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osarina · 2 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages.

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him.

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him.

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage.

You don’t want him.

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you.

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days.

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you.

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them.

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared.

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive.

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time?

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss.

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again.

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away.

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him.

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about.

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up.

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around.

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out. You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed.

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t.

Of course, you weren’t.

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel.

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you.

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more.

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what?

You ruined it because you got scared?

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him?

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight.

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you?

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous.

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable.

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue.

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue.

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that.

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai.

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer.

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama?

What happened, Dazai-sama?

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use.

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you.

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now.

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction.

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest.

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands.

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs.

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go.

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently.

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently.

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

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

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byeoltoyuki · 5 months ago

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↳ Pairing: Seungmin x reader

❧ Genre: rivals to lovers / romance / smut

❧ Words: +4k

❧ Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f)

❧Summary : Years ago, he used to be your enemy.

No. Enemy was too strong to describe what Kim Seungmin was to you. Your rival was a better term. He was everything you weren’t; friendly, funny and effortlessly brilliant. You loathed him for that. And yet, when you meet him again years later, you just can’t deny that there’s something else between you too.

❧ A/N : Honestly, this one comes out of nowhere. I just needed to write so here it comes ♥ Reblogs and comments are always appreciated ♥

***

‘Trust your guts’.

It was your motto in life. A simple rule. And you abided by this rule half of your short lived life. But not tonight and you regretted it. Deeply.

The annual gathering with people from your college was an event your closest friends adored just so they could show some idiots that they had succeeded in life. You? You avoided it. An event you hated with all your heart. You always found excuses not to go. Your life depended on it.

Okay. Not really. Not your life at least. But definitely your ego.

You hated half of the people who attended the event. Back in college, they were so quick to judge, to talk behind your back and yet they expected you to be nice to them. To them, you were just a cold, nerdy girl with no friends. Someone they could easily mock. They hated your attitude. They hated your looks. But they also hated how easily you beat them every single time.

They were wrong.

Yes, you were a little nerdy back then, but you weren’t a cold person, just shy. And you had friends. Not many, but you didn’t need many to feel good. To be happy. Those you had, stuck by your side and they also happened to be the reason you had finally agreed to come to the gathering. You just couldn’t say no to Hyunjin and Yeji, not when those two formed an alliance against you. You had no chance against them.

You sighed to yourself. Would it be rude to grab your purse and leave? One nasty look from Hyunjin, as if he could read your mind, and you gulped nervously. Apparently it was. You slumped further into your chair and tried to keep up with the conversation. Same boring conversation. ‘Where do you currently work?’ ‘Are you soon getting married?’ ‘I’ve bought a house!’ Why did it have to be a competition? Couldn't they just enjoy a nice gathering and the meal?

“Hyunjin, I heard you’re flying to Paris for the fashion week.” Seoah were almost drooling as she spoke to Hyunjin. You cringed. She couldn’t make it even more obvious that she wasn’t just admiring him. No, she had something else on mind. Too bad, Hyunjin was a taken man even if she didn’t know that.

He smiled into his drink. “Yes, tomorrow.” He put his glass back on the table and glanced smugly at a silently fuming Juwon who always hated Hyunjin’s popularity. “I was actually supposed to leave today, but I couldn’t miss our annual gathering! It’s good to see you guys.”

What a liar. You had to bite your lips not to laugh at his words.

Juwon cleared his throat and averted his attention on you. Hell no. “You look different.” For once, it didn’t sound like an insult but you were still weary of him. No nice words coming out of his mouth could make you forget what kind of asshole he was. And you had a hard time to believe that he had actually changed.

“Do I?” You did look different from the past. You used not to care about your looks. Who cared how you looked as long as you had good grades? You certainly didn’t. Neither did your friends. But it changed. Ever since you started working at your art gallery, you understood the importance of how others perceived you. You learnt to do your makeup right. You took care of your long hair. And you changed your whole wardrobe. You got classier. And maybe tonight you put an extra effort to look good. Not that you needed to impress anyone, but you did it anyway.

“It suits you!” Another woman commented, genuinely excited. You couldn’t remember her name but you thanked her with a smile.

Yeji eyed you from the other side of the big table, thumbs up, her eyes telling you silently ‘told you so’. You ignored her. Just because you could.

“I wonder with what kind of man you ended.” Juwon was too curious for his own good.

“Oh come on.” Seoah laughed as if the idea of you dating was ridiculous. “I bet she’s still single.”

How typical of her to assume. Not that she was wrong, but her comment still pissed you. Did she think you were still the same woman as back in college? Just because right at this moment, you were indeed single, didn’t mean you refused dating. You did and got tired of it. Every relationship you had, always started nice, romantic even, but always ended the same way: you breaking up with the guy. They were nice men who truly cared for you but there was just something missing.

However, before you could share a piece of your mind with Seoah, you were interrupted.

“Sorry guys, I’m late!”

That voice.

That stupidly, annoying voice. Your whole body reacted; you shuddered, unable to breath, unable to think properly.

Kim Seungmin.

Here came a man you wished you could avoid for the rest of your life. You knew, your hatred for him was irrational. Compare to others, he had never done anything to you. Seungmin never mocked you, never made any bad comments. But he was your rival. No matter how hard you worked, no matter how many hours you spent in the library, studying, he still beat you every single time. It drove you crazy. But what made everything tenths time worse was the fact that Seungmin quickly caught on your little game and it amused him. You hated him for that too.

“You’re right on time!” Juwon pushed a chair for him. “We’ve been discussing Y/N’s love life!” His gaze slid to you and smirked. “Or lack of it.” Yep. Still an asshole, you were right.

Seungmin quirked a brow at Juwon’s words. You felt his eyes on you. On your face, on your neck, on your arms. Your skin burned under his gaze but you refused to acknowledge his presence for the sake of your sanity.

Maybe a tiny part of you expected Seungmin to comment Juwon’s words, maybe even laugh at it. But he did none of that. Instead you felt him only closer to you which made your unease grow with every passing seconds.

“Do you mind if we switch places?” Seungmin asked the girl beside you, taking the two of you completely off guard.

You opened your mouth, a protest on the tip of your tongue but the girl beside you was faster. She hurried to leave her spot. Seungmin flashed her a pretty smile and sat right next to you. Despite you wanting to avoid him, now that he sat so close to you, your arm brushing his, there was no escape. Now that you were staring right into his pretty, annoying, eyes, you knew: you were fucked.

“As for what you said Juwon. Lack of love life?” Seungmin repeated his words. He moved a little closer to you and before you could push him away, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you against him. “How come you didn’t tell them about us, babe?”

Loud gasps followed by whispers.

What.

What the actual fuck?!

If from outside you looked perfectly composed, at least to those who didn’t know you well enough, inside you were completely freaking out. His words made no sense. His body, his warmth that should have repelled you, felt actually nice.

Kim Seungmin was trying to help you. You heard him. You understood what he was saying but you didn’t understand why. You weren’t friends, not even close and you hadn’t seen each other for so long. I’ll deal with you later.

Something was wrong with you too because instead of pushing him away, you leant into him and accepted his help. “Because they wouldn’t have believed me. Should I remind you that we used to hate each other?” You reminded him and playfully poked his side.

Seungmin leaned closer, his lips so close to yours – you gulped but didn’t avert your eyes from his face. How annoyingly pretty he looked with his eyes shining brightly with mischief. Fine, he was helping you but he was clearly having fun too.

“Wrong.” He said and kissed the corner of your lips.

Gasps again.

Your heart skipped a beat. The corner of your lips tingled and you found yourself wishing his lips had stayed longer. What the actual fuck, Y/N. This whole night was a terrible idea and you kept making bad decisions. Getting drunk and hoping to forget everything seemed like a good idea right now.

“I never hated you.” He added and pulled back to face the others as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb at them. And at you. “What’s up?”

And just like that they started talking again. But you heard none of that. All you could hear was the sound of your roaring heart. All you could feel was the lingering feeling of his lips. All you could think about was Seungmin and this thing going on between the two of you tonight. ‘I never hated you.’ Fine. Maybe he never did but you weren’t on best terms either. You wanted to take him outside and talk to him. Was it his attempt at messing with you? Or was he really just being genuinely nice?

You noticed Hyunjin and Yeji staring at you, questions in their eyes. You didn’t blame them. They had to know none of it was real, they were your best friends. You wouldn’t have hidden something as big as dating Kim Seungmin from them.

“And you Yeji?” Seungmin’s voice brought you back from your reverie. “I heard your new song, it’s really nice.” You wanted to concentrate on what he was saying since he was talking about your friend. You couldn’t. Not when he put his hand on your thigh. Not when he made it look so natural. Not when, despite it happening under the table, it attracted attention on the two of you again.

It should feel wrong. In fact, you should be appalled by his boldness. You didn’t. It felt awfully nice. And right. Instead of pushing him away, you simply watch him talking. You didn’t want to admire his face but it was hard not to. Even if you weren’t fond of him, you weren’t blind. Kim Seungmin was handsome. Pretty eyes, pretty nose and even prettier mouth. Without realizing it, you licked your lips, wondering how it would feel against yours. Or at any other part of your body.

Oh my god. Did they put something in my drink? There’s no way I’m thinking about him. But you were.

Seungmin squeezed your thigh, the palm of his hand feeling suddenly too hot against your skin. He forgot all about his friends and leant closer. “If you keep staring at me like that we might have a problem.” He warned you.

Your breath caught in your throat and you couldn’t ignore how your face flushed. “When did you get so bold?” You whispered in return.

Seungmin smiled in response. A smile so beautiful, so bright, you wanted to keep it for yourself.

“Growing up does that to a person.” He whispered, his lips brushed your ear. “And also, you look really pretty tonight.”

You couldn’t stop the blush from spreading all over your face even if you tried.

Kim Seungmin was a menace. But a very beautiful and annoying one.

“Okay, that’s enough.” One of the guy groaned. “Get a room. Some of us are sadly single and you two are just disgusting.”

Seungmin laughed heartily and unfortunately for you pulled away from you. A tiny part of you was relieved for the space, but another part of you almost whined at the loss of his warmth. Yeah, there was something wrong with you.

****

Somehow you managed to survive through the whole meal without a fight, without people trying to mess with you. In fact, you even managed to laugh a few times and it wasn’t just because of your friends’ jokes. And maybe it had everything to do with Seungmin.

“Should I drive you home?” Hyunjin whispered to your ear, making sure that nobody heard you.

It was the plan. You came with them and you were supposed to leave with them. You glanced at Seungmin and you couldn’t believe yourself: you were hesitating. You could leave with your friends but then you wouldn’t be able to talk to him and have a chance to thank him for his help.

Seungmin was faster to react. “I’ll take her home. Right babe?” He grabbed your jacket from your chair and waited for you.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes at his words, tempted to pull you back against him. You patted his back. “I should go with Seungmin.”

Hyunjin cocked a brow, surprised with your answer. You gave him a small smile and promised to text him and Yeji later.

Seungmin waited for you. Your body moved on its own accord. When you were close enough, Seungmin helped you to put your jacket on. You were thankful he couldn’t see your flushed face.

“There. All good.” He told you. “Are you ready?”

You were not.

***

You didn’t want the drive to your place to be awkward but it was. You didn’t know how to start the conversation with him. You knew nothing about this Kim Seungmin or how to deal with him.

“Thank you for tonight.” You said awkwardly without looking at him.

From the corner of your eyes you saw him glance at you. You expected him to make a comment, to make it easier for you but he didn’t. He returned his attention to the road. Damn him.

You sighed and slumped further into your seat. “I still don’t understand why you helped me.” This time, you looked at him.

Seungmin shrugged. “They were being dicks for no good reason.”

True, they were but it wasn’t anything new. Seungmin never stood up for you before so why now? “You didn’t need to pretend though.” He could have said anything but no, he chose to play your fake boyfriend instead.

Seungmin parked the car by the entrance of your building and then fully faced you. His eyes sparked with delight and something else. “I admit; it wasn’t my plan. But then, I had one look at you and couldn’t help myself.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “So you were messing with me.”

“Maybe a little.”

So damn infuriating. You hurried to unbuckle your seatbelt and opened the door.

“I wasn’t joking you know.” Seungmin stopped you with his words, realizing that if he wanted for you to talk to him, he needed to be genuine. “I never hated you.” He sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. “I loved how competitive you were. When I realized how clever you were, it pushed me to work harder, to make sure I stayed on the top. And maybe to annoy you a little too. I remember how you used to scrunch your nose whether you saw I got a better grade than you. So adorable.” He smiled at the memory.

Seungmin left you speechless. Why was he making it sound like he was actually fond of you? And why the hell did his words melted you on the spot? You needed to hurry up; grab your purse and leave this car before you did something unthinkable. But as you stepped outside of his car, your body froze, refusing to leave. I’m losing my mind, that’s it.

“Give me your phone.” You turned back and outstretched your hand. It was a bad idea. Terrible idea. But then again, it was just another one to add to the list of bad ideas. Who cared?

Seungmin didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second as if he had been waiting for this moment for ages. You refused to delve on the matter as you quickly saved your number in his phone. “Call me when you want.”

‘And maybe soon.’ But you didn’t say it.

***

You barely made it inside your flat – your phone rang with an unknown number. You stared at your phone, your heart skipping a beat. You didn’t want to think it could be Seungmin. But were you hoping? Maybe.

“Hi.” You instantly recognized his gentle voice.

You couldn’t help it. You chuckled at his eagerness. “You know, usually people wait few days to call back.”

“Open your door.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Too taken aback, you did as he asked without thinking. And here he was. “Did you follow me?!”

Seungmin smiled sheepishly and put his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry. I-“

Was he nervous? “What are you doing, Seungmin?”

Seungmin took a deep breath and took a step inside your flat. The right thing to do would be to tell him to leave. It was too soon and you weren’t in the right mind. You did none of that.

“I’m desperate.” He admitted.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he got closer to you. You knew that if you let him get too close to you, something could happen. And you didn’t completely dislike the idea. Seungmin halted right before you. His eyes blazed with so much intensity, you gulped nervously.

Gently, Seungmin took your hand and pulled it toward him to press against his chest. You jolted, surprised to feel his heartbeat. Wild. Strong. And his hand so warm. “I was a coward in college and missed my chance. I can’t do it a second time, Y/N. I can’t let you slip between my fingers again.”

Your eyes darted back and forth between your hand against his chest and his eyes. “Are you confessing, Seungmin?”

“What if I am?” He dared you, his grip on your hand tightened. Maybe a little part of him was actually scared of rejection. But he held strong.

You could pull away from him and forget his words.

You could, but you didn’t.

His words stirred something inside you. It made you curious. What if instead of looking for a guy that was nice, you went for the guy who loved to compete with you? A guy who, without you even realizing it, pushed you to be the best version of yourself? You had nothing to lose. So you did something completely out of your character. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your body against his, feeling all of him against you. His body strong and firm against you.

“I’d say you need to show me just how much you like me.”

Seungmin growled at your words and instead of answering you, he claimed your mouth. So eager. So desperate. There was nothing sweet about this kiss and you didn’t mind. Seungmin poured years of frustration and need into the kiss. Poured all his feelings, his longing and you gladly took it all.

You moved through the room without breaking the kiss until your thighs met the edge of your table. You didn’t think twice as you sat on top of it, spreading your legs for him to settle against you. You felt it then, how hard he was, how much he wanted you. You would be lying if you said you weren’t wet and excited for what he could do to you.

Seungmin broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?”

You thought it was sweet that he still tried to control himself. That he still wanted to make sure you were comfortable with him touching you. If only he knew how bad you needed him right now. “Hundred per cent sure.” You confirmed and pecked his nose.

“Well then,” Seungmin’s lips moved from your cheek to the corner of your mouth, to your jaw. “I think I want a dessert.” He kissed your shoulder and gently slid the straps of your dress exposing your aching breasts. “So beautiful.” He licked his way from one breast to another – he took one of your breasts in his mouth, playing with you, teasing you.

You moaned softly, your hand nestled in his hair, you pushed his head against your chest. You were right, his mouth felt perfect against your skin and you thought it would be so easy to get addicted. “Touch me.” You begged, the throbbing between your legs getting too much.

“I’m touching you.” He teased, knowing damn well where you needed him the most.

“Seungmin.” You groaned and tug at his hair.

He groaned and bit playfully on your nipple. “Be nice.” With that he hiked your dress higher. He grabbed your panties and tore them off you.

You gasped loudly. “Did you just tear my panties?!”

He chuckled. “Sorry.” He was definitely not sorry judging by his smirk. You took note to make him pay later for it.

Seungmin spread your legs wider and licked his lips at your exposed pussy glistening with your wetness. “Look at that. Already so wet and I barely touched you.” He teased your sweet pussy by dragging a finger from your clit to your entrance, loving how you shivered at this simple touch.

“Seungmin, please.” You begged shamelessly and pushed your hips, needing to feel more.

“Do you want that?” He pushed his fingers deep inside you. So easily. In and out. Slower at first and then faster, watching as you threw your head back, your lips parted. Your soft moans filled the room and it was the sweetest melody to his ears.

Slowly, Seungmin dropped to his knees. Your dizzy mind barely registered what he was doing – he gently scraped his teeth over your clit. He knew exactly what he was doing. The moment he wrapped his lips around your clit, you lost it. A loud moan escaped your lips. He feasted on you eagerly; his mouth, his fingers, he was slowly driving you crazy and you could only beg for more.

“Oh my god, Seungmin.” You mewled and ground against his face.

He was good. Too good. His mouth was divine. He worked his magic so well, you could feel your orgasm so close you could taste it.

“I’m so close. Please.”

Seungmin hummed against your pussy. “Come then.”

And you did. Your whole body trembled as your orgasm washed over you. But he didn’t stop. Seungmin kept sucking on your clit, enjoying how you writhed and tried to pull him away from you, too sensitive from your orgasm.

Seungmin straightened up and slowly pulled out his fingers from your pussy. He watched you, smiling lazily as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them.

“Shit.” You clenched around nothing at the sight. He shouldn’t be allowed to look so sinful.

You grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into another bruising kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “I need you inside me right now.”

“So bossy.” He chuckled, “What if I want to play more with you?”

You considered it for a moment. You wouldn’t mind him playing with you. But right now, you wanted him buried deep inside you. You wanted him to fuck you so hard you wouldn’t remember why in the hell you considered him as your enemy for so long. Wanted him to fuck you so hard you wouldn’t remember your name.

You reached between your bodies and started working on his belt and then his zipper. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to play with me later.”

Seungmin arched a brow, amused with your confession. “Will I?”

“Hell yeah.” You grabbed his cock. He was hard and angry and dripping pre-cum. You salivated at the sight. Kim Seungmin was perfect and you were dying to find out how hard he could ruin you. “Please, wreck me?” You asked as nicely as you could manage.

Seungmin shook his head, laughing fondly. “How can I say no to you?”

Seungmin drove into you. One deep thrust that made you grab his arms, holding for your dear life.

“Fuck.” You moaned and tried to compose yourself. He felt perfect, stretching you, filling you just like you needed.

Seungmin dragged his cock slowly at first, letting you time to adjust and maybe also trying to compose himself. Despite all his talk about playing, he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted to lose control and drive you mad. “You were made for me, Y/N.” He grunted, his control slipping little by little. “Fuck.”

“Don’t hold back, please.” Who cared if he ruined you? Who cared if you couldn’t walk tomorrow? You didn’t.

And he didn’t. Seungmin slammed back into you. His thrusts hard. Deep. Reaching all the right spots. Making you cry out his name. Making you whimper. “You are so fucking perfect.” He hissed as you clenched around him.

“Please, please, please.” You didn’t know what you begged for anymore. Was for him to go harder? To go deeper? To slow down? You couldn’t tell. Your mind was overwhelmed. Your body was burning.

Seungmin kept a brutal rhythm, his thrusts vicious, his grip on your body strong, fingers digging into your skin. It would leave marks and you could only wish for more. Let the world see that someone made you feel so good. Let the world see that you belonged to him.

His hand reached between your bodies and rubbed your clit. There was no escape. You came in a loud cry, wildly, explosively, your body shaking. Seungmin fucked you through your orgasm, his thrusts getting sloppier, his grunts louder, seeking his own release.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and claimed his mouth, swallowing his groan as he came deep inside you, trembling against you.

Seungmin rested his head in the crook of your head, panting. For a moment, you didn’t talk and savored just the moment and the press of your sweaty bodies. It felt nice. It felt good. Perfect.

With your orgasm came clarity. “Why haven’t we done it sooner?” You laughed.

Seungmin bit on your collarbone in response. “Because we had other priorities in college.”

That you did. “What a shame.” You sighed dramatically. “Guess we have some serious catch up to do, don’t you think?”

#stray kids #seungmin #stray kids smut #seungmin smut #stray kids x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids fic #seungmin fic #stray kids fluff #skz smut #skz fic #try

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suguru-getos · 8 months ago

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| Bully! Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Part 5 |

Part: 4 / 3 / 2 / 1

Summary: You had just transferred schools, and your first day was an encounter with your new bully. He’s mean, terrifically hot & absolutely a menace. Though there’s more to that personna

Chapter Summary: After doing your much needed due-diligence with Satoru, he’s backed you up against the wall in the school corridor again. Things are a little… different however.

Warnings and A/N: For a change we have no such warnings here :3 Just Satoru Gojo sama 🙇🏻‍♀️ getting a little in his senses and grieving when the Reader-chan opens up a little. <3 Angst? Yeah.

Taglist: @mc-reborn @tvdumarvelhpsimp @alula394 @getoxmahito @knanamii @he4rts444mi @localginger22 @animeisforkings @ran6ia @creative1writings @lenaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @zoemaelol @shoutascoffeepot @whydohumansss @nyahctrl @a-trashbag @yoontaedotin @tojisworm-5 @mo0nforme @luciledreamz @camilo-uwu @sassyfoxunknown @bitchyinternetinfluencer @bakananya @mizzowizzo @k1y0yo @bl0odycutz @daidaiseam-blog @flirtyjen @jihyuniepark @stupiditystaar @lu-lynds @aymasakusa @creative1writings @roscpctals99 @eravariety @nanananananaiknow @b4tm4nn @milkm4nz @millimacis @bubera974 @ranhanabi777 @bleachisfood @thealphagirl @pinkprincessglitterzombie @tojisslxtt @chilichopsticks @deegausserr @tremendousdinosaurpizza @shittyhair234 @trisharay13 @luvvmae @tremendousdinasourpizza @stuckinaoaktree @ropickle @onlywaytobesane @mayumemehhh @lovernatashaa @rott3npoetry @ilovebattinson @qxdlx2 @herelegancy @megumisthirdog @k-sv @lyah17 @roscpctals99 @polarbvnny @eyes-ofhell @kazuahhh @theitchbbbb @millimacis @victoria1616

Can’t add more people in the taglist I’m sorry, it’s throwing me an error that I can’t add more than 50 users. If anyone has a workaround for this please 🙏🏻 please let me know. 🫡🩵🥰 Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! 🙇🏻‍♀️✨

"Can I please have some money." You want to recoil and kill yourself right now. The scrutinizing gaze of your mother is like leech on your skin, itching your core. You don't like this, but after what you had done today in the cafeteria; you really want to get this over with. There are still flashes of Satoru's face in front of your eyes. He looked devastatingly beautiful with those bangs drenched with water. Pale skin reddening at the coldness of the water. He looked so harmless. So… human. The way he extended his hand to you, he didn't seem like he had any malice or could ever harbour any.

"For what?" Your mum asked casually, "We have given you enough money to be comfortable, Sweetheart. I don't see the point." She dismissed, sighing at you. She couldn't care less about you suddenly being a tad too needy over finances.

You expected this, which is why your lips are unable to part in resistance. You open your mouth in false hopes that a sentence will come to aid you, against your mother, against Satoru Gojo. It doesn't.

She has given birth to you, you'd like to be in the disbelief that she can't see the stress in your face. You get up, "That's fine, nothing important actually." Your shoulders droop in defeat. You don't want to be mistreated, called irresponsible, told that you should be careful, less egotistical, more bendable to people's wills, told to tone yourself down, to mellow your aura, to water yourself down…

"What is it, Y/N?" She called your name softly, "haven't seen you go and attend Kickboxing classes either. Want to do something else? You always pick up new things and abandon old ones. No discipline- no consistency-" normally, you're professional in letting her words linger through one ear and part from the other. Not today.

"Yeah, thanks for being so appreciative. Love that for me." Ignoring the chastising replies, you stomped to your room. Yeah, you can't be free of Gojo Satoru so easily. You can't even hope to fathom what he will do with you tomorrow in school.

---

Meanwhile, Satoru's not changed his shirt, even after returning from school, sitting in his room and replaying back your words and your actions over and over like a tape he wouldn't get sick of, even if he tried his best. Lips parted and huffing. He's hurt. His ego is bruised but his heart doesn't feel okay after watching the repercussions of the damage done to you either. Part of him feels rightly treated, now you wouldn't see him with that petrifying look of disgust he hates. His hands slump over his face as he leaned his back over his California king sized bed, sighing in dishevelled breaths. Truth is, yes he collided against you in the cafeteria after all this began. Yes he did purposely and you called him out for it in front of everyone. Someone who is calling The Gojo Satoru accusingly was hard to digest. Be like other people and apologize, or even better, act grateful that he talked to you. No, you didn't do that. You were fierce and stern, you were like burning coal, warm… capable of burning when held the wrong way.

He still feels better than the nonchalance you presented him with when he abided you in a contract. That wasn't the you he hoped to meet, he hoped to meet the 'you' he met today in the cafeteria. The 'you' who holds the guts to obliterate him and anyone else when angered. The 'you' who isn't scared of things like financial status, powers, influence.

He likes you so much.

He likes you so much…

He likes you so, so much…

It's sickening, his heart pangs at the way the subtle hints from his mind about having a crush on you are now intensely, brutalizing storms he can't ignore. The only revolting thought that curdled his brain was how he would like to kiss you. Maybe he should have bullied you like that - that way, at least, partly, it would feel good to you and would have given him a safe bet to reach out to you later. Even right now, all he can imagine is his long, thick, looming fingers wrapped around your waist, pressing you plush against him, rendering you immobile. How great would the then-faint scent of your perfume would now intensify when you're in his hold. How good would it feel to taste you on his tongue, to feel you crumble and to…

To trust him enough to crumble…

Suguru was right, what an stupid thing to do. He couldn't give up, you didn't give up. Now he's forced to see through his mess he wishes to pretend never existed.

Would grovelling help?

What about the copious amounts of unhealthy egoism he wears?

Fuck that… would you forgive him even after he bore his heart out to you? It would be worse than getting physically naked. Satoru Gojo can't take rejection. Even more than that, he can't take being vulnerable in front of anyone. Vulnerability is sacred, and Satoru isn't sure there's anyone worthy enough to carry his weakness and still shielding his ego. Maybe he should try… the worse you can do is reject him and his company. As if he's not making an exquisite pathway for it since the very beginning.

His thoughts are making him insane, they are making him lose his grip on his mind.

Which is why, you both are here. Satoru's had you pinned against the wall in school the next day, the same way this all started. You're struggling and wiggling to no avail. Panting heavily. "Please- stop it!" You whimper out, gasping out when his eyes land on you in a sternly arrogant manner. Why do you hate him so much god damn! Oh wait, he knows…

"I'm not going to hurt you or manhandle you or be an asshole. Just here to talk, hard to believe right?" He smirked, looking at you in a little tender undertone now that you're eyeing him curiously. You pouted, gnawing at your lip. "I don't believe you, especially after what I did yesterday. It was water though! You can't really get marks from water! I don't owe you any money."

Gosh you are hilarious without even trying, he leans back a little. Having no sense of personal space anyway.

"I don’t want the money. Okay? I thought that you would have a month to… get to know me and to talk to me." He pouts, sighing. It's so hard to suddenly talk to you after being an ass. You don't trust him anyway. It's visible with the way you look at him, trying to dig any ulterior motives.

"So what you just needed your ass kicked to stop?" Gosh your mouth…

"I'm being nice, little bitch. The moment you realize you don't have to pay me back your tongue is back to dancin' around shitty words, eh?" Satoru grips your face with his hand, sneering a little with an amused grin.

You roll your eyes, "not scared of you since day one." You half-lie. He does… intimidate you. You wouldn't admit it though. He has made you cry, he has made you miserable. You are not going to let it slide so easily anyway.

"Uh huh, I know." He leans back, embracing the weird and awkward silence that accompanies you both. You nibble at your lip and look down, "Look, if you don't want the money. We don't have any reason to talk to each other." You tried to sound as nice as possible.

Technically, you both do not have any reason anyways. Which is why Satoru came up with this ego-inflating scheme. Now that he's officially decided after much contemplation to hook you off. He can't shove you back in. He looks at you like a kicked pup. Something you haven't seen in his eyes. He was always controlling you, tossing you around.

"There's no reason to, unless… you'd like to tolerate me." He grins wide.

"I'd not like that." You smile. Bouldering over him with your words.

"Well… alright."

Satoru walks away, he can't really do anything about it. You just rejected the possibility of a conversation, let alone entertain the idea to have him close to you. After a few steps, he comes back stomping & you almost cower beneath him.

"I.. well, I- may have been, an asshole."

To be honest, you have no idea what he means suddenly and what does he want. He is emotionally stunted and somehow lacks the comprehension of anything else except what he wants. "May have?" You raised a brow in disbelief, what does he mean by 'May have'?

You grit your teeth, "I've cried myself to sleep twice because of you, I dreaded going to school, I wanted to give up and change my school, I wanted to ask you why are you so mean to me? I wrote things a thousand times as asked for you to 'review' as you said cause I talked to Geto san!" You winced, the memories are hurtful and scathe you badly. It aches. What you tolerated was essentially for nothing! It hurts. FUCK IT HURTS.

Satoru looked stunned as well, you have been appearing so normal he could never believe you were impacted. Which is why he was only trying harder… oh no. "I wished to be as rich as you so I could have ended this then and there and wouldn't get blackmailed." You sighed, and that sentence makes him fall into decay.

"Well, if you could have just-" his voice is meek and submissive and you're quick to cut it down.

"Could have just what Gojo san? Apologized for something I never did? You're going to give me that I collided against you by my own mistake when it was 'you' who did that purposely and kicked me for raising questions on it? Then proceeded to make my life hell because I didn't back down? Could have what? I could have begged you to be merciful like a caged prisoner? Asked you to show me some kindness for something I didn't even do?"

Oh will you stop? Will you please stop? Satoru can't take this, every sentence feels like a deep gash on his heart. His throat feels hoarse and there's a rock hindering his speech. He just- did it- without thinking so much upon it. Satiating his ego and getting a rise out of your little reactions. God he wants to undo this so bad.

How can he undo this? He can't…

"I- uh- I'm sorry." He finally manages to croak out a small mouthed apology. Though he means every word of it even if he knows that wouldn't do anything.

"You should be."

#gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #bully gojo series #jjk series #gojo series #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk angst #gojo angst

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bia-wayne-west · 10 months ago

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Children of the future.

— Barry Allen X Reader

Synopsis : Barry Allen goes into the future by accident and finds out that in the future he is married to his best friend, Y/N and has two adorable children.

Characters : Barry Allen [Flash] and Reader [ You ]

Warnings: none.

A/N: I love reading imagines where Barry has kids and is married, so I decided to write another one. Hope you like. Reblog if you like.

Sorry for the writing errors, I'm not fluent in English.

Requests are open

Masterlist

Barry Allen was running like lightning. Cisco decided to test Barry's speed by making him run as fast as he could.

The leaves of the trees swayed as he passed, leaving everything in disarray along the way. Barry didn't care if he was going too fast, until a crack opened in front of him and he couldn't stop.

The speedstet was thrown to the wet grass ground. He quickly stood up and looked around, wondering if it was to the past or the future. Everything was normal.

Barry noticed that there were some buildings in places that were once houses and assumed that he was in the future. He knew he couldn't risk changing the future, but he was curious.

He was surprised to see the name “Allen” engraved on the mailbox of a large house. The house was white and had three floors. He approached, seeing that on the porch of the house there was a swing and a dog house with the name “Grant” engraved on it.

Barry questioned whether he actually read the right name on the mailbox. He didn't have much time to think before a big, fat dog ran towards him, knocking Flash to the ground. The dog caught him off guard.

The animal began to lick his face, making him laugh. Barry carefully pushed the dog away, standing up.

“Sit down!” He said to the dog and to Barry's surprise, the animal obeyed and sat down on the grass. The dog wagged its tail and seemed very happy.

Flash heard laughter coming from the door. He looked up and let out an exclamation of surprise when he saw that Y/N was standing in front of the door, arms crossed.

“I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow. Cisco called saying you had an accident in Star City.” Y/N said, walking towards Barry.

The man tried to find words to respond to his friend, but was petrified when he received a kiss from his childhood friend.

The woman ran her hand through Barry's brown hair and looked at him tenderly. Flash noticed that she had a beautiful ring on her fingers. She got married.

Y/N kissed Barry again, leaving him in a state of panic. The brunette never thought about kissing his friend, since he was in love with Iris.

“Let's go. Benjamin and Anastasia are alone long enough to set the house on fire.” Y/N said, pulling the speedster's hand to force him into the house.

“Benjamin and Anastasia?” He asked, frowning. Who were these people?

“Are you going to say you forgot your children's names?” Y/N asked in a playful tone. Barry opened his mouth in shock.

Flash barely had time to say anything. Two small and cute bodies collided with Allen. They were children.

Benjamin and Anastasia they are kids. Barry and Y/N's children.

Flash opened his mouth but couldn't say a word. He looked at the kids who had Y/N's hair color and Barry's green eyes.

The boy looked a lot like Barry and had a very sweet smile. The girl looked like a beautiful princess.

“Daddy!” The girl said, extending her hand for Barry to take it. The speedster wondered if he should pick the girl up, but after Anastasia pouted at him, Barry grabbed the girl and gave her a big hug.

Barry had children. He started a family.

It wasn't with Iris as he imagined, but Y/N seemed to love him so intensely that it was clear there was a lot of love.

“Daddy. Ben, my mom and I made chocolate cake.” Anastasia said. Her voice was soft and sweet. Barry almost cried when the girl laid her head on his shoulder.

“Mom let me make the frosting with the mixer.” Benjamin, who looked to be two years older than Anastasia said, smiling proudly.

“It must be delicious.” Barry said smiling at the boy. The boy hugged Allen's leg.

The two children dragged Barry into the kitchen and made the speedster eat many pieces of cake and a pitcher of juice that Benjamin prepared. It was sour, but Barry enjoyed every drop to make the boy happy.

The house was big and warm. Barry couldn't tell if it was hot because of the heater or if it was because of the family that lived there. The kitchen of the house had a large blackboard glued to the counter where it indicated what needed to be bought at the market and who would wash the dishes that day.

Barry loved everything. It seemed strange at first, but now it was an incredible future. For the first time in his life, Barry felt that everything would work out in the end.

He thought the children were normal, that they weren't speedsters. But the moment Y/N dropped a glass, Benjamin ran like lightning and didn't let the object fall to the floor.

“Are you a speedster?” Barry asked with a face full of surprise.

“Of course my love.” Y/N said, emphasizing “my love”. In the present, she always called Barry ‘Allen’ or some stupid nickname. Barry liked to be called ‘my love’. “Our babies are just like you. Even though Anastasia hates running”

“I prefer to walk.” The girl said. It was the cutest sight Barry had ever seen. The little girl had a teddy bear on her lap and used a toy spoon to give the teddy bear some imaginary food.

“You look strange, dad.” Benjamin said. The boy was focused on a portable video game and barely looked at the people at the table.

“Seriously, Barry. Are you well? “ Y/N asked her husband. She noticed that the speedster was dazed and looked strange. “Children, can you keep the cake in the fridge and then go play in your bedrooms?”

“Yes mom.” The kids said at the same time. Benjamin used his super speed to put the cake in the refrigerator and went to his bedroom. Anastasia preferred to walk like a normal human being.

Y/N took Barry to the living room. The fireplace was lit for winter and some toys were lined up in the hallway. The dog that Barry assumed was family was lying on the couch with its belly up.

“What happened, Barry?” She asked as soon as Barry sat down in the room. She noticed that her husband seemed to have never set foot in the house and was looking at everything like a curious visitor.

“Anything. It's okay, honey.” Allen tried to sound convincing.

“Barry, I wanted to tell you something.” Y/N sat on Barry's lap, leaving him perplexed. The speedster stood as still as a statue as the woman placed a long kiss on his lips. “Do you like having two children?”

“Obviously. Ben and Ana are amazing kids.” Barry said, trying to sound like the father they know.

“Then I think you'll love having three children even more!” Y/N said, with watery eyes. She took a box out of her pocket and Barry recognized it as a pregnancy test box. “I found out two days ago, but I was going to wait for you to get back from Star City.”

“Are you pregnant?” Barry asked.

“Yes. Caitlin thinks I have five weeks. It's still the size of a bean, but I already love it so much.” Y/N said, rubbing her belly.

Y/N was surprised to receive a hug from her husband. Barry was shaking and seemed surprised, something strange since he already has two children.

Allen had tears in his eyes and Y/N returned the hug, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Barry thanked him. “Thank you for being my family and for giving me three incredible children. You are perfect.”

“You gave it to me, Barry. You played an important role in creating them.” She said laughing. Flash was thinking about how weird it would be to have sex with his best friend. Barry had known Y/N since elementary school and had never thought of her in a romantic way.

Now, Barry envied future Barry, who had perfect children and a beautiful woman who loved him. The Flash hoped this was his future.

“How did we start dating?” The man asked, trying not to sound rude and irritate the woman.

“You were almost killed by a villain and I realized I loved you. But Iris also realized that she loved you. It took a long time for you to decide that you loved me and ask me to be your girlfriend.“ She explained laughing. “You're always quick, but you read a lot into some things.”

“Funny.” He said, squeezing Y/N's waist. Barry's cell phone rang and the woman got up from his lap, letting Flash pick up the phone and answer it.

“Dude, where are you? You were running and suddenly disappeared.” He heard Cisco say. Flash's friend was nervous.

“I'm coming, Cisco.” Barry said, then hung up without letting Cisco answer. “Y/N, I have to go. Cisco needs my help.”

“Sure honey.” Y/N said, giving her husband another kiss. “Come back early for dinner. Ben's notes arrived today and he wants you to see them at dinner time.”

“OK.” Barry looked closely at the woman and the house before heading to the door. This was a perfect future. “See you later, Y/N.”

“Save the world, Flash.” Y/N said, while stroking her own belly. Barry took one last look at Y/N before running to go back to the past.

Tears streamed down Barry's face as he ran. Barry always wanted to have a family and in the future he did, with a pet dog and warm hugs.

As soon as Barry returned to the present, he went straight to Star Labs. He knew that back then you were helping Caitlin take care of the imprisoned metahumans .

“Hey man, where were you?” Cisco asked as soon as Barry stopped in the middle of Star labs.

“I fainted during the race.” Flash lied, knowing he couldn't tell anyone about the future. “Where is Y/N?”

“She's giving lunch to the imprisoned metahumans. She always does this.”

Barry didn't respond to his friend. He ran straight towards Y/N.

She had a tray in her hand and was walking towards a prisoner's cell.

“Hello, Y/N.” Flash greeted the girl. She just looked at him and smiled, walking again. “I was thinking. We've been friends for a long time and we've never gone out to dinner just the two of us.”

“Why should you go out with Iris, your great unrequited love.” Y/N replied, making Barry grimace.

“Do you want to go out with me on Friday for dinner?” Barry invited his friend. She smiled, stopping walking and looking at the brunette.

“Since you insist so much, I agree to go out with you, Allen.” Y/N said, running her hand through Barry's hair. He smiled, thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to marry you in the future.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 days ago

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Sum of All 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A dark figure stands above you, startling you awake. You squeak as the seat belt snaps back and recoils to your shoulder. You untangle yourself frantically and shield yourself with your hand.

“Ah, what--”

“You’re awake. I thought you...knocked out again,” Steve stands straight and grips the car door.

“I fell asleep,” you say. “I...” you pause and look around. It’s getting dark out. “Where are we?” You raise your hands before he can answer, “wait, wait, wait. Only tell me if it won’t get me killed.”

“How many times—I don’t just go around offing people.”

No, you just beat them up until they can’t think. You don’t say it out loud and you’re happy it’s dark enough to conceal your expression. You shrug and turn your legs out.

“Of course not,” you agree.

“Hotel,” he answers bluntly. “Take the night then we’ll get to where we need to be tomorrow.”

“Right,” you slide slowly forward and plant your feet. He drags his hand down the door and backs up, giving you enough space to stand. “Ah, after that drive, I could definitely stretch out. Maybe a hot shower.” You catch yourself. “I’m sure you don’t care though.”

“It’s fine,” he waits for you to get out of the way before he swings the car door shut. You hesitate. You don’t have any luggage with you. Hm. Well, bridges to cross ahead of you.

You walk silently inside. He approaches the counter and pulls out a stack of bills. You just watch him, unsure what else to do.

“Should be enough for the deposit,” he says.

The man behind the counter accepts it and hands over a key. It’s a small place. One of those roadside motels. It reminds you of an 80s horror movie. You hate scary movies.

“Uh, just the one,” you say as he takes the key. He stops and looks at it.

“Come on,” he demands.

You don’t argue. You go back inside and he marches to the stairs at the other side of the motel. You climb behind him. As you get to the top he turns back to you.

“One room is easier to secure. It’s safer,” he explains.

“Oh, okay. Is someone following us?” You wonder.

“You never know. No more questions. Let’s go. I’m tired,” he insists.

“Same,” you agree.

You dread the awkwardness to come but you’re too worn out to resist. It’s not just the long day of work then driving, it’s all that fainting. You forgot how awful that is.

He unlocks the door and lets you in ahead of him. He flips the lights on and you examine the tight space. A bed, night tables, a box TV, a small coffee bar with packets of instant and cheap tea bags.

You go back to the bed and test the firmness with your hand. Rogers removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack in the corner. He tilts his head one way than the other, cracking his neck loudly. He nears the bed and sits on the foot of it with a sigh.

He bends his head forward and reaches to knead his shoulders. You don’t envy the hours of driving, but maybe you could have offered to drive. You look down, searching for a distraction. The close confines can’t help the strange tension.

There’s a button on the bed frame. Off, low, high. You flip it and the bed shakes, eliciting a grunt from the man on it. He stands in surprise. You quickly turn the vibration off.

“Oops,” you fold your hands sheepishly. “I thought it was a light or something.”

He blinks as his eyes scour the bed. He looks at you and puts his hands on his hips. “You need a shower or something?”

“Ummm,” you look over your shoulder at the dark doorway, “you know, I think I’m just going to lay down. I’m beat. Early to bed, early to rise.”

He gives you another look, as if you’re speaking a different language. You get nervous and you just say stuff. Besides, your rambling is better than the silence and he isn’t offering much.

“Hm,” he grumbles.

He strides away from the bed and goes into the bathroom. The light illuminates him in a yellow glare before he shuts the door. You face the bed and roll your shoulders.

You leave your shoes by the night table and roll off your stockings. You massage your arches then untuck your blouse. You hang it and return to the bed. You remain only in your camisole and skirt.

You grab the remote and flick on the television. The shower buzzes loudly as the pipes whine. The walls are thin. You can hear the water slaking onto the tile. Even the low groans of the man steaming up the small space.

You shuffle through the channels and don’t find much of interest. You leave it on the kids’ channel when nothing else catches your interest. You close your eyes, listening as you curl up under the blankets.

The bathroom opens and you feel the cloud of damp heat escape. You listen to Rogers move around. He’s right on the other side of the bed.

“What is this?” He asks.

You roll over and open your eyes. You nearly gasp at the sight of him. He wears only a towel on his waist. His thick torso is corded in muscle and hair. You force your eyes to his face. His beard and hair are soft with moisture. You shift and lay back on the pillow.

“The Little Mermaid. There’s nothing else on.”

“Mm,” he hums as he combs his fingers through his hair, then drags his hands across his beard. He turns and sits, bend a leg across the mattress as his other hangs to the floor. “Isn’t it for children?”

“I saw it when I was a children,” you say. “It’s not bad.”

He watches silently. You can’t see his full expression but his profile appears slightly perplexed. You sit up and put the remote next to him.

“You could put something on. Maybe they have HBO. I heard The Sopranos is good.” He slowly looks over his shoulder at you. You blanch, “joke. Sorry.”

He reaches for the remote and turns away. You stare at this back and all the muscles in it. There’s a tattoo of three stars between his shoulder blades. Ouch.

“You can watch it,” he allows as he puts the remote on the table.

He lifts himself up and folds back the blanket. He slips his legs beneath and pulls it up to his waist. You focus on the TV as you try to ignore him. He’s almost naked right beside you. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Cool,” you say. Why do you feel like fainting again?

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #mob au #au #sum of all #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america

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little-diable · 8 months ago

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Asshole - College!Aaron Hotchner (smut)

A small drabble inspired by @writethelifeyouwant – thank you for this, Mads! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: pwp, Aaron Hotchner is an asshole, a fuckboy she tried to avoid, and yet clearly fails to do so

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking

Pairing: College!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (1.3k words)

The bar was crowded, a thick cloud of smoke hung in the air, making it harder for her to find her way to her friends. (Y/n) had to keep her groan bottled in, not wanting to push herself past people she barely knew, strange faces, and those she had once seen but rather not come across again.

Why had she agreed to go and meet them here? Why had she left the safety of her apartment when she had an exam tomorrow morning?

“Careful, sweetheart.” Hands shot out to grasp her arms, holding onto (y/n) before she could tumble to the ground. With her thoughts guiding her, she hadn’t noticed the tall frame moving towards her, colliding with her before she could rip herself out of her thoughts. Her hazy eyes focused on the man towering over her, just the sight of his face left her groaning in annoyance.

“Let go of me, Hotchner.” It was too loud for her to pick up on the low chuckle rumbling through him, forced to watch the tall guy step away from her with his hands raised and his lips pulled into a smirk. Fuck, if he weren’t such an asshole, she would have given into his flirting months ago. But yet whenever she tried to give him a chance, he went ahead and ripped her hope to shreds, making out with others right in front of her, and flirting with those she couldn’t stand.

It was a tiring back and forth.

Without sparing him another glance, (y/n) pushed herself past him, sighing in relief as her eyes found the ones of Amy, her closest friend. A small smile made its way onto her lips as she plopped down on the chair next to Amy, greeting their friends with a small wave of her trembling hand.

“You okay?” Concern dripped from Amy’s voice, eyes wandering over (y/n)’s frame as if she was looking for wounds, hoping that she hadn’t been hurt physically. (Y/n) let go of a sigh as she reached for Amy’s drink, taking a sip of the strong beverage before a reply could leave her.

“I ran into that Hotchner asshole, I don’t know how much longer I can hold off with forcing my fist into that annoyingly handsome face.” It took (y/n) a moment to focus on Amy’s wide eyes, leaving her to wonder what had managed to catch her friend’s attention.

“So, you do think I’m handsome after all, huh?” Slowly she turned towards Aaron Hotchner, who was standing behind her with two beers in his hand. She watched him place one down for her before he sat down next to her, arm finding its way around her shoulder. “But we’ll have to talk about that kink of yours one day, do you get off to the thought of hitting me?”

……

“Fuck,” she was heavily panting, eyes pressed close, fingers buried in his raven hair. He had her pressed against the door of her apartment, lips kissing their way down her throat. She couldn’t even remember how they had ended up right here, after one too many beers and one too many cigarettes they had shared.

It had been the first time in months that he had actually been focused on her, flirting with (y/n) until the heat thumping through her veins had managed to burn her wholly. Without a doubt she’d regret doing this when the sun rose above the horizon, and yet she couldn’t care about the future, all she could care about was the feeling of his hardening cock rubbing against her still-clothed cunt.

“I knew I’d eventually turn you into a moaning mess for me.” Aaron rasped the words against her throat, hands tightening their grip on her thighs. He felt her legs shake, wrapped around his waist to keep herself close, silently praying that he wouldn’t let go.

“Shut up!” Her voice trembled, coaxing a loud laugh out of him as he started walking towards her bedroom. It wasn’t the first time he found himself in her apartment, but it certainly was the first time she allowed him to touch her, to push her closer to the edge with a simple kiss. “I don’t want any foreplay, I just need you to fuck me.”

“A woman who knows what she wants, how sweet.” She wanted to call him a condescending asshole, but her words got stuck in her throat as Aaron roughly pushed her down on the mattress. It didn’t take him long to free her from her dress, groaning at the sight of her underwear-clad body, a sight for sore eyes he’d think of in the upcoming weeks.

“Do you have a condom?” His murmured words ripped (y/n) out of her trance, watching him undress with skilled movements. His dark leather jacket was long forgotten, just like that white shirt of his that managed to hide the muscular body she always had wanted to touch. Wordlessly she turned towards her bedside table to reach for a condom, only to turn back to his naked frame. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make it fit.”

“Such an arrogant dick,” (y/n) choked on her words, trying to sound somewhat confident. Her eyes struggled to leave his hard cock, watching it twitch in anticipation as Aaron ripped the condom open. She tried to focus on herself and shrugged out of her underwear only to flop back down on the mattress.

“I’ll fuck you now, but I won’t leave without getting a taste of you later, that much I can promise.” His words left her moaning, momentarily distracting her from the feeling of his cock nudging against her entrance. Their eyes held contact as he slowly pushed into her, managing to push deep into her tightness due to her arousal seeping out of her, desperate for him. “Jesus fuck, you feel so good.”

“Oh, god, Aaron. Move!” He didn’t need to be told twice, pulling out of her only to push back in with more force. Within seconds the two had managed to build a fast rhythm, set on their own greedy needs, desperate to feel that addicting high. Aaron’s ringed fingers found her throat to keep (y/n) pinned down on the mattress, fucking her with an urgency she wasn’t used to.

The sound of their bodies meeting echoed through her small bedroom, followed by the sound of her moans and his deep groans. Aaron fucked her as if it was his last day on earth, as if he had to prove a point. And (y/n) happily took it all, every touch, every possessive groan that made her tremble beneath him.

“Touch yourself, baby, make yourself cum on my cock.” With trembling fingers she found her pulsing bundle, circling her clit to try and push herself into the open arms of her orgasm. Aaron watched her with dilated pupils, pleasure-drunken and high on the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock. He’d struggle with letting her go, Aaron wasn’t one for sticking around, but perhaps he could make an expectation - just this once.

“I’m close, harder, please.” A hum left Aaron at her begging, smirking down at (y/n) as he fucked her even harder. He tightened his grip on her throat as she came, watching her with amazement swimming in his pupils. Aaron fucked her through her high and gave it a few more thrusts before he came himself.

“That was something.” (Y/n)’s whispers left him chuckling, carefully he pulled away, threw the condom away and found his way back to her bed. He found his place next to her, heavily breathing just like she was.

“If there’s one thing to know about me,” with mischief swimming in his pupils he settled between her quivering thighs. “It’s knowing that I always keep my word, and I need to taste you now, baby.”

#Aaron Hotchner smut #Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine

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muffinrecord · 5 months ago

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Current Plans + Musings

I don't plan on playing Exedra to the degree I did for Magia Record, or playing it at all. Because of that, I won't be taking an active role in the community and archiving anything for it. Of course, if Exedra has like amazing gameplay and stories then this is all subject to change, but for now I think I'm done with phone games.

The two youtube channels will stay up and I'll check em periodically to make sure there aren't copyright strikes against the content. I've saved all my raw files, especially for the battle animations, so I can remake them in the future if the music ever becomes a problem for some reason.

Google Drive will stay up until Google rots away. I haven't recorded footage in a long time (as in stories, I do for the character doppels and such), but I'll upload things if they're sent to me.

Magia Union Translations still plans on translating things and making videos, especially leading up to the end, but also for after the game is over for whatever wasn't made in time. I'm not sure what form this will take in the future-- if it'll be manual captions added to the videos or not, but I know it WILL happen.

As for this blog, I'm not going to delete it or anything. However I'm going to be taking a step back. I'd like to say that I'll do liveblogs but I mean... *gestures at blog* I've been saying that for years and the only one I really did successfully was the Oriko one lmao. Ahhh oh well.

I'll have more words later, but it was really fun to be part of a fandom experience like this. I'm excited to work on my own original story projects though and quiet down a bit.

...

When I started this blog, I never expected it to have people actually read it. Or look at it. I just wanted a place to gush about how much fun I was having. I didn't even want to tag the posts with "Magia Record" at first because I was terrified people would be mean at me, haha.

But I'm glad I did. I made so many good friends through this game. I'm glad it existed. And it made me happy to have a place where people cared about what I had to say. Some folks actually got their news from here, can you imagine that? They had notifications turned on for this blog. My god.

Anyways, I'm going to be here for the next two months, and tomorrow I'll start reblogging fan projects and initiatives, plus general news. Maybe this blog will turn into a dumping site for art and fanfic reblogs, who knows. I might watch the remaining stuff and add various thoughts here and there.

Otherwise, you can find me on my main blog @malignmuffin, which only reblogs stuff (I don't talk much if at all there). I have another tumblr blog for my comic, but I think I'll reshare the name once I actually have content you can look at on it. It's pretty bare bones for the moment.

Actually it'll be funny if the end of this game is what makes me finally work on it again. I was in the process of working on it when NA came out, and it totally derailed me. Stopped writing, drawing, just focused on this silly little phone game. Now it's like those five years have gone by and I'm going back to where I started, except I think my lil comic is going to be a bit better than it was before. If I actually make it, that is.

If I ever do actually make my comic and start posting it, I'll be sure to update y'all here. hah

Anyways, thanks for being on this wild ride with me. The memories have been great, and I'm glad I had this experience, even if it had to end.

#Magia Record #End of JP

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kickthecan-revolution · 4 months ago

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I’ve had a very odd experience at the airport. I was on the escalator to a train that takes me to my gate and a panicked young woman yells “please let me by I have to run!”. I scooted quickly to the right and could feel her panic. We were on the same train and I could tell she was crying - I asked her if there was anything I could do and she said her grandfather was dying and she barely got on the last flight out to his city, that if she didn’t get on this one, he’d be gone by tomorrow.

I can’t explain it, I felt this rush of…..maternal love, I guess? I took my mask off and said you are absolutely going to make it to the gate on time and you are going to make this flight. It’s all going to be fine. You need to be first to the escalator so when the doors open, run straight to the right and don’t worry about being polite.” I checked on her at her gate and they weren’t going to let her in but between the two of us, we explained what was happening. He was kind (as so many Alaska Airlines employees are) and he made it happen. She got her ticket and I backed away but she turned and gave me the biggest hug, her whole body shaking. I looked at her straight in the eyes and said she needs to drink a lot of water on the plane because she is in shock and likely dehydrated. That I believe she will see him again and he knows how much she loves him, and he’ll carry that with him in his ears, eyes and heart on the Way to whatever is next.” We were both emotional. Wild.

Then at my gate, some drunk dude was screaming at these two older men about the election. apparently it started out as a civil conversation and when he discovered they are moderate Conservatives, He was yelling how he’s a radical Leftist and “isnt it weird how Conservatives have become the scum of the country.” these guys were showing a lot of restraint and being kind - I on the other hand said “well I’m on the Left too and think you need to just shut the fuck up.” He got up and left, and I spent the rest of the time talking to these guys who are going to Alaska about all of the different types of whales they are going to see, so excited for them.

I’m a Karen, I know. I’m so sick of the meanness and the strident, black and white positions and how we reduce each other to objects. We choose that, no politician has made us do that, in my opinion. We’re grown. I’ll admit, I’ve frequently made this choice that it’s ok to not actually see people as human beings because of what they value and how that shows up in their politics. It’s always been here, when the first Black kids went to a white school. Fucking horrifying. Shell shocked 19 year olds coming back from Vietnam getting spit on - fucking horrifying.

Passion only takes me so far. Staring down the barrel of a cancer diagnosis has forced me to appreciate and embrace the duality of ideas, values and feelings in myself. I’m rethinking and being honest about how frequently I ask myself, “what if I’m wrong? What if I don’t have all of the information? Is it really that simple that if someone doesn’t do X then the totality of them means Y?” that makes me a little sick to my stomach to consider. I’m afraid of that question. It’s concerning how quick I was to shut that guy down. He wasn’t human to me in that moment compared to a few minutes earlier where I had an important moment between two humans who had a shared experience of grief.

Is this what this all is? Are we all grieving?

I reblogged something from @hthrrloooo that is profound, how behind kindness can be real destruction. I saw myself in that. I saw people I care about.

Maybe the veil is lifting and being ugly about each other and to each other is the season we need to wake up. Maybe virtuous people are dicks, the saints certainly were, maybe they don’t care about being liked so that coat of performative civility isn’t there and we judge them for it. Mr Theresa had a shit ton of enemies and in the end, not too many friends. Or was she full of shit at times too? Anger and loss are activating agents. Is shame? Maybe, in different parts of the world, Shame vs Honor is a value system continuum much like in the west, Good vs Evil is. It has been for me at times. Where does love come in? Ultimately, I don’t think a lot of people believe in the power of collective love anymore. I think it’s disappeared. Was it ever here? I’m wondering if we know how to talk about what we are afraid of and if we had that capacity, how it might help. Or do I define “love” as being liked and I’m just too chicken shit to take a stand where I might not be. That tracks.

It’s beyond tone, at least it is for me. I felt so virtuous when I shut that guy down and now all I feel is gross.

Anyway. I’m sitting here waiting for the plane to take off really wishing I could think about this over a gin and tonic with my friends. The Libra in me sees every aspect of every side and feels it deeply. This week I become a cancer patient again and I’m oissed about it. so that’s what I’m focusing on.

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basket-of-cats-and-witches · 11 months ago

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Comfort, Part 4: Halsin

This one's a bit heavy, a bit melancholy, a little bittersweet. I actually write these when I'm having a bad day, you know, to comfort myself.

I hope they do the same for you.

If you like my works, please reblog them. It helps spread them to other people who might like something soft to read as well.

(and if you haven't read the others, Wyll, Gale, and Astarion are all up already.)

----

He finds you hiding in the washtub.

He prefers to be under the stars, usually, but tending to the needs of orphaned children sometimes requires you two to stay in a nearby inn.

Today has been disheartening.

He doesn't say anything, at first.

You're naked, your face pressed against your drawn up knees, and at some point you stopped caring that the water was getting cold.

Your tears practically scald your cheeks, regardless.

He kneels beside the basin, and any other time you'd laugh and tease him about the way his knees crack loudly.

Another quiet sob wracks your form. You have to keep it in, lest the sound of your distress break you fully.

You are barely keeping it together.

His fingers graze the surface of the water, and it begins to steam.

“May I touch you?” He asks gently, and somehow you find the strength to nod.

His palm is hot against your shoulder. “Lean back, and I'll wash your hair. Please.”

You nod again.

Dipping his hands into the water, he wets them before lathering up the soap. His fingers drag comfortingly through your hair. Pulling just enough to anchor you.

His fingers catch on a tangle, and you wince. The apology on his lips is unneeded. The feeling strangely anchors you.

As he gently undoes the tangle, so are you.

The twisting knots in your chest loosen, and you can breathe once more.

The tears fall faster despite it.

Halsin presses a kiss to your shoulder, breathes in, and begins to speak.

“I know today was…difficult. Nature presents us with many challenges, and this was…” he sighs, a deep sound that wooshes out of his lungs and chills your damp shoulder. “This was an especially hard one.”

You laugh, but it is a hollow sound. “There were so many,” you whisper. Halsin presses his fingers against your scalp, massaging it, and you close your eyes against the feeling. “I don't know how we can help them all. I feel like I've failed them.”

His hands dip back into the water, and it is blissfully hot against your skin.

They return to your hair.

“You haven't. We are working against time, the most fierce and stubborn creature of them all. The ones you've helped will have hot food tonight, dry clothing, and warm blankets. It will give them hope for tomorrow.”

“And the ones I couldn't? When we ran out of supplies, when there was no more?”

He finishes lathering your hair, gathering his words. Even now your bond remains close, and all he has to do is tap your shoulder for you to lean forward, a bucket of hot water sluicing over you.

It is a welcome relief. The dirt and grime of the day washes away, and the loud sound of water drowns out your heavy thoughts.

He refills the bucket.

“We must simply hope that someone has the same kindness that we try to give. Nature is a cruel mistress. She takes and takes, and the snap of winter’s kiss takes many victims.

It is up to us to do as much as we can, to encourage others to do the same.”

“I don't know if I have that faith that you do.”

The water spills over you again, just hot enough to make you sigh, as it strips you to your skin, to your bones, to your core.

It stings, and it is a welcome relief.

Halsin slicks the hair back out of your face, his touch tender.

“Tell me. Why did you choose to come with me?”

He picks up the sponge and lathers it meticulously.

“I needed to feel as if everything we'd done was worth it. That I was worth it. All the accolades we received, and the rejoicing…and all I could think about was the blood on my hands. The families who were left behind. We won, but at what cost? I needed…I needed…”

“Hope?” He supplies.

You nod. Your hands are slightly reddened from the heat of the water. “Hope.”

He runs the sponge across your shoulders, along the back of your neck.

“I cannot give you what you seek,” he sighs. “Such instant gratification is not easily found in this journey. However, I encourage you to take heart. Every week we receive letters from our friends, telling us of how they are doing, how alive they are. You could not get away from the flowers raining down in the streets fast enough, when people were celebrating.

This work is not for the faint of heart. But take comfort in those you have already helped. The rest will come in time.”

He kisses your cheek, smiling as you do. “And until then, I will be by your side, as you are by mine. Nature has brought you to me, and bears are protective, guarded creatures by nature. I would not give you up so easily. So I encourage you to do the same for them.”

He rinses your skin, and you smile softly. The pain and trouble still lingers, of course. Such worries are not easily set aside.

For now, however, this is enough.

You take comfort in what you can.

“Halsin?”

“Hm?”

“Join me?”

He smiles, and his eyes darken slightly into an inviting honey-gold.

“Of course, my heart.”

#my writing #bg3 #halsin #bg3 spoilers #just a little but it's post endgame stuff #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #I hope y'all have a lovely day/night

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lavendertales · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet lies: Chapter 5

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: the Millers invite everyone over at their place for Valentine’s day, and things have never felt lonelier for you. But the end of the night has a surprise twist for you.

word count: 5k

A/N: now we’re getting into the juicy part. huge thanks to @cheshire-noir for helping me with a good part of this!

Comments & reblogs are forever appreciated 💕

gif: @pascalsky

series masterlist | AO3

As much as you tried to remain the professional and hardworking person you have always been, that Friday had your mind spinning relentlessly.

Last night’s dinner was still fresh on your mind, taunting you alongside Frankie and Andrea. Worst part was that you actually liked Andrea. It was virtually impossible to nest any negative feelings towards someone so incredible.

But then you recalled Frankie’s hesitant side glares, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each nervous gulp he took, the sheer regretful expression on his face whenever the two of you locked eyes, and you wondered if somehow, maybe, he wasn’t so confident in his relationship.

It couldn’t have been. It was just your jealousy talking deep in your subconscious, giving you false hope. You’ve been down that road before, being fed up lies by your own mind and tricked by your heart. You did not need that again, and certainly not when Frankie was engaged.

You had to be on your best behavior. The two of you were no longer friends, but merely old acquaintances, so you shouldn’t have had an issue with giving him the cold shoulder. The farther he was from you, the better. Even if you had foolishly agreed to go to the Valentine’s Day bash that Will and Benny were throwing, that didn’t mean you could act reckless.

So you came up with a plan.

“Good news, your girl finished her presentation early, which means I am available for some weekend fun,” Rose’s confident voice giggles over the phone.

It’s a little over eleven p.m., and you’re already half asleep in your bed, but as luck would have it, Rose’s timing is impeccable.

“Congratulations,” you say, genuinely impressed by her work ethic. “At least one of us was professional today.”

“Uh-oh. I take it dinner was awkward last night?”

“Frankie came with his fiancé.”

Silence. You can hear Rose’s jaw drop and her steady breaths. If you listen closely enough, you can hear her processing what you just told her.

“They both came?” she asks.

“Yeah. It was dinner with friends and their significant others, of course he would’ve brought his fiancé. It was stupid of me to think he wouldn’t.”

“Still, I can’t imagine it was pleasant to just have her in your face like that.”

“She’s actually pretty awesome.”

“What?!”

Rose’s indignation actually steals a chuckle out of you, for which you are thankful.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” she continues.

You scoff. “I’m serious! She’s an incredible, accomplished woman.”

“I don’t care, that is the enemy!”

“She’s really not. If anything, Frankie is. He’s the one who fucked it all up.”

“Fair point. What’s so incredible about this woman, anyway?”

“Well, her name’s Andrea and she’s a dermatologist, she regularly volunteers for different charities, she’s hilarious and sweet… oh, and she’s unfairly gorgeous.”

“How gorgeous are we talking here?”

“Green eyes, light brown hair with cute bangs, caramel skin… and she smells great.”

“Shit, that does sound great.”

“So you see my problem.”

“I do. But I can hate her.”

“What—Rose, you don’t even know her.”

“When has that ever stopped us? We’ve hated people for no reason before.”

“Yes, but those were celebrities. And it was usually because they either had something we don’t have, or because we just didn’t like them.”

“Hello! How is this any different?”

You chuckle again, your chest growing heavier with concern regarding tomorrow’s plans.

“Hey, listen, since you’re free this weekend,” you start, “how do you feel about spending Valentine’s Day with me tomorrow?”

“Uh… okay, I really appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not sure what kind of message did I send to you before.”

You both laugh. “Will and Ben are throwing this little Valentine’s get-together between friends—and their girlfriends too, I guess—and I could really use a friendly shoulder there.”

“Hmm. So everyone’s gonna be happily nuzzling next to their significant others?”

“All, except me and Frankie. Andrea can’t come apparently.”

“Gotta say, I’m a little relieved, I thought I was going to have to show some PDA in order to be able to stay.”

You laugh some more, eagerly anticipating her response.

“Won’t it be awkward?” Rose asks.

“Possibly. Every interaction I’ve had so far has been more or less so. Please, you gotta come with me.”

“I will, I will. Just gotta stop by at my grandma’s first to check in on her.”

“How is she doing after the hip replacement surgery?”

“Pretty good. More mobile each day.”

“Oh, that’s great!”

“Yeah. But after that, I’m totally gonna be there for you.”

“Good. Cause I’m your best friend, and you have to help a friend in need.”

“True.”

“Also, Santi will be there.”

You can tell that has Rose’s attention. Hell, even you smile. You’ve been hoping for a long time that she and Santiago would act upon their feelings, but clearly they both had been shy to initiate.

“I was gonna come anyway, just to clarify,” Rose pushes, to which you smirk.

“Mhm.”

“This is just… an added bonus.”

“Of course it is. I’ll see you tomorrow then, at the Millers?”

“You got it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Oh, and thank you, Rose. I love you.”

“You don’t have a thing to thank me for. I love you too.”

Knowing that Rose will be there makes it easier for you to fall asleep, and to navigate through next day’s tasks. You wake up pretty early in order to go your grocery shopping, your cleaning and your cooking, and when the clock strikes five p.m., you are in your bathroom, showering and putting a little makeup on.

It’s not a party, you keep reminding yourself of Will’s words. So you don’t overdress, and you don’t overdo it with makeup. Just something cute and casual for a night out with your friends.

And their girlfriends. And, with Rose there, probably making heart eyes at Santiago, that means it’ll be just you and Frankie.

Okay, so maybe your plan wasn’t so well thought. Maybe you could back out of going. Who would really care, on Valentine’s, no less?

Oh, but they would. You knew the guys, you knew your friends, and you knew how relentless they could be about group hangouts and such. You knew they would bother you consistently, bombard you with questions about why you were a no-show at the very last moment.

Honestly, the idea of free drinks kept you motivated enough. In the event of Rose disappearing somewhere to snuggle with Santi, you’d have your trusted companions, the beers.

But you refuse to show up empty handed, so you carry with you a big plate of sandwiches and a bottle of wine. You put in the location on the GPS and drive through the snowed streets.

You’ve been to Will’s and Benny’s plenty of times, but you felt safer having the address right there in front of you, especially on an icy evening like that. Even on a tender day such as Valentine’s Day, February knows how to remind you of its cold, cold wrath.

Standing on the doorstep of the Millers’ humble bungalow merely twenty minutes later, your warmest clothes prove nothing on that bitter evening. You rang the doorbell once and are now anxiously waiting for either Will or Benny to let you in.

Soon, waiting becomes a daunting task. But not only because of the bitter wind chills.

Will and Benny are hosting this party—scratch that. A get-together. Friendly faces, and yet all of them seem to belong to mere ghosts of your past. For them, Valentine’s Day didn’t need the frills and ties, but rather friends and stiff drinks. Plus, they had their wonderful girlfriends by their side, so even the most mundane tasks could be deemed as romantic and well-thought. Will reassured you it would be a smaller gathering, just the lonely ones and the dorks who actually managed to score someone. Still, the sight of the cramped cars in the driveway spiked your anxiety when the GPS told you “arrived at your destination”. But you prevailed, and marched to the front door nonetheless. You had made a promise, after all.

Hurry up, guys, your mind begs, huffing into your hands to keep you warm. Finally, you see a familiar face grinning from the door window. Not Will, rather Benny. Your eyes soften, eagerly pushing your way in, even as Benny already starts fussing over how long you waited.

“It’s fine,” you tell him sincerely.

“I shouted at Will to open the door a dozen times,” he seemingly apologizes. “I had the glasses in my hand, but no, I gotta do all the work. So much for big bro duties. Here, let me take that.”

You chuckle as Benny takes the plate and bottle of wine from your hand, and you take a look around. You were swathed in warmth as soon as you crossed the threshold into the home. Something about being inside made you relax much more. It could be the coziness of the two-story living, where every room in the house bled into each other. Or it could be that the furniture choices were plump and rosy leather adorned in animal themed blankets, tapestries and cushions. In the living room, MTV is playing on the television, the soft drones of Robert Smith from The Cure filling you with the melancholy you had come to associate with the holiday.

From the couch, Will greets you, inviting you to sit as you hand your jacket off to Benny. Will and Mia are sitting over at one of the two olive couches that surround the fireplace. Benny has no problem plopping himself next to his brother and his girlfriend, the latter having his own significant other join in, but you decide to pick the couch across from them, the one closest to the kitchen. Not just because it might be useful should you require more drinks, but also because you think five’s a crowd, and couples need their intimacy.

The light in the kitchen is on and you can see two shadows bouncing across the walls. They are talking about something, but you can’t pick up on any of it, not when you have Will and Mia’s conversation ringing in the other ear. Although, you still can’t help but stare at the shapes.

One looks stocky, and seems to be the one making the most noise out of them. But the other. The other has a cap on, larger arms, a deeper voice, dripping with age like a fine wine. He and Benny are the youngest among the boys, but his voice is coarse and thick with plenty of emotions that still have a grip over you.

You shake your head briefly, forcing yourself to smile and even giggle at the excited voices in front of you. It’s a favorable situation rather than staring at Frankie the whole time, which you swore you wouldn’t do, no matter what.

You fleetingly check your watch, wondering when Rose will get there. You grow to hate this feeling of helplessness when it comes to being around Frankie. It’s not that you are not strong, quite the opposite: you are more than capable of being cold and distant, but gazing over at him, looking and longing at the same time? A whole other story.

You’re not quite sure what it is about Frankie that still has you in a chokehold. Actually, you do know, you just like denying it, especially now given the circumstances. In every way, Frankie is the embodiment of your dream partner. He’s kind, funny, sweet, smart, protective, and just overall a warm person that once made you feel like you were truly yourself, and not just playing a game.

After all this time, your feelings for him have not vanished as you had hoped. You foolishly thought distance would help you forget, but now that you have been thrust back into your old life, you see things are no different than when you left.

At least in that regard.

Looking at Will and Benny happily sharing with you stories of their adventures with the girls, you sport a sincere smile. You have never seen them so fulfilled, so blissful, and it makes your heart tremble with joy. Yet there is a permanent ache in your heart that you cannot deny, one you doubt anyone would fully understand.

“Hey, you’re here!” Santiago says, pulling you in to hug you tight.

You reciprocate, eyes landing on Frankie’s figure in the background. He seems apologetic, averting your gaze as much as he can, as if he’s guilty of something. Deep down, you do understand his reaction and, oddly enough, you are thankful that he’s not pushing the note in any way.

“I heard Emily made heart shaped cookies, and you know I’m a sucker for cookies,” you joke.

“You have to try them, they are out of this world,” Mia fortifies.

You all chuckle, and you do in fact stretch your arm towards the coffee table in the middle to grab one of the cookies on the plate and take a bite out of it, instantly melting.

“Oh my God,” you nearly shout, immediately taking another bite. “These are heavenly!”

“Thank you!” Emily smiles, her cheeks now flushed. “I don’t make them that often though.”

“I can see why! It’s tough to stay away from them, shit.”

You finish the cookie and grab another one, causing everyone to giggle.

“It’s also why I told her to never, under any circumstances, share the recipe,” Benny adds. “This is cause for fight.”

“It sure is,” Will says.

You don’t realize you’re still in Santiago’s arms; when you do realize that, you inch away in the slightest, right under Frankie’s studious eyes. Curiosity has him by the throat, yet he can’t bring himself to ask you or Santiago any questions. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“Hi,” you finally greet Frankie, voice small and anxious.

“Hi,” he replies.

You’re tired of this; you are so tired of walking around on eggshells, measuring your words and actions and trying to stay away while also wanting to be part of the group again. It’s absolutely exhausting.

“You want something to drink?” Santiago offers, and you nod.

Frankie’s eyes don’t leave the two of you, silently studying you from the corner of his eye. He watches you go into the kitchen, exchange some words as Santiago opens up a beer bottle and hands it to you, and then he sees you lightly touching his arm.

He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know. It’s none of his business. He has no right asking or even caring anymore.

Then why does his chest ache so? Why does it feel like there’s a beast trapped inside of him that roars and scratches violently at the simplest of sights?

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“Okay, so,” Will announces, standing up now that you and Santiago return to the living room. “Now that we are all here.”

“Actually, Rose should be here any minute,” Santiago intervene.

“Oh. That’s okay, we can wait then.”

“What’s going on, guys?” you ask.

Will and Benny exchange a glare, as well as Mia and Emily, and you instantly know both couples have news. The options are limited, although you can pretty much figure out what’s going on before it’s even said.

And before you know it, you’re halfway through the beer bottle, wishing you had called a cab instead of driving to the bungalow.

“Well, uh… Mia and I are engaged,” Will says, reaching to grab his now fiancé’s hand.

It’s then that you notice the ring on Mia’s finger, shining as brightly as her eyes when she looks at Will. Laudatory exclaims burst among you all, and you’re quick to finish your beer before hugging Mia and then Will. Your heart swells and trembles with even more happiness, admiring them as Santiago and Frankie congratulate their friend.

“Benny has some news too,” Will chuckles.

All eyes turn to Benny, who instead looks over at Emily. Her cheeks burn auburn still, indicating nervousness and flattery.

“We’re moving in together,” she says.

More congratulations are being shared, the entire group hugging the other happy couple. You don’t think you could be any happier than you are at this very moment.

Or lonelier.

What a fascinating mixture, that of delight for your friends and loneliness for yourself. Contradictory, opposing poles, yet equally true.

You don’t let it show, though. Tonight it’s cause for celebration, and you are too focused on your friends’ fulfilled lives to allow any negative emotion impact it.

Although you can’t help but think that your steps are guided by some sort of negative emotion when you find yourself into the kitchen, grabbing another beer to toast to your friends.

“To Will and Benny, finally committed and off of our hands,” Santiago toasts, and you all laugh. “Girls, best of luck.”

“Here, here!”

You feel your phone buzzing in your pocket, and you swiftly notice a text from Rose: “Be there soon, max one hour. Sorry for the delay!” You don’t know why, but your stomach drops. Rose will be there soon, why do you feel so disarmed and hopeless? It doesn’t make much sense, and you don’t try to dig deeper. Not tonight.

You’re feeling a bit of a mess, so the best you can do is smile and nod along, drinking cheerfully along your very joyful and gratified friends. You look at them all, admiring and holding out hope for all of them, so much so that you forget about yourself momentarily. Just for one moment, you forget about the confusing mixture of feelings and how it fucks you up in this very moment.

So Will is engaged, Benny’s getting his own place with his girlfriend, and Frankie is engaged. That leaves you and Santiago as the lonely bachelors in the group.

Except Santiago’s smitten with Rose, and vice versa, and you have a feeling those two will end up together. Which means, when that’ll inevitably happen, it will be just you. Stuck in the same cycle, no matter how hard you have tried to run away from it or tell yourself you changed.

Definitely should’ve taken a cab. Tonight requires a whole lot more drinking.

Music starts blasting in the speakers, with the two happy couples and Frankie settling for an excited talk regarding the upcoming nuptials and move-in. You settle in the kitchen, taking a seat and sipping from your beer while your eyes remain on the five people on the couch. There is an odd sense of melancholy washing over you, like you are an intruder in all of those people’s lives, and that they’d be much happier without you. Like their lives would also be easier without you.

“Hey,” Santiago’s voice brings you back to earth. “You okay?”

He takes the seat next to you, nudging you with his shoulder. “Yeah,” you reply flatly, voice a little shaky, too. “So many good news tonight already, it’s… a lot.”

“I’m pretty surprised myself. More by Benny, not Will. Will’s got this commitment thing covered. Benny, on the other hand…”

You chuckle, staring at the bottom of the beer that’s dangerously close now. “But look at him now. A grown man, our Benny.”

“They’re all moving on, building their lives.”

“Yep.”

“Guess it’s just you and me now. The last two bachelors of the group.”

You purse your lips together, staring at him in a haze. “Maybe you and I should’ve given this a proper go.”

Santiago smirks, eyeing you up and down.

“Is that so?” he smiles.

“We might’ve actually had a real shot a while back.”

“At the very least we could’ve followed through with that little moment in the car.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“One complete and good memory from back then.”

You nod, reminiscing of the time when you returned to town for a few weeks, a couple of years back, and decided to try something new. You thought it was the right thing to do, but the short-lived romance proved otherwise for you both.

“Or we might’ve screwed things up completely,” you say.

“Or that.”

“I mean, look at me and Frankie. One wrong move and it’s all fucked up.”

You sigh deeply, your head now resting in the crook of Santiago’s neck. He smells of cologne and forest, fresh and… uncomplicated. His arm wraps around you, pulling you in closer.

All under Frankie’s eyes.

He can’t stop staring at the two of you, so close and intimate in the kitchen, and his mind starts to wonder, to fabricate little scenarios that make the room spin around him. It all comes crashing down on him when he starts to acknowledge the fact that you and Santiago make perfect sense.

“You good there, Fish?” Benny asks, hand on his shoulder.

“Hm?”

He’s blatantly staring and he didn’t even realize it till then. Now, his gaze returns upon those in the living room.

“You good?” Benny repeats the question.

“I’m good, yeah,” he replies.

“Cause… you were staring.”

“I was just… curious.”

Mia and Emily look over to the kitchen as well, then back at Frankie. “Oh, those two?” Mia chuckles. “Yeah, we’re curious, too.”

Frankie, instead, frowns.

“They’ve gotten very close in the past few years,” Will admits. “Not sure to what extent, but they sure are close.”

“I for one think that if there is something going on, we should give them some space,” Emily says. “Friends dating… it can be tricky to navigate. Let’s leave them alone in the meantime.”

Frankie gulps, finishing his beer, eager for another one. He stands up, heads to the kitchen, where he locks eyes with you and Santiago. The two of you separate, staring at him, but Frankie doesn’t say a word. He just reaches in the fridge for another beer, opens it and walks away, right outside into the cold.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He definitely shouldn’t care.

“What’s with him?” you ask.

“I have no idea. Maybe it’s the stress of planning a wedding.”

“Right.”

The doorbell is heard, turning towards Santiago with a smile. “That’s Rose.”

You see him take a deep breath, his mind clearly racing just as much as his heart, and you know he’s overthinking the moment. You have the same look on your face when you do it.

“Go,” you nearly push him off the chair. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m going, okay? I don’t wanna seem too eager.”

“You’re reeking of neediness already. Go.”

When you’re alone in the kitchen, you have the nerve to finish the beer, then raiding for another one. You’re probably going to regret this, but you need something to take the edge off.

You spy into the living room, noticing Santiago and Rose emerged into a conversation filled with shy smiles and flushed cheeks, and you smile. God, I hope this works between them. They’re too good for each other to not make this work.

But life sometimes has a funny and cruel way of pulling two perfect people apart from each other. You’ve experienced it firsthand, and you’d hate seeing this happen to two of the dearest people in your life.

You keep hearing music, and after a while, those in the living room start dancing with each other and you take that as your cue to leave. You feel like an extra there, just looking at the happy couples giggling and talking to each other.

Before you know it, you find yourself outside, slowly inhaling the cold air. You’re a bit tipsy, so this is just what you need to remain grounded in the present. A present where you’re basically left behind, alone, just you and the professional ladder you are desperately trying to climb in order to feel like you are achieving something.

By all means, you are happy. You have a great new job, great life, health… everything is good. So there is no reason for you to be feeling like this, is there?

“It’s freezing, you should get back inside,” a voice shouts.

You come to realize that it’s Frankie. He’s on the porch, few inches away, barely staring at you.

“Could tell you the same thing,” you say.

“I happen to be okay with the cold. I know you hate it.”

You tsk, hating how much he still knows about you. You stare into the far off distance, beer in hand. Luckily the alcohol keeps you a little warm, so you don’t really care about the freezing temperatures right now.

“Needed some air,” you say.

“Aka a break from all the happy inside.”

“I didn’t say—“

“You didn’t have to.”

“Would you just—knock it off?”

It is now that you turn to meet his gaze, fury radiating from your eyes. He can feel it, too; you see it in his body language, the way he’s trying to make himself seem smaller next to you. But he doesn’t avert his eyes. Instead, he seems to be staring right at you, with a certain darkness in his eyes that you fail to recognize.

“Look, I’m tired of this, Frankie,” you surrender. “I am sick and tired of trying my hardest to be distant and keep you at bay… and I’m sorry I’m acting like a bitch. I am not, I’m really not.”

“I know you’re not. You got every right to act this way, though.”

You chuckle. “Well, at least you understand what the situation is.”

“Of course I do. I’m not an idiot, okay? I know this is… fucked up and hurtful and messy… but I miss you.”

The moment he says that, your heart begins to race like crazy.

“As a—friend,” he clarifies, gulping.

“I want us to function normally too, like we used to, but I don’t know if it’s possible, Frankie. I gotta respect you and Andrea’s relationship, and… a single woman is not to be around a committed guy.”

Frankie scoffs, finishing his beer and putting the empty bottle on the porch, half in snow. “Single? Really?”

“Yes, really. Why?”

He falters, trips over his own thoughts, and he keeps quiet. It’s his best play at this very moment.

“I missed you too,” you confess shyly, in an almost non-existent voice.

But he hears it. He hears and sees you crystal clear, burning and aching with his whole body. He should not be feeling this way. He should not be surprised that you’d be interested in Santiago. He should not be upset by it, nor should he be feeling this way around you. It’s not okay. It’s not normal to burn this much for someone.

And yet here he is, secretly doing it anyway, and shoving it deep down with every ounce of strength imaginable.

You sneak a peek through the window, noticing Rose still talking to Santiago, seemingly laughing out loud, and your heart quickly swells and then deflates. When you finish your beer, you find Frankie to stand much closer to you, cutting out the air from your lungs. You barely feel the cold anymore, even if your fingers turn purple and your face is red with something you can’t quite discern.

“I’m really sorry that I let you go,” he mutters. “I was a dick. Pope reminds me once or twice a year.”

You actually chuckle. “Good.”

“He’s a great friend.”

“That he is.”

“And you guys seem to be very close. Kind of like…”

“We used to be?”

He nods. When your eyes meet and neither shies away, it’s electric. It’s a rush, a moment filled with unspoken emotion. You want to look away, you know this should not be happening, and yet you can’t look away. It’s years of deprivation, missing him and missing the two of you, but you just don’t want to look away from him.

You just want to look at him, admire him for the man that he’s turned into. Nothing more.

“I missed you,” he repeats, his voice almost like he’s begging. “So much.”

You don’t reply. You can’t really focus; your mind is foggy, clouded by all sorts of emotions tonight, and you know you should back off, act with respect. Because, at the end of the day, you do respect Frankie and his relationship with Andrea, and you respect Andrea just as much.

Every cell in your body screams at you to just back off, go back inside to your friends and celebrate alongside them. You swear you moved your feet in the desired direction. You start to feel warm again, warm all over, particularly your face.

Seconds later, you realize that is because there is warm breath all over your face, and your lips become swollen, reddened with a foreign, yet familiar and much needed touch.

Another few seconds later and you realize that Frankie’s lips are on yours, and his hand cups your cheek, pulling you in.

The worst of it is, you kiss him back. You kiss him back till you’re running out of air and Frankie’s breath is the sole source of air that you have. You kiss him back till you become fully aware of the implications, and then, before you can pull away, Frankie does it first.

He pulls away from you, his lips just as swollen and red as yours, and he stares at you in shock. Truthfully, you’re just as shocked, unable to utter a single word.

“I’m so sorry,” he coos, looking around in disbelief. “I am… so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should go.”

You still don’t say anything. You simply stare at him, incapable to remove the feeling of his soft lips pressed hastily on yours.

He’s slowly backing away from you, eyes locked with yours, as he keeps muttering “I should go”. So he goes, leaving you half frozen on the porch, with a taste on your lips that nothing would ever wash away.

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