

“It’s a pretty high dosage,” you say with a frown, looking down at Dazai. “But Dazai’s got some mutant metabolism. Remember when he walked off a whole ass horse tranquilizer during Dragon’s Head. I give it like four hours max.”

“We need to get moving then,” Chuuya sighs, and you nod.

You lean over the center console and give Itou a sweet smile, careful to not jostle Dazai around too much.

“I’ll drive you there, but then I’m gone,” Itou sighs, giving you one last warning look before he puts the car in drive. “Don’t involve me in this any further.”

“Thank you, Itou,” you coo, sharing one last look with Chuuya before letting out a sigh and turning your attention back down to Dazai, gaze lingering and a soft smile on your face.

Chuuya makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

You ignore it.

The beach house the two of you have usurped for the weekend is nicer than you could’ve imagined. You don’t know how Itou found it for the two of you, maybe a friend of his—you’ve found that he has friends everywhere, it’s been quite handy for when you have to deal with politics—or maybe he killed someone for it, you really can’t be sure with him. It’s a neat little place south of Higashikoiso, a little over an hour out of Yokohama—the house is near a cliff overlooking the sea, with an easy path down toward the beach.

There are only three bedrooms though, which is unfortunate considering you and Chuuya plan to coerce Dazai’s other friends into showing up. You might not be the fondest of them for petty reasons, but you think Dazai would like that, so you’ll bite your tongue and suffer through it. Either way, three or four people are going to have to share rooms depending on the set up and you’re fully intent on not being one of them; you already have your argument that you’re the only girl in the house and you think it will be solid enough, unless Dazai decides to be stubborn. 

“This is kind of fucked up,” you note while setting the scene.

Dazai is still unconscious, it’s only been an hour and a half so you should have some time before he wakes up, but you want to get this done as quickly as possible, because you don’t want him to wake up while you and Chuuya are halfway finished to setting up the room to make it look like a ransom scene.

“This is definitely fucked up,” you correct, but you’re smiling as you finish up typing the ropes around Dazai’s wrists, sitting him up in a rickety wooden chair.

You and Chuuya had dragged him down to the basement—Itou had luckily had some interrogation tools in the trunk of his car, and was not inclined to ask any questions when you asked for them, passing them over to you with the most concerned expression you’d ever seen on the nineteen-year-old’s face.

The basement looks like any average torture chamber—stone walls, damp and dingy, so it’s easy for you and Chuuya to transform it into an acceptable backdrop for your picture. You adjust Dazai in the seat again, fingers ghosting over his neck from where his head is falling forward, hoping he’s not too uncomfortable.

“This is your idea,” Chuuya shoots back, tilting his head to the side with a frown as he examines the scene. “He’s not roughed up enough. We’ve gotta do something, did you bring makeup with you?”

“No,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck before an idea pops in your head.

You slink over to Chuuya and grab the knife that he carries at his side, ignoring the perturbed look on his face as he instantly takes a step away. Making your way back over to Dazai, you grimace as you cut the palm of your hand, smearing some blood on Dazai’s face and shirt to make it seem as if he’s been roughed up. You readjust the ropes, tighten them a little more and make sure some of your blood drips down onto the floor above where Dazai’s face is hanging before you take a step back to admire your handiwork before turning to your accomplice.

“... Do you have the burner phone?” you ask Chuuya, wrapping your hand with cloth, figuring you’ll just bandage it up later. 

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Take the picture,” you tell him, stepping out of the way to hover over his shoulder, watching as Chuuya squints his eyes and tries to angle it properly so Dazai looks as in bad shape as possible. 

When he’s finally satisfied, he looks to you. Your lips curve up, “I’ll read off the number of that friend of his, you type it in. This’ll get them here for sure.”

As you do that, Chuuya starts snickering, clearly as entertained by this whole situation as you are. “You’re fucking psychotic for this, y’know?” he says, typing out the message to be attached with the image before pressing send and tossing the phone away.

“You helped me,” you accuse, but you're grinning, giddy again as you grab a towel to wipe the blood off of Dazai, pulling off the ropes and forcing Chuuya to help him back to the couch where he can be comfortable.

“Yeah, but it was your idea, you crazy bitch,” Chuuya tells you again with another snort. “What do we do now?”

“Wait.”

Everything happens at once.

Sakaguchi Ango and Oda Sakunosuke get to the beach house much sooner than you thought they would, and Dazai starts stirring an hour earlier than you expected—mutant metabolism, you think again. Luckily, it all happens at around the same time, so you get to see all of their reactions at once.

Neither Sakaguchi nor Oda have made a move into the house, probably trying to figure out the best course of action. Dazai still hasn’t woken up, curled up on the couch while you and Chuuya play cards at the table in front of him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. You’re winning, of course, and Chuuya is becoming increasingly more frustrated from the way he keeps slamming his cards down onto the coffee table.

“They’re about to come in,” Chuuya says, giving you a withering look as tosses his cards across the table—another losing hand. You give him a smug smile and Chuuya bares his teeth at you. “Come here.”

You sigh as you shuffle over around the table so that he can put his hand on your shoulder, ready to activate the Tainted Sorrow in case Sakaguchi and Oda come in guns blazing. On the couch, Dazai starts to shift, a low groan escaping his lips, and your eyes draw back to him, focusing on his face and the way his brows are furrowed and his lips are turned down.

“Here they are,” Chuuya hums, lips quirking up into a sharp smile. “Ready?”

“Yup,” you agree, popping the ‘p’ as you lean back on your hands and stare at the door. “How long do you think it’ll take them to actually open the door?”

“I give it five more seconds,” Chuuya snorts, and you shiver when you feel the familiar sensation of the Tainted Sorrow spreading across your body, an impenetrable barrier to protect you from whatever may come your way.

Just as Chuuya predicts, five seconds later, the front door is kicked open. You frown, hoping that they didn’t break it off of the hinges, because you don't want to hear Itou bitching about it later on. Oda Sakunosuke comes in first, gun steady and finger on the trigger, but the man is cautious and tilts his head to the side when his eyes fall upon you and Chuuya.

“What is it?” Sakaguchi asks from behind the other man, taking a step into the beach house to follow Oda’s gaze to you and Chuuya. “I-what?”

“Sakaguchi,” you say, lifting your hand to wag your fingers; maybe you’re a bit petty when you don’t acknowledge Oda. “Long time no see. I was grateful for your help when dealing with Nishiki and his cronies.”

“I, ah, hime-” You sigh at the moniker, eyes fluttering shut. “What is… going on? We got a picture and a…”

Sakaguchi trails off when he sees Dazai stirring on the couch, and you turn your attention toward him. You watch as he finally lifts his arm to rub his eyes, sluggish and slow. After a split second passes, you notice him stiffen, as if remembering what happened, and his eyes shoot open, cold and sharp.

You smile. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you coo. “Took you long enough.”

The icy mask slips away into genuine confusion, his brows furrow and his lips part. Next to you, Chuuya snorts, “Now, that’s a fucking sight. I almost want to take a picture.”

“What…” Dazai begins, then notices Oda and Sakaguchi still standing near the front door, blinking a few times. “What is going on?”

You’re sure that must’ve been the most painful question for Dazai Osamu to ask—admitting he has no idea what’s happening. Chuuya snickers and Dazai shoots him a contemptuous look, diluted by the fact that he still looks half out of it from the sedative.

“Yes,” Sakaguchi asks dryly, “what is going on?”

You smile proudly and then say, “We kidnapped you. Seemed pretty realistic, didn’t it? Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

Dazai blinks, you can see him trying to force his brain to start moving faster so he can put together the puzzle pieces you’ve handed him. His gaze calculating and lips tight. “You… set up the kidnapping?”

Oda then says: “See. I told you they were planning something.”

“Planning a kidnapping,” Sakaguchi sighs, tired. “Did you guess that too, Oda?”

“Well, no.”

Hardly listening to Oda and Sakaguchi’s bickering in the background, you keep your attention on Dazai, who’s watching you with an unreadable expression on his face. You waver for a second, wondering if he’s mad at the two of you—you’d figured it could be an issue, that he might be put off by being kept in the dark about this. He really does hate not knowing things. 

“Why?” Dazai asks quietly, and you note how Oda and Sakaguchi share a look with one another before quieting down, waiting for your response.

“I’m glad you asked!” you say brightly. “It’s your birthday present!” 

You relish in the way the room goes quiet. Dazai’s dark eye widens, taken off guard for the second time in a matter of a few minutes. You’re even more gleeful when you see how Oda’s expression shifts into one of surprise, how Sakaguchi draws back, stunned. At least your fears of Oda and Sakaguchi knowing more about Dazai than you go unfounded.

“Yeah, shitty Dazai, say thank you,” Chuuya goads, a smug smile on his lips.

Dazai doesn’t respond, staring at the two of you with yet another indecipherable look, an odd shine to his dark eye. You feel a bit exposed under his stare, wondering what he could be thinking.

“How did you know?” Dazai finally asks, and oh, you realize that’s not the question he’s asking. Dazai knows that there’s only one way the two of you figured out his birthday—his file in Mori’s office. What he wants to know is which of you got hands on it.

“It was a grand plot,” you say, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you look up at him. “Chuuya kept Mori distracted while I ransacked his office looking for your file… part of your gift is going to be the recording of Chuuya trying to distract him. It was quite funny.”

“Hah?!” Chuuya demands, whirling on you. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

You ignore Chuuya, keeping your gaze trained on Dazai instead, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Is he angry at you? Upset? It’s impossible to tell from the heavy gaze he has laid on you, thousands of conflicting emotions swirling behind the black of his eye. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, chewing the inside of your cheek as you wait—god, only one person evokes this type of nervousness in you and you swear he enjoys it.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally lights up, flinging his arms out to his side, a wide, borderline facetious smile painting his face as he says, “So, I get an entire day to order you guys around to do my bidding.”

“Hey!” Chuuya shouts, equally incensed by Dazai’s words as he is by yours, head snapping to look at him. “That’s not the fucking gift, bastard.”

“What’s the plan then?” Oda asks curiously, and then adds, “... I’m glad you brought us here… as unconventional as the method may have been.”

You notice Dazai gives Oda and then you a curious look, but before he can ask, Chuuya is leaping to his feet, talking quickly as he waves his hands around, making subtle digs to get a rise out of Dazai, but Dazai is more focused on you.

You push yourself to your own feet, trying to ignore Dazai’s lidded stare and focus on what Chuuya is saying but it’s hard, especially when you see Dazai standing from the corner of your eye. He’s still a bit unsteady, movement slow and sluggish, and you’re sure that’s the excuse he has for when he meanders a few steps over to you, dropping his chin on your shoulder. You don’t dare to turn your face to the side to look at him, his lips brush your ear as he murmurs:

“Talk later?”

“... ‘course.”

Luckily, later doesn’t come for a long while. Chuuya was insistent on going out to the beach—you think he was more eager to see Dazai wear the ugly Hawaiian shirt that the two of you had brought along for him more than anything else, but he quickly found interest in the large waves coming in from the sea, running back to the beach house to seek out the boards that you’d found in the basement.

Dazai doesn’t go in the water, but you think he’s having a good time considering there’s a shine in his eyes that’s rarely there. Right now, he’s sitting in the sand in front of Oda and Sakaguchi; the former listening to Dazai ramble on about whatever he’s talking about, the latter tapping away on his computer and occasionally nodding along.

You spend most of your time watching Chuuya cheat at surfing, using his ability to keep him on top of the surfboard as he seeks out the biggest waves. You’re standing in the water yourself, no further than knee-deep because you don’t want to get your clothes and hair wet. You’re kind of annoyed that Dazai’s been spending all of his time with Oda and Sakaguchi when you and Chuuya were the ones who did all of the work, and again, you can’t help but wonder if he might be mad at you. He didn’t seem to be on the walk down to the beach but you can honestly never know with him.

You drag your gaze from where Chuuya is hooting and hollering as he catches another big wave, rolling your eyes when you see the red emanating around his feet and the surfboard, so you can look back at Dazai. He’s stopped talking, listening to whatever Oda is saying instead as he stares at you with a contemplative expression. You feel distinctly seen beneath his stare, lost as to what he might be thinking. He doesn’t even notice that you caught him looking, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

You shake your head when you hear Chuuya coming toward you again, turning your attention back onto him.

“Did you see that one?” Chuuya demands, exhilarated, board tucked under his arm as he brushes his hair out of his face. “Did you?”

“I did,” you say dryly. “It would’ve been much more impressive if you hadn’t been cheating with the Tainted Sorrow.”

Chuuya looks scorned. “I don’t see you getting out there to try,” he scowls, lifting his chin. “You’re more preoccupied with staring longingly at shitty Dazai.”

Your face heats up, you kick the water at him and make sure it gets in his face. “I am not,” you hiss. “Don’t be annoying, Chuuya.”

“I give it another ten seconds before you look back at him again,” Chuuya croons, a wide smile on his face that you have half a mind to slap right off.

To make it worse, you do feel an itch to look back at him now. Your eye twitches as you force yourself to keep looking forward at Chuuya just to make a point, but an odd feeling starts to stir in your gut when you see the way Chuuya’s gaze keeps darting behind you, looking increasingly more pleased with himself.

Finally, you give him an accusatory look before turning your head over your shoulder sharply to where Dazai had been with Oda and Sakaguchi only to find-

That he’s not there?

You hardly have enough time to register what you’re looking at before you see a rush of movement from the corner of your eye.

No-

All you hear is Chuuya’s wild laughter and the sound of the ocean waves reverberating through your skull as Dazai tackles you back into the water hard. The water cushions your fall as your back finally hits the sand. You lift your hand to press your palm against Dazai’s face, pushing him away from you, lungs burning and decidedly soaked as you push yourself out of the water, gasping for air.

“Dazai!” you shout, throwing yourself at him with every intent to throttle him. 

Dazai tries to dodge, but is too busy wheezing over laughter to actually do so. He lets out a dramatic cry when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and successfully knock him into the water face down. He flails dramatically, arms and legs kicking as you hold him down beneath the water.

When you finally drag him back up above the surface, he inhales a lungful of air before giving you an indignant look. “You can’t do that,” Dazai shouts, pointing at you. “It’s my birthday.”

“I’ll do it again,” you shout right back, hair sticking in your eyes and clothes clinging to your skin from the seawater. “I wanted to go into town after this.”

Dazai looks just as messy—the cheap Hawaiian shirt you and Chuuya had got him is drenched, and the colors are bleeding into his bandages, making the previously pristine whites become a colorful swirl of oranges, blues and pinks. He looks like a shitty attempt at a watercolor painting. The bandages around his eye look especially uncomfortable from the way his visible eye keeps twitching and immediately your anger fizzles away into amusement.

You share a look with Chuuya that Dazai instantly catches, looking suspicious and alarmed.

“Chuuya, go get the camera.”

Dazai doesn’t even wait for another word. He instantly turns on his heel to bolt back to the beach house, but you’re chasing after him in an instant.

“Chuuya, go!” you yell again as you lunge forward, fingers curling around Dazai’s ankles to make him faceplant back into the water.

You scramble forward to straddle his waist to keep him in place but he worms out of your hold, trying to make another break for it but fails because you’re still clinging to his leg, dragging him back down with you. Distantly, you think you should’ve gone for the camera while Chuuya kept Dazai in place.

“Chuuya’s right,” you spit out. The two of you are out of the water now, you can feel the sand in your shirt and grating against your skin as you roll around with him trying to keep him still. “You really are like a slimy, slippery fish.”

“You can’t do this,” Dazai screeches. “It’s my birthday. It’s my birthday!”

“I got it!” Chuuya shouts from over by the chairs, racing back over to the two of you. 

“Took you long enough,” you yell right back at him, realizing that you’re going to have to sacrifice your own dignity to get Dazai in this picture, otherwise he’s going to try to run away again. 

Chuuya can hardly hold the camera straight through his snorting, and you’re sure you probably look equally as embarrassing as Dazai. There’s sand on your face, in your mouth, in your hair, in places where sand definitely shouldn’t be, but at least you don’t look like a kaleidoscope. Dazai lets out a pitiful noise when he realizes there’s no escape, trapped between your arms. He tries to hide his face in your neck, probably for plausible deniability that it’s an imposter trying to make him look bad, rather than it actually being him himself.

“Say cheese, mackerel,” Chuuya mocks.

“Fuck you,” Dazai complains.

But you can feel the smile twitching on his lips against your skin.

Oda and Sakaguchi set up a fire later that night. 

Well, by Oda and Sakaguchi, you mean Oda while Sakaguchi sat there and played dictator, telling him how to make a campfire that Oda clearly already knew how to make from the way he seemed to be hardly listening to the man.

Dazai and Chuuya are off trying to figure out how to use sparklers, which you think is a bad idea. You think the two are more likely to set each other on fire than actually use them properly, which is why you’re staying far away, tapping away on your phone near the campfire, relaxing under the sea breeze.

Itou: everything going ok?

You almost roll your eyes before responding with.

You: Yes. Why?

Itou: just curious :p

You: Could’ve stayed if you were curious. We offered.

Itou: yeah, maybe if u wanted to find me dead in a ditch. ur boy hates my guts.

You’re grateful that no one is around to see how you let out an embarrassed puff of air at how Itou refers to Dazai, instantly clicking out of his messages to see what other messages you have. Before you can, you feel a presence hovering above you and look up, raising your eyebrows.

Oda Sakunosuke stands next to you, studying you curiously, and you look to the side and then back toward him, unsure of what he wants.

“Yes?” you ask slowly. Sakaguchi is still sitting closer to the house, scowling as he bats away bugs.

“This is nice. What you did for Dazai,” Oda says simply. “I haven’t seen him this happy in… well, ever.”

A bit embarrassed, you shrug. “It’s whatever,” you say awkwardly. “Just happy it all worked out.”

“I don’t think Dazai’s ever had someone do something like this for him before,” Oda admits. He’s not looking at you anymore, fond gaze trained behind you to where you can hear Dazai and Chuuya arguing about how to use the sparklers. “He never told Ango or I his birthday… or anything personal about himself, really. I’m grateful that you brought us along.”

You wish you could sink into the ground and die, knowing that if it was up to you, you never would have invited either of them but forced yourself to for Dazai’s sake. Again, you shrug, and say, “Was for Dazai. Thought he would like it.”

“Well, I’m grateful anyway,” Oda says dismissively, looking back down at you. “You should stop by the curry place where I take Dazai every once and a while. The kids I brought in stay there, Sakura is the only girl, I’m sure she’d like having another girl around to talk to.”

You blanch. “I don’t-uh-I don’t know if that would be the best idea, I’m not exactly… a good influence for kids.”

Oda shrugs. “Maybe not conventionally, but you’re tough. Work ten times as hard as any of the others in the upper ranks of the Mafia to keep your position. It’s impressive. If Sakura was even half as strong as you are when she grows up, I’d be proud of her.”

Your lips part to speak but no words leave them. You think, maybe, that this is the first time anyone has ever acknowledged this. Your position has never been as secure as anyone else’s—you think maybe that it’s part of the reason why Mori is so insistent on people using that stupid fucking title, as much as you hate it.

Your own subordinates respect you, the rest of the upper echelon who know of your contributions do, but everyone else? Hierarchy is absolute and the Boss’s orders are paramount, but when subordinates see a chance to push themselves higher up the ladder, it’s like sharks with blood in the water. Without a powerful ability like Chuuya’s, or a mind and presence like Dazai’s, as a girl, you’re on the lowest rung, the first one they’re circling to try to get ahead.

You prevent gang wars, keep the government off the Mafia’s ass, but that’s all behind the scenes—none of the lower ranked mafiosos see any of that. They see Dazai and Chuuya bringing down entire organizations overnight. Ace bringing in billions of yen. Kouyou’s perfect record of assassinations. Hirotsu leading the Black Lizards. Akutagawa and his ability. All they ever seen in you is-

All they see in you is a seventeen-year-old girl who happens to be favored by the Boss.

Although you don’t necessarily care for Oda’s presence, even if only for petty reasons, you do appreciate his words. Your shoulders slump and you want to reply, say thank you at the very least, but nothing comes out. You think he notices, and being the infuriatingly kind person he is, he gives you an out. Oda Sakunosuke pats your head like you’re a dog. You give him a side-eye and cringe away from his hand, but he’s unperturbed. 

“I’m glad he has you,” Oda tells you, before wandering back over to Ango, leaving you there flustered and caught off guard.

Your gaze draws back to where Dazai has finally got his sparkler working, and for a second, you’re entranced. You can hardly drag your eyes from the bright gleam and soft smile on Dazai’s lips as he eyes follow the bright pink and gold sparks flying around as he waves the sparkler around in front of him. It’s childish, almost, innocent in a way that Dazai Osamu never gets to act.

You have to force yourself to look away from him, turning your attention back to your phone to go back to what you were doing before Oda interrupted you.

Several texts from Kouyou and Mori demanding you to pick up your phone, one concerned one from Hirotsu—you’ll have to apologize to him later—and several from an unknown number that you don’t recognize. Akutagawa? Dazai’s subordinate? You’re going to have to have a serious talk with your subordinates later about giving out your number. You click back to your message thread with Itou, pointedly ignoring the last message as you type.

You: How the hell did Akutagawa Ryuunosuke get my number?

Itou: pretty sure he threatened a couple of our subordinates, wounded one of them. i have to deal with it tomorrow. have dazai train his dog before letting him wander around unleashed.

You roll your eyes and then tilt your head back to shout over your shoulder, “Dazai, train your fucking subordinates properly.”

The bickering from where Dazai and Chuuya were arguing behind you halts, and you hear the two of them approach you.

“What happened?” Chuuya asks curiously, peeking over your shoulder at your phone. You promptly close it before he can catch sight of the other message that Itou had sent about Dazai.

Dazai comes to hover next to you, waiting for you to explain, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “Akutagawa injured one of my men and threatened others trying to get my number when he heard you were missing. Get him under control.”

Dazai’s visible eye twitches. “Untrained mutt,” he spits out. “I’ll deal with him.”

You share a short look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye, wondering if you’d just condemned Akutagawa to Dazai’s violent wrath, but you’re distracted when your phone buzzes again.

Itou: check ur email.

You straighten in your seat, immediately flicking out of your messages app to your email to find one from Itou with a video file attached.

“No way,” you breathe out, excited, not having expected Itou to get his hands on it so quickly. You turn to look at Dazai, a wide smile on your face; you miss the way the irritation on his instantly fades, visible eye widening and lips parting at the sight of your smile. You also miss, in your excitement, Chuuya’s grunt of disgust. “Dazai, you wanna see your real present?”

Curious, Dazai peers over your shoulder to see the email you got. “What is that?” 

“Watch and see,” you croon, clicking on the video to show the surveillance tape from headquarters.

Instantly, Dazai seems to realize what it is, eye lighting up. “No way,” he says, half sitting on top of you in your beach chair, ignoring your irritated hiss.

“Get your bony ass off of me, Dazai,” you snap at him, but Dazai ignores you, settling down as he snatches your phone to watch the video. 

Chuuya joins him, crowding in on your other side to lean over his shoulder to watch the video. Rolling your eyes, and unable to see the video on your phone, you instead lean back into the chair and watch their reactions to it instead.

Chuuya looks amused, a sharp grin on his face as his eyes remain pinned on the video, and Dazai looks delighted, he cackles and shifts to lean forward, making you grimace when he ends up digging more into your thigh to push himself up.

“Look at his face,” Dazai screeches. “He really thinks it was real. Ane-san looks like she’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Chuuya looks back at you, smiling but there’s a hesitant look in his eyes. “We’re going to be in so much trouble when we get back,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Yeah, you agree silently, more focused on the bright shine in Dazai’s eyes and the wide, genuine smile on his lips. He’s so giddy that he’s almost vibrating in your lap, and when he finally looks back at you, he looks at you as if you’ve given him the world. Worth it, though.

Despite ardently arguing why you should be the one who doesn’t have to share a room and succeeding—forcing Oda and Sakaguchi (who didn’t seem to mind) and Chuuya and Dazai (much to their distress) to share a room instead—you find that you can’t sleep at night anyway. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to wander out of the house, making your way to the path leading up to the clifftop—everyone called an early night, the excitement of the day, and the lack of sleep, leaving everyone exhausted before the clock hit nine-thirty.

The seabreeze is cool against your skin, the moonlight’s illumination the only guide you have as you make your way up to the cliff’s edge. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your sweats as you drag your feet against the dirt path.

You don’t notice someone sitting up there at the edge until they turn their head to the side to look at you, startled by your arrival.

“Dazai,” you say quietly, standing there awkwardly for a moment. You haven’t spoken to him alone yet, you’d meant to earlier but then Chuuya got his hands on wine before bed and that plan went out the window.

Dazai sighs whimsically when he catches sight of you. “So, hime forces me to share a room with the slug only to not even use her own room. She’s so greedy,” he whines, lashes fluttering as he looks up at you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you tell him, making your way over to sit with him, legs dangling off the edge, swinging absently. Your thigh is pressed against the side of his, feet occasionally bumping into one another, when you rest your hands against the ground to lean back on them, your thumb brushes his. “You wanted to talk.”

Dazai lets out an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat, and you watch as his gaze turns down to his lap, an unreadable expression on his face. He’s pretty beneath the glow of the moonlight, peaceful in a way you hardly ever see him. His expression is free of the numerous masks he wears to protect himself, eyes dark but warm and full of various emotions as he chooses his words carefully.

“Hime read my file,” Dazai finally says, voice soft, almost hesitant. You catch the way his jaw tightens and untightens, the corner of his lips tightening and quivering; a subtle tell to his nerves, one that most people wouldn’t catch, but you do.

“I did,” you agree. Your own heart races in your chest as you wait for his reaction; you don’t think that he’s angry, you think you’d be able to tell if he were angry by now, but you can’t help the anxiety plaguing you.

“So, you saw,” Dazai hums, but there’s a bit of a wobble to his tone. He pointedly doesn’t look at you now, staring ahead out toward the sky and distant sea. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“No. I figure you’ll tell me if you want. If not, it’s okay.”

It’s decidedly not okay, but you don’t want to pressure Dazai into telling you. You want Dazai to open up to you, but you don’t want to force him to, so you force yourself to be content with the fact that he’s at least acknowledging this, instead of pretending it didn’t happen.

“I can’t,” Dazai says. 

His throat bobs beneath his bandages, dark eye uncertain as he stares down to the turbulent sea. You think a storm must be coming, the waves have become rocky, whitecaps staining the horizon, crashing into the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Dazai shifts, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

“By choice?” you ask after a few moments. “Or is someone—” Mori “—forcing you to?”

“... Both,” Dazai responds after a few moments. “I…”

Dazai doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say, voice wavering. After a few minutes of silence between the two of you, he continues.

“I don’t have good memories associated with that name,” Dazai finally says, and you don’t dare to speak, hardly even dare to breathe because you don’t want to ruin whatever spurred this decision of his to crack himself open to you, afraid that if you make the wrong move, he’ll withdraw again. “... Sometimes, I miss it though.”

“That’s normal, I think,” you tell him after a moment, looking to the side to focus on him, watching the way his eyes lower at your words. “You have… better ones as… Osamu?” 

It’s your first time referring to Dazai by his first name, and from the way he inhales sharply, he recognizes it as well. There’s something distinctly vulnerable in his expression as he turns his face to you.

“I have you,” Dazai says quietly, and it’s so instant that it catches you off guard, lips parting. As if catching his own lapse in control, he blinks and then rushes to add, “And Odasaku. Ango. The slug.”

You smile a bit to yourself. “Yeah,” you agree. “You do.”

Dazai looks as if he wants to say something, his lips are parted and his gaze is uncertain. You give him a questioning look, wondering what could possibly be running through his head right now, but then he speaks.

“Shuji,” he says so softly that you barely hear him. “My name was Shuji.”

Your eyes shoot open at the admission, Dazai’s goes just as wide, as if he hadn’t actually meant to say it out loud. You open your mouth to say something but Dazai doesn’t even give you the chance to.

“You can’t use it ever, okay?” he says, voice tinged with a type of panic you’ve never heard in the boy before, dark eye filled with desperation. “Never. Not when we’re with people. Not when we’re alone. Not ever. You can’t.”

You don’t think Dazai has ever begged anyone for anything in his life, but he’s begging you now… a part of you can’t help but wonder if it’s for his sake, or yours.

“Can I say it once? Right now?” you ask quietly, swallowing thickly.

Dazai looks unsure and hesitant, but he finally nods. “Then you have to forget it, okay? You can’t ever let anybody know it. Nobody can ever know it. And nobody can know that you know, okay? No one, especially Mori.”

You don’t really like the sound of that, your gut tugging uncomfortably at the stress on Mori’s name, but you don’t want to press anymore than you have, so you agree.

With the winds howling around the cliffs to drown out your voice, and only Dazai and the stars to bear witness, you shift to face him. You reach up to cup Dazai’s cheek, fingers brushing against the bandages on the right side of his face, watching as he inhales sharply at your sudden touch. Before you can lose your nerve, you lean in to ghost your lips against his cheek. 

“Happy birthday, Shuji,” you whisper softly, pulling back to sit next to him. Your face is on fire, and Dazai doesn’t react beyond a shaky breath and his fists tightening in his lap.

Finally, instead of responding, he reaches out to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your smile is soft, and you can feel Dazai’s fingers trembling, body uncharacteristically lax as he rests next to you.

Your free hand brushes a stray rock at your side and you turn to look at it curiously, noting the jagged edge and then getting an idea. Dazai frowns when you pull your hand from his and shift away, giving you a questioning look, but then you shift to your knees, grabbing the rock and etching your first initial into the flat rock that the two of you are sitting on. Dazai watches you carefully and when you hold it out to him, he hesitates before taking it from you.

He doesn’t do anything for a second, staring down at your initial with the jagged edge of the rock resting against the ground next to it. Finally, he takes in a steady breath before carving a ‘+ S’ right next to yours. You chew on the inside of your cheek and your eyes are a bit misty as your hand falls to trace the letters.

After a few moments, you let out another breath and settle down next to him again, a bit closer than you were before, thigh pressed firmly against his and shoulders brushing. You reach for his hand again, intertwining your fingers with his, looking up to the vast sky above.

Your lips part to speak, but the words catch in your throat, fingers tightening around his for the sparest second. He gives you a curious look and you don’t dare to look at him as you finally force the words from your lips.

“The moon… it’s pretty beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” you say quietly, throat tight as you stare up at the sky, the glittering stars and the full moon glowing above. 

You can feel Dazai’s gaze on you as he responds. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I think if I died tonight… I would die happy.”

Three years later on the early morning of June 19th, Dazai Osamu sits on the cliff’s edge in the same spot he did with you all of those years before, watching the sun break over the horizon. His fingers trace over the two engraved letters next to him, and not for the first time in the past two years he’s spent underground, he yearns. 

He yearns for you so bad that it makes his chest hurt, his stomach turns in on itself; he yearns so desperately that it’s hard for him to breathe without you, the thought of you weighing so heavily on his mind that he thinks the pressure of it might kill him. As he’s gotten closer to finally being able to leave the underground and join the Armed Detective Agency, he finds that he thinks more and more of you.

He wonders what you’re doing—if you’re thinking of him, if you hate him, if you’ve forgotten all about him. He can almost imagine you sitting here with him, shoulders brushing, thigh pressed to his, fingers intertwined.  He doesn’t know how long he’s spent sitting in that spot, fantasizing that you were there with him, longing for days with you and Chuuya and Odasaku and Ango that are long gone.

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, his phone rings—only one person would be calling him right about now, so he lets it get to the final ring before picking up.

“Fukuzawa-san is ready for you,” Ango says as soon as Dazai picks up the phone, waiting no time for pleasantries.. “Make your way over to the Armed Detective Agency when you can… Happy birthday, Dazai.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, hanging up the phone and letting out a soft breath. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and his eyes linger on the engraved initials, worn with time but still clearly visible, for only a few seconds longer. He pushes himself up to his feet and walks back down toward the beach house with the thoughts of you still clouding his head.

Yeah, Dazai thinks a bit dryly, chest heavy and aching as he looks back at where the two of you once sat three years ago. Happy birthday.

fun facts!

the inspiration for this fic came from the summer vacation bungo mayoi cards with dazai, oda and ango LOLLLL

the inspiration for the "dazai osamu not being dazai's real name" comes from the fact that irl!dazai was a pen name—his real name was tsushima shuji.

i'm gonna drop some pm!reader universe lore here too. in the pm!reader universe, i decided to go with the popular theory that dazai was the previous boss's son/grandson, which is why his word held so much weight when he vouched for mori. when everything calmed down after the death of the previous boss and after most of the old regime of loyalists had been disposed of, mori had shuji change his name to dazai osamu, to shred any connection he might have had to the previously reigning mafia family, just in case more loyalists popped up. in the present pm!reader universe (from 16-22), only kouyou and hirotsu know who dazai really is.

[syxilla]

Ken sato x !reporter reader

oh, how he wishes you saw him as a man and not a boy.

cw for everything below: age difference (its used for the plot), suggestive (depending on who you ask)

thinking about kenji trying to impress reader in his games. the reader who is older, more mature and composed than him. who always comments on his arrogance in their articles or interviews. honestly, you were his harshest critic! it was your nickname amongst your co-workers as well. everyone knew you held hatred for him, and so did he. you frequently commented on his age and how it isn't smart to put so much faith into such a young and ignorant man and call him a living legend. "he isn't mature enough!" you always stated.

he hated that. his age doesn't make him better or worse than anyone else; he was just better because he was ken sato. but that didn't stop him from trying to act older, at least around you. because it was for you.

he's still so desperate to impress you. he'd do cooler moves in games, smile at the camera more in interviews, and, even though it seemed impossible, he became more prideful. but he couldn't help it! feeling your intense gaze on him as he walked onto the field or got into a stance, it was invigorating.

he especially got a rise out of seeing you roll your eyes, slumping back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other once you realized there was nothing for you to comment on his performance. it was perfect. so perfect that it would (sometimes, if he was lucky) get a small, ever so slight, smile from your lips. even better if he saw you nod your head in approval. so after one of (arguably) his best perfomances yet, one he spent weeks practicing just for his pretty little critic, he walks up to you, ready to soak in all the praise he believed he deserved.

"so... how was that y/n?" he teased, slamming himself into your personal space. it's his favorite place! if you thought it belonged to you, it was also his. "leave me alone, sato." you grumble, not wanting to admit your defeat to him. "it was good, wasn't it? right? righttt?" you push him away and begin walking away, eyes looking straight forward to avoid his gaze.

"oh c'mon, am i really that bad you can't even compliment me?" he pouted playfully, poking your oh so soft cheek, giving it a slight pinch. "fine, sato! you're a good player. you impressed me today, enough for me to even say im... proud of you." if you were to sneeze each time kenji's heart began to race, it'd look like you're having a seizure because of how fast it was.

"then why dont you show me how proud you are of me," this made you halt, snapping your head towards him. "how?" you asked, eyes focused on his lips that quirked up into a grin. "take me out to dinner. tommorow night. let me pick, and i'll consider the debt you owe me paid off." he smiled, taking a step back, allowing you to breathe again. when did you stop? "i'm not indebted to you anyway?" you retort, pushing him back even more to feel like you had the upper hand here. "yes, you are! all the times you've doubted my abilities! am i not worthy of getting an apology? a gift?" he said dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

you sputter nothing in disbelief, until something clocks inside of your little brain. "are you asking me on a date, sato?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, a shit eating grin on your face. he leans down to your level, which is when you register how much taller he was than you, and tilts his head to the side. "and if i am?" kenji's voice goes quieter. "you're not my type." you mock, mimicking his tone. "i like them older." to this, he laughs. "you like grandpa's y/n? you like them near their deathbed?" he joked, trying (and failing) to hide his laughter. "yeah, atleast they're gentlemen, unlike you."

"i may not be the most gentlemanly person on earth, but i am a gentle man in everything else."

oh! oh. now you were entering dangerous territory. not for him, for you. it was so clear what he was setting up as a trap, and yet, despite all the warning signs there was, opened your plump little lips and asked with the purest face ever (even though your thoughts were the complete opposite) "how can i know if youre lying or not?"

and kenji, oh the annoying ken sato who you would never admit admired, not even on your deathbed, stepped closer to you, leaned down near your ear, and said in the loudest voice, loud enough so that you cant mishear him, and quiet enough that no one else can, says

"why dont i show you?"

if your composure was a ship, it would be near the ocean floor, the reason for sinkage; ken sato. right when your last functioning braincell is able to deliver a quip before total failure, someone calls kenji over. "you have a interview remember?" it yelled. "coming!" he smiled sweetly, kissing your cheek ever so softly.

the immature baseball player might not be as immature as you thought...

(thanks for the support on the last one, so i thought i'd write another one because im desperate for this man, like he's desperate for the reader, lowk. also i didnt fully proofread itmso sorry if skme names r missing colors and whatnot)

[tender-rosiey]

“JUST LOSE CONTROL, LOVE”

— gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, toji being obsessed with you (gn!r)

a/n: ehehe, I hope you guys like this <33 (a bit suggestive ✨)

SATORU GOJO:

“satoru, what’re you?—“

you’re cut off as he pushes you against the wall. his eyes are glossed over and his breathing is heavy, “I am hanging on by a thread, y/n…”

only one thing is on his mind, it seems.

he takes a hold of your chin and makes you look at him, “i was never completely sane to begin with…but you’re going to make me get rid of the remains of it.”

his gaze is intense, and you genuinely wished that he had his blindfold on. your knees feel weak, but your hand cups his cheek, nonetheless, “and…what’s wrong with that?”

he lets out a raspy chuckle, “quite the temptress,” he picks you up and his lips find their place on your neck.

you fist his shirt, and try to hold back any sound from coming out. you feel him smirk against your skin with a murmur, “look who’s holding back now.”

“you live in my mind,” he mumbles as he trails kisses along your neck and shoulders and you quiver at his touch.

he pulls back and pecks your lips, but it is far from innocent. he has a devilish grin on his face as he nears your ear and whispers, “I would be lying if I said I didn’t like it.”

KENTO NANAMI:

another mission was completed by the kids successfully and they partied; however, gojo had a thought of hosting another party for the adults. consider it unwinding.

naturally, you were invited. you were very proud of the kids and were eager to attend the second party. honestly, you didn’t think anything would happen today, especially making out with nanami, the cool and collected man.

“nanami, people…” you whisper, but he doesn’t relent, lips kissing yours time after time.

he tilts your chin up, “forget about them; focus on me.”

he probably feels your grip weakening as he picks you up and seats you on the counter, “everyone is lost in their world.”

he, gently but firmly, squeezes your hips and pulls you to him once again, “so what’s wrong with us doing the same?”

he smirks lightly, something unfamiliar but very welcome, “plus its not like I can stop, dearest.”

he caresses your cheek, “you’re simply irresistible, my love,” a kiss on the cheek, “divine,” a kiss on the neck, “gorgeous,” a kiss on the shoulder, “I would need the utmost strength to resist you.”

he lets out a breath as he looks you in the eye and nears your face, “and I am a weak man.”

SUGURU GETO:

your husband’s descent into madness, thankfully, didn’t translate into how he treats you. he is always gentle and playful.

sometimes, though, that madness shows in some things. you can’t say that they don’t excite you.

for example, right now, suguru has yet to detach himself from you as he kisses you. his kisses are gentle but a little unhinged. they are soft but just a tiny bit rough.

one hand wanders while the other one doesn’t leave your waist.

he is desperate and can’t help but want to feel every inch of you.

“suguru,” you try to calm him down and to steady yourself but to no avail. he doesn’t relent, each kiss more eager than the former.

on the other hand, you just can’t compete against him.

specially as he smirks and he kisses your neck, “abandon rationality, honey,” his lips graze your neck as he speaks.

you don’t respond and you feel him chuckle and he looks up at you with lovesick eyes, “crazy suits you anyway.”

you hold onto his shoulders as he connects your lips once again. the passion flows from him and you feel so tempted to join him on the other side.

so you do.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

“my king,” you murmur as you stroke his hair.

“hm?” he grumbles as he looks up at you. His head is on your lap, and he was minutes away from dozing off.

you chuckle lightly and your hands, involuntarily, stop their movements. he doesn’t like it so he sits up and glares at you, “why did you stop?”

you pinch his cheek—one of the many privileges you have—and whisper close to this face, “I think you’re enraptured by me, my king.”

he laughs a hearty laugh that surprises you. It shakes his entire body, “me? enraptured by you?”

his hand cradles your head and pulls you towards him. he has a menacing grin on his face as he says, “then that makes you obsessed with me, doll.”

you smirk and place a kiss on his lips, “it’s a mutual obsession, my king.”

“at least do it properly.”

sukuna is rough and possessive. his hold on you is firm and you know he won’t let go.

you think that he wants to corrupt you, with the way he is kissing you and giving you no time to think about anything but him.

he fails to realize that you’re already corrupted as he is by you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO:

“mister toji, pleasure seeing you again,” you greet as said man enters your office, again.

he chuckles, “why the formality? I thought we were closer than that, boss.”

you quirk an eyebrow and reply swiftly, “we’re in my workplace; such formality is expected and needed especially for you, sir.”

“I like it when you call me that,” he chuckles.

“have you done what I asked of you?” you try and change the subject.

“who do you take me for, doll face?”

You smile humorlessly, “you’re in a good mood today, considering the nicknames and everything.”

he merely looks at you with eyes filled by hidden desire, something you’ve learned to notice from a mile away.

he takes a hold of your hand, “let’s take this somewhere.”

“toji no.”

he pays you no mind as he pulls you to the closet and locks the door.

you whisper-shout, “what’re you doing?!”

“nothing you won’t like,” he responds smugly.

“but you can’t just take me away like that!”

he places his finger on your lip, smirk never leaving his face. he holds your face and says, “cross the boundaries; they weren’t even there to begin with,”

you don’t get to respond as he smashes your lips together. his hand rests firmly on your neck and deepens the kiss.

you hold onto his shoulder weakly and he pulls back and chuckles.

“isn’t easier…to just give in?”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will make you sleep-deprived

[fastandcarlos]

My Jacket Now : ̗̀➛ George Russell

A shiver ran down your spine as you looked across at the busy paddock. There were bodies everywhere and yet still you found yourself with a chill attacking you. In amongst the chaos your eyes landed on the tall figure of George, diving through the crowds of people, calling out his name, in order to capture his attention. His smile turned up as he noticed you before him.

“I was beginning to think you’d left to get ready without saying goodbye,” you joked.

You were bouncing on your toes in response to the cool. George quickly noticed, unzipping the fleece that he wore and wrapping it around your frame.

“I think you need this more than I do right now.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you put the fleece on properly. “Is George Russell actually giving up his beloved jacket right now?”

George nudged your side, “I can take it back.”

Your head shook as you felt yourself warm up, stepping forwards and pressing a kiss against his lips as George held your waist. “Thank you,” you whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” George chuckled, giving you a kiss of his own. “You better still be wearing that when I get back at the end of the race.”

Your head nodded at George’s instruction, “it’ll come back in perfect condition, I promise.”

George took a set back, admiring how beautiful you looked wearing a piece of his merch.

“George! Let’s go!”

You offered a smile to George, “go on, I’ll be right here cheering for you.”

“Wish me luck babe.”

“You don’t need luck.”

You took one last look at George before letting him go so he could finish prepping for the race. You stayed back in amongst some of the team, studying them all hard at work.

“Now you look like you’re really one of us,” one of them told you as you passed by.

A chuckle came from you as you looked down at the fleece, if anyone didn’t know better, you really did look like a part of the Mercedes crew now.

You remained where you were for most of the race, watching George anxiously. As ever, the race didn’t come without its moments, your heart being made to work a thousand times harder, flinching and hissing every near miss that George had, holding onto the sleeves of George’s fleece to try and calm yourself down.

The only time you could relax was when George crossed the finish line, cheers coming from around you as he came home in 4th, earning him and the team some huge points, having worked incredibly hard all weekend.

You stood back when George returned to the garage, letting him fist bump his team first. Once he eventually found you, his eyes looked nowhere else, arms open inviting you into his hold so that he could celebrate with you.

A kiss to the top of your head greeted you as George rested his head on top of your own. He was sweaty, and smelt a tad, but you were too proud to let that bother you, wrapping your arms around his thin waist at the same time.

“You were amazing out there, well done love!”

It always felt incredible to hear your compliments, especially after a race. George’s smile turned up knowing that you were proud of him - it was all that he ever needed!

“It’s cold now I’m out of the car, George joked, glancing down as you still wore his fleece. “I could really do with that jacket I left around here earlier.”

You tilted your head back to look up at George, “this is my jacket now, you gave it to me, finders keepers and all that.”

George gasped as you spoke, “I gave it to you!”

“But I look better wearing it, right?”

George went to speak but stopped. You poked your tongue as you realised that you had him stuck, he could never argue with you, especially when secretly he knew that you were right.

“You’re lucky you’re cute otherwise I’d be stealing that jacket right from you,” George smirked, tapping the tip of your nose with his own.

“Admit it, you’re just so in love with me.”

George nodded in agreement, “that I most definitely am sweetheart.”

Your smile turned up as George spoke, tightening your grip around him. “And I’m so embarrassingly in love with you too.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Chirps

requested

has been edited as of 4/27/24!!

summary: Luke’s long term girlfriend is a beautician. The team chirps him about his unruly curls so he goes to see her at work.

warnings: profanity

The work day had just come to a close when the bells on the door jingled signaling someone had just entered. Out of instinct your head jerked to look towards the door. Thankfully, to be greeted by your sweet boyfriend who usually wore quirky half smile. Only tonight he was your stress stricken looking boyfriend. After swiftly leaning the broom that you had in your hand back up against the wall, you quickly approached him. “Luke? Is everything alright? You look like you did the day of your draft…” You let your voice drift to almost nothing as you reached him. He didn’t make a sound. Only made grabby hands, just like your toddler nephew does, signaling he wanted to hold you. Moments passed where the only sounds were the music still playing over speakers and your alls breathing. “The guys are chirping me about my hair again. Even my own brother is in on it this time.” His mumbling almost inaudible as he’s pressed his face down into your neck. But after two years of dating and three years of friendship prior, you’re a Luke Hughes mumbling specialist. Luke lifted his head and rested his chin atop of your head.

He pulls out of the embrace and starts pacing while he keeps rambling about the absurd claims his teammates have made recently. “They’ve gone as far to point out that my girlfriend is a professional beautician for all sorts of people. Celebrities, athletes, everyday people, and I go around with an unruly mop of whatever.” He stressed the importance of ‘I’ and made a gesture to himself when talking. You grab ahold of him by the waist pulling him back into your arms. Unable to watch him pace any longer. “They go on and on about how they don’t know how you’re not embarrassed of me.” His voice waivers at the end of his statement. “You.. you’re not embarrassed of me are you?” His voice completely cracks, he can’t stay in your arms he has to look at your face. You feel a fragment of your heart break. Pulling out of the embrace completely, he turns away unable to look you in the eyes anymore. You can tell he’s struggling. You know he grew up with kids bullying him for his curls and how unruly they could be. Kids are cruel but they are kids. It’s something that happens growing up. It isn’t something that happens when you’re 20 and surrounded by professional athletes. Or at least it shouldn’t. Reaching out to grab his hand, you slightly tug him at him to come back into your arms. Loosely holding him with one arm, using your other to be able to lift your hand to cup his cheek softly. Running your thumb across his cheek. “Baby I promise you, the last thing I am is embarrassed of you. I am nowhere near being embarrassed. I love you every way that you are. Hair unruly. Hair fixed. I’d love you if you had me shave your head. But please don’t make me do that. I love your curls so much. You’re perfect the way you are.” Luke exhales a breath he was holding since you had pulled him back to you. “There is only a couple things I am and those are, proud of you beyond what words can express, in love with you more than you know, and the luckiest girl there has ever been to be your girlfriend.” The two of you holding eye contact, nothing but pure love shining in your eyes and contentment breaking through Luke’s. He slowly begins to relax. He is still far from letting himself forget and let go what’s happening with the team, but knowing that the most important person to him doesn’t care how he looks and when he looks it.

Taking a moment to contemplate a way to help him further feel better, you rub your thumb slightly across his cheek again, he leans into it sighing. “What if we experiment on styling your curls baby? I have different products for curls. Curly hair is all different, so we can try one and if you don’t like it we can try another?” Luke slowly nodded, feeling even better already. Although he trusts and believes what you just told him about loving him in anyway he looks, he also knows you’re doing this for him. He has always been your soft boy. Luke is apprehensive, always considerate, questions his actions, and wants you to be a part of his decisions. That is until you’re both having your alone time, then he is a completely different person. And well that is a story for another time.. Luke sat down in your chair waiting for you to gather whatever it was that you were going to try first. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, he knew it wouldn’t be easy to stay awake once your fingers were in his hair.

Only after a few short minutes of working working shampoo through his hair, his eyelids fluttered shut. It was so hard to have to wake him up to move back to the other chair. His groggy face was precious as he teetered over to the seat and plopped down. Moments later you looked in the mirror and caught a glimpse of his face. The sweet boy had fallen asleep again. Finishing up quickly you decided to let him rest instead of waking him to go home, you leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a ‘I love you Hughes’ before cleaning up your station again.

After cleaning everything up, you locked everything up and decided to wake Luke up. You two really needed to leave. “Lukey, I’m done. Let me drive you home.” Instead he pulled you in his lap and mumbled an I love you. Giggling an I love you back, you patted on his chest and insisted he get up. “Baby please let me sleep” he whimpered. “You can sleep when I get you home. I’ll stay with you if you get up.��� You bargained. He opened one eye to look at you. “Do you promise? You’re not going to just leave once you drop me off?” “No lukey, let’s go”

At Luke’s the two of you get changed into pajamas quickly. You are both so exhausted. Luke lays down first, so you have to crawl over him to “your spot”. “Hey (y/n)” Luke whispers. “Yes?” “Thank you for loving me for me and not for being in the NHL or for being rich or for having a boat or for having a-“ you cut him off with a soft kiss. “Luke, we met before you were drafted, before I knew you had a boat, before you had money. None of that matters to me now that I do know. Just like you said. I love you for you. and well your unruly curls are plus.” You say eliciting a groan from Luke. “Not funny. Goodnight baby girl, I love you.” With his last words for the night, you cuddled as close as you could into his side and let your eye lids close. Mentally telling yourself to text Quinn tomorrow to go off on Jack for what he’s done to Luke’s confidence.

**edited and majorly updated 4/27/24 ♡︎

[eveningepiphany]

welcome to the final show | H.S oneshot

my masterlist!

summary: you take a beautiful sign to the final show and have the sweetest interaction with harry. then somehow bump into him in italy 2 days later.

warnings: nothing but fluff, and a few little mentions of how he saved your life!

a/n: i am so fucking proud of h. i want to give him a hug more than anything. this is for all my lovelies who love hslot so fckn much it makes them ill.

also this is such an unrealistic oneshot but like that’s just the way for it ig

———

There’s a certain type of atmosphere that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s one that no matter how many photos or videos you take, you can’t capture it. One that no word has enough emotional range behind it to convey the feeling it opens up in you.

That is the only way to get close to even describe standing where you are.

You can’t lie, you had waited hours upon hours in the Italian sun just to feel the warm metal of the barricade underneath your palms.

You’d waited years just to get here in general.

When you turn your head to look behind you, you see tens of thousands of people there. Going from visible, overwhelmingly happy faces to a sea of tiny dots.

But you’re here. At the front.

You smile because you made it. This has, albeit dramatic, been a home to you over the past 2 years.

A creature comfort. One you followed every step of the way. And somehow you can’t believe you made it here, and neither would the girl back 18 months ago watching a pixelated Instagram livestream.

Standing in your outift, which took more rhinestones and glitter than you could ever have kept track of.

But you shined under the sun like a mirrorball, so it all felt worth it. Even though you swear there’s still glue stuck under your nails.

Your friends around you shared water, staying hydrated as the show starting neared. Wetleg had already preformed their final set. And tears had been randomly springing on you all day.

You heard the power in the crowd as they sung the prelude songs, goosebumps dotting over your body as you realise he’s probably able to hear it now.

Soon enough he’ll be looking at it. In all of its 100,000 people glory.

“You okay lovely?” Sofia, an Italian girl you’d met in the line checked in on you.

You nodded with a heartfelt smile. The whole experience was so bittersweet. Full of lasts.

“I’m okay. Just so so proud.” You nodded and she softly chuckles.

Her outfit was an electric blue that contrasted her tan skin, “I have some granola bars in my bag if you’re hungry? You should eat, we’ve been standing in the heat all day.”

Your best friend from your other side peered over, drawn back into conversation after being lost in the magic of the crowd surrounding her.

“On cry number— let me guess— 24 of the day?” She said it teasingly.

“Saying that as if you don’t already have mascara stains half down your face.” You grumble back jokingly, leaning your head back to look at the pastel blue sky.

You turned back to Sofia, “We’ll save them for after, maybe lay down on the ground and eat them or something.”

You only said no because you felt like you could probably be sick right now.

“Amore sciocco, troppo testardo il tuo bene, mio dio.” She mutters under her breath with a laugh, shaking her head at you disapprovingly.

“Trash talking her again in Spanish. God I wish I knew how to speak it.” You elbow your best friend at her quip.

You could stay in this moment forever.

As Bohemian Rhapsody begins playing you watch the sun go down, and in this very moment, It is your forever.

You live and breathe every second of it. All the way into peace piece, and as you’re gripping the girls around you for dear life as the lights start to dim along with the setting sun.

Harry coming has the arena screaming so loud it would have been heard for miles. He looks beautiful.

Like a shiny star up on stage. Blowing kisses and sending thank you’s to as many areas of the crowd be possibly could.

Mouthing words in Italian, causing Sofia to almost pass out beside you she screeched that hard the first time he did it.

And him counting in Golden with their language, speaking proudly into the mic— “Uno, due— uno, due, tres!”

“HES— WHAT THE FUCK!!” You’re laughing, holding her hand as she shouts frantically.

Songs bleed into one after another, going on your part from embarrassing screaming and dancing onto equally embarrassing crying.

The overwhelming feeling of seeing him so close— so damn close you can see each individual sequin on his silver outfit when his on the main stage at his mic stand in the centre.

You don’t even realise he’s doing a sign reading interlude until Sofia hands you yours from where it leant on the bottom of the barricade at your feet.

You were enamoured by him.

Taking the sign, your hands shook a little as he was on the main stage. Right in front of you.

His eyes are scanning the crowd, glancing over some signs and smiling.

“We have a choice tonight,” he begins, voice echoing through the speakers.

“we can either move quickly through signs, in which case, we’ll be able to give you some more songs!” An array of screams come from everyone, and you feel sick just at the prospect he was suggesting. The fact he could pull out any song.

He chuckles, walking further towards the area of the pit where you are, “Just an idea, just an idea!”

You’re pretty sure the girls are yelling something about him walking over, but you’re stunned at what’s happening overall, and you can’t even process what they’re saying.

But contradictory to what he’d just said. He stops a moment.

From his perspective, he saw a handful of very bright colours in the front of the crowd. One holding up an equally eye catching sign.

But he takes a moment to blink, focus in on the person holding it.

This girl has her eyes locked dead onto him, like as if he moves an inch— something could implode at any moment. Yet it somehow comes across in a flattering way.

And then he reads the sign.

‘you saved me. i cant thank you enough for that. BTW…’

His heart immediately pangs. Already too emotional at this whole event to be reading a sign like that.

You are in shock. Because he certainly just made eye contact with you and he’s been staring at your sign for a few good seconds.

“Can— wait can you turn that for me, love?” His voice falters a little.

As if Harry Styles just asked you to do something, you move with a haste you never had.

However you misinterpreted his question, turning the sign clockwise like as if it was upside down. Feeling a little embarrassed in yourself that it was around the wrong way.

He chuckles into the mic, causing a small uproar at the softness of it.

“Wrong way, it has B-T-W on it so I’m assuming there’s more on the back.”

“Oh, god— sorry!” You shout out to him, it sounding a little shaky, and you can’t lie that tears were threatening to spill from your eyes.

You had waited so fucking long to have a chance to tell him that he genuinely saved your life. And you’re finally doing it.

Also spinning the sign so the back of it is facing him, and his eyes flit gently over it too.

‘you have by far the prettiest smile ever.’ It reads, with a few large red hearts around it, decorated with glitter and rhinestones.

A dimple pops out on his cheek and he covers his mouth with a hand, flattered as ever.

“Why thank you.” He does a little bow as well, and you’re laughing out of shock. You’re interacting with him right now.

He straightens up, “I’m flattered as ever.” Prodding one of his dimples as he shows off just how pretty his smile is.

“And thank you for coming, it means everything to me.” He flushes a little, laughing at himself and your still starstruck reaction.

“You are stronger than you probably think. What’s your name?”

A tear breaks past your waterline, and you call out, “Y/N!”

Both girls at your side are clutching you like no tomorrow, and Harry takes his in-ear out to hear you better.

You call it out again, he makes only one off guess before he gets it. And your name rolling off his accent tongue makes your stomach flip.

“Y/N? That’s right— well that was a pretty good record for name guessing—“ he laughs, walking over as close as he can to the edge of the stage.

He holds the mic up to his mouth, “make some noise for Y/N everyone!”

You are in complete shock as you hear the whole arena cheer and holler for you, and Harry has this wholesome feeling of adoration wash over him as he sees your reaction.

The tears slipping down your pink cheeks. If he could, he honestly would go down there and wipe them off.

Not something he often find himself thinking. Yet here he is.

“Thank you for coming Y/N. What do you say we do some more songs?” He asks, smiling at the shocked raise of your brows.

“Yes, please.” You enthusiastically reply.

“Alright, you heard her. More songs it is!”

And so the show continues on. The second he breaks eye contact and moves away, a sob tears out of you.

You can’t believe that just happened. And the fact the rest of the show— unless you’re delusional, and making this up in your head— he lingers anytime he’s going past where you are. Catching your eyes, and smiling a little wider.

And you’re absolutely a wreck at the speech he makes, even though Sofia has to translate every word that leaves his mouth.

But if that nearly killed you, the piano ballad was honestly your final straw.

You cried so hard you couldn’t see the fucking stage at one point. And you wish you could say you were embarrassed for him to see you as he did one last round of goodbyes. But you couldn’t.

It was all your love and appreciation for him, poured out of you through the tears streaming down your face.

To your disbelief, he stops in front of you again, blowing a kiss to your friends and then one to you.

Bending down a little further to look at you, lips starting to move— from what your could hardly hear, and mostly got from reading his lips, he said ‘thank you, I love you.”

You blow a kiss back.

And before you know it, the show has ended. And there’s this full, yet hollow feeling inside of you.

Like you’re not sure how to feel. You miss him already, but that was by far the most amazing experience of your life.

You’re overwhelmed, with love and gratitude. And you, Sofia and your best friend end up doing what you’d proposed earlier before the show.

Eating chocolate granola bars with your back up against the barricade, tears still falling from your eyes.

———

Post love on tour depression is a real thing.

There is no normal explanation for having to force yourself to get up to have an amazing brunch in Italy of all places.

But 2 days after the show day, you’re doing just that. Dressing in a nice summer outfit at the very least, and taking your LOT bag with you.

The streets aren’t too busy considering it’s midday, and you make your way through them peacefully. Stoping to peak into stores, or take photos of little things you like every now and again.

And all your adventuring leads you to a beautiful little corner-cafe. One that the second you step foot into, you are comforted by its cozy feel & strong aroma of coffee.

The building itself had all its historic bones, but had been modernised. Fitted with sleek wooden floors and new furniture. Walls painted a crisp white to brighten up the already light filled room.

You find the menu hanging above where the counter is, on large pretty chalkboards.

You’re mulling over what to get when you hear a voice from beside you.

It causes you to jump a little at it’s unexpectedness, “I like your bag.”

It’s said with the tone that you can tell someone is smiling. And you turn to greet the person who had just spoken to you.

That’s when you’re met with a sight that knocks the wind from you.

Beside you— standing tall, with his tousled brown curls and rolled up linen long-sleeve is quite literally the man you saw on stage 2 nights ago.

“Oh my god—“ you jump a little at the realisation, it hitting you like a train within seconds. But you’re trying to keep you voice down, as to not cause some kind of scene.

He laughs at your stunned reaction, the way your ringed hand goes over your mouth. It’s a reaction he’s accustomed to. But the way your pretty features portray the expression has him all the more intrigued.

He does his classic introduction, “Hi, love. I’m harry.” Sticking his hand out, smiling. Like as if you didn’t know.

“I— well I did notice that.” You rush out in a nervous laugh. Glancing around looking for some kind of film camera, gauging if this is a set up and not a coincidence.

You’re left realising it’s just the two of you, and some older guy with a newspaper a few metres away at a window seat.

But no one with a camera or phone out filming this interaction.

You shake his hand after a moment of hesitation, telling yourself mentally you’re not going to cry as your relish the feeling of his calloused fingertips against the base of your wrist.

“Hi…” You flush profusely.

“What are you ordering?” He smiles at you, and your eyes are so obviously darting over his every feature.

Which you feel like you couldn’t stop from happening when he’s this close, and you’re able to fully see the plains of his beautiful face.

The structure of his jawline— that’s dotted with a light stubble—his cupids bow lips, the definition in his cheekbones. And fuck his eyes.

That are very intensely locked onto yours…

“Oh. I’m sorry. I…” you fumble for words a little, “probably like a tea. That’s usually my go to.”

He nods, “let me get it for you, please. How do you have it?”

“No, no. It’s okay, you don’t need to do that.” You insist immediately, because even though the gestures small, it feels like too much.

“Y/N.” He tuts gently.

“Weird that you remember that.” You think aloud, unable to filter the shock at the fact he just said your name. Even though the show was only 2 days ago, when he learnt it.

“Of course I do. You had quite the sign. I won’t lie, it made me tear up a bit.” He laughs, pushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Well, It was true. Not to be cheesy or anything, but your music genuinely means everything to me.” You say carefully. Not wanting to come across as weird.

“And love on tour was one of the best experiences of my life. So… thank you for that.”

“Thank you.” He smiled at your shyness. And you recall the fact you told him he had a pretty smile.

Prettiest smile. The fact he knows you think that?

You wonder if he’s thought the same thing at all in the last 5 minutes.

“Your support means as much to me. Wouldn’t be able t’do what I do if it weren’t for people like you.”

“Now, how you have your tea?” He reiterates, asking for an answer, not for another polite declination.

“I— okay. Since it’s clear you’re not going to take no for an answer.” You sigh. Corners of your mouth upturning anyway at his stubborn ways.

You rattle off how you have it, and he nods, mentally noting it down like this is going to be a regular occurrence.

He walks over to the counter and you shuffle over to the side that you’ll pick up the order from. Watching carefully as he goes up, you take in his much more causal appearance to the usual extravagance of the outfits he adorns on stage.

Hes got a pair of denim shorts on—strong legs on display— paired with a white longsleeve that’s rolled up his fore arms.

You avert your gaze to the older Italian man at the register, clueless to who he is serving.

Until a younger girl, say 15, walks from the back room and does the biggest double take youve ever witnessed.

Harry has to be used to it, because there was no way anyone could miss that.

You’re feeling like you’re in a parallel universe. Because Harry is just casually strolling back over to you, like you’ve known each other for more than a total of two, 5 minute interactions.

You take a breath, reminding yourself simply that he is a human. Just like you are. He wakes up in the morning, has bad days and good days, has habits and routines he follows— just like anyone else.

You keep this in consideration as you open your mouth to speak, “Thank you for doing that. How have you been?”

He smiles at your shy tone, a tiny wholesome feeling bubbling up at your question.

“I’m good, honestly. It’s been a big start to the year. I’m excited to take some time off even though wrapping it up the other night was really hard.” He nods, eyes casually trailing the man who was making the drinks.

“If it makes any difference, I was sobbing like a baby at pretty much every point of the show.” You laughed.

“I did see your very tear stained cheeks.” He shocks himself little with his continuation,

“Would’ve jumped down and given you a hug if I had the bloody time.” And he smiles with gratification as you mask your shocked reaction as much as possible. However, tiny little micro-movements in your face were still popping through. “I went a little overtime with the speech.”

Just human to human. You drew a tiny breath through your nose, “Which was great by the way. I mean my friend had to translate the whole thing, but was also another tear jerker.”

He goes to say something else, interrupted by the call of his name from the counter.

In which he collects the drinks from the lovely man, smiling at him with a warm thank you before turning to come back to you.

“Here you go, darling.” He hands over yours, and his green eyes look bright as ever.

The darling makes your stomach flip. He’s British, they use pet names like this in passing conversation often. But fuck if you didn’t know any better you’d think there was a chance he was flirting with you.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” You repeat.

“You have a different accent, you’re not from Italy no?” He interjects and you’re a little confused at the sudden change of topic.

“No I’m not from here…?” you laugh.

“So you’ve travelled all this way to come see me I’m assuming, the least I can do is buy you a tea. Think of it as a thank you.”

He tests the waters a little further, “i don’t usually stay in cafes for overly long but, if you have time to sit for a bit…”

“You continue to amaze me.” You chuckle, slowly following behind him as he pulls up a chair, back to the window.

“You also made me a very flattering sign. So im just being courteous, as a way to return the favour.” He smirks almost. And you’re honestly not strong enough to endure this.

“And that little piano thing you did? Is this compensation for my mental health?” You hold the cup up and he lets out a surprised laugh at your gentle quip.

“Yes, I’ve heard word that it came across as emotional as I’d intended.”

“You could hear a pin drop in the whole arena.” You nodded, taking a sip of the tea he’d bought you.

“I was so worried I was gonna fuck it up somehow.” He shakes his head, hand running through his hair as though he was anxious just at the thought.

“It sounded amazing, Harry. Made me feel a lot how fine line did when I first listened to it.”

He looks sincere with gratitude as you talk. And it stays that way as he continues on conversation with you.

You know heaps about him— you’re a fangirl that’s practically your job— yet he doesn’t know anything about you. Leaving him curious about many aspects of your life, and also with plenty of questions. Ones he really can’t believe he is even asking given you’re a fan, and he’s never actually done this before.

Whatever this is, because it felt a lot like a first date. With the way he asked where you were from, who you came to Italy with, where you grew up.

The whole lot. Your drinks both long since finished, but the questions still flowing between you two. Like there was never enough information to be learned.

He was interrupted by a call, and it almost popped this little bubble you’d made around yourselves.

Which possibly wasn’t a bad thing for him. But it served as a reality check for you.

You’re still just a fan at the end of the day. Even though your not sure how that term stands after he knows about your favourite foods, or childhood stories from your younger years. Because you feel like now that he knows that, the dynamic feels different to you.

But most of all you dreaded the fact you had to say goodbye again. But now you have to say it knowing that he walks away from this knowing things personal to you.

You realise he’s on the phone to his mum as he talks, “Yea, tell Gem to grab them anyway… I’ll be back soonish.”

He glances up at your after a moment of brief silence, “I’m just out with a friend of mine I… bumped into. So I’ll see you soon, okay?”

A friend of his?

“Alright, bye, I love you.”

And just like that the phone hung up.

“I’m feeling very special at my label. A friend of yours.” You laugh, but not lying whatsoever.

“Was m’mum. We’re having a late lunch at her BNB.” He explained, and the fact he didn’t object his choice of wording meant even more to you than anything.

You stare at him a moment, both mutually realising that this moment was seemingly going to have to end at some point.

“I don’t often do things like this.” He shrugs, watching your eyes train on random objects around the room as you get lost in thought.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Never sat down with a fan and just had a drink. It was lovely, thank you for being so polite.” He smiles again at you.

It surprised him just how far he went with it. But you had this gentle aura about you. He knew of all people, you were safe to share this private slice of himself with.

“Thank you for buying my drink… to have spent this time talking, it— well it meant a lot to me.”

“I would give you my number if my manager wouldn’t kill me.”

As stated, he continues to surprise himself just how far he’s going.

Your brain stalls at his comment.

“You could just have mine? Buy a burner phone and text me off it.” You make the first suggestion that comes to mind and he barks out a laugh.

“Could just reaffirm that you weren’t going to sell my number off to fans on Twitter?”

“Ah, that could also work too.” You nod, raising your brows.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, and your heart genuinely palpitates. Because how the fuck had you managed this.

“Gimmie yours, if you’d like?” He slides it over, and you feel like you’re picking up something with more value than just a phone. I mean it’s Harry Styles’ phone of all things.

You begin to type it in, glancing up as his gaze is trained on you, “how many numbers of fans do you have banked up in here?”

He rolls his eyes at your tease, still smiling, “I’ll have you know you’ll be the first. If my mums counts though, then only two.”

“I just…” he pauses, pursing his lips as he looks for the right words, “knew I’d regret it if I didn’t have a way to get in touch with you. I’d say we’ve got a lot in common and it’s always nice to meet new people. And I don’t want to be thinking later ‘wow, she was lovely, wish I could have kept in touch’. Y’know?”

You send yourself a text, just a simple ‘:)’ so it saves in his recent messages. “Well, I suppose I’d be a little sad too. Probably start sending emails to your manager trying to find a way to get in touch again.”

He laughs at this, standing up from his chair and pocketing his phone in his shorts once you hand it back to him.

You also rise from the table, watching his movements keenly.

“Makes this part less sad.” He says, in reference to the impending goodbye, “I’m not leaving Italy for a little bit though, and if you’re sticking around as well, maybe I can buy your more cups of tea— to make you feel even more guilty about it, of course.”

You let out a soft chuckle, “Yea, I’m not leaving for a little while…”

He walks to your side of the table, not hesitating to pull you into a hug that leaves you winded.

You freeze a millisecond before jumping to embrace it. Enjoying the gentle yet strong feeling of his body holding yours. And the way his hands are ever-so-slightly caressing your lower back.

“Thanks for hanging out, alright? Don’t be shy to message me.” He murmurs into your hair.

“I— okay. I won’t. Thank you, Harry.” You smile into the crook of his neck.

He gives a final squeeze before pulling back. Fighting the internal urge to press a little kiss to your temple.

“I’ll see you around, hopefully. Bye Y/N.” He gives you a final smile before waving goodbye, and heading out the cafe.

Your head is reeling as he exits. Unsure if you just imagined that whole thing. You needed someone to pinch you, because as far as your concerned that whole interaction was something you dreamed up.

You check your phone to see the time.

1:53pm

1 new notification

Unknown Number | :)

So that actually did just happen.

———

To reaffirm that you weren’t the only person in the world to witness what happened today, you see a tweet reposted on an update account that reads,

so, i just saw harry styles in the cafe i work at, and he sat down and drank a tea with someone he talked to at a show. not naming the interaction for privacy but like… what the fuck?

And secretly you smile. Maybe this is something you’ll keep to yourself for a bit. Like he’s a new secret friend of yours.

———

part two!!

[cameronspecial]

Hey I have this idea that I saw on TikTok….

Major fluff!rafe & protective!rafe

Reader comes to stay with Cameron’s because her parents were abusing her and Ward offered for to live with his family. Reader think that cleaning their house earns her love. Rafe takes care of her.

To Earn Your Love

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Emotional and Psychological Abuse

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Sarah found Y/N at the curb of the Country Club. Y/N had been sleeping at the club in any hidden nook or cranny that she could find before she got kicked out. She was once a patron of the establishment; however, once her family finally removed her from their membership, the employees who saw her during the day could no longer allow her inside. Sarah was quick to offer Y/N a place to stay at Tannyhill and after hearing her story, Ward was quick to agree that the girl could stay. Her parents had disowned her for planning on going to university after her gap year instead of working at the family business. They had her future set in stone and when she didn’t want what they had planned, they suddenly didn’t have a daughter anymore. Y/N didn’t want to accept the offer. How would it look if she is seen staying at the Camerons? What would people think about her parents? Sarah and Ward were able to convince her to stay though and through this whole process, Rafe remained silent in the corner of the room with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Rafe couldn’t believe that the Y/L/Ns would do that to their own precious daughter. He graduated with Y/N and he knew what a sweet and nice girl she was. She was a daughter that would make any parent proud, except for Riley and Ford Y/L/N apparently. As he listened to her explain the details of how they would treat her, his ball would curl up at the signs of emotional and psychological abuse she had been experiencing. They made her believe that a parent's love was conditional on certain factors and that she could only be worthy of being their daughter if she did everything they wanted when that was far from the truth. Rafe had to stop himself from paying her parents a visit. 

———

A crash coming from downstairs makes Rafe bolt upright. His first instinct is to grab the baseball bat he keeps by his bed and to check on Y/N in the guest bedroom. When he finds the room empty, he dashes downstairs in search of her. He hears movement coming from the kitchen, raising the bat in preparation to swing. He steps into the dimly lit room about to hit whoever is inside when a tiny yelp stops him in his tracks. “Y/N?” He turns on the lights to find Y/N hunched over broken glass with fear in her eyes. Tears begin to brim her eyelids and she rushes to pick up the shards. “I am so sorry I woke you. I am going to clean it up right away. You can turn the lights off and go back upstairs. I will clean it,” she insists. In her haste, a jagged edge slips across her skin and crimson liquid blooms across the cut. She continues to clean up the mess that she made. Rafe squats in front of her and gently holds onto her wrists to stop her. “Hey, forget about this. You are bleeding,” he shushes. She drops the glass onto the floor, letting him place her on the counter near the sink. “I really need to clean it, Rafe. Someone can get hurt.” He places a hand over her knees, “It’s okay. I’ll clean it. Just let me take care of you first, Princess.” 

She gives him a meagre nod and holds out her bleeding finger to him. He grabs her hand, running the finger under the water before patting it dry. He steps away from her for a second to grab a bandaid from the cabinet. He places the bandaid on her wound and gives a kiss to the injury. She sets her hand back onto her lap, dropping her gaze to her lap. “I should get back to work,” she mumbles. She jumps off the counter and goes to get the broom in the pantry. Rafe’s eyebrows come to a knit, “Get back to work? What were you doing down here in the dark, Princess?” He assumed she came down for water. But upon looking around the room, he spots cleaning supplies scattered around the kitchen. 

“I’m cleaning. I’m sorry I woke you. I promise it won’t happen again. You can go back to sleep now,” she promises, sweeping up the glass. Rafe tries to conceal his anger so he doesn’t scare her, yet the thought of her thinking that this is normal infuriates him. Once she has the glass cleaned, he takes the dustpan from her hand and puts it away.  He returns back in front of her and tilts her head to look at him. “You don’t need to clean for us, Princess. We have a cleaner,” he informs her. She shakes her head, “It’s okay. I can do it. How else am I supposed to show you that I am grateful for everything? How am I supposed to earn your love?” Rafe starts to think back since she has started staying with them. How the house has seemed clean even though it has been a week since the cleaner came? How, when he came home late at night, it would sometimes feel like someone was in the room next door as he went upstairs? “Princess, how long have you been doing this?” he questions. Her eyes find his, “Every night since I’ve been here. I was doing such a good job too. I haven’t woken up anyone since tonight.” He brushes her hair back from her forehead with his thumb and places a kiss on the skin. “You don’t have to do this anymore. You don’t have to earn our love because we already love you,” he whispers to her, bringing her into a tight embrace. 

She disagrees, “You guys deserve a clean home and not to be woken up in the night while I do so. Am I not doing a good job? Should I use a different cleaning product? Or should I wipe the table in a circle instead of up and down?” “You want to do a good job, then we need you to stop, okay? Because you can’t earn something you already have and we don’t want the people we love staying up to clean. I don’t want the person I love to hurt herself doing this every night. Plus, if you keep taking any more of my love, then I won’t have anything more to give,” he swears to her. Her hands land on his bicep, “You love me?”

“I do and I also really want you to go to sleep right now. So how about we go back upstairs, yeah?”

“Can I just finish cleaning the kitchen first?”

“If you do, then I am going to stay and help you.”

Her face freezes as she thinks about his condition, “I guess we can go upstairs.” Rafe grins in victory, taking her hand and turning off the lights as he leads her upstairs. “Rafe, can I sleep in your room tonight? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep so early,” she questions, which makes his heartache. This is obviously so engrained in her schedule and he couldn’t believe they hadn’t noticed. He nods, pulling her into his bedroom with her. As her head rests on his chest, Rafe vows to himself that he is going to show her what love truly is.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[biblio-smia]

Can I get family visiting your house w/ Peter Parker, please? 💙❤️

(list #1, prompt #9)

"peter, honey, you've got to relax."

"darling, i am really trying!"

the oven goes off just as the doorbell rings, keeping your hands busy while sending peter deeper into a frenzy.

your oven mitts are still on, warm on peter's arms as you try to hold him.

"see? dinner's out of the oven and it's going to taste amazing because it always comes out amazing when you make it-"

"honey, we've got to get the door-"

"coming!" you call over your shoulder as the second bell rings. "this is going to go great."

"i love you," peter nods, pressing a kiss to your cheek before motioning his head towards the door. "i think they're yours."

he leaves to start making dinner a little bit more presentable.

"it's still hot!" you call, throwing your oven mitts off and vaguely in peter's direction while you make your way to the door, hoping your face isn't as shiny with sweat as it feels.

you open the door to greet your parents just as aunt may's head appears in the hallway.

"hi!" you squeak, nerves building in your throat. "come in!"

you wave everybody in, letting them take in the redecorating you and peter have done since the last time they've visited. this isn't the first time your family or aunt may have come to visit but it's the first time they've had to interact with each other. while you and peter are sure aunt may will get along with your family just fine, peter can admit he still walks on eggshells, desperate for approval.

aunt may introduces herself politely, smile warm and inviting. you're watching, trying not to show fear - it'll just make peter even more nervous. peter emerges from the kitchen with a slightly-too-wide smile, greeting everyone and pressing a kiss to aunt may's cheek.

peter waves the group over to the dinner table, carefully set by the two of you with placemats and every utensil you could think of. peter politely pulls the seats out for the ladies, earning himself a proud smile from aunt may.

most of dinner consists of praise for peter's cooking which brings a very cute blush to his face. you squeeze peter's hand under the table as the tips of his ears turn red, pressing a little kiss to his cheek when most eyes are averted.

you and peter start clearing plates moments after utensils are set down, your guests crossing the small distance to the living room, admiring the area.

it hasn't changed much, really, but instances like these are rare that your space feels new to your family every time they visit. between your combined work schedules and peter's off-the-clock job, it's a struggle to find time where the two of you feel up to having guests over; the first time your family had visited, they had shown up unannounced (peter still remembers almost falling off a building reading that text).

peter shows up with after-dinner drinks and, somehow, with dish soap suds on his cheek, which you thumb off quickly.

neither of your nerves have quite settled yet, despite how well everything seems to be going. you're not sure you'll be able to completely relax until long after everyone leaves.

"so, how about a tour?"

peter and you had spent hours scrubbing every crevice and making sure everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. at least it paid off with the oohs and aahs, decor being admired and pictures on the wall getting recognized.

the night wraps up with a few drinks in everyone, loosening them up enough to get comfortable sharing old childhood stories of you and peter, much to your embarrassment. at least, at your expenses, your families have found common ground, laughter echoing throughout the room.

everyone begins to say their goodbyes as the clock nears twelve and you're incredibly grateful you had the foresight to call off tomorrow.

you and peter wave off the last person to leave, watching as they disappear into their respective vehicles and into the night.

you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, pulling peter in for a squeeze.

"we did it," he grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "i think we deserve some i survived shirts."

you laugh into his neck and he places an arm on your back, leading you back into your apartment.

"that went well, right?" peter asks once the two of you have settled into bed, facing each other while peter tangles your hands in his.

"i think it went very well," you reassure. "you know my family adores you, right?"

"oh, pssh."

"they do, pete. keep asking when i'm gonna marry you."

peter flushes once again, burying his face into his pillow.

you're laughing at his agony, waiting for him to come back up for air to press kisses all over his reddened face.

"i will," peter says softly in between kisses.

"hmm?" you ask somewhere between the corner of his lips and his jaw.

"marry you."

you stop for a second to look at peter in the dim light that's managed to shine through.

"yeah, you better," you mumble with a smile, pressing a kiss to peter's lips.

part of v's 1000 follower celebration | main masterlist

[mayajadewrites]

but does he know?

pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

rating: explicit, minors dni

summary: levi is your toxic ex boyfriend. you've been dating someone new, jean, who you've been having a great time with. but he's no levi ackerman, which leads to bad decisions.

warnings: toxic af, infidelity (don't try this at home pls), unprotected sex, oral (male & female receiving), slight phone sex

song to listen to while reading: moth to a flame; swedish house mafia with the weeknd

comments + reblogs are always appreciated, they make my entire day actually hehe

ao3

"Goodnight, Jean." You smile as your cheek leans against the glass of your touchscreen. You and your boyfriend, Jean, have been on the phone for 2 hours. You're laying down on your stomach on your bed, legs crossed above your ass.

"Goodnight my angel. See you tomorrow. Can't wait." Jean spoke with a yawn. You can tell he's tired from his long day of work, but he adores talking to you at the end of his day.

You press 'end' and begin to scroll through your photos. You're nowhere near tired - you are somewhat of an insomniac.

Your eyes glaze over the pictures you and Jean took together last weekend, his lips on your cheek as you smile ear to ear.

As you scroll a little farther, your eyes flicker to a photo of you and your ex boyfriend, Levi. You must've forgotten to delete it after you broke up. Your cheeks burned as you looked at the photo - it's one of the many you took when you were intimate with each other.

You're both sat in front of the mirror, you're sitting on his lap as his legs spread on the chair he's on.

Levi's eyes were glued onto your figure, his right hand gripping your thick, plush thigh, his left hand wrapped around the front of your neck. You're holding the phone to take the picture, you're wearing your favorite baby pink lingerie set, that just so happened to also be Levi's favorite.

You close your eyes when you remember how your ass felt against his hard cock against the fabric of his pants.

No, no, no. You can't miss him.

He's the most toxic man you've ever dealt with in your life. You gave 2 years of your life, of yourself to him and for what? For him to tell you he never wanted to get married, never wanted to have kids.

You couldn't hold onto what you wish he was. So, the relationship ended.

A deep sigh left your lips as you scrolled through your contacts, hoping you deleted Levi's number.

Of course you didn't. Because this isn't the first time you've wanted to call Levi late at night.

There he was.

No emoji next to his name like before, no silly nickname.

Simply, Levi.

Your thumb hovered over his name. You knew he was awake. He was always awake when you were.

Are you proud of what you've been doing? Talking behind your boyfriends back to your ex boyfriend? No.

But there's something about Levi that you could not let go of. Every time you spoke to him, you deleted it from your call log and any lingering texts.

1:22 AM.

Calling 📞 ... Levi.

1 ring was all it took.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Levi's voice purred at the other end of the phone.

"Couldn't sleep." You mumbled, sitting up on your bed. You crossed your legs as you spoke.

"You haven't even tried to sleep, have you baby?"

You ignored he pet name. "...Maybe."

"So what can I do to help you sleep, hm?" You heard Levi's chair move, presumably as he sat on it. "Over the phone, at least."

"I just wanted someone to talk to."

"Your boyfriend wasn't available?"

"He went to bed already. He had a long day."

"Poor thing." Sarcasm was leaking from his tone. "Having to have a job and deal with your ass."

"He deals with me just fine, thank you." You turn your head to the side. "If he was here, he would've taken care of me already."

"So why isn't he there? Is it a school night?"

"He's not that much younger than you, Levi."

"You didn't answer my question."

"We just didn't hang out tonight. That's all."

"You used to be at my place every night."

"That's because you and I had an unhealthy attachment to each other. Codependency on my end, at least."

"Your spot on the bed is still there. Sometimes I let my hand wander to that side and feel the contours of the shape your body left."

"L-Levi." You sit up on your bed, feeling a familiar heat rise through your body.

"Say my name again, princess." His voice was husky, you closed your eyes so you could picture his mouth moving. You could almost feel his touch through the phone.

"No. I can't." You bite down on your bottom lip, refusing to give in to the temptation. His voice was so familiar, so warm.

"Hasn't stopped you before, has it?"

You stay silent, squeezing your thighs together in attempt to silence your needy cunt.

"I know she misses me." You heard Levi shift in where he was sitting, presumably spreading his legs.

If your pussy could talk, she'd be screaming at you right about now.

"She misses the way I caress her, the way I devour every last drop, the way I-"

"Enough, Levi." You couldn't take it anymore. You had Jean in your head, he would be so disappointed if he knew you were doing this.

But it's Levi.

Your dainty hand palmed over the fabric of your teeny-tiny shorts, so sensitive you almost moaned at your own touch.

"Sounds like you don't want me to stop. I know you're touching yourself right now."

"Are you?" Your curiosity got the best of you.

"I am. I'm picturing your beautiful hand wrapped around my cock, your lips sucking on the tip the way you always do-" He pulled the phone away from his mouth, grunting as he pumped his own cock.

"L-levi." You pushed your hand inside your shorts, pushing one finger inside your soaked cunt. "I-I need you." You whine as you add another finger.

"I'm right here, baby."

"No. I need you here."

"Give me 10 minutes."

You brush your hair right after you hang up. You look at yourself in the mirror. Is this really you? Are you gonna do this to Jean?

The answer to your question walked through your door.

"You still have a key?" You walked out of your bathroom in your low cut tank top and barely there shorts.

"I made copies, and copies of copies." Your eyes ran up and down Levi's body, he's wearing a (freshly ironed?) black expensive looking sweatsuit, his hair a bit damp. He must've showered quick.

You moved to his half lidded steel grey eyes - which looked like they were drunk off of your figure. You're not skinny, you have meat on you which Levi always appreciated. You had thick thighs that lead to your plush ass, then your soft stomach and supple tits.

You both stared at each other for a few moments, not sure if this is real or not. You took a deep breath in, the scent of his eucalyptus shampoo filling your nostrils.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump.

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ear.

Levi slipped his hands into his pockets, letting you know that the ball is in your court.

Slowly, you take a step toward him and press your hands to his chest. You can feel his muscles through his hoodie, all too familiar to you.

Levi watched as you touched him, almost like it was your first time again. Your nails dragged along his chest to his biceps, to which you gave them a squeeze.

Your eyes met his and it was done.

You pushed yourself upwards towards his lips, claiming his lips as yours once again. Your hands cradled his face as you kissed him, your tongue slowly moving in and out of his mouth.

Levi's large hands finally left his pockets to make home on your hips, one hand wandering to your ass as he kissed you. Almost like his hand never left, he started kneading your asscheek.

The room filled with light moans and sounds of kisses before he trailed kisses down your jawline to your neck.

Dangerous.

But you let him anyways.

He kissed your soft spot gently before taking the skin between his teeth, sucking on the spot to make his mark. Your nails dragged to his scalp, tilting your head to the side as he claimed you as his.

You let your hand wander to the elastic of his sweatpants, feeling the outline of his hard cock against the ironed fabric.

Levi moaned against your neck, freezing for a moment as you touched his clothed cock.

"He missed me, hm?" You purred, using your middle finger and thumb to massage his dick outside his pants.

For once, Levi had nothing smart to say.

You kneeled down onto the floor, pressing your knees to the cold wood. Your doe eyes found his half lidded ones, full of lust. He visibily gulped as your hands pressed against his lips, pulling his pants and underwear down.

His cock sprung free, and god, did you miss this sight. He's so girthy, almost too big for you.

"What were you saying on the phone, Ackerman?" You grabbed his cock with your right hand, letting your thumb graze over the veins on the underside. "You were thinking about my lips wrapped around the tip of your cock?" You moved yourself closer to the fat tip of his cock, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

Levi nodded, pressing his hand to the back of your head gently. His fingertips buried themselves in your wavy hair, massaging your scalp gently. He was always so caring, even when you were sucking the life out of his dick.

You kept your eyes on him as you wrapped your plush lips around his tip, sucking on it gently like a lollipop. A moan escaped his lips at your touch, feeling your tongue swirl around the head and the slit.

"Fuck, baby." He pushed your head gently, wanting you to take more of him. "No one does it like you."

"How many other bitches have you fucked since we broke up?" You flipped your hair to the side, waiting for his response as his dick began to disappear in your mouth. You took as much of him as you could, swirling your tongue around the width of his cock.

"N-none. I haven't even looked at another woman since you." He threw his head back, being a bit more forceful with his hand as you bobbed your head.

"Really?" You moved your mouth to his heavy balls, sucking on them gently as you watched his eyes. His body twitched, he loves when you do that.

"Y-yes. You t-think I could m-move on j-just like that?"

You slid the entirety of his cock into your mouth, the head hitting the back of your throat. You bobbed your head as you sucked on his sensitive flesh. You gagged, which only made Levi want you more.

"I don't want to come on that pretty face." Levi pulled you by your hair to stand up. "Bed. Now."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand as you led him to your room, which he's familiar with.

He laid down on his back, pulling his hoodie over his head as he moved. You followed his lead and slid your shorts off, revealing your soaking, aching cunt.

You crawled over to him, pressing your lips to his as you straddled his waist. His hand gripped the back of your neck as he kissed you, pushing you into him.

"Sit on my face." He broke the kiss, laying down on the soft fabric of your comforter.

"What?"

"I'm sure I spoke clearly." He grabbed your thighs roughly, pulling you to his face. You grabbed your headboard with both of your hands as you felt the contours of his face.

"O-oh." You felt him blow air onto your clit, sending shivers down your spine. His mouth wrapped around the sensitive nub as his hands gripped the fat of your ass, sucking you dry.

You looked down at his inky hair, his lashes fluttering against your thighs as he devoured you like he hasn't eaten in a year. His mouth left your clit with w 'pop' as his tongue plunged into your pussy.

Lewd, wet noises filled your bedroom as he pushed your asscheeks toward his face, burying his face inside of you. Once he felt your walls twitching, he pressed the pad of his thumb to your clit to rub gently circles.

"You can't come yet though, princess. I want us to come together." He mumbled against your cunt.

You're about to lose your fucking mind. Your fingertips gripped the headboard as you began gently rocking your hips back and forth on his face, feeling his nose poke your aching clit.

Levi removed himself from your cunt, your arousal covering his lips. His rough hands flipped you both over so he was now on top, his lips trailing kisses on your chest before pulling your tank top off.

You felt his tip press against your heat, almost making you come then and there.

His eyes were locked on you in that moment. It felt like there was no one else in the world but you and him. You brought your hands to his red-flushed cheeks, kissing his lips gently. You whimper against him as he pushes himself inside of you, stretching your gummy walls.

Your moans intertwine as he thrusts in and out of you, his muscular arms holding onto you. His eyes looked... lonely. Like he missed you. It wasn't the non chalant facade that you normally hear when you call him.

He was aching for you. Not only for your touch, but for everything you are.

Your eyes were locked on his as his strokes were deep and slow, watching his mouth gape open just a bit.

"Baby," Levi grunted, quickening his pace.

"Yes, Levi?" You pressed your hands to his bare, muscular chest.

The sound of you saying his name sent him over the edge. He watched your lips move as you said his name, a glossy sheen on your lips from his cock. He buried his face in your neck as his pace quickened, his fat balls slapping against your skin.

"Oh, Levi." You moan as your cunt clenches around him. "I'm gonna come." Your toes girl as he thrusts faster and deeper. Quickly, he brought one hand to your clit and massaged circles once again. You slammed your eyes shut, feeling the euphoria overtake your body.

Your entire body twitched and let out moans as you came, your brain almost short circuiting. Levi removed his hand from you as he became sloppy with his pace - he's close.

Levi's eyes met yours again as he lost himself inside of you.

"I, I love you." He thrusted inside of you once more, letting his juices cover your walls, filling you up.

He unloaded inside of you out of habit, you both preferred it that way.

You cradled his head in your hands as he came down from his high, caressing his cheek. You watched his face when his eyes fluttered to yours, his lips pressing against your swollen ones.

Once he pulled out of you, you couldn't help but whine at the loss of him. He got a towel and cleaned your body for you, covering your skin with kisses.

"Levi, did you mean that?" You looked at him as he cleaned you, like the neat freak that he is.

"I don't say anything I don't mean." He didn't even look at you. He got up, threw the towel in your hamper, and found himself at your side again. "I'll never stop loving you, princess. Even when you're not with me, I'm eternally yours."

You pulled the covers over your bodies and tangled your legs with his, mending into his body.

He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before you dozed off together.

Safe to say this wasn't the last time you called him late at night.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

solomon couldn't stand your pact marks.

well, no, that wasn't the right way to put it. he was proud, even jealous of your pacts. they were one of the many admirable things about you! he just hated... looking at them. he knew what other people thought when they saw them.

when one would see those marks on your skin for the first time, they would be able to get a glimpse at your relationship with the brothers. one of trust and respect, gathered from just a glance. meanwhile, one would have to be told about his and your relationship. one look at you couldn't decipher all the time you two have shared together, filled with chatting between classes, practicing magic for hours, and endless love.

at first, solomon tried to mitigate this with his own marks upon your skin. wearing lipstick as he placed a kiss on your neck, a few stray bite marks from your time together at night. but those, while fun, were temporary. and solomon needed something permanent.

why not a ring?

(Hope you don't mind me adding on, anon. Thank you for the delicious meal! Literally so honored to read your beautiful work! 🥹)

Getting the ring was the easy part. Getting you away from the brothers long enough to propose...was not.

The lengths Solomon went through to be able to have a private moment with you might put him in a record book as the three realms' most whipped man. With the mask of his "shady" persona secured, he lets his silver tongue weave him through these seven obstacles, the sin of each dripping from it with only you on his mind.

Swallowing his pride, breathing in greed, spitting out envy...his wrath, lust, gluttony, and sloth. A vicious rinse, repeat until he's either buttered them up or grated them down until they finally gave in. But he did it. With the day cleared of any interruptions, his plans were set in motion.

He decides to have a redo of your very first date, flying you up and walking in the sky amongst the stars. It's just the two of you against the ever inky black sky of the Devildom, a place that has become synonymous with your presence. Only this time, there are no surprise gales, no surprise drones -- just the surprise of a velvet heart-shaped box in the inside pocket of his coat.

Solomon brings up fond memories of your time together as you both near the spot he's picked to pop the question. He's filled with a giddy glee that soon you'll have something that binds you to him, something to show the world you're his.

Still, there's a little voice in the back of his head reminding him that you could say no. That perhaps he's not worthy. Does he deserve to have matching rings adorned on his and your fingers forevermore? Does he dare stand by your side as your equal when you are, in fact, so far above him?

He decides it's best not to dwell on such thoughts as this is meant to be a happy occasion, as long as all goes well.

Your feet touch the ground once he lowers you both on top of a cliff that overlooks the Devildom, the moon hanging brightly above. As you take in the magnificent sight, he lowers himself on one knee behind you, waiting with bated breath for you to turn on your own volition.

The moment you do, he knows he'll have to keep this memory stored away with his magic, just staring in awe. The moon is angled just right that it shines right behind your head like a halo. Your eyes are as wide as saucers while your jaw is slacked. With the way you look, he truly wonders if he's in the Celestial Realm.

Nervously, Solomon begins his improvised speech after clearing his throat, "my dearest apprentice, it is with great honor that I'm knelt before you tonight. I have dreamt of this moment more than I'd care to admit, yet I never thought it'd come true. But here I am, willing to give you all of me, if you're willing to give me all of you. You are the sun to my moon, the air in my lungs, the very reason why I believe I've lived so long. I was always meant to find you and work side by side to protect the human realm together. And most importantly, to love you. So, please do this old sorcerer a favor...by marrying me..."

He pulls out the ring box, opening it to offer you the ring within. The blessed box is shaking as he trembles, waiting patiently for your answer.

Happy tears spring from his eyes once you say, "yes." The ring is carefully slipped onto your finger, and a single word comes to Solomon's mind.

Mine.

[hyuckswoman]

“as i said before, i’m going to send an email later on in the day with the groups. before anyone asks yes i assigned them but you can switch if you want to. this class is made of pairs so as long as you’re in a pair i don’t care who you’re with. just make sure to update me with the new list” your professor says as you pack your things to leave

“do you hope we’ll be together? cause i hope we will it would be super funny” you hear jisung say right behind you. this man will not leave you alone it seems “oh you’re still ignoring me? you’re lucky i’ve got things to do cause i would’ve followed you for your whole trip back home” he says getting ready to leave you alone

“that’s called stalking weirdo” you hear a voice say. you turn around just to see mark. not very surprising as you were supposed to meet with him to hangout “she likes it, don’t worry” jisung replies before leaving “man this guy’s so weird” you hear your friend whisper (more to himself than you) “you don’t say”

“hallelujah i am NOT with jisung in my group this is bliss. i want to thank the lord, my family and friends for getting me here. i am so proud to be here today besides you. this moment is so much bigger than me.” nothing could begin to describe the amount of joy you felt when you opened your email and saw that your name was nowhere near jisung’s. even mark was tense, he had his fingers and toes crossed for you. when you saw that your partner was this really nice (you assumed, you barely have any friends so you didn’t talk to her)

“do you feel relieved?” mark asked finally letting his fingers and toes un cross “fuck yea i do, i literally can avoid jisung for the rest of this semester this is what i dreamt of my whole life dude” you take your phone to text your partner seeing that she had already texted you. “no fucking way” was all you could utter

10. no fucking way

previous chapter masterlist next chapter

notes: i moved to seoul lmao and it’s just so fucking weird?? like i arrived yesterday at like 10 am and i lowkey (highkey) want to go back home. idk i just know that i’ll have a hard time here and knowing that the next time i see my family is in months makes me sad lmao. plus it’s hard bc everyone is like omg you must be so excited n stuff and im like noooo i want to go back homeeeeee. plus i have to take classes that are harder so even academically wise im gonna struggle. but anyway im done complaining! i know this is someone’s dream probably so i should be more grateful but it’s a bit hard rn ngl lmao

taglist: @kgyam4 @sunghoonsgfreal @injunnie-lemon @nctrawberries @222low @multifandomania @joyzluvr @starwonb1n @222brainrot @sinsgaybutthatsokay @defzcl @lostinneocity @junviadinho @mrshwang-park @skepvids @wonbin-truther @jkslvsnella @jising-jisang-jisung @nanaxwi @polarisjisung @amrqxz @jirsungs @haechansbbg @dalsosapple @pookime @pinklemonade34 @lotties-readings @roseangelxfuma @jiiieun @inosfavgf @mystverse @alethea-moon @apple9i3 @nosungluv @dinonuguaegi @addyanm @kenmaswoman @okkkcausewhet @starfilledgaze

[redheadspark]

may i request a benedict bridgerton shot? prompt #10 and dialogue #4

A/N - This is sweet! Thanks for reuqesting this, anon!

Roots

Summary - Benedict remembers the very spot where you two fell in love

Warnings - Just fluff !

“I shall like to propose a toast, to the love of my life!”

The room cheered as you were sitting at your table, a massive grin on your face as your new husband was standing right next to you with his glass in hand.  The room was filled with your families, but his family and yours as they were all watching in anticipation while your husband was standing tall and with pride.  

“There are those of our guests who know how long my bride and I have known one another, and some of not.  I will like to start in the very beginning, if you all will indulge me,” 

Chuckles and giggles were heard as your husband looked over at you.  You saw the smile of pure joy on his face, the sparkle in his eyes that seem to shine a shade lighter than in contrast with his dark brown locks and black tux.  On his left hand was a wedding band, silver and standing out song his hands as you beamed at him.

Benedict Bridgerton, your childhood love and now husband.  

“My wife and I met as children, and to say I was instantly in love with her would be a understatement,” Benedict explained in a chuckle, “We both grew together as friends from childhood into adulthood, and I never had another companionship as rich as that one I had with her.  Perhaps I didn’t know then that it was love, how I felt about her and how I wished to see her everyday.  It may have seemed childish as well, and my dear mother and matriarch of our family can agree,”

Your eyes glanced over to your new mother-in-law, Violet Bridgerton, whom was smiling in pride at her son and then over at you.  You could see where Benedict got his warmth, you’ve known for some time when you two met and grew up together as friends.  She was always kind to you, a second mother when your own mother was busy at times or was tending to an emergency.  You instantly knew it took hard work and dedication it took to raise 8 children on her own, and you admired her all the more.

“Now my wife and I had a special place we would go to together, we stumbled upon it by sheer accident one afternoon in the spring.  The very place where we were wed today: under the massive tree in the Bridgerton Garden,” He explained, some of the guests looked in shock and were mumuring to each other in excitement while Benedict kept talking, “It was our safe space to go and find one another.  I can recall plenty of afternoons under that very tree, reading side by side, my love critiquing my artistry and not being shy about it,”

You laughed, hiding your lighter behind your hand as some of the other guests were chuckling too.  Benedict looked back at you, taking your spare hand and kissing the back of It lovingly as you were blushing like mad.

“Whenever I was in melancholy, I found myself there under the leave where she would wait for me.  With her thoughtful advise, her kindness that would bring me out of my darkest days, and later down the road, her unique and selfless love.  We grew to love each other under that tree, and I am proud we were wed there as well,” Benedict recited, keeping your hand in his own as you were thinking back to all the moments under that tree.  

You did love that tree, how massive the branches were and how it always give the best shade.  No matter the day or the season, you had the perfect spot near one of the big roots that owed up from the ground.  You’ve sat on top of the root so many times, it was then your safe space.  With the wildflowers growing to the left and grass under your feet, it was the perfect spot.

It was even more perfect with Benedict there in your company, you both finding one another under the tree if you were either bored or simply wanting to chat with one another.  He would tell you all about his siblings, you gossiping about your parents and their unique quirks.  Laughter would be heard from the pair of you, Violet Bridgerton could watch you from her spot in her parlor and simply smile.  Seeing her son happy with another, a close friend who would brighten her son’s day with a smile or a joke on your lips.  

Years came and went, you both outgrowing your childhood and still finding a way back to one another.  The growing pains of life rocked the both of you in your own ways.  Yet at the same time, you both were enjoy one another’s company.  Perhaps it was the years of knowing one another so well that brought on the feelings that you had for him. Yet the growing pressures tat you were feeling, coming out to society and then needing to find a husband, it was making your worry.  Worry that you were going to loose what you had with Benedict and your growing fondness of him, worry that he would not reciprocate the same feelings that you had towards him.  You had no idea what to do.

But that all changed the very year you were attending balls.  During the season and going from one party to another, you were in a whirlwind of suitors and bachelors that were wishing to make your acquaintances.  But none of them really caught your eye, which seemed to make your parents worry since your other friends were being courted left and right.  Then again, you did go on one of two courting dates, monitored of course, they seemed to be fine.  Those men were kind to you, nothing out of the ordinary, but still nice.  You never mentioned it to Benedict since you figured that he would not wish to hear of it, and surprisingly he avoided asking all together.  In fact, he seemed stand off to the topic, which made you concerned. 

Until one night, under the tree as you were perched on your root in tears and still in your dress from the ball you attended hours earlier.  Benedict found you, taking your hand in his and seeing your glistening eyes watch his as he finally poured his heart out to you.

You listened as he was telling you all about the pain he felt when you were going to the balls and dancing with those suitors, how your mother read father would try and pair you up with someone they thought would be suitable for you.  How he felt defeated and unable to say what was on his mind, until that night when he saw you crying under the leave and with the moon thing through each leaf to give you a glow.

“I was always jealous of them and it took me some time to realize why,” He explained, then cupping your face in his hands and wiping the tears away with his thumbs as you were under his spell, “I’ve been in love with you for some time.  And I cannot go another moment without you knowing and understanding that I wish to have you in my life, for all my life, until my last dying breath,”

You both sealed your fate with your first kiss that evening, 

“Here’s to my wife, my first and only love that will always meet me under the tree, under our shared space where I love grew.  I cannot wait to grow old with you, as old as the tree if we’re lucky, and I am proud to call you mine and to share the Bridgerton name with you,”  He ended his speech, you getting up from your chair to kiss him soundly as the rest of the seeing guest cheered. 

You both would come back to that tree every once in awhile after your wedding, even bringing your infant daughter to the same tree where her mother and father fell in love.

The End.

June Prompt Session

[lainsshop]

We’re Simply Meant To Be 𝜗𝜚

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: fluff, human alastor, out of character(?), tnbc, eveloping relationship(?) n probably more..

Song: Sally’s Song & We’re Simply Meant To Be - The Nightmare Before Christmas

A/N: Here we out.. Alastor is so Jack coded in someway like walk with meeee!! Not proud of this one tbh..

“… I sense there's something in the wind, that feels like tragedy's at hand-” The ringing in your ears and the dust around the destroyed hotel feel up your senses as you try to stand up. You were bleeding out after fighting against Adam with Alastor. You regained consciousness after remembering what happened, you coughed and begin to search for him.

“And though I'd like to stand by him,” You knew that he was okay but the changes are never zero, you couldn’t risk it- you couldn’t risk never telling him what you felt all those years being together before and after dead, even if it was a silly joke-

𝜗𝜚

“If we still don’t have partners by the age of 30, we should marry each other, what ya think?” You playfully suggest as you hand him a glass of rye. Soft jazz could be heard in Alastor’s radio as you both sat on his dining table. “Now, we both know that we won’t have a someone by that age, probably never.” He chuckled. “I know, I know- I was just joking.” You were lying.. deep down you wanted that, you wanted to be next to him and love him more than a friend but something was holding you back from confessing.

𝜗𝜚

“Can't shake this feeling that I have, the worst is just around the bend,” You continued to walk around, you couldn’t even see the rest of the crew so you were probably a lot farther from them. “And does he notice my feelings for him..?” Your legs betrayed you as you tumbled down on the ground, you became dizzy and rested against a demolished wall. “And will he see how much he means to me?”

“I think it’s not to be- what will become of me, dear friend?” You began to questioned yourself as you tried to push through the pain. “Where will my actions lead us then?”

Cough.

“Althought I’d like to join the crowd, in their enthusiastic cloud, try as I may, it doesn’t last… and will we ever end up together?” Questions. Questions running through your head.

What would happened? What if you weren’t so fucking pathetic and just told him everythi- “And will we ever end up together? No, I think not, it’s never to be ecome-“ You looked at your bloody hands as drops of tears started to appeared. This is your final moment? “For I am not the one..”

You were about to close your eyes as you heard footsteps, vague footsteps getting louder and louder and a radio static-

You quickly looked were the sound was coming from and you nearly jumped when you saw him so near to you.

“… Al-” “Shush, my dear, you’re severely wounded so I should suggest to not speak at the moment, hm?” A beat of silence.

“May I?” He was asking about your injury so you just simply nodded and let him do whatever. He started to help you with the wound. As he did that, he suddenly spoke- “… my dearest friend, if you don’t mind,” You looked at him wondering what he was gonna say next but he was trying to look for the right words and he looked at you with a soft gaze. “I’d like to join you by your side,” You felt a swirly feeling, you didn’t wanted to assume what he meant but you knew it was a positive gesture especially coming from him. “Where we can gaze into the stars-“

You see, there was rare moments where Alastor used to speak like this with you when y’all were alive, you never knew what he meant but in that moment you knew what he meant now. He was- “And sit together now and forever, for it is plain as anyone can see,” He gently grabbed your hand and gave it a small kiss. You both looked at each other with a soft smile.

“… we’re simply meant to be.” You both serenaded.

© LAINSSHOP 2024

[goldengleams]

hiii pookie 😙 i've never requested anything so, feel free to do anything you want but w matt rempe pls? 🩷 ily!

come back to bed | m. rempe

hope you enjoy sof!!! love you my cutie!

You rolled over in bed, having just woke up from a dream and wanting to reposition yourself in Matt’s arms. You let out a soft whine when you realized he wasn’t next to you in bed.

“Matt?” You whispered. You lifted yourself up on your elbows to squint at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 3:29 AM.

Reluctantly arising from your warm bed, you quietly walked down the hallway. You carried a blanket for Matt in case he was asleep on the couch, which wasn’t uncommon if he was watching hockey. The bathroom light wasn’t on, nor was the light near your television. In your sleepy haze, you heard a glass clinking as it was set down. Bingo.

Finally, you spotted Matt sitting on a stool by the kitchen island. His hunched figure was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the candle that was lit in front of him. The scent of vanilla entered your nose as you drew closer.

“Matt, why are you up? It’s three in the morning,” You called in a whisper. He whipped his head towards you, startled by your presence.

“Geez, you scared me Y/N,” he chuckled softly. Matt’s hair was strewn about, the product of him running his hands through it incessantly and his leg bounced up and down.

“Sorry,” you mumbled sheepishly, stepping closer to him to wrap him up in the blanket. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, just couldn’t stop thinking about today,” he sighed, mumbling a soft thank you. He was looking at you with an expression you couldn’t read. Your sleep-addled brain was not ready to comprehend big feelings, but you wanted to be there for him.

“It’s finally happening,” you said, smiling. “I’m so excited for you.”

Matt nodded, focusing his attention on the cup in front of him. He traced the rim with his finger, lost in thought once again.

You were overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu as you watched him in the ambient light. You and Matt had met two years ago. At the time, you were a college student in Connecticut and Matt was playing hockey in Hartford. You had met through a dating app and while it didn’t seem like you had anything in common, Matt had won you over pretty easily. Both of you were set on living in New York City-you wanted to do more schooling and Matt was hoping to be called up by the New York Rangers. After many date nights, hockey games, and one graduation, you were both closer to living your dreams. You had been waiting for the day that Matt came and stayed at your apartment while preparing to play for the Rangers.

But, it was never without some bumps in the road.

You knew you’d never understand what Matt went through as a hockey player, but for the past two weeks, you had tried to be there for him. He’d received the call from the Rangers in the beginning of February to play, but he hadn’t gotten any playing time. That would change today when he made his debut.

“Your family is so excited too, I can’t wait to sit next to Steph and Alley and cheer you on,” you tried again. It was true, in a few hours, you would be driving with Matt’s family to MetLife Stadium to watch his NHL debut. You couldn’t be happier for him.

“I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and it’s, like, here. Feel like I’ve waited for so long and I just want it to go well. Especially today.”

“It’ll go well, babe. You know that,” you said. You made your way to sit next to him at the other stool. Matt and his family had been thinking of his Dad who had passed away and you knew that it would be a huge deal for him to make his debut on his anniversary. You reached out for his hand and gently traced a pattern onto his palm.

“You’re going to make your family so proud, Matt. Especially your Dad.”

Matt released a shuddering breath he had been holding in for far too long. He pulled the blanket tighter around his broad shoulders, a chill running through him from the seasonal February weather.

“What if I’m nobody?” Matt whispered it so quietly you’re not sure you would’ve heard it if it wasn’t silent. The doubts of not being good enough swarmed in his mind.

“First of all, you won’t be nobody, Matt. And I know that the people in your circle wouldn’t care if you scored a hundred goals or zero, or ever played with the Rangers. You’ll always be somebody to us,” you said softly. “You’ll always be someone to me.”

You brought his knuckles to your lips and gave a soft kiss. You watched the tension leave his shoulders and he quickly reached over to give you a kiss. He leaned into you easily.

“There’s my boy,” you said against his lips.

“Thank you,” Matt said. “And thanks for listening to me at 3 in the morning.”

You chuckled. “Technically it’s 4 now, so you should come back to bed and cuddle me until your stupid alarm goes off at 7.”

Matt blew out the candle and stood up from the stool. You made grabby hands at Matt, which he quickly took and led the two of you back to bed. You both climbed in bed and Matt wrapped the blanket around both of you to keep warm.

“Love you baby,” he mumbled, already drifting off. His hair tickled your ear as he moved closer to you. “Gonna score for you tonight.”

“Yeah and you better not get in any fights, Rempe.”

“Mmm, no promises.”

——————————————————————

Enjoy this Matt Rempe blurb and go request more in my inbox! 😋😋

[mbappebby]

Stargirl || Two

Ivy Carter (OC) x f1 grid

Summary: Ivy never thought she could achieve a podium in her first ever race in formula 1, but she did and made everyone proud of her

Requested: Yes, by anonymous: Hey! Loved the 1st chapter of your new series! Can I request one where Ivy gets on the podium for her first ever race and everyone is proud of her. Thank u x

Series

Taglist: @myluvtaeil (let me know if you want to be added)

Race day

Ivy scanned her pass before entering the paddock, she greeted fans as she was making her way to get to the Mercedes garage. Ryan could see how nervous she was but didn’t say anything, the pair soon enough entered the Mercedes garage.

Ivy greeted her team before making her way into her drivers room, she put her headphones on to listen to music to try to calm down her nerves.

“Hey, where’s Vee?” Susie asked. “In her drivers room, she’s really nervous but won’t admit it if you ask her what’s wrong” Ryan said. “You really know her very well,” George added.

“Been her trainer since the beginning, I can read her like a book” Ryan told them. “Why don’t you talk to her for a bit? Might help to her calm down,” Toto said to his wife.

“I was going talk to her anyways, I’ll be back in a bit” Susie replied as she made her way to Ivy’s drivers room and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Ivy said as Susie opened to door. “Hey Susie! What’s up? Am I needed in the garage?” Ivy asked. “No you aren’t, you also don’t have to hide from everyone that you are nervous. It’s understandable, sweetie” Susie said softly.

Susie was sat down next to Ivy, the rookie looked the ground. “I hate how Ry can read me like a book..” Ivy mumbled. “He’s looking out for you” Susie told her.

“Still annoying..” Ivy added. “I know you might feel like that Vee, anyways let’s have a chat to hopefully calm you down before the race” Susie said.

And that’s what they did..

After the conversation with Susie, Ivy felt way better than earlier. She and George were currently making their way to the drivers parade. Ivy made her way over to Oscar.

“Hey Vee,” Oscar said as the shared a fist bump. “Hey Osc,” Ivy added with a smile. “Look who it is!” LOGAN SARGEANT said as he walked over to the duo.

“Lo! Hey! Sorry, I haven had a chance to see you at all this weekend!” Ivy replied as they hugged. “It’s alright Vee, happy that you made it up here” Logan said.

“Me too!” Ivy added. “Carter!” Lando called making her turn around. “What’s up Norris?” Ivy called back as Lando started to walk over to her. Ivy quickly walked to stand behind George.

“Aww, you need to be protected?” Lando joked as Ivy smacked his arm, making drivers laugh at the duo. “Feisty as ever,” Lando mumbled as he rubbed his arm as Ivy just smiled at him.

“Nice one Vee!” Alex called. “Thanks Albono!” Ivy replied with a laugh. “I actually hate you,” Lando said. “Love you too Lan!” Ivy said and once again moving away quickly from Lando and placed herself near Lewis.

“It’s going to be a fun season with them,” Max said. “Tell me about it, imagine what it would be like if they were teammates?” George said. “Chaos,” Charles replied.

“They’re two kids, what do you expect?” Carlos added making them laugh.

//

The moment it happened.

“HISTORY IS MADE TONIGHT! IVY CARTER BECOMES THE FIRST EVER FEMALE TO FINISH ON THE PODIUM IN FORMULA 1! WHAT A FIRST RACE FOR THE 18 YEAR OLD ROOKIE!” Crofty exclaimed as they watched the Mercedes cross the line.

R: “That’s P3 Vee!! What a way to start your formula 1 career with a podium! Brilliant performance today, congratulations Vee!”

Ivy: “AHH!! I did it!! Thank you guys so much, I can’t believe it!!”

R: “You deserve that Vee, amazing performance kid!”

Ivy: “Thanks Toto!!”

Ivy parked her car in the P3 spot, she stayed in her car for a while before eventually stepping out and running into the arms of her crew. She took her balaclava and helmet before seeing two familiar people.

She soon saw Toto and Susie and ran to them. “Knew you could do it Vee!” Toto said. “We are proud of you sweetheart, so many girls will be looking up to you” Susie added as she kissed her forehead.

“Thank you guys!” Ivy mumbled before she had to go get weighed, she then put her helmet down and had a drink of water. “Vee! P3?! Proud of you!” George said as he hugged his teammate.

“Congrats Vee, so proud of you!” Lewis added as they hugged. “Thanks guys, a double podium for us too!” I y replied looking at George. “You know it!” George said.

“I’ll get you both next week, anyways congrats again Vee” Lewis added. Ivy felt someone squeezed her shoulders from behind, when she turned around she saw the Dutch driver.

“Go again next week?” Ivy said as she put her fist out, Max accepted the fist bump. “You know it, almost got me at the end Vee, congrats by the way” Max replied.

“Thank you!” Ivy added as she made her way over to do her post race interview.

“Ivy, a huge congratulations! P3 on your first ever formula 1 race, how you feeling?” JENSON BUTTON asked as the crowd cheered.

“I’m still trying to find words to describe the feeling, I just want to say that can’t thank Toto and Mercedes enough for giving me this opportunity. It’s a dream come true and can’t wait forwards to the races ahead” Ivy replied with a big smile on her face.

“Thank you Ivy, congratulations once again!” Jenson said as Ivy waved up to the crowd before giving Jenson a hug before making her way into the cool down room.

Moments later, Ivy walked out onto the podium..

Toto and Susie had were clapping proudly with big smiles on their faces as watched Ivy up on the podium. Ivy pointed down to them with a big smile on her face too.

“Toto and Susie Wolff looking very proud of Ivy, what a special moment this is for Ivy, she’s just proved to everyone that she deserves to be in that Mercedes seat!” Martin said.

//

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ivycarter

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ivycarter: P3 on debut?! Words can’t describe how I am feeling right now. If you were to say to me a few years ago that I would have achieve a podium in my first race in formula 1, I would have never believed you. A double podium for us, very strong start to the season. Thank you all for all the support, means so much to me. Let’s go again next week!!💗

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user61 Let’s gooo, congrats Ivy!!!

user2 Proving everyone wrong😌

user94 🤩👑

susie_wolff Proud of you sweetheart❤️

ivycarter 🥰💗

user62 Susie & Ivy🥹

user26 Susie and Toto looked so proud of her😭

user17 Stargirlll🤩

lewishamilton Well done Vee❤️

ivycarter Thanks Lew❤️

user19 Awh her and Lewis!!

user7 Congrats Vee!

user81 Stargirl for reallll

user43 🔥🔥🔥

georgerussell63 Proud of u Vee!

ivycarter Thank u G❤️

user66 Ivy and George are the best teammates this year

user9 Toto and Susie looked so proud of her!!

maxverstappen1 Well done Vee!

ivycarter Thanks brooo, I’ll get you next time!!

maxverstappen1 Bring it on lil sis!

user20 I love how all the drivers treat her like a little sister!🥹

user72 I’m loving her friendship with Max!!

user80 Let’s go Ivy!!!⭐️

user58 Queennn👑

olliebearman Ay! Congrats Vee!

ivycarter Thanks Ol!

paularon_ Come to the F2 paddock!!

ivycarter On my way!!

user62 My fav trio ^^

user19 I love how Ollie, Paul and a few others weee watching her🥰