#I bet he didn’t even hiss in pain

[happybird16]

A lot of shots of Levi make him look thin and childlike because of his stature, but I’d like to remind everyone of this:

Shame we never got this scene animated, but just look at how WIDE he is.

[maxtermind]

Can I request some more angst 🫠🫠 I’m a sucker for your sad fics

tell me, why'd you have to hit-and-run me?

★ : summary :: finding out your boyfriend was dared to date you ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: ANGST; no hea ★ : word count :: 4k+ ★ : a/n :: how are we feeling with the daily posts ending tom and shifting to alternate day posting🤭 babe you asked for angst and i delivered, lmk how you like it <3 bet y'all thought you needed tissues for something else😏

Max Verstappen

“Mate, you still haven’t told her?” you heard Lando whisper, making your eyebrows shoot up. What were they talking about? As you finally decided to approach your boyfriend and his friend, you heard Max whisper.

It was low, so low that you almost didn’t catch it, but the way your hand froze on the knob and the utter stillness of your heartbeat indicated that you heard him loud and clear when he slowly said, “I don’t know how to.”

That. That was the reason you froze. You were processing what you heard. Your heart pulled from its rightful place—no, it was ripped out.

God, you thought, anything but that. Anything but cheating because how could you even confront him if he confessed to cheating on you right there on the spot in front of one of his friends?

“It has been going on for too long, Max.” Lando took a deep breath. “You should tell her you love her; she’ll understand.”

Ah. Okay, he loves you; this was okay. But then why was your heart still beating so loudly that you could hear it in your ears?

“How do you think I should go about it?” Max asked, and that was when you finally had enough. You turned the knob, but Lando was already speaking, and his words had you freeze again.

The boys' heads snapped up, eyes wide when they saw you walk in. You felt your eyes burn as Lando’s last words finally processed.

“You should’ve thought about it before you decided to make a stupid bet with those dumb men.”

“Bet?” you wondered aloud as you saw Max stumble over to you. What bet?

“No bet!” you heard your panicked boyfriend almost scream. You were so confused you didn’t even know what you were saying out loud.

“For fuck’s sake,” Lando said as he stood from the couch, glaring at Max. “Y/N deserves to know.” You kept your eyes on Max, trying to gauge an explanation from his clearly messed-up state.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” you finally looked at your boyfriend’s best friend. “I clearly shouldn’t have trusted Max to—”

“I think you should leave,” Max groaned out as if it pained him to hear Lando talk, almost hissing out the last word. They started bickering back and forth, and through your hazy mind, you could only make out a few words.

But they were enough. You took a deep breath as you stepped away from Max towards the door. He was too busy focusing on Lando anyway.

“Y.. you’re saying I was a bet?” Your voice cut through the chaos, and it was Max’s turn to go dead silent and freeze on the spot.

“You asked me ou—” Oh god, you didn’t want to cry, “—because of a dare?”

Max’s eyes were wide with horror, his face pale as he took a step toward you, his hands reaching out in desperation. “No, Y/N, it’s not like that, please, let me explain.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably. “Explain what, Max?” Your voice cracked on the last word, the pain too raw to hold back when you saw Max was also crying. “How a…all i have be— this relationship has been is a fucking lie?” The moment you said it out loud, you heard Lando take in a sharp breath. Max looked disheveled, he could just tell that this was the only time he could repair this. You looked a minute away from walking out and the thought of that had him talking even through his closed up throat.

His voice broke, choked with emotion. “No, Y/N, I swear, it wasn’t like that. It started as a stupid dare, yes, but then... then I fell in love with you. I fell so hard, it—” His words stumbled over each other, barely coherent through his tears. “I called the whole thing off.”

You cut him off, your voice trembling and thick with hurt. “You should have told me right then. As soon as you called it off, you sho—” Your body shook, barely able to stand under the weight of your heartbreak. “How could you do this to m.. me?”

Max rushed forward to hold your hands, breathing heavily to get himself under control so he could talk as he sobbed. “I was so fucking scared, Y/N. I didn’t want to lose you. You mean everything to me.”

You looked down at your joined hands, feeling your heart shatter all over again. It was one thing to know someone’s apology was sincere and another to know that they had faked being sincere from the very beginning. So how could you even tell the difference now? Your voice came out in a broken whisper. “How can I trust you now? How can I believe anything you say?” You were almost gasping for breath, each word an effort as you tried to hold back the sobs wracking your body.

Lando’s voice was soft but firm from behind you, though his own eyes were hard. “He’s telling the truth, Y/N. He was an idiot, but he’s been head over heels for you for a long time.”

Max’s tear-streaked face looked up at you, his eyes pleading. “Please, Y/N. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything. Just... don’t leave me.” His voice broke, the last word coming out as a wail of despair.

You turned away, unable to bear the sight of him, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with raw agony. “I can’t be here.” You could barely see through your tears, your entire body trembling.

Max’s anguished sobs followed you as you walked away, your heart feeling like it was being torn from your chest with every step. The pain was unbearable, and you stumbled, nearly collapsing under the weight of your sorrow but Lando caught you as he held you by your shoulders.

You needed to be alone, to process everything, and to decide if love could truly overcome betrayal. But right now, it felt like your world was ending.

Lewis Hamilton

“Y/N, baby please—”

Lewis’s voice pleaded as you shut the door behind, your heart splintering into a thousand pieces. Tears blurred your vision as you staggered away from your apartment, the weight of betrayal crushing your chest.

To think that you used to gush about him, about this, the vague lie you had to others. Not even a few steps away from your apartment, you were bent over, retching into a nearby dustbin.

How could luck be so cruel? How could you have been so blind?

You wandered the streets, tears falling down your cheeks as your brain replayed the moments when Lewis first approached you at a random club party, despite your friends warning you that someone like him must have nefarious reasons. But you were smitten.

“I’m sorry, but I don't know what you’re doing here,” you had said to him, feeling your heart beat faster when a smirk adorned his face in return. He looked majestic under the club lights. “Where else would I be?” he muttered, mesmerized as he looked at you, “If not with the most beautiful girl in this club?”

He made you feel special, validated in a way you had never felt before. Now, the memory turned sour in your mind, leaving you feeling sick and disgusted. You dry heaved again.

At least he had the decency to confess. Standing here in the cold, his words from when he sat you down with him echoed in your ears— his pleading, his apologies, his desperate attempts to explain. But what did it matter now?

“How could you?” you whispered, thump! thump! thump! your heart pumped as you heard it in your ears, your voice barely audible through the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Was I just a game to you?” That was the first thing you said after his almost ten-minute rant.

You had stopped listening though, right when he had told you what exactly made him approach you. Your first meeting was so magical, so precious to you, but it was all ruined now.

His friend had dared him because Lewis’ morale was down. He was having the worst day of his life after losing an almost sure race win, and his friends knew the only way to cheer him up was through a challenge.

Lewis reached out when he saw that you were lost in your thoughts, his voice desperate and shaky. “No, Y/N, please listen to me—”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Don’t. Just don’t…”

“Please,” he pleaded, looking nothing like the man you loved, his voice cracking with emotion. “I love you, Y/N. I messed up, but I love you more than anything.”

You felt your heart breaking all over again because you genuinely couldn’t recognize the man standing in front of you— the man who had played you, was probably still playing you. “You should have thought about that before…”

Unable to bear another moment, you left, leaving his words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. You were nothing more than a pawn in his game of masculine pride and insecurity. The realization hit you like a freight train, leaving you gasping for air as you collapsed against a nearby wall, sobs wracking your body.

How could someone who once made you feel so alive now leave you feeling so broken?

Carlos Sainz

The evening was warm, and the restaurant buzzed with laughter and conversation. You sat with your boyfriend, Carlos, his friends, and a few of your own. It was a casual dinner, the kind you rarely held since Carlos was so busy.

“I can't believe we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t dared Carlos to ask you out,” Javier chuckled as he saw you lean forward to kiss your boyfriend.

Laughter erupted around the table but quickly died down when they realized the utter horror on your face. An uncomfortable silence settled in, and you noticed the tension.

Your wide eyes moved from one face to another, finally landing on Carlos, whose expression had turned serious. He glared at Javier, and you sensed something was wrong. You felt uncomfortable, and the need to flee clutched you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice small yet cutting through the awkwardness as you held Carlos’ hand under the table. He squeezed it in return.

“Uh, nothing,” Javier stammered, realizing his mistake. His discomfort was evident, triggering your fight-or-flight response.

You turned to Carlos. “What’s going on?” Your voice held a very tiny hope, hoping this was all a prank that would be over soon.

He sighed as he squeezed your hand again, his frustration evident. “We should talk about this at home.”

You pulled your hand away from his, your confusion and hurt growing. The others at the table exchanged looks of pity, further igniting your anger.

“No, we’re talking about it here. What’s going on?” you demanded as a shaky breath left your lips.

Carlos looked around nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.” He stopped himself again.

“Tell me what?” Your voice grew louder, drawing the attention of nearby diners.

Before he could respond, one of your friends, Beatrice, chimed in, “Just tell her, for God’s sake!” You looked at her in solitude, glad that you had some kind of support here.

“I dared Carlos to ask you out as a joke!” Javier blurted out just as you were managing to form a small smile to pass to your friend.

Your heart pounded in your chest. “What?” The chair creaked under you as you pushed it away from the table, and your boyfriend held your hand again.

“Please, it wasn’t like that,” Carlos tried to calm you down, but he was panicking himself. He was still whispering that you could not feel anything else in the world anymore. That was enough evidence.

You stood up, knocking your chair over as you once again snatched your hand away from his. “Wasn’t like what? You made me believe this was fucking real!”

Other diners began to whisper and pull out their phones, recording the scene as he stood up as well. With a desperate look, Carlos reached out to you, but you stepped back.

“This whole time, I was just a fucking… dare to you?” you shouted.

People around the restaurant started filming, their phones pointed at the escalating scene. Carlos's anger boiled over. He grabbed a nearby phone and smashed it against the table. The room fell silent, shocked gasps filling the air.

“Carlos, stop!” One of his friends tried to pull him back.

“You all think this is funny?” Carlos yelled at the onlookers, distracted now, and you knew what you were going to do as he turned around to yell again. “Get your own fucking life!”

You stood up, tears streaming down your face. “I’m done with this,” you said, your voice breaking. You were already walking away when you felt your friend follow you.

As you left the restaurant, you could hear the whispers and see the flashes of cameras. You knew this would go viral, but at that moment, you didn’t care. Your heart ached with betrayal and anger.

Carlos realized a bit too late that you were gone. Frustrated, he ran out to catch up with you and tried to call you again and again.He didn't know at the time that he would never catch a hold of you after this.

Charles Leclerc

You were scrolling through social media when a notification from an unknown sender caught your attention. Despite knowing that you shouldn’t, curiosity got the better of you, and you clicked on the thumbnail showing your boyfriend at a party.

The video started playing. It was from months ago, showing Charles in an outfit that you recognized but couldn’t remember from where. Ethan's voice could be heard clearly over the music. “I dare you to ask that girl out,” Ethan said, laughing, but you still couldn’t tell who he was pointing at. “Bet you can't do it.”

Charles grinned, looking a little tipsy. “You're on,” he replied, to the cheers and jeers of his friends. The grainy video ended with Charles approaching you. A deafening silence enveloped you when you realized this was from the day you first met him.

Charles had a determined look on his face, but the video faded into the background. Your thoughts echoed painfully in the emptiness, the truth of your lover's betrayal reverberating within you.

Your heart sank further as you sat in silence to process. You felt a rush of emotions— betrayal, hurt, and anger. Tears welled up in your eyes as you replayed the video, hoping it was some sort of sick joke. But the evidence was right there, undeniable.

At that moment, the door to the apartment opened, and Charles walked in, a smile on his face. “Hey, love. What are you up to?” he asked, not noticing your distress at first.

You turned to him, your eyes brimming with tears. “What is this?” you demanded, holding up your phone with the video paused at the damning moment.

Charles's smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of horror. “Baby, how did you—” he started, stepping towards you as he felt the room spin a bit, all the blood rushing to his head.

“Does it matter?” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger as tears gathered under your eyes. “When you only even looked at me because of a stupid bet?”

“It started as a bet, yes,” Charles admitted, his voice pained. “But it's not like that now. I fell in love with you, Y/N. Everything we've had since then has been real.” He was quickly getting closer to you, but you flinched away and that stopped him dead in his tracks.

You shook your head, unable to believe what you were hearing. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” You were so angry, your ears so warm that it wouldn’t be impossible if smoke started coming out of them.

Charles reached out, but you stepped back once again. “Please, Y/N. I was an idiot. I shouldn't have agreed to that dare, but I did. And yes, that's how it started. But the moment I got to know you, everything changed. I love you more than anything.”

“Do you have any idea just how humiliating this is?” you shouted, your voice breaking. “I thought what we had was special. I thought it was real. And now I find out it was all… a gamble to you.” You hated that you were showing him so many emotions but fuck, it hurt so much and you wish you could hurt him back.

“It is not a gamble,” Charles pleaded, tears forming in his eyes. “Not after I got to know you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Please, don't let this ruin us.” He could actually feel you slipping through his fingers.

“Fuck you, you’re the one who ruined this!” you said, turning away, trying to gather your thoughts, willing yourself to leave and hating yourself when you couldn’t. “Seriously,” you said quietly, not looking at him. “Fuck you.” You laid emphasis to show that you actually meant the words. “You’ve ruined me”

“Baby,” Charles's voice broke when he heard you say that he ruined you, but the way you glared at him because of the nickname had him backtracking. “Y/N, please just let me show you how that was all a lie. I love you. I can't fucking lose you over this.”

You walked to the door, needing to escape the suffocating atmosphere. “It is still all a lie,” you declared in a voice that showed you were shutting down, barely above a whisper.

As you stepped out of the apartment, you heard Charles crying behind you, but you didn’t stop to mend his heart because you couldn't even feel yours in your chest.

Lando Norris

Lando’s phone buzzed with notifications as he stepped out of the room and you glanced at it absentmindedly, not intending to invade his privacy. But the screen lit up with messages from his friends’ group chat, and the first few lines caught your eye, seeing your name in them.

“Can’t believe Lando actually went through with it.” “I know, right? It’s hilarious that she still doesn’t know!”

Your heart sank as you read further, each message a dagger to your trust. They were discussing you— about Lando making a bet involving you. Your hands trembled, and you scrolled through the conversation, your worst fears unfolding before your eyes.

“Thought he’d be gloating but he hasn’t contacted at all.” “Shit, man, he’s been with her for a year. I'm not paying him that much!”

You felt sick to your stomach. The room spun around you as you struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the betrayal. All those times you believed in Lando, trusted him with your heart— were they all just part of a cruel scheme? A fucking game?

You heard Lando approaching, unaware that you had seen everything. His smile faded as he saw the look on your face, the phone still clutched tightly in your hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked cautiously, sensing the tension in the air as he approached you with wide eyes.

This has happened before. Lando was always scared of coming home and finding it empty because you had found out about something he was afraid to tell you but in the past he was always wrong. It was a show, a friend, a book making you cry but today was different.

You held up the phone, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “Care to explain this?”

Lando’s expression shifted from confusion to dread as he realized what had just happened. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a bitter laugh.

“Fuck, you really had me convinced!” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “You made a bet? How much have you made so far, Mr. Norris?”

“Don't say that,” Lando looked like you had slapped him across his face. He reached out to you, his face pleading for forgiveness. “Y/N, I swear it wasn’t like that—”

“How much was it?” you demanded, the words laced with bitterness. “Bet you made a lot the day you finally got laid, huh?” “No!” Your boyfrie— ex-boyfriend screamed. His eyes were carrying moisture and you couldn’t help but scoff but he carried on. “I never took a single penny, Y/N. I.. I promise, I hadn’t even talked to them since the day i realized what assholes they were and—”

Lando’s face fell, his words faltering as he rushed forward to catch you in his arms, his tears finally falling once he saw your wet face. But the truth hung heavy in the silence between you, suffocating any hope of reconciliation.

Tears fell down your cheeks onto his arm as he kissed your head and whispered sweet nothings and sorry, I’m so sorry so so sorry sorry sorry, again and again against your head, blurring your vision. “I trusted you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I loved you.”

The weight of it all settled on you, and you sank deeper into the couch, overwhelmed by the betrayal. The anger that fueled you moments ago now gave way to a deep, searing pain. How could he have done this to you?

Lando kneeled down before you, his own tears betraying the magnitude of his mistake. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, reaching for you. “I never meant for you to find out.”

He carried on but your ears started ringing when the words registered. Wouldn’t a person with nothing to be guilty about, accept the truth and make up? Why was he so hell bent on keeping it under a hush?

His words felt hollow, empty promises in the wake of his betrayal and you cut him off as you pushed him away from you . “Get out,” you managed to say, your voice hoarse.

Lando hesitated, torn between wanting to explain and knowing that no explanation would mend what was broken. “Please,” you whispered and it was so small, so scared that he got up immediately and nodded.

He kissed your head again and you let him linger as you closed your eyes,“I.. I’ll be back, baby.” With a final, agonized look at you, he turned and left, leaving you alone in the wreckage of your shattered trust.

The silence enveloped you, broken only by your ragged breaths and the echoes of his footsteps fading away. You hugged yourself tightly, trying to hold together the pieces of your heart that he had callously shattered.

As the tears continued to fall, you felt a different kind of ache—the ache of knowing that the love you had believed in was now a painful memory because yes, he was coming back but you wouldn’t be here.

Later, Lando would enter the house in hopes of finding you but just like his worst nightmare, you wouldn’t be there. You wouldn’t be there to hold him as he’ll slowly lose it running across the house while he’ll look for you. None of your things would be there.

Yes, he destroyed you but also himself.

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[eddieandbird]

How Romantic—

You’re Corroded Coffin’s tour manager and you wake up realizing you drunkenly got married to Eddie the night before.

Part 2 | Part 3

tags/warnings: fluff | 2.7k words | f!reader | rockstar!Eddie | alcohol ment

———

Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary when you opened your eyes this morning. Your head was pounding, but you expected that after Corroded Coffin’s first show in Las Vegas. You went to rub the sleep out from your eyes but you winced in pain as you felt a small object scratch the corner of your eye.

“Ow! What the hell?” You hissed. You sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp.

A diamond ring sat on the third knuckle of your left hand, the sight causing you to flinch like it were a spider crawling up your leg.

“Eddie?” You shoved your sleeping client beside you. “Eddie, I think we did something really stupid last night,”

“What? Of course, we did! We’re rockstars, idiot,” He grumbled, rolling his shoulders to shake off your hand.

He attempted to roll over and fall back asleep, but this wasn’t a situation you could press the snooze button on. In a panic you pulled him up by his long hair, forcing him to sit up beside you.

“Hey!—“

“Eddie, shut up,” You said sternly, interrupting his whining. “Let me see your hands,”

You fumbled around to get a hold of them, light scratches exchanged between the both of you as you slapped each other like bickering children. Somehow you were able to catch his wrist, bringing his left hand closer to the light.

As you feared, he wore a gold band on his ring finger, with white diamonds that glistened, mocking you.

“Holy shit, no, no, no-” You cursed under your breath when you wanted to scream, but the ever-present headache prevented you from raising your voice.

Eddie flinched as you tugged at him, then chuckled when he caught the sight of his own ring.

“Looks like we got a matching set,” He said casually.

His expression didn’t change, leaving you utterly dumbfounded. You could tell he was not understanding the gravity of the situation at all.

“A matching set?— Eddie this isn’t some cute friendship bracelet thing!” You shook your head then forced his hand closer to his face like it could get him to understand.

Eddie wasn’t stupid by any means, but boy did he struggle to get the point sometimes. You knew to cut him some slack considering he was hungover just like you. However, you didn’t think you had to spell this all out for him.

Another moment passed before his eyes opened up fully. “Oh… OH!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, oh,” You sighed, relieved and irritated.

He studied his hand for a moment, tilting it in the light as he observed the jewels embedded into the gold.

“Oh wow, this is-” He mumbled to himself, his voice getting lost in a trail of thoughts.

He then went silent for a moment before suddenly grabbing your hand harshly, and yanking it into the light. “I bet yours is nicer, let me see,” He grumbled, his tone sounding almost jealous. It did nothing but work you up even more. You were unfortunately going to have to spell it out for him.

You flailed out of bed, ripping off the robe that hung on the lampshade, and covered yourself. The bewildered glare you gave Eddie only caused him to look more confused. You sighed and rubbed your aching head.

“I can’t believe I’m even explaining this to you right now,” You mumbled to yourself. You put your hands together and pointed the form at him. “Eddie, I think we got married last night,”

You hoped and prayed he would give you a different look, one that didn’t make you believe he didn’t even know his own name.

“You think? Or you know?” He countered, raising his eyebrows at you. “These rings could mean nothing, we just have to make sure,”

His expression was far more casual than it should’ve been. You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to stay patient, he was making your blood boil. He was treating this as if you were scolding him for showing up late to the gig.

As much as you wanted him to prove your theory wrong, you feared it wasn’t likely. Your eyes scanned the trashed hotel room for any other sign. To your dismay, there was a white dress tossed to the side of the bathroom. Disgust and regret painted your face as you lifted it. It was covered in red wine and smelled even worse.

“I think I found my wedding dress,” You gagged, holding it up to show Eddie.

You groaned as you just as quickly threw it back down on the floor.

Eddie’s smile wavered as he saw the state of your wedding dress. He suddenly looked nauseous as he observed the wine stains and messy wrinkles.

“We must’ve been super wasted last night,” He thought back to the night before, his mind desperately trying to recall any other details. “I can’t remember a damn thing after the first hour or so,” He said, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Yeah, no kidding,”

You examined the dress again from where you stood and bits and pieces of last night suddenly came back to you. The cheap rhinestones on it formed a pattern that haunted you.

The sight took you back to when Eddie and you stumbled downtown, giggling as you tried to keep each other upright. With one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady, he used the other to point out the ridiculously lit chapel you were passing by. A window peered into a showroom with a plethora of wedding dresses.

You let out a low whistle with your finger pointed at the glass. “Jeez what a dress, huh? Have you ever seen anything more gaudy?” You elbowed Eddie in the chest playfully.

You were too amused to see that he hardly gave that stupid dress more than one glance. He was too captivated by the way you looked underneath the twinkling lights.

“I dunno. I bet you’d make it look good,” Eddie slurred back, raising his eyebrows to fight his half-lidded eyes. His sudden suggestive tone took you aback. He was always crass and liked to push buttons, but never had he been this forward with you. You felt a strange flutter in the pit of your stomach that you had every intention of ignoring.

“Alright, buddy, I gotta get you back to the hotel. You’re too far gone if you’re imagining your manager in a wedding dress,” You hiccupped, trying to pry Eddie away from the chapel windows, but he was sturdy like a wall. You yelped as he pulled you by the wrist back into him.

“I think you should go in and try it on,” He whispered, his lips grazing your ear.

Shivers went down your spine, traveling down your body and convincing you it was a good idea. The sloshing liquor in your gut and the rasp of his voice was a dangerous combination. It created a switch inside your head that drained you of your professionalism, leaving only traits that would make you the woman of Eddie’s dreams. This included the boldness to slip your hand into his and say “Aw… Fuck it, why not? Let’s see how stupid it looks,”

Eddie hastily led you into the chapel, walking through the doorway and into the showroom full of gowns. The two of you were greeted by a bored employee who couldn’t look less interested in her job, but somehow had the energy to sneer at the both of you. You only took it as a sign that you should try on the stupid dress if only to spite that miserable lady at the front desk.

Just as you were joking about before, you took the gown that sat in the window and brought it with you to the fitting room. It was way too ornate and flashy for your taste, but you had the itch to try it on to humor Eddie’s curiosity. One outfit change later and you came out, propped up against the doorframe with a hand on your hip. Despite your slightly pained expression, you glittered beautifully in the dress.

“Okay I’m pretty sure this thing is a size too small because I can hardly breathe, but here it is. Happy now, Munson?” You gave an ironic smile.

You expected Eddie to laugh along with you, maybe even make a few digs at how awful the get-up was, but he didn’t. Instead, he stared at you slack-jawed. You had brought an entire galaxy to his hazy eyes. His pupils dilated with desire as he took a few sudden strides toward you.

“There is no way you’re actually making that dress look good,” He muttered in disbelief, pawing at your hips.

Eddie dragged his fingertips along your jawline, gently pushing your hair behind the shoulders. He took a step back to admire the skin around your neck that he just exposed. Your silhouette was being squeezed into the fabric and hardly left anything to the imagination. There was really no stopping Eddie now. With an uncoordinated tug, your body was pressed to his.

“What are you doing?” You asked him like he was a toddler getting caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. Delirious giggles rang out of you as half-heartedly pushed him.

“Taking my bride to the altar, duh,” Eddie leaned in, his lips tickling the nape of your neck. He spoke in that false innocent tone that you knew was laced with devious intentions. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his feather-like touches.

“You’re gonna marry me, right, princess?” His silky voice was incredibly inviting in the state you were in.

“I um- well m-” You stuttered. You could hardly stand straight, let alone answer his question properly. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, that’s what I thought. C’mon, sweetheart, you’re mine now,” He triumphantly laughed.

The receptionist’s eyes widened in complete shock as Eddie suddenly picked you up off the floor. He began walking back out the door, carrying you like a damsel in distress. Your giggling, mixed with the employee’s confused protesting was the only noise heard through the room.

Eddie barreled down the aisle of the chapel. He laughed with misplaced enthusiasm as you both stumbled closer and closer toward the pastor waiting at the end of the aisle.

You couldn’t bear to remember anything beyond that. A full-body shiver came over you as you snapped out of the memory of the night before. You couldn’t hear anything for a moment over the pounding of your heart in your ears. Your mind couldn’t wrap around Eddie and you sharing a moment so intimate and unfortunately so permanent.

“Oh, right… that’s what happened,” His voice pulled your attention back to him.

As he laid his eyes upon the dress, it repeated the events to him in his mind. He was tempted to brag about how steady he kept you in his arms even while he wasted, but he bit his tongue, knowing you’d probably snap at him again.

As the realization hit Eddie, he felt overwhelmed with emotion. Part of him couldn’t believe that the both of him had gotten married so recklessly, but another part felt a strange fluttering in his chest.

“Yeah, how romantic,” You groaned, limping to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face.

Eddie followed after you, leaning against the bathroom door frame.

“You um- You’re not thinking of breaking all this off right?” he asked timidly.

As if this morning couldn’t get any more insane, of course, he had to ask you that. You shot a glare in the mirror reflection for a moment before whipping around with your arms folded.

“Munson… What the hell are you saying?” Although the message was harsh, your tone had no bite to it. You sounded much more confused than upset at this moment. You didn’t want to believe that he was genuinely considering remaining married to you.

“Hear me out,” He set his hands out, gesturing you to stop whatever angry rant you wished to go on. “Maybe this doesn’t have to be the worst thing that could happen to us,”

“What do you mean?”

“I doubt that we weren’t spotted in that chapel. If we’re lucky we have until the afternoon before we see headlines about Corroded Coffin’s main guitarist and his manager getting hitched in Vegas,” He scrunched his nose and shook a hand through his tangled hair.

There goes your deer-in-headlights look again. “God, I really am an idiot! How did I not think of that? I-”

Eddie pressed a finger to your lips, promptly shutting you up. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the tortured manager of our band, we get it. But hey, just stay with me,” He dismissed your spiral before it could even happen. He swept you up similar to how he did last night, but this time to sit you down on the bathroom counter.

“What if we just stayed married for a little while?” He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Think about it. All that press Corroded Coffin would get over something like this. We’d be a household name! It’s kind of genius,” With his hands caging you into your spot on the counter, he smiled proudly at you as he explained what he had in mind.

He could see your mind racing behind your eyes, clearly contemplating the logistics of getting media attention out of this. He leaned closer to you, keeping you to the counter. He placed his hands on either side of your thighs.

“I know you hate the attention,” He continued softly, looking at you with puppy dog eyes. “But this is a good idea. We have to capitalize on our screw-up... For the band of course.”

A choked exhale escaped you before you set your head in your hands for a moment. Your mind drew up a montage of all the disapproving faces you’d have to explain this to, all the uncomfortable interviews you’d have to speak in, and all the death threats made by Corroded Coffin’s fans to you.

“Do I really have a choice in all this?” You mumbled through the spaces in between your fingers.

Eddie flashed a wry smile. “I guess not,” he teasingly held up his ring finger as if he was flipping you off. “Bottom line, when we walk out of this hotel, we are officially husband and wife. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want this to make the rest of the tour miserable. So you can either mope around the bus for the next two months and have more rumors spread in your absence, or you can hold your head up high and make a spectacle of our marriage for the sake of the band,”

Eddie’s grin grew wider as he saw the exhaustion creeping onto your face. He knew exactly how much you hated the attention, but he also knew that you cared just as much about the success of Corroded Coffin. He leaned closer to you, his body now almost completely pressed against yours.

“I don’t like either of those options, just throw me off the balcony and be done with it,” You dramatically huffed and smacked your head on his shoulder. He snorted at your reaction.

“Oh come on, sweetheart,” he taunted, his fingers gripping your thighs in a tight but affectionate grip. “Where’s that infamous strength of yours, huh? What happened to the badass manager that keeps us in line?”

You gave him the weakest glare you had yet. He was right about one thing: you cared about Corroded Coffin more than anything else. It was time to step up and do what you had to for them, for Eddie.

“Alright!” You blurted out. “Fine, let’s do this, but as soon as tour is over, we get a quiet divorce and we move on like nothing ever happened,”

“Yeah, totally, for sure,” Eddie nodded his head half-convincingly, then lightly smacked your leg with approval. He was beaming, looking forward to all the fun he was about to have with you. “Alright, get all dolled up for brunch, I’m starving. It’s time for your grand debut, Mrs. Munson,”

“Hey, I never agreed on changing my name!” you whined, pushing Eddie off of you to get down from the counter.

Eddie chuckled as you suddenly stood up from the counter.

“Well get used to it, because I’m going to keep calling you that,” he teased. “You’re officially stuck with me now, Mrs. Munson,”

[fastandcarlos]

Knight In Shining Armour : ̗̀➛ Carlos Sainz

summary: you’re all for carlos protecting you, but the extent that carlos will go to do so even leaves you feeling slightly fearful of what he’s truly capable of

Your eyes went wide in horror as Carlos turned away from you, holding on tightly to his hand. Drops of blood were already hitting the floor as Carlos shielded himself from you momentarily, refusing to let you see just how much it hurt. You rushed over to him regardless, resting your hand against his back as you tried to hide the frustration that was on your face. 

“What were you thinking?” You scolded, head shaking in disbelief as Carlos smiled weakly back at you. 

He bit down on his bottom lip as he tried his best to mask the pain, “he gave me no choice, what was I supposed to do?” 

“Not hit him,” you shouted, throwing your arms up in the air. You went to speak again but you were interrupted by a member of Ferrari staff bringing across a medical kit to help you sort Carlos out. 

“He’s been flirting with you for weeks, I bet he probably doesn’t even work here,” Carlos tried to explain, “I can only stand back for so long.” 

You took a hold of Carlos’ hand, brushing your fingertips over it gently, “if that’s what he was doing, which I don’t think he was, this isn’t the answer to fixing it.” 

Carlos understood your frustration, but he was desperate to stand up for you and your relationship. His apologetic eyes watched as you wiped over the wound, making sure that it was clean, despite Carlos hissing in pain. 

“I appreciate that you care,” you softly spoke, breaking the slight tension between you both, “but you don’t always have to be my knight in shining armour.” 

Carlos glanced across at you, “I do, I’m your boyfriend.” 

“And look where that’s got you today,” you huffed, pointing back at his hand, “you’ll be lucky if you can still drive this weekend with this.” 

The realisation finally seemed to hit Carlos as he sunk back in his seat. “It would still be worth it, knowing that I was able to protect you.” 

You couldn’t help but feel guilty as Carlos seemed to throw away his career with his words, confidently assuring you that you were the priority. He really would do anything to keep you safe, no matter the cost. 

Carlos could tell you were worrying as you remained silent, “I’m fine, really.” 

You wanted to believe him, but you just couldn’t. As much as you adored Carlos, you were scared by how much he loved you and the extent to which he would go to protect you and keep you safe. 

“I don’t want to be the reason you hurt yourself,” you admitted, closing up the medical kit. Your voice was the softest it had been since Carlos took a swing, making him look back across at you. Your heart was racing as you spoke, unable to block out the fear as to what might have happened if Carlos wasn’t pulled away by members of the Ferrari garage. 

Carlos understood how you were feeling, his reaction had surprised himself too. It was a situation he never found himself in before, he’d never felt threatened, but when he did, instinct kicked in. It was almost as if he just saw red, trying his best to find the quickest thing to do in order to fix the situation. 

Only Carlos hadn’t quite fixed the situation, because now he had you beside him wondering where that side of your boyfriend even came from. 

You knew that Carlos had all good intentions, but knowing that he hit someone, for you especially, left a sour taste in his mouth. He was one of the golden boys of F1, charming, kind, considerate to everyone, but that persona that everyone loved seemed to disappear so quickly when trouble arose. 

After a few moments of silence, Carlos stood himself up from where he sat, soon realising that you had nothing left to say to him, deciding to give you a bit of space to think instead. 

It wasn’t quite the reaction that Carlos was expecting though. 

Whilst he didn’t imagine you throwing yourself into his arms, he had hoped you’d be a bit more understanding. He did it for you, even if it didn’t seem that way, a way that you certainly weren’t appreciative of right now. 

You found yourself back in Carlos’ drivers' room after taking a walk around the paddock, feeling as if everyone’s eyes were on you. You weren’t actively avoiding Carlos, but not bumping into him was a bit of a relief. 

The room was untouched from how you both had left it earlier in the day, random bits of merch were scattered around, the sofa at the back of the room still draped with blankets, one of which you wrapped around your frame. 

With the four walls surrounding you, you finally allowed yourself to take a moment. A tear fell down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away, throwing your head back. 

You lost count of how long you were in the room, waves of fear, pride, nerves washing over you. Your mind was spiralling out of control as you tried to piece together the various pieces of the emotional jigsaw you were fixing. 

The only thing that brought you back was Carlos creeping into the room, smiling weakly as he greeted you. His hand looked a lot better, bandage around it to try and protect the wound, hiding the faint colours of purple that you’d already noticed earlier. 

“Hi,” you whispered as Carlos tentatively took a seat beside you. 

There was still a slight tension as Carlos turned to face you. “I thought you might be in here, do you want me to leave you alone?” 

“No,” you spoke, resting your head in your hands, “this is your room more than it is mine.” 

“I’m sorry,” Carlos spoke as soon as you fell silent. 

“You’re an idiot,” you scolded, but Carlos already knew that. “I don’t even know what you were thinking doing that today.” 

Carlos shrugged back across at you, “it was stupid, but at that moment it felt like the right thing to do in order to protect you.” 

“I don’t always need protecting,” you reminded him, your voice getting louder with every word you spoke. “I especially don’t need protecting if that’s the way that you’re going to do it.” 

Carlos understood your frustrations, he knew you felt let down by his actions, but now he was scared too. “I’m sorry that I let you down, but I was scared too love. I was terrified that this guy was going to start getting involved with you, and then I just wouldn’t have known what to do.” 

Your brows knitted together, “do you really think if anyone else was interested in me that I would pay them any attention when I’ve got you here with me?” 

“I know, and that’s on me,” Carlos whispered, running his hands over his face. “Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m the one that needs to stop watching over their shoulder all the time.” 

You shifted your body so that you were facing Carlos too, making sure that your full attention was on him as he began to open up to you. 

“Everyone thinks that I’ve got it all, the career, the partner, the supportive family, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t worry too,” Carlos confessed, his voice a little shaky. “I still worry most days that something is going to give, that something is going to get taken away from me, and the thing that I’d hate to get taken the most is definitely you.” 

You nodded, taking in every word that Carlos said to you. “I never imagined you’d feel like that, I guess I was one of those people that was under the illusion that you were living the dream too. Do you really worry that someone’s going to come and take me away from you?” 

“Everyday.” 

“Oh, Carlos,” you whispered, feeling your heart break. You moved closer towards him, taking a hold of his unbandaged hand. 

“I know it sounds stupid, but it scares me sometimes how in love I am with you, and I worry that someday all of this is going to be taken away from me. I’ve never been happier than I am with you,” Carlos told you, tightening his grip on your hand. 

You smiled weakly as his tearful eyes looked across at you. “If that’s ever how you feel, you’ve just got to come and tell me, don’t act like this. I didn’t recognise you earlier when you hit him, that’s not the Carlos that I know and love, it was like watching a stranger. 

It was something that Carlos knew he’d have to spend a long time making up to you, knowing that his actions left you frightened earlier was a guilt that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of for a while. He knew he’d let his own insecurities eat away at him for too long, unable to hold it back today and finally letting them tip over the edge and get him into trouble. 

You could see it too, seeing him silently scold himself as he let the voices in his head get the better of him. 

“I love that you love me and want to protect me, but I only ever want you to do that when you’re safe,” you asked of him, “not getting yourself into a situation like this.” 

Carlos nodded at your request, “I don’t ever want to end up like this again, my hand hurts more now than it does after a crash.” 

Your eyes rolled as a snigger came from Carlos. “You’re going to be feeling the effects of that for a while, luckily for you, you’ve got a partner who knows a thing or two about helping you through injuries.” 

Carlos’ head came down to rest against your shoulder, “I think I’m just lucky that I’ve got you, in whatever situation we find ourselves.” 

Your eyes were drawn to the bandage on Carlos’ hand, placing your free hand gently over it. Knowing that was underneath was done for you hurt, knowing Carlos had put himself through that just for you left a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“Promise me that you’ll talk to me,” you asked him, wanting to hear it one final time from him, “tell me things, that’ll still make you my knight in shining armour.” 

Carlos nodded back at you straight away, “I promise I’ll tell you anything, no matter how stupid it might be.” 

“Nothing is stupid if it keeps you safe,” you reminded him, leaning your head back to press a kiss against the top of his, “that’s all I want for you.” 

“I know, and that’s all that I want for you too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[osarina]

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

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is not,” Chuuya spits.

“Is too.” 

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

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

It works.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not quite as convinced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile.

“Naturally.”

You think Chuuya might kill you after this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His name?

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

NAME:  ████████████████ 

ALIAS: Dazai Osamu

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Step one, complete. June 19th.

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

You snort. “It was pretty bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?” Chuuya demands. “What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair enough.”

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

You think the only other thing is-

Oh. Oh. You have an idea.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gonna love this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

“Bar Lupin.”

You roll your eyes.

Dazai gives you a dirty look.

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

You pause at that.

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

Oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lip curls up in irritation when your subordinate continues.

“It’s just-what if-”

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

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

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

“Way to inspire confidence,” Chuuya mutters dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. 

“It’s his birthday gift.”

Dazai is in a bad mood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute.

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

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

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

Oda smothers the smile again instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“That could have gone better.”

Ango slaps the back of his head hard.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Alright, it’s time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Human. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ignore it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait.”

Everything happens at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk later?”

“... ‘course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he’s not there?

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

No-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chuuya, go get the camera.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say cheese, mackerel,” Chuuya mocks.

“Fuck you,” Dazai complains.

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

Oda and Sakaguchi set up a fire later that night. 

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

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

Itou: everything going ok?

You almost roll your eyes before responding with.

You: Yes. Why?

Itou: just curious :p

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Itou: check ur email.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t,” Dazai says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fun facts!

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

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

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

[moonstruckme]

May I request a dr Remus scolding reader for ignoring a broken toe?

I know it’s nothing major (which is nice sometimes). I often break my toe and just ignore it until it hurts a lot.

I think Remus would give a good little speech about taking care of things he love (reader)

Thank you!

I'm sorry, often??? Uhh hope you're doing okay lovely, thanks for requesting <3

cw: broken toe, no description

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 730 words

“Don’t touch it,” you hiss.

Remus looks over from where he’s holding your foot in his lap with a sardonic expression. “I thought it didn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t when you’re not touching it!” 

“Dove.” He wraps a hand around your ankle when you try to pull away, his touch one part soothing and two parts stern. “I’m going to have to touch it some, okay? Just breathe and let me know where it hurts.” 

You sit back against the couch cushions and try not to sulk. This is entrapment. Your know-it-all boyfriend hid the pain relievers just so you’d have to fess up to needing them when he caught you ransacking the bathroom, and now he’s making you submit to his know-it-all exam so you can have them. Entrapment and bribery. You should look into whether you can sue him for malpractice. 

“Ah!” You suck in a gasp. “There, it hurts there.” 

Remus stops touching your injured toe. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the bottom of your foot consolingly. “I hate to tell you, but this isn’t a sprain. Sprains don’t hurt to the touch like this.” 

Oh, you’ll bet he hates to tell you. Told-you-so are Remus’ favorite words. 

“But it’s so much easier if it’s a sprain,” you whine. “It could still just be bruised. I read online that those feel almost indistinguishable from breaks.” 

“Oh, you read it online, did you?” Remus manages to get enough eye-roll into his voice that he doesn’t even need to follow through on the action. You must look even poutier than you intend, because he cracks, grinning at you indulgently. He beckons with a hand. “Give me your other foot.” 

You blink. Raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you want with it? I think you have enough of my feet there already.” 

“It’s for comparison, dove.” 

“Sure it is.” You lift your other foot onto his lap. “Pervert.” 

Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek, suppressing a different sort of grin. He grasps your good foot and digs his thumb into the ticklish part cruelly, making you squeal and kick at him. “You’re the pervert,” he says placidly, pinning your foot until you settle down. “Look here, see?” 

You lean forward tentatively, the end of a giggle still fizzing in your chest. 

“The toe on this foot is a little curved, but that one’s definitely worse.” He tugs on your good toe as if to demonstrate. “They were probably the same before you broke it.” 

You sigh, resigned. “I don’t want it to be broken, though. Then it’s, like, a whole thing.” 

Remus makes a sorry face at you. He lifts your injured foot, kissing the side. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

“Well,” you say, eyeing him, “at least you can stop touching my feet now.” 

“This one, yes.” He unhands your good foot. “But this one, I think I need to keep an eye on.” 

You cross your arms, suspicious. Never mind that his lap is a very comfortable footrest. “And why’s that?” 

“Because I take care of the things that are important to me.” He cuts a look your way. “Some of us don’t seem to do the same.” 

“Ugh,” you laugh, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks, “you’re the worst, you know that?” 

“Yeah, dovey, I know.” He smiles down at his phone, keeping one hand wrapped securely around your ankle while the other thumbs something into the search bar. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Making you an appointment for tomorrow morning. We have a podiatrist at my work, I’ll go with you.” 

You frown. “Do I really have to go to your office so someone else can tell me what you just did?” 

This time, Remus does roll his eyes. You poke him with your good foot to let him know you saw. “Yes, you do. They could help it heal faster, and I know you’ll listen better if they tell you to rest it than if I tell you.” 

“I listen to you.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He looks over at you interestedly. “I told you to rest it when you hurt it two days ago. How’s it feeling now?” 

You look away from his gaze. “Coddled,” you mutter. 

Remus chuckles. He leans sideways, bumping your nose with his until you oblige him with a kiss. “If that’s what it takes, sweetheart,” he says, “I’m happy to coddle you.”

[plussizeficchick]

Okay so I think as an alpha, it’s hard to get Tamaki angry, but once he does, he goes feral.

Like normally, he has exceptional control over his instincts. He’s not as territorial as others, but there is one thing that can send him into a frenzy.

And that was someone threatening his claim.

You almost felt bad for the poor excuse of an alpha that tried his luck with you. But you’d warned him. You’d been polite, informing him you weren’t interested and were already claimed, but he insisted, was certain he could be a better alpha than the one that would dare let you out of his sight.

You figured since he wasn’t taking a hint that your best bet would be to be direct, harsh even, but it seemed bruising his ego only seemed to stoke his flame.

He didn’t seem to notice your scent changing, the smell of frankincense overpowering your usual scent of lilies and patchouli. And he definitely didn’t notice your alpha stalking over to you guys, too focused on trying to get you home with him.

The alpha doesn’t realize what’s happened until he feels the warm gush of blood running from his nose and the harsh pavement under the palm of his hands. He reaches up to assess the damage before letting out a hiss at the searing pain that shoots to his face.

Yep, definitely broken.

He grits his teeth and looks up at the fucker that dared to hit him, but isn’t prepared to come face to face with Pro Hero Suneater.

“What the fuck, do you think you’re doing to my mate?” Tamaki grits out, eyes lit with hatred for the alpha in front of him. Normally, he’s a talker. He hates when situations escalate to violence, but this guy knew what he was doing, your claiming mark clear as day.

“Hey man, I-I didn’t know-” He tries to stammer but Tamaki is quick to shut that down. “But you did, I heard her say it. Multiple times.” He blankly stares at the guy before hauling him up by his collar. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave with the shred of dignity you have left, and if I find that you’re harassing omegas again, you’re going to be left with more than a fucked face. Do I make myself clear?” The man’s head nearly flies off the way he nods in affirmation and Tamaki drops him where he stands.

He’s immediately on you, checking you to ensure there’s not a scratch on you before he guides you out of the park.

— —

You’re aware of how Tamaki gets after a huge display of dominance. He’s still pumped up on adrenaline and needs a way to release the frustration before becoming a recluse.

It's one of the rare times in which he loses complete composure.

As soon as you’re both through the threshold he’s hoisting you up, your thick thighs wrapping around his waist to pull him further into you.

He’s mouthing at your neck, tongue laving over your claiming mark before he kisses his way to your lips, licking into your mouth. You moan against him, his clothed cock pressing against your cunt through your panties. You feel slick pool between your legs, soaking the fabric. “Please, Tama.” You whine. He offers you a bit of relief when he reaches a hand down and rips your underwear off. “Don’t worry bunny, I’ve got you.” He murmurs into your mouth. He can hardly wait, opting to just haphazardly pull down his sweats and boxers. He jerks himself off really quick, moaning at the feeling before pushing into you.

You both groan at the feeling, Tamaki trying to quell his whimpers by gnawing at your claiming mark. You whimper as he bites the sensitive skin, cunt clenching around him.

You jerk in his arms, your orgasm already fast approaching even though it feels he’s just getting started. “Fuck, bunny. So wet f’me. Am I making you feel good?” He murmurs, big indigo eyes looking up at you. Even through spats of dominance, glimpses of your Tamaki shine through. You nod at his words, tears beginning to build in your lash line, “Yeah, gonna cum f’ you, Tama. Gonna-” The words escape you as your orgasm washes over you, mouth open in a silent scream. He works you through it, reaching a hand down to rub your clit and nibbling around your claiming mark. He slowly pulls out, easing you down as you relax. He pulls his hand from you before putting his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the taste of your combined flavor.

“You always taste so good for me, bunny.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You look up at him with a dopey smile before you feel what seems like suction cups on your thighs. You look to see Tamaki’s fingers have turned into tentacles before looking back at him.

“Mind if I have more?”

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @sintiva @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @luna-indigoduh @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @haikyutiehoe @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon

[clockwayswrites]

Both Ways at Once Part 5

WC: 1766, Masterpost CW: discussions of death, vague mentions of child trafficking and rape

Danny leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly through his nose, counting. He couldn’t let loose. They didn’t know. John said they didn’t know and Danny trusted John. Not with everything, he knew too much to trust John with everything, but he trusted John with this. The other wouldn’t have done this if he had known.

The gloved hand on his shoulder shifted, sliding to wrap around the back of Danny’s neck and give a little squeeze. It should have felt suffocating. It was grounding. Danny could already feel himself settling and responding to resonate back with Red Hood.

That was dangerous to have that resonance.

“Pomp,” John said. His shoes squeaked as he leaned forward. “Talk to me, Pomp, what did I miss?”

That right there was one of the reasons Danny trusted John, he would step up when he fucked up.

Danny sighed and opened his eyes. “He’s— he was a halfa, John.”

John paled. The color drained out of his face and left him a splotchy grey. His voice was strangled as he insisted, “Halfas are just a myth.”

“Rare, very rare, but not a myth. Think about it John. You said that the Red Hood from before was alive, but you know I’m right, the one here is a protector spirit. He died, John.”

“Red Hood is still alive, he has a heart beat,” Superman insisted.

“I’m still not talking to you,” Danny hissed, not taking his eyes off John. “Constantine. He was a halfa. I don’t know what they are anymore. This one is more ghost than human. I assume that the other one is more human than ghost. But put them back together and they would be perfectly balanced and you’ve been keeping them apart.”

John slumped back, rubbing at his face. “Bloody fucking hell…”

“The other half has been unwell, hasn’t he? Maybe just fatigued, but I bet he’s in pain too. His focus keeps wandering maybe. He’s listless.” Danny finally glanced away from John and over to the trio. Batman was, as always, almost impossible to read, but Danny felt sure Batman was tense. He might even be worried.

He wasn’t even looking at Danny but instead at Red Hood, who Danny was sure was avoiding Batman’s gaze. Even still, Red Hood’s fingers were trembling against the back Danny’s neck.

Danny reached up and took the gloved hand, hooking their fingers together.

“Constantine,” Batman growled, but the word sounded broken, under the bite.

John glanced from Batman to Danny and back again. “If Nightingale says that Red Hood is, was, a halfa, then he was. Nightingale’s the psychopomp, the dead is his realm more than any living I’ve ever met and, hell, more than most people who are dead.”

“And what is a halfa?” Wonder Woman asked, still the calm voice of reason.

“Rare,” Danny bit back, showing his teeth. He made himself take a breath and regulate his tone. “Someone who is half living, half ghost. They are a balance between life and death. If no one knew that Red Hood was part ghost, there’s a chance he wasn’t fully formed before, but I can assure you he’s a protector spirit now, no matter if he’s still alive. It’s also likely why the spell did this. There were already two halves to split. The human who was the living and the ghost who was the death.”

Wonder leaned forward in her seat. “You seem certain that the other half is sick.”

“They have to be— it’s a part of themselves that was ripped out and that leaves a wound. I suspect that because the other one must have more of the human side, he’s suffering more of the human affects of the separation while Red Hood is suffering more of the ghostly affects.”

“And your recommendation?” Wonder Woman asked.

“They need to be together. They need to be together and the place where they’re together needs to be Red Hood’s haunt.”

“His haunt?”

“Likely where he resided before. Or it would be where he patrolled if those are different areas. It would be somewhere emotionally important to him no mater what. As I’ve said, he’s a protector spirit so it should be obvious where his haunt is considering his role as a vigilante.”

“Crime Alley,” Red Hood rasped from behind Danny. his fingers squeezed tighter around Danny’s for a moment.

Danny’s arm was getting sore holding itself up like that, but he wasn’t going to take the comfort away from Red Hood or even deprive himself of that grounding point. It would be too easy for him to lose his temper here and really give the Justice League something to be afraid of.

“Crime Alley then,” he said. He had no reason to doubt what Red Hood was said. A ghost knew their own haunt. “We have to get him back to Crime Alley and they need to be together. I assume you have a place there?”

“No,” Batman said, though he didn’t shift. Wonder Woman placed her hand on his arm again.

“We’re concerned about there being a reaction of some sort should they meet,” she explained. “Constantine said that it might be possible.”

Constantine grumbled under his breath and ducked his head with a little shrug.

“If we didn’t know what was going on, sure, that’s a fair enough worry, but we do and I’m telling you that they need to be together until either they’re back together as one or until they fully settle into two separate people.”

“No.” It was Superman who protested this time.

“You don’t have a choice if you don’t want to torture and kill one or both of them,” Danny said, resisting the urge to bare his fangs at the boy scout again. “They need to go to Crime Alley.”

“He’s dangerous. If he is just the Red Hood half of the personality, which you’ve basically confirmed—“

“I have not. I’ve explained how they were physically split. It has affected how their split in motivation only because motivation is what a ghost is, but I would have to speak with both of them to learn how they are mentally and emotionally split.”

Superman just frowned in a disappointed uncle sort of way, as Danny talked and then continued on like Danny hadn’t even said anything. “Then he’s even more dangerous. We cannot simply let someone like Red Hood go. We have to think about everyone’s safety in this matter, especially civilians.”

“I thought you weren’t killers?” Danny threw back at them, saccharine sweet in his delivery.

It made Superman’s frown deepen, though Wonder Woman actually looked a bit amused.

“We aren’t,” the Big Blue said.

“If you try and keep him here you are. I’m telling you right here and right now that if you do not let him go back to Crime Alley then you are signing his death warrant. You might try to claim that he died in jail, but you’ll still be the cause of it. But that’s how you kill, isn’t it?”

“Nightingale,” John warned under his breath, twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch Danny, maybe to hold him back.

“No, really, it is, isn’t it? You want to to pretend that you don’t kill, that you’re better than whatever Red Hood has done, but are you really? At least he’s Honest about it. Red,” Danny said, tugging at the other’s hand so that he had to move up to stand more beside him. Danny looked up at the mask, looked through it. “You’ve killed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop. They never stopped. Now that they’re dead, they’ve stopped.”

“Who?”

“Poisoning drug dealers. Rapists. Abusers. Child traffickers. People who threatened my….” Red Hood reared back slightly as if surprised by what his cut off words were going to be.

“Your haunt. Your people. Those under your watch and protection,” Danny said. “See, he’s honest about it. Were all of those deaths in the right? I don’t know. But I’m not sad a rapist is dead. I’m not sad children didn’t get trafficked. Those are the sort of people we’re supposed to be against, isn’t it? Well, us small heroes. You fight bigger names these days, don’t you, Superman?”

“Alright then,” John said, standing suddenly. Red Hood twisted to put himself further between the occult detective and Danny.

Danny patted Red Hood’s arm gently. “It’s okay, John’s trying to protect me. He thinks I’m putting my foot in my mouth and making enemies. And maybe I am. But I’m not going to sit by and watch this hypocrisy. You don’t kill. That’s a damn lie.”

“We don’t.”

“You’ve checked up on ever criminal then?”

“What?” Superman asked, thrown by the sudden question.

“Every criminal you’ve fought, every mugger and back robber and goon, you’ve followed up to see how they’re doing the next day, month, year?”

Superman had that lemon sucking twist to his face again. “No?”

“So you don’t really know, do you, how many criminals walked away from you only to die of brain hemorrhaging later because you punched them into a wall. Or how many died from a complication to their lungs or spine or heart because Black Canary ruptured something with her wail or Flash fucked from contact with the Speedforce. It’s not that you haven��t killed, it’s just that you don’t know how many you’ve killed. It’s impossible to act on the scale that you do and not have killed,” Danny said with certainty.

“Nightingale, I believe you’ve made your point,” Wonder Woman said, still calm, still patient. She was different from the others. She has killed, Danny knew that; she was an Amazon. He remembered his stories from Pandora.

“Have I?” Danny asked. He let go of Red Hood as he stood to lean over onto the table. Danny could feel that snarl building up in his throat again now. The other reached out to touch him again right away. The snarl calmed a little, only a little. “Because what about when Superman has used a building as a barrier to smack an enemy into? No one was ever hurt there? No grannie ever slipped and fell as the building shook and never got up again? At least that would be an accident then, unlike punching someone to death, but don’t pretend your hands aren’t red. Don’t pretend—”

The hiss of the door opening cut Danny off.

The room feel silent.

Danny could see all the heroes tense.

From behind him a voice spoke up, “Well, aren’t you all dramatic.”

--- AN: The mysterious stranger is right! They are all dramatic. Danny was about ready to go for Superman's throat-- literally and just not figuratively. Hope you enjoyed how this all played out! I know people were waiting for Danny to let loose some. Fatigue is hitting me hard right now, so glad to have gotten this out!

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, you can instead subscribe to the masterpost!

[oneforthemunny]

hot blooded |boxer!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie's boxing at underground fight clubs to make money. after a victory match, he meets you at the bar. or the beginning of you and boxer!eddie.

contains: mean reader and mean eddie lol. mainly fluff. eddie munson au. happy one year!

Bloodied knuckles raised in the dim light of the bar, a triumphant yell mixed with a grunting of disappointment of those who bet against him when Eddie’s hand was raised, declared the winner. Henry Harrington fisted a wad of cash into Eddie’s hand; six thousand dollars, enough for the entry fee for the middleweight match at the end of the month. 

Mr. Harrington snickered, clapping Eddie on the back. “Help yourself to anything at the bar, alright? On me tonight, Champ, you earned it.” And for a fleeting moment Eddie pictured busting his nose, knocking the smug man clean onto the concrete of the bar, letting his blood pool at his feet. 

Instead, he shoved on the robe they gave, covered up his sticky, sweat soaked skin, blossoming with bruises and cuts he’d still hadn’t gotten to tend to. Maybe Max would still be up when he got back home, she could patch up the ones he couldn’t reach. 

“Double Blanton’s on the rocks.” Eddie grumbled to the cocktail waitress in front of him, not bothering to meet her gaze as he unwrapped his tape from his knuckles. 

She didn’t move. Electric red nails on her hip, the others drumming against the mahogany of the bar. Eddie lifted his gaze, lids throbbing with dull pain that was just beginning to set in. “What?” 

“You’re bleeding.” Your eyes rolled over his frame, stopping at the cut on his jaw, dripping onto his robe, crimson droplets on the bar. 

“Yeah.” Eddie clicked with annoyance. “No shit. Double Blanton’s-” 

“-You’re bleeding all over my bar.” Your nail jabbed onto the counter, next to the splotches of blood dripping there. 

Eddie blinked, unimpressed, annoyed. “Can you make me my fuckin’ drink or not?” You don’t move, staring at him still, nails still clicking against the counter. 

“For fucksake,” Eddie huffs, teeth gritting, reaching over the edge of the bar to swipe the napkins off from your station. Palm slapping on the counter, wiping up the small spot. “There. Happy? Good? Can I get my fuckin’ drink now?” 

Pushing up from your stance, you swiped the glass from the clean stack, setting it on the counter. Eddie huffed, slumping back in his chair. He should’ve just gone home, he bristled, familiar agitating heat rising in his chest, clenching his fists. 

“Harrington’s tab?” You lifted your gaze to his, yanking the cork out of the bottle by the brass horse. 

Eddie’s steely gaze met yours. “What?” 

“Harrington’s tab?” You repeated, slower, tone teetering on an edge. “You’re on Harrington’s tab, correct?” You huffed, nodding down towards the man at the end of the bar. 

“Yeah.” Eddie grunted. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy pour of the bourbon you didn’t bother to measure. “The fuck is your problem?” Eddie’s palm slapped the bar, an echoing of a hit that the people next to him scurrying away. “Are you just a bitch for fun or do you have something against me?” 

“You came bleeding all over my bar,” You scoffed, brow raised in a dangerously demanding way. “Don’t bother to ask for a napkin, or even acknowledge me, really. And I’m a bitch?” 

Eddie’s tongue rolled over the front of his teeth, knee bouncing furiously under him. “Sorry, I’m not feeling up to small talk. I just got done gettin’ the shit knocked outta me for six rounds. Did you miss that, sweetheart? Not see all the fuckin’ people in the middle of the room?”

“No, I was a little busy.” You were quick, response rolling off your tongue in a fiery whip of an answer easily. “Busy working.” 

“Yeah? What the fuck do you think I was doin’?” Eddie scoffed. “Holding a fuckin’ tea party for the Sunday Social over there? I was working too.” 

“Working?” You snort, rolling your eyes again. Eddie’s teeth clench. “You call that working?” 

“I got paid.” Eddie hissed. “What would you call it? Since you seem to know everything?” 

“Not enough money in the world to make me do that for them.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Hardly call that working, it’s so demeaning.” 

“Demeaning,” Eddie repeated, rolling his eyes. “I provide entertainment, sweetheart. Same as you do, I’m sure.” He nodded down towards your tiny dress of a uniform. 

“Entertainment? That’s entertaining?” You nodded towards the ring.

“Yeah, it is. Boxing? A lot of people find it entertaining. Thought you would know that.” Eddie snapped, viscous, defensive. 

“Watching two grown men beat the shit out of each other, so these other grown men can bet on you like horses?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a sneer. “No, can’t say that’s very entertaining to me.” 

“So why are you here then, huh?” Eddie scoffed, jaw clenching in irritation. “Just here for your wonderful personality?” 

Your lips twitched, the fainting of a smile, surprising Eddie. “Something like that.” Your lips rolled, twisting back to their resting snarl. “Here for the same reason you are, I guess.” You set the glass on a black napkin, sliding it over to Eddie. 

“Yeah, why’s that?” 

You cut your eyes towards Mr. Harrington, loudly talking and howling in laughter at the other end of the bar. “Money’s good. Right?” Your eyes squint, nearly in challenge.

 “Let me know if you need anything else.” You purred, throwing a wink in his direction. Eddie’s head was spinning, and not only from all the punches he’d taken. 

He blamed it on his spinning head clouding his thoughts when he waved you over again, ordered another. And another. And a final one. When his head was swimming, mind a little clouded, nerves a lot calmer, he called you over again. 

“Another?” Your brow raised, snagging his empty glass off the counter. 

“No.” Eddie shook his head, the ache in his knuckles starting to set in. “What if it wasn’t here that I was fighting?” 

“What?” You scoffed. “What are you talking about?” 

“You said it was demeaning in here.” Eddie’s finger jabbed the counter for emphasis. “What if it wasn’t here?” 

You squinted at him, lips pulling in a line that had his heart skipping. “Are you drunk?” Your voice fell flat, unamused. “Do you need me to call you a ride home-” 

“-If it was at a real place.” Eddie continued, eyes never leaving yours, an intensity in them that started and intrigued you. “A real match at a real rink with real people. Nobody betting, just two guys fighting for a title. Would it be demeaning then?” 

You paused, watching him carefully, studying him nearly. “I guess not.” You answered cooly, level and calmly. 

“So you’d watch that then?” 

“What?” You snarled. “Are you alright? Do you need me to call someone, or-” 

“-Would you come watch me fight if it was at a real place?” Eddie asked, eyes narrowed in the same way they were before, burning you right to your very core. “In Bloomington in a few weeks.” 

Your fingers pressed into your hip, willing yourself to stay composed, not falter though your heart skipped at his ask. “Maybe.” You sighed sharply. “I still don’t get the whole beating each other for fun thing-” 

“-You don’t have to.” Eddie rolled his eyes, lighter this time, more playful. “Thanks for the drink.” Eddie pushed his chair back, groaning lowly when he pulled himself out of the bar stool, body stiff and tight. “Sorry for bleeding all over your bar.” 

You bit back a smile, fighting the way your lips twitched, tracking him with your eyes. “No problem, Champ.” You quipped, eyes flashing in a daring way that had Eddie smirking, shaking his head. 

“See you around.” Eddie waved, one last look over his shoulder that had you burning, turning to empty his glass, hoping to hide your fluster. 

You were shocked the next day when two tickets in an envelope were waiting for you in the office, Mr. Harrington’s exaggerated tone about how much Eddie liked you. And he must have, you decided, looking at the small note that had his phone number scribbled at the bottom. 

Eddie never heard back from you, let it slip his mind in the next weeks of training. Of course you hadn’t come, why would you have? You made your opinions abundantly clear to him that night. 

Still, he was shocked to see you, in the sea of the crowd, sitting in the row by his corner, arms wrapped around your torso, looking a little more than unsure. You even waved at him, small and shy, and Eddie was sure his cheeks were going to split with how wide he smiled. 

He invited you back to his locker room after he won, a victory Camel hanging from his busted lip, torso still covered in a sheen of sweat. You had no issues this time when the blood from his busted lip dripped on your sneakers, when it smeared over your own lips when he kissed you, pressed against the cement walls, bruised knuckles and fingers in your hair. 

[slut4thebroken]

Ruin

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | Jason punishes you after you disobey him.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, knifeplay, blood, cutting, brief use of guns, bondage, ruined orgasms, overstimulation, denial, pain play, sex toys, dacryphilia, hard to soft dom Jay, established relationship.

Words | 3.3 k

Notes | For reader’s suit, imagine Black Windows’s but it’s not one whole piece, it’s a top and a bottom but still in the same style. (And yes… part of this was based on a video😭)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“You disobeyed a direct order!” He seethed, slamming the front door shut. You huffed and turned around to face him with your arms crossed. 

“Well, your order was shit.” You shrugged, making his jaw clench as he exhaled through his nose. 

“If you can’t do what you’re told then you can’t work with me.” 

“You mean work for you.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he scoffed. “Why can’t you just admit that you were wrong for once and I made the right call.” Your voice started to raise again. 

“You could have died! And all because, what? Your pride?” He asked in disbelief. 

“But I didn’t!”

“Because I had to fucking save your ass!” 

You and Jason have always been too similar. A lot of the same things set you off, you’re both too cocky, care too much about your pride and ego. And you can bet that if one starts screaming, the other will too. Your anger fuels his, just like his fuels yours. 

“I’m not one of your little underlings that has to follow your every command, Jason. And if that’s what you think, you need to get your head out of your ass.” Your voice was lower now, but still full of malice. 

“You know what, princess?” He started stalking toward you but you held your ground. “I think you’ve forgotten your place. And I’m going to remind you.”

“Oh fuck off, Todd.” You watched the muscles in his jaw tense. You never call him by his last name unless he’s really pissing you off. Before you could even blink, his hand was in your hair, pulling your head back and moving you closer to him. His breath fanned your lips but you made sure to keep the scowl on your face. 

“Fuck you.” You hissed, debating if you should spit in his face or not. Instead, you grabbed a knife from your pants and held it up to his neck. He gave you an unimpressed look and then his gun was under your chin. So you used your second hand to do the same with your own gun. His grip tightened on your hair and you both just stared at each other, having a silent battle for dominance. Despite the fact that you’re both bluffing, you pressed the knife harder against his skin, watching a small bead of blood fall to his collarbone. 

“Everything you do right now I’m going to do ten times worse to you in a few minutes.” He warned, not even flinching at the blade piercing his skin. You stared at him with narrowed eyes, but you could feel your confidence and dominance start to break— the submissive part of you forcing its way up through the cracks. You clenched your jaw and hardened your gaze, willing it to go back down. But Jason already knew. You could tell by the way his lips were slowly curling up into a smirk. 

“Put the knife away, baby.” You ignored the butterflies from the pet name and glared at him. 

“Keep patronizing me and I’ll cut out your vocal cords.” You spat. 

“I’m sure you will, princess.” He smirked and you fucking knew he said it with that tone specifically because of what you just said. You breathed heavily as you seethed, his low laughter only fueling your anger. With a growl, you shoved his chest— you weren’t strong enough to actually move him, but he humored you by moving with the force, letting go of your hair. 

“Keep taunting me, princess and I’ll shoot you.” You pointed the gun at him, clenching your jaw. 

“Oh yeah?” He smirked, clearly entertained by your outburst. He was on you in a second, pushing the gun to the side and forcing the knife out of your hand, making you whimper when he bent your wrist the wrong way. Once he disarmed you, he placed a hand on your neck and quickly pushed you back until you hit the wall with a grunt. 

“You need to learn your fucking place.” He growled, squeezing your neck. 

“You’re supposed to teach me?” You scoffed, adding gasoline to the fire. Instead of reacting with anger like you thought he would, his eyes darkened and he smirked.  

“That’s right, baby. Now get your ass on the bed.” He took a step away from you and pointed his gun at your face. When you didn’t move, he cocked it, making you roll your eyes but start walking. You sat on the bed, looking up at him with a smirk. 

“Take away that gun and what are you? Just a little boy desperate for control.” The second you said it, you knew you fucked up. 

Bad. 

He glared at you for a moment and you held your breath as you waited, then he just chuckled darkly and set the gun on the nightstand. While he was there, he grabbed the handcuffs and vibrator you always keep in the drawer. You put up a fight as he handcuffed you but he overpowered you easily. To immobilize your legs, he just sat on your thighs. 

He dragged the zipper of your suit down at a tortuously slow pace. Once it was unzipped, he pulled a knife from his pants and cut your bra straight down the middle. You shouted a protest, which was ignored as he pushed the fabric to the side, exposing your breasts. 

“So soft.” He muttered absentmindedly as he trailed the tip of the knife over your chest. “So delicate…” He trailed it up to your neck then pressed down in the same place you had cut him. “So fragile.” You hissed when the blade broke the skin but showed no other reaction. 

He removed the knife and leaned down, licking a stripe up your neck, over the cut. You let out a low moan and subconsciously lifted your hands to place in his hair. The chain rattling on the headboard made him pull back with a small smirk. 

He put the tip of the knife back on your neck to continue, going up your jaw, then down your cheek before landing on your bottom lip. Your breath hitched as the skin split under the blade and once he was satisfied with the amount of blood, he removed it and leaned back down to kiss you. 

You moaned into the kiss and he groaned in response, licking his tongue into your mouth, focusing on your lip before sliding inside to meet your own. The kiss was hot and messy and almost aggressive but so entirely Jason. 

He pulled away, but immediately moved to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and dark bruises. He gave one last kiss on the cut on your neck, then sat up again. If all he was planning on doing to punish you was cut you occasionally and kiss you… well that wasn’t much of a punishment at all to be honest. You tried not to smirk at the thought. 

“You’re awfully quiet tonight.” You hinted at the question you wanted to ask instead. 

“Baby, why would I talk dirty to you when I know how much you love it?” He grinned, making you frown. Instead of pouting you tried a different tactic. 

“Sounds like an excuse to be lazy. Is that also why you got the vibrator out?” You smirked, glancing at the toy on the bed. “Careful, Jay. You’re awfully close to becoming a pillow princess.”  

“Keep talking. You’re only making it worse for yourself and more fun for me.” He said smugly. 

“What’s a pillow princess gonna do?” You scoffed, still smirking. You were always terrible at knowing when to keep your mouth shut. He stared at you for a moment, then laughed quietly at your disobedience and moved between your legs. He pulled on the waistband of your pants and underwear, forcing them down your legs until they were at your ankles, where he had to quickly rip your boots off to fully remove them. Then he was back to sitting over your thighs. 

He didn’t even say anything as he picked up the vibrator, immediately turning it on and pressing it against your clit. You let out a choked moan from the sudden stimulation and he started slowly moving it in small circles, still maintaining firm pressure. You squeezed your eyes shut with a long vulgar moan and heard him chuckle quietly. 

“Fuck— Jason.” You said through a breath, feeling yourself already close to the edge. It’s rare that you ever need to use the vibrator so whenever you do, it’s always really intense. You expected him to pull away, to make a remark about how you don’t have permission to come, but he didn’t say or do anything. Not being able to hold it any longer, you fell over the edge, then all stimulation was gone. You let out a choked sob and opened your eyes to look at him. 

“Jason,” You whimpered, giving him the pout that always makes him cave. By now, your ruined orgasm was done and your chest heaved as you watched him. 

“I’m sorry, did you still want this?” He condescended, glancing at the toy then back to you. 

“Fuck you.” You growled, now angry from the lack of pleasurable release. He clicked his tongue and turned it back on, pressing it firmly against your now sensitive clit. You cried out, trying to squirm away from him, but not being able to because of him sitting on your legs. 

“S-stop, Jay— stop,” You whimpered, barely able to handle the overstimulation. He just let out a dark chuckle, making you look at him with watery eyes. 

“No, baby. We’re gonna do this over and over again and I’m only gonna stop once it dies.” He smirked. You let out a strangled whimper and yanked your hands forward, the metal chain rattling loudly on the headboard. 

“Please, I- I’m sorry,” He shushed you and you let your words die off into incoherent babbling. 

“You did this to yourself. You’re a big girl, you can handle the consequences of your own actions.” He condescended. You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. 

“Can’t…” Despite your words, you could already feel your second orgasm barreling toward you. After only another moment, the coil in your stomach snapped and you let out a loud moan that turned into a sob when he once again removed the vibrator. 

“Please! Please, I'm sorry!” You cried, the tears in your eyes threatening to fall. “Please, Jay, I won’t do it again. I promise— please,” He brought his hand down hard on your sensitive clit with a loud smack, forcing a broken moan from you.  

“No amount of begging is gonna get you out of this, princess.” 

“Jason,” You whimpered. Your watery puppy dog eyes had no effect on him though. He placed the vibrator back on your clit, making you cry out and yank on the handcuffs again. “Fuck! Jay— Jay, please.” You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut and feeling hot tears start to roll down your temples. 

“God you look so fucking hot like this. Let me see those pretty fuck me eyes.” Your eyes fluttered open and you stared up at him through wet lashes, bottom lip trembling. “Jesus fucking christ.” He groaned, gaze rapidly moving over your face and the rest of your body. 

“Aren’t you a fuckin sight, huh? Tits out, arms tied to the bed, tears running down that pretty face, and look at how red your little pussy is, baby.” He lifted the vibrator and you let out a heavy breath of relief as your chest heaved. The second you looked down like he said, the toy was back on your clit. Your crying intensified and you continued trying to squirm away from the stimulation. 

“Jay— fuck… Please, Jay.. hurts so bad.” You whimpered, pulling out all the stops to get his mercy. “Please, baby, I’m sorry— I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll listen to you.” 

“I know you will. But I also know it’s going to take more than just this to make your words actually truthful. Right now you’re just saying what I want to hear to get me to stop.” 

“No! No, I- I'm not lying, Jay.” 

“I don’t believe you.” He shrugged, making you let out a sob and pull on the restraints again, your legs trying to kick him off of you. “Throwing a tantrum now?” He asked with raised brows. 

“Fuck— Jay, please. I’m sorry.” You whimpered. 

“Shh, baby. You don’t want the gag, do you?” You whined at the threat, bottom lip trembling, and shook your head. “That’s what I thought. So why don’t you shut the fuck up and take your punishment, like a good little girl?” Your third orgasm hit you suddenly, but as soon as your back arched and your eyes squeezed shut, he removed the vibrator, making you release an anguished cry. 

He kept that up for what felt like hours. After the fifth orgasm you could barely talk, but after the seventh, you lost count of how many ones he ruined. When the vibrator finally died, you were both relieved and disappointed. 

“Ready for my cock?” He asked, making your breath hitch. You nodded, not even attempting to speak, and watched him walk over to the closet where most of the sex toys are stored. When he came back with a fleshlight, you whined with a pout. “Relax, I’m still gonna fuck you, princess.” You were too fucked out to try and figure out what that meant. He lined up the end with your hole, making you tense up. 

“What are you doing?” Your words slurred together, heavy with exhaustion. 

“Shh. Just trust me, baby.” He cooed and you couldn’t help but obey, your body relaxing into the bed. You whined when he pushed the toy in, feeling far too sensitive, but also relieved that you were finally full. When he settled between your legs and took out his cock, it finally clicked. 

“Jay,” You whined, watching as he stroked himself slowly. “You said you were gonna fuck me.” 

“I am.” He lined the tip of his cock up with the entrance of the fake pussy and all of your protests died on your tongue when he sunk in, brows scrunched together and mouth open in a silent moan. The toy shifted inside of you, but it wasn’t enough to give you any genuine relief. You let out a strangled sob and pulled on the handcuffs— much softer than before though because of how raw your wrists had gotten. 

“You’re okay.” He cooed, making you shake your head as you cried. “Shh, princess. You can take it, can’t you? For me?” You whined, feeling conflicted. 

“Please… ‘m sorry.” You whimpered. 

“I know, baby. You’ll be okay.” He slowly dragged his cock out, then pushed back in. A strangled sob escaped your lips and he leaned down, muffling your sounds with a kiss. Once you started whining and whimpering instead of crying out and sobbing, he pulled back. 

“You’re such a good girl.” He whispered, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears from your face. His hips moved slowly, barely jostling the toy inside you. The only plus to this situation was that you weren’t empty anymore. “Took your punishment so well, baby.” 

“Jay,” Your bottom lip wobbled and he gave you a soft smile as he cupped your cheek. When you let out a choked sob, he shushed you softly. “Wanna touch you..” You whimpered, feeling more tears fall when you unsuccessfully tried to bring your hands forward again. 

“Yeah?” You nodded, biting your trembling lip. “Okay, sweetheart. Since you’re doing such a good job, you can touch me.” The second your arms were free, you wrapped them around his body, pulling him down into a hug as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. When you placed a soft kiss there, he let out a shaky breath. 

“Fuck— I’m not gonna last much longer.” He grumbled, breathing heavily against your shoulder as his hips sped up. “This is a punishment for me too, baby. It’s nowhere near as good as the real thing.” You wanted to beg him to take this out and use the real thing instead, but you could barely get any words out when he sped up even more. Your walls fluttered around the toy and you got even needier just by listening to his desperate grunts and moans as he rutted into you, chasing his orgasm. “But don’t worry, I’m still gonna give you my come.” He whispered, planting a wet kiss on the side of your neck. You moved a hand to his hair and tugged on the strands lightly as your back arched up into him. 

When he suddenly pulled up, out of your arms, you whined, but it cut off once you saw that he was pulling the toy out of you and off of his cock. He stroked himself quickly, his breathing coming in short pants until he let out a low groan, covering your sore, abused pussy in his release. He rode out his orgasm, then his hand slowed to a stop as he caught his breath. 

“C’mere, princess.” He said softly, laying down next to you and pulling you into his arms. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” He placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and you snuggled into him more. 

“Needy..” You mumbled. When he laughed quietly, the corners of your lips turned up into a small smile. 

“That’s the only bad thing you’re feeling?” He asked again, and you realized now what he meant. 

“Mhm. Still just a little fuzzy.” 

“Good.” He kissed the top of your head again, then started running his fingers through your hair, making your eyes flutter closed as you let out a pleased sigh. The longer you laid here, not distracted by anything, the more your thoughts continued to race. You already felt bad for what you did, but the drop of endorphins, as well as the fact that you just finished a somewhat intense scene, only exacerbated the feeling. 

“Jay, I- I’m sorry.” You started, then cleared your sore throat and spoke a little louder. “I thought I was doing the right thing but I shouldn’t have deviated from the plan and I won’t do it again. I’m sorry for scaring you too.” If the roles were reversed and Jason didn’t follow the plan, then almost died— again— you wouldn’t let him out of your sight for weeks, maybe even months. 

“I’m sorry for yelling.” He said quietly, his own way of accepting your apology. 

“I deserved it.” You smiled. Your heart fluttered when you heard the deep rumble in his chest as he laughed quietly.  

“But hey I mean… if you ever want to go against the plan— in a way that doesn’t almost maim or kill you— I’m not saying it would lead to some pretty hot sex, but…” You giggled into his chest at his words. 

“There’s no fucking way I’m doing that shit again. The ruined orgasms and overstimulation? That was just downright cruel, Jay.” You tried to suppress your laughter and sound stern, but as soon as you heard his chuckle, your serious exterior broke. “And how on earth did you come up with the fleshlight thing?” That part, even though it was torture for you, was almost impressive honestly. 

“I don’t know… I wanted to fuck you, but I didn’t want to fuck you… if that makes any sense.” He said sheepishly. 

“Close enough.” You laughed quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time you deviate from the plan.” You said with a smirk. Riding a dildo right next to his cock would probably drive him mad and you were already creating a plan in your head for everything else you could do to him— for all of the ways you could torture him. 

Taglist (join here)

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[angelwonie]

in which coriolanus snow might have beaten someone up for talking badly about you.

PAIRING: academy!snow x fem!reader

SUMMARY: coriolanus snow does reckless things when it comes to you.

WARNINGS: mentions of broken ribs and a crematorium (coryo is dramatic lol), up to interpretation whether he's morally gray

WORD COUNT: 0.8k

“Why’d you do it?”

Coriolanus’ head snaps up at the sound so familiar to him and yet resounding in a somewhat foreign tone through the room. He’s at the academy past hours, finishing up homework his aching fingers didn’t allow him to write this morning. You’re leaning against the doorway, a few stairsteps below him, arms crossed over your chest. Your face is almost entirely hidden from him; the only source of light, his oil lamp, does little to change it.

“What do you mean? Why are you standing in the shadows? Come sit.”

He hears a scoff, now sounding much more like what he’s accustomed to with you. 

“Answer the question,” you say.

“I don’t know what you m—”

“Why did you hit him, Snow? I won’t ask again.” 

Finally, the contours of your figure appear clearly in his line of sight. The vague light illuminates your face contorted in chagrin, brows furrowed like they so often are when the two of you are working on assignments. He leans back in his chair, blonde locks falling onto his forehead.

“You know why,” he counters, watching as you approach. Instead of sitting down next to him, you stand before his desk with expectant eyes. He mimics your stance, crossing his own arms over his chest half-seriously. “You know, so how come you’re here asking me stupid questions?”

Finally, you crack. 

“Because you’re an idiot, that’s why.” Sighing angrily, you plop down next to him and land a slap to his shoulder. He hisses in pain and the corners of your mouth lift in satisfaction. “A self-aware one, at that—which is even worse.”

“That is entirely subjective.”

“Don’t even start.”

“Why? Were you worried?” 

You let out a humorless laugh. “For Festus more than you. Have you seen him?”

“I wish. Bet he looks awful with half his ribs broken.” Your open palm hits his shoulder and he gasps anew. “When did you become so violent?” 

You scoff and push him, but he barely moves. “I’m violent? You’re so infuriating. They wanted to throw you out. I had to beg his parents for mercy. Me, who, by the way, did nothing wrong. So if I want to hit you right now, I have every right.”

He sighs and tilts his head against the wall. “I’m sorry, alright?”

“You don’t mean it.”

He smiles. You raise your hand to hit him again, but decide against it, instead laying it on the side of his face. His shoulders tense momentarily before he remembers it’ll be weird if you notice and he forces himself to relax as your fingers run over his cheek and neck, before they slide down to hold his right hand. You bring his bruised knuckles to your eyes, inspecting them. 

“How many times did you even hit him?”

“I don’t know, like, fifty before Sejanus hauled me off.”

“You’re insane,” you say. 

He thinks you’re probably right. But Festus said what he said and paid the price. At a discount at that—because if it were up to Coriolanus the asshole wouldn’t be lying in the hospital but the crematorium. Silence settles and all he hears is your breathing. Your fingers stay caressing his hand and each time they run over the bruises on his knuckles, he twitches indiscernibly, fighting the urge to jolt away. 

“Will you tell me what he said?” you ask, this time softer. 

“I don’t remember in detail…” he starts, but you stare at him knowingly and he cannot bring himself to lie. “Something about how you’re going to share my mother’s fate.” 

“Coryo,” you say. 

The two of you remain silent. He thinks you might stand up and leave; he thinks you’re terrifying at this moment, with your hair framing your face and your eyes on fire and your lower lip trembling. He thinks he’s said too much of the truth. Suddenly, you make a sound close to choking and he stiffens all over. 

“Coryo.” Your voice is feeble, shaky, as you wrap your arms around him and pull him in. In shock, he can do nothing more than let you hold him, taut as a string. “You should have told Dr. Gaul or…”

He has enough fervor in him still to chuckle, although it’s only half-hearted. “And what would she have done?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

You sit, embracing in the dark, in silence. He’s tense until you start rubbing his back, then he considerably relaxes with a hot sigh against your neck. It raises hairs all over your body, the heat, and you breathe out slowly. You smell like victory, he thinks, like roses and winter and gold. 

“He was wrong.” Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you pull away for a brief moment to look him in the eyes. Blue, piercing eyes which gaze at you in a manner so unidentifiable. “You hear me? He was wrong about me and you and everything. I promise. I’m glad you punched him.”

“I did it for you.”

“I know. I know.” 

In the half-dark room, he wraps his arms around you tighter. 

i havent posted for so long so have this. also always remember i liked him first bcs i was in love already when i read the book two years ago. everyone else back off!! please let me know if u liked this and maybe ill write smth longer for coryo later xx

[cloudrunnerscinnamon]

An "early-ish" House MD one shot. House and reader :)

The reader experiences a particular bad night and finds herself stuck in the ER with the one and only Greg House. This could really go either way...

gif is not mine (found it on google)

"Getting mugged wasn’t the worst part about my night"

„I’ll do it“ House took the IV-bag from the nurse before she could argue with him. You on the other hand really didn’t want him near you. However, you knew House well so you decided against putting up a fight and let him take care of you. He made clear that he wanted to watch over you, discussion over. Doctor’s orders. 

Wilson, Cuddy and all of  House’s attendees (old and new) were standing a few meters away from the two of you. The initial shock of you getting mugged and being delivered into the ER with a grade 3 concussion and a laceration to the forehead had worn off but they all felt like staying close. Now, in fact, they were shamelessly watching the scene in front of them unfold. They all knew this would probably be the pivoting point of House’s and your relationship. For a month the two of you had been buzzing around each other. Chase had bets running as per usual. Wilson was sure you would crack first and confess to House how you felt about him. Cuddy on the other hand had put in for „House, taking one more risk for the sake of finally finding happiness“, what can you do, she was sappy like that. There were a few more variants going around in the bookie but those were the two most popular. 

It wasn’t like House or you were denying that you liked each other. It was obvious, the amount of time you spent together and the pile of insiders you shared annoyed everyone around you. But whenever somebody tried to inquire, all they ever got was a 

„Oh, House and me?“

„(Y/N) and me?“ 

„We just hang out, we watch the same crappy shows and like to piss of the pizza place with weirdly specific orders.“ 

„Seriously, we are just friends!“ Even Wilson couldn’t coax a confession out of his stubborn friend. 

Funny thing, neither of you wanted to screw things up by showing your cards. 

„This will sting a bit,“ House was sitting on a chair in front of you taking your hand in his and carefully inserting an intravenous catheter. His hands were steady and his movements well practiced. You still hissed a little when the needle pierced through your skin and you could feel House’s blue eyes immediately on your face. He wanted to say something but reconsidered busying himself again with attaching the tube of the IV- bag to the IV-line. 

„Sure didn’t sting as much as the rest of the night,“ you snatched your hand away as soon as House seemed satisfied with his work. 

„And no, I am not talking about getting mugged.“ The harsh tone of your voice surprised you. Yes you were hurting because of him and yes you were out of your mind from the pain in your chest, your heart, but still. Wounding House didn’t give you any pleasure or redemption. It still sucked. All of it. Stacy sucked, their kiss sucked and what you heard him say, well, that just was the cherry on top. 

House didn’t get up from his chair but remained right in front of you. The chaotic atmosphere of the ER didn’t seem to phase him at all. Slowly he went to take your hand again but you brushed him off. 

„Fuck off House. I don’t want you near me.“ For a second you could see the pain in his eyes flash, then it was gone again. Replaced by his usual wall of safety guards. Safety guards he had let slowly and steadily dissolve with you. He wasn’t going to give up that easily now.

„Yeah, sorry I’m not going anywhere.“ House sounded firm even though you were sure he was confused and so out of his comfort zone. Him prolonging eye contact and taking a „stance“ was all just an act to hide his feelings and ever growing insecurity. For once the doctor was actually scared to lose someone. Displaying confidence and nonchalance was all he knew how to do right now. 

„What? I am not being funny here.“ You leaned further back, unconsciously creating more distance between you and House. Why didn’t he just leave already. Did he take some weird pleasure in knowing that you had overheard his and Stacy’s conversation? That earlier this week you had seen them kiss in his office? You were so angry and hurt that getting mugged almost felt like a nice distraction. 

„Just go!“ You made a flinging motion with your hand and your voice broke from all the emotions. House scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes at you like he simply didn’t understand what was going on. He was confused by your actions. He was here, he was taking care of you and still you wanted him to leave. 

„Why do you want me to go away?“ His voice was small, he seemed sincere which made you want to jump out of your skin. Sad, hurt, humiliated all of which you were feeling right now but deep down there was also frustration and anger. All those month of casually hanging out and spending time together. Was that all a lie? It had felt so genuine. Could you have been so wrong about another person? You sure weren’t stupid. You had never thought of yourself as the one that would change House. You knew many had and tried to be friends as well as love interests and they had all failed more or less miserably. You simply enjoyed being around him as he was. You liked being his friend. Oh how very stupid you felt now. Friends? Your thoughts were interrupted by House’s voice. It sounded modulated like he was really trying to stay in control of his demeanor.

„(Y/N)?“  

Irritatingly for you the shock of getting mugged, the thudding pain in your skull and Stacy’s performance had taken a big chunk out of your self-control. There just wasn’t anything left to hold back the emotions from spilling over. Tears blurred your vision and your mouth twisted into a thin line. At least you were able to hold back that sob building in your throat. You knew you couldn’t take it much longer, something had got to give. 

„Because it hurts to look at you.“ And there it was. Painfully aware of all the people around you and House blankly staring at you. Was he in shock? Your voice had been so much more penetrating than you had anticipated. Shit, where did all that pain come from all of the sudden? Why weren’t you able to look away from those blue eyes? Was he even breathing? Were you breathing? Why was it so quiet? Was anyone breathing? 

„I love you and you crushed my heart!“ Those eight words had slipped out of your mouth before you even noticed they had formed on your tongue. Your own thoughts betraying you and that at the worst time. Why was your face so wet? Then the blue eyes were gone. House remained unnervingly silent. He had however gotten up from the chair. The doctor’s back was turned towards you. His right hand held onto an unused IV-stand. Was he steadying himself? Might be his leg but the pain had gotten a little less excruciating of late. You knew that because he had confided in you. Hot tears were still running down your reddened face while you stared at House’s unmoving figure.

Behind the two of you, at the reception counter of the ER, Wilson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He huffed out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. Cuddy throw a cautious look at him. They both felt bad. Usually Chase’s bets didn’t turn into such a flurry of dramatic events. Wilson could sense the rising uneasiness of his colleagues around him. He cleared his throat and leaned back a little, turning his head towards Chase. 

„Now that it happened I don’t know why you let me place that bet.“ Chase’s arms were crossed in front of his chest. He silently stared at (Y/N) and House. 

„This is totally upsetting and those are our friends.“ Wilson knew the Aussie doctor wouldn’t let him off the hook that easy and he especially wouldn’t lend any emotional comfort. 

„So you forfeit?“ Chase raised an eyebrow at Wilson. 

„I,“ Wilson hesitated, his moral compass was spinning like a merry-go-round. 

„No, I don’t. I just think we are terrible friends.“ 

Chase snorted and rolled his eyes. 

„Just because we took on bets doesn’t mean we aren’t their friends. Or well (Y/N)’s friends, I don’t know about House. Does House actually have friends?“ 

Wilson looked dumbfounded and left Chase hanging for a good comeback. The other doctor took that as enough of an answer. Just then Chase‘s pager went off. He glanced at it quickly and with another nod towards Wilson, he pushed himself off the reception counter, he had been leaning against and left.

The machines, next to the bed you were sitting on, started to beep loudly. Immediately House turned around and checked for the reason of the onslaught of alarms. A nurse standing nearby also rushed over. You followed House’s line of vision and quickly realized that your condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse. The pulse oximeter that had been clamped onto your left index finger had slipped off. You hadn’t even noticed. 

„It’s okay I got it.“ House waved at the nurse stoping her in her track. She just nodded and went back to scribbling on the chart of another patient. House’s hands took a hold of our left one, he slipped the pulse oximeter back on. The noise stopped and the numbers on the screen went back to somewhat normal at least as far as your non existing medical understanding told you. He kept holding your hand and you let him. Your outburst and confession had drained you even more and you were left longing for contact. 

„There, looks good, normal heart rate. So it can’t be crushed.“ House smiled openly at you although it seemed a little too assertive. You couldn’t believe your ears. 

„You are kidding me right?“ Once again you wanted to pull your hand away from his but he held on. It took you a few seconds to untangle your fingers from his, he watched you struggle a bit bevor slowly letting go. You sniffled and tears started to come anew. The way he kept looking at you made you nervous and confused. House’s weird behavior was something you clearly couldn’t deal with. The moodiness, rude arrogance and sheer lack of interest in other people’s necessities you could handle – but this? This was worrisome. 

„House, please just – just leave.“ It sounded like a plea, your tremulous voice not helping. However House didn’t respond. He looked back up to the monitors again, busying himself, biding his time. You knew he wasn’t gonna leave. A frustrated huff through your nose. Shaking your head in disbelieve you let its weight sink down into your hand, rubbing over your forehead. 

„Why do you call me House?“ Your head snapped back up. The blue eyes were on yours again. 

"You never call me House.“ He said his own name like something foreign, something he had to get his tongue acquainted with.

„It’s always been Greg,“ his eyes fell and you had to bend forward a little to still hear him. „Right from the beginning. You only ever use House when you talk to other people.“ To say you were shocked was an understatement. 

„Seriously? This is what you are going with?“ The harshness of your tone was matched my House’s soft response. You had never seen him so abashed.

„Just tell me,“ a quiver at the right corner of his lips, „Please?“ This, you weren’t able to deny. House was either being sincere in all his coyness or he was playing you to get what he wanted but whichever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from indulging him.

„I call you House because everybody does and I am not special.“ Fast and prompt, no time to think about your choice of words. This day wasn’t gonna get any worse, was it? Might as well lean into it then. House was right though. You had always preferred calling him Greg. You understood that at work people referred to him as House. It was both formal and still not too friendly for coworkers. In the beginning you hadn’t actually really noticed that hardly anybody besides you called him Greg but when you realized it you couldn’t help but ask yourself why. The nature of your relationship (or friendship to be correct) was purely pleasure. You didn’t share anything work related and so the version of House you hung out with struck you more as a Greg kind of House other than a House House. 

„To call you House is safe,“ you said and in your head you added: and it is less intimate. With a heavy sigh House took a few steps and let himself sink down next to you on the hospital bed. Both your feet were dangling down and you followed the swinging motion with your eyes. For some reason a comfortable silence fell over you. The ER was, now as before, busy but the different sounds and monotonous buzzing worked like a coat slipping around the two of you. There was enough room to stay still in all the hectic. For the next couple of minutes House and you quietly agreed on taking a breather. 

The dull thud of Houses cane on the floor made you jerk up a little. He was going to say something. Repeatedly hitting the and of his cane on the floor was a tell-tale-sign of the Doctor building up to saying something. You had noticed that relatively early, but you weren’t sure if he realized you knew. House would mold the words in his mind until they satisfied him enough to actually say them. You also knew that he only ever did that if he was nervous or stressed out about what he wanted to say. 

„(Y/N), I am not with Stacy. Even though you might think that after what you heard tonight.“ Ah of course, yes, this would definitely make House uncomfortable. You just stayed silent, letting him continue.

„And trust me I know it sounds cliché but it is not what you think it is.“ He half laughed at that, it sounded studded with frustration and a hint of desperation. 

„What is it then? Because it really did sound like the two of you were making up.“ As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to take them back. You really didn’t want to know. It was enough for you to know that it hurt. 

„You know what? Don’t answer me,“ you lifted your hand, pressing the palm of it against your eyes in an attempt to dampen the headache. It didn’t work and you let your hand sink down again, resting it on your upper thigh. 

„Do you love her?“ Since you had arrived in the ER you had tried to avoid looking at House but the question you had just put to him demanded you to make eye contact. House didn’t immediately answer. His long fingers scratched absentmindedly at his stubbled chin.

„No I don’t and I haven’t for quite some time.“ There was so much conviction in House’s voice that you didn’t doubt he was telling the truth. 

„What I said, what you heard,“ the doctor kept looking around while continuing to explain himself. Scanning over the room but hardly registering what was going on. 

„I wasn’t talking about Stacy and me. But without the proper context I can see how you might think that.“  He snuck a peek at you trying to gauge how this conversation was going. Only the white knuckles of his hand holding his cane in an iron grip gave aways how tense he was. Throwing your hands in the air you could only shake your head. This whole situation was ridiculous. 

„You kissed, I saw you, in your office.“ you said bluntly. You were ready to start a fight. Leaving everything pent up wasn’t gonna work. If House thought he could fool you with this talkative demeanor you were sure as hell gonna make him work for it.  

„I know and I felt awful“ Small voice, barely more than a murmur and two absurdly blue irises. Aaaaand there you crumbled again. You involuntarily mimicked House’s wispy smile.

„Didn’t look like that,“ you muttered. He grabbed your hand carefully avoiding the IV catheter. His fingers drew small patterns on the back of your hand. 

„Well do you believe me if I say you got that the wrong way around as well?“ 

Yes, your thoughts screamed and you wanted to threw yourself into House’s arms. Instead you pressed out a, „No.“ 

But he let you have that one, making sure you could keep your dignity. 

„Fair enough“. House intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing them a little. He sucked in a breath of air.

„But,“ drawing out the vowel, House made his point anyways,“I’m sorry, you do have it the wrong way around.“ Was that his teasing tone? Was he actually mocking you? To be fair you could feel the tension draining from your body. If anyone would ever try to convince you that House wasn’t able to understand emotions and steer them empathetically you would just laugh in their face. Which is also what you did now. You laughed because frankly you were overwhelmed.

„Whatever. This is humiliating.“ You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or to laugh.

„She kissed me.“ House added, looking all dopy and school boyish. You gaped at him. House was carefully maneuvering this sinking wreck off a ship into saver waters and you knew it but it was still annoying you. Why was it working? 

„Oh well that changes everythi–„ You jumped right on board and countered sarcastically but House cut in.

„Yeah no, I know it doesn’t.“ He agreed with you however he wanted you to fully understand the circumstances. 

„The only reason I let her was because I am shit at feelings.“ House shrugged his shoulders.

„What? Sorry you lost me. You are shit at feelings so you kiss your married Ex-wife?“ Was he kidding you? Your hand slipped away from his and you tugged your arms tightly around your middle. You didn’t want to fell like that but anger and frustration where front runners again. House got the message. When he talked next the lightness in his voice was gone.

„If you are shit at feelings you might not be able to trust them. Sometimes I need actions to fully understand them. Actions I get and I am good at them.“

Your mouth opened but potential words were stopped by an index finger pressed against your lips.

„Ah ah ah wait!“ The Doctor removed his finger and continued.

„So when she kissed me I was able to say goodbye,“ he paused for a second, “ because there was nothing. No love, no anger or other sentiment. It was only a kiss which I did not particular care for. It cleared my head.“ 

„Hmm.“ Not as articulate as you would have liked to be but you couldn’t manage more, so you just kept listening. 

„I wanted to come after you. I…“, House hesitated then he turned a little more towards you. He wanted to see your eyes but you kept your gaze low. 

„Your face. The way you just turned around and left.“ His voice was husky.

„I told Stacy then, what I just told you… and to be fair she was pissed. I should have know that she wouldn’t leave it at that.“ A bitter chuckle slipped from House’s mouth and he shook his head. The doctor was lost in his thoughts for a second. Your voice pulled him back into the ER.

„So when you asked me to come by to talk, you in fact wanted to talk?“ Maybe all was not lost. Maybe just, maybe this day had still something good to offer.

„Oh yes, yes I did and other stuff“ A cheeky grin appeared on House’s face and he softly bumped his shoulder agains yours. When you looked at him he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

„Shut up,“ you snorted. This man is unbelievable. 

„Not funny yet?“ He lightly poked your thigh, testing the waters. 

„Nooooo,“ you said, returning the shoulder bump. 

You looked at each other, wary smiles meeting. House drew in a heavy breath then. He still had a few things he wanted to say, get out of his system. 

„Stacy rang the doorbell 10 minutes before you. She must have left the door ajar. And the rest, you witnessed first hand.“ He scratched the back of his neck and proceeded.

„Annoyingly not all of it. Seeing that we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.“

You nodded slowly, processing. Neither of you knew what to say now so you just kept sitting next to each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward it just seemed necessary to pause for a bit. 

After a few minutes you suddenly had this weird feeling of being watched. You became more aware of your surroundings and let your eyes drift. Behind you, at the reception counter you saw House’s attendees as well as Cuddy and Wilson jump apart like they had been caught red handed. All of them were making it a point to be terribly busy looking. 

„I can’t believe they are all still watching us.“ You nodded towards the group of doctors. House followed your line of sight and you could feel him growing a little bit uneasy. There was no smile on his face and his features seemed more in control. You didn’t want to see him so gloomy after there had just been some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. You wrapped your hand around House’s elbow and tucked a bit. His head turned back to you. You were surprised to find sadness and, what was that? Remorse? Etched into his face.

 „They are making sure I don’t crush your heart twice in one night.“ With the bitterness in House’s words came also a promise. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to make this work and find out what this between the two of you could be. He acknowledged how his actions from earlier had hurt you. Everything about this conversation was so out of character for House that you had a hard time believing you weren’t imagining things. Maybe your concussion was worse than you thought and you were having crazy hallucinations. Could you have hallucinations from concussions?

„Yes, but that is highly unlikely in your case, since the CCT-scan did not pick up any intracerebral bleeding.“ 

„What?“ Surprised you looked at House. 

„Did I just say that out loud?“ The doctor smiled at you amused and your stomach fluttered. You always had liked it when he bestowed you with one of those uncensored grins. 

„Yup.“ House confirmed. Chalking it up to the most ludicrous day you have had in a while you decided to ignore reason and precaution and just trust your gut. You let your head sink against House’s shoulder and immediately the side of your body melted agains him as well. Before a sigh of relieve could escape from you House had already wrapped his arm around your waist. This was nice. It felt good and easy. 

After a while you could feel the weight from House’s head on yours. You watched your feet dangling again. The calm breathing and the warmth between the two of you had you feeling drowsy in no time. A stifled yawn from you and House nuzzled his face into your neck.

„Yeah, me too,“ he whispered.

„How much longer ’til this thing is through,“ you asked quietly while pulling at the tube of the IV-bag. House lifted his head and frowned at the IV-bag. He considered his answer for a couple more seconds and before hopping off the bed.  

„Maybe 10 more minutes. We can speed it up a little.“ The doctor reached for the drip and adjusted the roller clamp. Immediately the solution in the IV-bag started dripping faster and he turned back towards you, sitting back down. 

„I don’t want to stay in the hospital,“ You sighed. Next to you House was blowing raspberries, obviously thinking something over. 

„You should with a third degree concussion. But I can take you home and make sure you’re okay.“ House offered looking at you expectantly. You considered your options and figured that the perspective of having House fussing over you wasn’t too bad. Your stomach rumbled loudly. An idea came to you then.

„Do you still have that pizza I brought, at your place?“ House had to chuckle at that and his laugh lines appeared. He nodded.

„Yes I do, at least I didn’t eat it. I went straight after you this time.“ House looked at you carefully, in all the joking there was also truth. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found in your eyes because he continued lightheartedly.

„If nobody broke in and ate it, it should still be sitting on the kitchen counter. “ 

„Great!“ You exclaimed happily.

„I could eat, really had a long night. How about you?“ You really wanted to get out of the hospital and leave the last few hours behind you.

„Nooo, completely normal night. So relaxing.“ House earned a slap from you on his shoulder. 

„Ouch! Don’t hit the cripple.“ His fake whiny voice made you actually laugh out loud and you were so relieved to feel somewhat normal again. 

„How about instead of taking me to my place, we go to yours and warm up that pizza then? I can be on concussion-watch anywhere right?“ With that you slowly slid off the bed, carefully steadying yourself. House watched you, assessing if you really were able to leave the hospital.

„I was kinda planning on that anyways.“ He stood up as well and undid the tube from your IV-catheter. The IV-bag was empty. With his hand he indicated for you to sit down once more. While he removed the IV-catheter from your hand you were happy to run along with the banter. 

„Sure you were. What if I’d refused.“ You cocked an eyebrow at House, challenging him. Even before he spoke you knew there would be some kind of quick-witted comeback.

„Oh I would have just kidnapped you.“ He shrugged his shoulders casually, a big fat grin on his face while he peeled off the adhesive tape that had kept the IV in place. 

„Of course.“ You laughed. The needle in your arm was gone and House pushed down some gauze on the exit wound. After a few seconds he put a plaster over it to keep it in place.You used his focus to study his features. There was still that smile on House’s face, though it had faded a little. You wondered what was on his mind. The heaviness that started to appear on his forehead couldn’t be from doing some routine doctor stuff. Just when you wanted to go for it an ask House what was going on, he mumbled your name.

„(Y/N)?“ Was his voice shacking? Your heart sank. Please don’t mess this up. Your imagination started to run wild and you feared for the worst.

„Hm?“ you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable let down.

„Can you not… can you maybe?“ House leaned closer to you. He seemed oblivious to your emotional turmoil. The whispering made his voice sound rough. With another sharp intake of air he took the plunge. 

„You are special, you know. To me you really are special.“The words tumbled out of his mouth practically rolling over each other. You scooped them up, holding them, they felt soft and warm to the touch. 

„So could you maybe not do the House-thing like everyone else?“

You smiled at him. This was big. House just committed to talking about his feelings leaving himself unguarded in the process. 

„Okay, Greg.“ 

[psychedelic-ink]

hi:D I don’t know if you take request but I like ur writing style and wanted to request a fic where the reader is having period cramps and Mike helps comfort her

yess my requests are open nonnie! tho when I write them can be questionable fgbgfbfg and thank you so much for requesting this my period is close so this was lovely to write 💜

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘

ㅤㅤmike schmidt x f!reader

Your breasts ache, your stomach hurts—your body the most uncomfortable place to be. You turn to the side as you bring you knees up to your chest and hug yourself. Another cramp. You squeeze your eyes shut, hissing through gritted teeth. You breathe heavily as you wait for it to pass. Your nostrils flutter. Your face warming up while the pain escalates. It escalates, escalates, and escalates—then it suddenly comes to a halt. 

Suddenly you can breathe again. 

Taking the opportunity, you fill your lungs with air. You want to cry. Everything fucking sucks. You want to call out to Mike who’s watching TV with Abby in the living room but you feel too weak to form the words. You suppose that’s alright. He’s already exhausted and overwhelmed with everything, it’s better that he doesn’t worry about you too—

“Fuck—” 

Your entire body clenches, your arms tightening around you as your nails bite your forearms. Fuck. You need painkillers, the whole bottle of them. The faintest of whimpers fall from your lips. The back of your head is throbbing from how taut your body is. You try to breathe, try to get out of bed, but even the smallest of movements add to the pressure of the cramps. 

You’re so lost in the pain you don’t even hear the door opening. You only notice someone’s here when you feel the faint dip of the bed. 

Your eyes snap open, your back is still turned. A hand curls around your shoulder and squeezes. 

“Are you okay?” you hear Mike ask. “You’ve been here for a while. Abby is making her version of spaghetti.” 

“That’s. . .” you exhale from your nose. “That’s great Mike. But I think I’m gonna skip it.” 

His hand doesn’t leave your shoulder, “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” 

You know he won’t leave without some thorough convincing. Knowing this, you turn to your other side to face him. He smiles when your eyes lock and despite the pain, your heart flutters. 

Just as you part your lips, about to tell him that you’re fine and he should just help Abby with cooking, another cramp strikes again. A choked-out sound rips from your throat and you immediately pull your knees to your chest again. You know it doesn’t exactly help. But something about the position makes you believe the cramp will subside. 

“Hey hey hey,” Mike cups your cheeks, thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “Tell me what’s going on. Let me help, baby.” 

“I’m—I’m on my period. I’m cramping.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You relax a bit as the cramp finally softens. “We should have some advil. Do you need anything else?” 

God, you want to cry. He’s such a caregiver. You look away, embarrassment warming your stomach. “Maybe. . . maybe some of that leftover cheesecake too?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.” 

Before you know it he’s back with a fresh red stain on his sweatshirt—courtesy of Abby and her cooking skills you bet. You shuffle back a bit so he can take a proper seat this time, he does and gives you the advil. “You sure you don’t need anything else?” he places the plate of cheesecake on top of the bedside table. 

“I’m good,” you answer, popping the pill and taking two huge gulps of water. “Thank you. Can we. . .cuddle a bit?” 

Mike smiles and you swear it’s the brightest sight ever, “If I ever say no to that feel free to smack the shit out of me.” 

You manage a small laugh despite the discomfort, and Mike scoots closer, wrapping his arms around you. His warmth feels like a soothing balm against the persistent ache in your body. You rest your head on his chest, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He starts tracing gentle circles on your back, his fingers moving in a comforting pattern. The pain begins to ebb away as you focus on the warmth and love radiating from him. It's amazing how a simple touch can make everything feel a bit more bearable.

“Better?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

You nod against his chest, unwilling to let go of the safety his embrace provides. "Much better. Thank you for being here."

"Always," he replies, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “You just need to say the words and I’ll be there.” 

You think you answer him but you can’t tell as sleep slowly begins to take over. 

All you feel is him.

[tommydarlings]

eyes on me | d.r

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

warnings: possessive behaviour

w/c: 0.7k

summary: daniel is a very jealous and possessive boyfriend, and he’s not afraid to show that.

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +65 works) // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

You were so unimaginably close to rolling your eyes as you felt Daniel’s hand squeezing your waist, fingers digging almost uncomfortably into your skin.

Daniel still didn’t removed the smug grin from his face though, there and then even showing his infamous teeth a bit as he looked at Joshua… your friend.

Friend. Nothing more. But Daniel was not even close to being convinced.

You cleared your throat, looking at Joshua with a kind smile as Daniel only pulled your closer to him, eyes not leaving your friends figure,

“And you’ve said that you’re here in Australia now for work?” You asked curiously, forcing a nod out of Joshua,

“Yes, I had an important meeting yesterday and now I’m just enjoying my last day here, you know? How you’re doing here in Australia since you moved here, already met some scary, humongous spiders?“ he giggled teasingly, remembering how much you hated those disgusting animals.

You sighed with a small grin, “oh please stop,” shaking your head as you softly placed your hand on top of Daniel’s, trying to loosen his immensely tight grip on your dress a bit,

“I’ve already seen enough of those, and I bet that the one I saw last night won’t be the last one I will encounter,” you giggled, almost hissing as your boyfriends fingers buried themselves slightly painfully into your flesh.

Daniel slowly turned his head, giving the side of your head a quick peck before he whispered into your ear, “If we don’t leave right now, I will dig my fingers so far in that soft skin of yours until I’m drawing just the slightest bit of blood, sweetheart,” he kissed your temple, not even bothering looking at you now, “I would never genuinely hurt you and you know that, right?”

You gulped and quickly nodded.

“Good,” he whispered in a deep tone, “but if pain is the only way to make you understand that you’re only mine and nobody else’s, then I’m not afraid to cross some boundaries here, you understand me?”

Joshua was by now — very much to your luck — looking to be busy with his phone, barely minding the two of you. You swallowed down a high-pitched gasp before you looked up at the Australien driver,

“You wouldn’t do that,” you shook your head, making Daniel’s smirk widen, “You wouldn’t do it, she says,” he mocked you with a laugh, looking wholeheartedly from the outside, but being nothing else than cruel from the inside.

You bit your inner cheek and licked your lips, eyes wandering around the room,

“Eyes on me, don’t look at the man over there or the young gentleman to the left of us,” Daniel shook his head at you, quickly grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

You really didn’t wanted to, but you obeyed and looked up at him, “perfect, just like that, baby,” he slowly nodded, “keep your eyes on me, not on any other man in this goddamn building,” Daniel gulped,

“Hell, not on any other man on this goddamn planet,” he smiled wickedly again, thumb caressing your chin in a soft manner, suprising you, “eyes. on. me.”

With slightly teary eyes you look up at Daniel, nervously biting your bottom lip before he speaks up again, “What are we gonna do now, hmm?” He asked with an evil grin.

You gulped, “W-We're going home, d-daniel.”

He slowly nodded, thumb still caressing your skin before he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, then your cheek and then your soft lips.

“That’s my good girl, now c‘mon,” he took you by the hand and walked with you towards his car.

With your high heels it was quite hard to keep up with his pace but you tried your best as you followed him like a little puppy.

You jumped a bit as he suddenly put his palm onto your lower back, pushing your towards him, “You like the attention, don’t you? You like it when you have all different kinds of man staring at you like that, huh?” He whispered behind you before he kissed the back of your head.

You smirked and bit your lip, “what? Nooo, daniel… I definitely do not like the attention,” you rolled your eyes in a mocking manner,

“Why do you think that?” You turned to him but he swiftly turned your head back around and walked even quicker to his car.

But the second you heard Daniel’s familiar chuckle behind your rushing figure, your smile fell.

[potatomountain]

For The Wolves

♦️pairing: Hongjoong x afab reader x yeosang

♦️wc: 4.1k

♦️au: rebel!teez, world Z

♦️genre: dystopian, pwp

♦️Summary: weeks without seeing the two rebels had you second guessing everything and a visit from the android guardians had you ready to flee anywhere else. But the two rebels who have your heart are determined to remind you that you're theirs

♦️warnings: mxm, bondage, a few whips, soft dom/switch Yeosang, hard dom Hongjoong, sub reader, dacryphilia (if you squint), some anxiety, dvp, oral (male receiving, male giving), threeway kiss, spanks, one slap to Yeosang, degradation, marking, praise, multiple orgasms (fem), penetration without a barrier. no pull out.

♦️AN: originally wasn't going to continue this, but it was one of my favorite works and @bunnliix wanted it for her birthday so happy birthday Lixie <3

♦️nets: @pirateeznet @mirohs-aurora-society

♦️Banner made by me | dividers made by @cafekitsune

♦️Part 1: To The Wolves | For other works: Masterlist

Just like that, you weren’t so willing to be with them any more. Yet you also couldn’t do anything about it. Weeks went by, your anger over the situation growing but also the pain, until you finally decided that maybe it was time to move shop.

The idea of packing up your clinic and going into hiding was strong after that night as if your senses had returned to you. How could you just let them ruin you like that? How could you enjoy it so much?

Your moral compass felt like it was spinning with no real direction and you lost yourself. The fact they left you before you had even fallen asleep, still covered in their cum, had cut deep.

They certainly ruined you, and you no longer liked the idea. You felt like a fool, one they used. Before you had given them an answer Hongjoong had gotten a call and then they were just gone. 

Especially since the government had tightened their hold on your district. It was harder to help others, less and less finding your clinic safe as android guardians patrolled the area often.

Then it happened. The guardians came into your clinic, and messed with your things. They trashed the place, turning it upside down while you protested. Never before did you have a direct problem with them, having always gone through the legal channels for your supplies, registering your patients during working hours, and paying your bills and taxes on time.

Whatever they were looking for, they didn’t find, leaving you with a trashed place and saying it was your problem to replace what was broken

Spending the better part of the day and well into the night cleaning it up, you were frustrated enough tears kept pricking your eyes, making it hard to clean up the last room- your bedroom. You gave up on trying to hang up the clothes, kicking them in frustration into the closet and letting out a sob.

Just to have something pulled over your head. You cried out, immediately thrashing out to whoever put a hand over your mouth to muffle your loud curses. Your foot connected with something, a deep groan falling from the person’s lips and you thought you recognized it.

It felt like all you had worked for was destroyed just like your clinic and home. All the good you did was for naught. Was it not enough? Was it all their fault? If you had just kept your head down, would the guardians have just left you alone?

“If I ever see them again I’ll strangle them with my own two hands.” You hissed out, with one final kick getting the pile of clothes behind the door. “Stupid Hongjoong. Yeosang. Bet they’re the reason those fuckers were here. Don’t see them for weeks and yet I get the backlash??” Slamming the door shut, your limbs were shaking with growing rage. 

“Easy Doll, don’t hurt Sangie too much.” Hongjoong whispered against your ear, holding the cloth bag over your head with a grip at the back of your neck as he tugged you back. You stumbled back against him, pissed that now was when they showed up.

So you kicked harder, swung your elbows back and connected with Hongjoong’s ribs multiple times. They scrambled back, throwing you on the bed as you curse at them specifically.

“What? Not happy to see us after the fun time we had the last time?”

“Fuck you.” You spat at Hongjoong once the bag was off, his hands now holding your wrists above your head while his knee held your legs still. Both of them looked quite different, their hair chained and something off about their aura. Or was this how they always were under the facade they had given you?

Surrounded on both sides though, held down by your wrists, and thighs, there was little you could do and truthfully, screaming would get you nowhere. People tended to mind their business this late thanks to all those raids that had happened.

Another thing to blame these two for.

Glaring at them both, and still squirming, Hongjoong looked you over with amusement while Yeosang slid onto the bed and took over his hold on you. “We heard the guardians were here.”

Your body tensed up at the reminder, turning your glare onto Yeosang. “So they were looking for you two?! Don’t see why when you haven’t been here for weeks! Bastards.” You hissed out, turning your glare to Hongjoong as he adjusted his black jacket.

“We’ve been here just… didn’t let you see us.” Yeosang spoke again, Hongjoong seemingly in his own world as he started humming, looking around at your trashed bedroom.

You scoffed, staring up at Yeosang trying to get a read on his expression. His jaw was tense, brows slightly knitted together, but there was some concern in his eyes. You pushed it aside. “I would’ve been fine without you! No reason to watch if you weren’t going to-” You cut the thought off, biting on your lip and turning your head away. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction  of knowing you were waiting for them.

And the idea of them ruining you again was still far too tempting.

Hongjoong’s smirk showed he knew it though. Turning back to you, he held up some rope and a few items that sent a shiver down your body. You should be scared, but your body remembered clearly the last time they had free control over your body. His smirk turned into a wide grin as if he knew. “We’re here now Doll, and I’m well aware you wanted to leave us.”

Yeosang’s hands tightened on you at his words, gaze intense and demanding you look at him but you wouldn’t. “Didn’t you like last time?” He pleaded a bit softly, which just had you swallowing the growing lump of anxiety in your throat.

“You left me… and got the stupid guardians involved with this area so no one comes to see me anymore. Like everyone knew what you did to me.” You whined out, defeated. What could you do though? They were rebels, they fought for a living, you healed people, and took care of others.

Hongjoong approached the bed again, on knee on the edge as he leaned over you. “It’s not that they’re scared of your clinic Doll, just this area. We wanted to offer you to come with us, have a clinic at our base- but you were going to run away from us?”

“N-no.” You immediately protested, staring him down in hopes he wouldn’t question it. Instead he slapped down the cord onto your thigh, the sting surging up through your body, as the sound rang through the room almost as loud as your sudden cry.

How wet it left you should be concerning, especially since it prompted the idea of testing Hongjoong to see how many times you can get him to bring the cord down on your backside. Yeosang’s soft hand rubbing the stinging flesh through your jeans just added to that desire. 

Not wanting to give in just yet, you cried out again as Hongjoong brought the cord down on your other thigh, back arching as pleasure mixed with the pain. Pupils blown out, you stared up at him, panting, his brow raised questioningly.

“Don’t lie to us Baby.” Yeosang wasn’t really on your side for this, of course he wasn’t; but the contrast of hard dom and soft dom, pulling you every which way was exhilarating. Fuck they really had ruined you last time hadn’t they?

The smirks on their features told you they were well aware of their affect over you.

“I thought you didn’t care any more… after you used me.” You reluctantly admitted, shutting your eyes to hold back the tears that now threatened to fall. “Hated being here and thinking of you and the worst.”

You gave them no trouble at all as Yeosang stripped you of all your clothing, but took his time with your underwear while Hongjoong was now using padded cuffs to hold your wrists together. It was Yeosang’s deep hum as his fingers ran over the wet spot in your underwear that had you opening your eyes and looking down at him. He was staring intently as he pressed your panties between your wet folds, rubbing with two fingers to gather even more slick and rub your clit.

“Poor doll, we neglected you didn’t we?” Hongjoong’s voice lacked the condescension his words implied. “We’ll have to fix that. Sangie, undress her.”

At his leader’s command, your pants were pulled off as Hongjoong’s hand now held your wrist down. You were pliant under their touch, still heavily dejected and eager for them to hopefully wash it away. They would, right? Ease your worries?

Waiting with bated breath as he leaned in as if to taste, it was denied by Yeosang’s head getting pulled back by Hongjoong’s hand in his hair. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Wanna taste her. Didn’t get to last time.” He groaned out, still staring at your soaked panties.

“And I didn’t get to fuck her cunt last time either. I had been generous, even let you fill her up Sangie. Are you already dumbed out just from the thought of fucking her? Really are just a pretty face and a hot body aren’t you? No brain up there?” Hongjoong scolded before pushing his head away just to grab at his throat instead. “Be good and maybe you can fuck her with me.”

You could only watch the way Yeosang whined, staring up at Hongjoong and being pliant in his grip. Heat scorched between the two, making you squirm with a newfound need between them and attempting to lift your bound wrists for a touch but they were tied to the bed with the cord from earlier.

Hongjoong reached down and gripped your thigh to still you, tugging Yeosang closer to his face and smirking as Yeosang parted his lips for him. “If you want to taste something, you can fixate on my cock. Get it nice and wet for our pretty doll.”

Yeosang’s nod had you whining at the idea, aware you wanted it a little too much.

What the hell did they do to you? The question rang in your head as you could only watch Yeosang scramble to get Hongjoong’s pants open, hand still in his hair. Whether he was that eager to fuck you, or suck on him, it didn’t even matter: his eagerness was contagious.

“You’re not fixing it Joongie-” You whined out, eyes trained on the way Yeosang’s hand stroked Hongjoong’s now freed member, his mouth getting closer. “Feels like you’re just rubbing it in my face more.”

He smirked down at you, a hint of softness in the corner of his lips. “You’re right, doll, I shouldn’t neglect you. You’ve shown you stray if you don’t get attention.” He stopped Yeosang just to pull his pants down and off. Both of you watched as he positioned himself between your legs, pushing both up by the calves just to flip you onto your stomach. “But you’re not getting rewarded so easily either.”

With a few more harsh movements you were on your knees, arms pulled as tight as they could from the rope and bondage, the bag now back over your head but leaving your mouth uncovered. Not that it would make a difference, at this angle you could barely lift your head from the sheets beneath you; a disappointment since you couldn’t watch Yeosang suck off Hongjoong.

“Fuck, at least you know how to use your mouth.” He hissed, the sounds of slurping going right to your core and making you leak with how turned on you were. With a whine you shook your ass, begging to be touched, just to feel his hand slap your bare skin and send pain and pleasure up your spine. “Patient Doll.”

So you remained as still as you could, listening so intently to the sounds of Yeosang’s mouth on Hongjoong’s cock, trying to picture his lips on your cunt instead. The thought was dashed as you felt two fingers run over your folds, gathering up your slick and then roughly pushing in. With a cry you jolted forward a bit, just for another smack to your other cheek.

“So fucking needy. You’re just sucking in my fingers.” Hongjoong rasped out, thrusting the two fingers into you roughly but you didn’t mind the harshness. As long as he was touching you. “B-both of you are so needy and pathetic.”

You let out a whine in protest. “D-Don’t be so mean.”

“Oh?” Another harsh slap. “This is being nice, Doll. I told you last time, I liked how scared you were. Fuck the thought of you running from me, crying, just to pin you down and fuck you like a toy? Fuck it got me off so much. Had to use others, but no one else had that same fear.”

You couldn’t say anything about that, fear spiking your heartbeat but also adrenaline; excitement. If it was Hongjoong, you were sure you would let him and like it.

Yeosang pulled off Hongjoong’s cock with a pop, letting out a deep groan of protest. “We’re trying to convince her to come with us, not scare her off Captain.”

A slap rang through the air, your pussy clenching around his features at the sound, but it wasn’t you who took the impact. “Oh God.” You mumbled, desire fogging your brain. Did he slap his mouth? His ass? Was it Yeosang that slapped Hongjoong? Every single image had you clenching down.

“She’s not scared at all Sangie. I think she wants me to hit you again based on how much she’s trying not to fuck herself on my fingers.” A third was pushed in, a low moan escaping your lips and you instantly tensed, expecting the slap.

Instead he just smoothed over your ass before giving a light squeeze. “Get your clothes off, I want you under her when I make her cum. Want you to see who makes our Doll feel good. Not your pathetic self.”

The sound of Yeosang hurriedly slipping off the bed and pulling his clothes off was proof he enjoyed the way Hongjoong talked to him. You also liked how Hongjoong talked to him, as much as you liked Hongjoong talking down to you.

Well, mostly. You still had your reservations, your worries, that you weren’t much more than a toy. And while it definitely had you turned on and dripping around Hongjoong’s fingers, your heart felt heavy.

Only Yeosang’s words from a moment ago gave it any hope, enough that you pushed for more. “J-Joongie?” There was a desperation in your tone that left you feeling vulnerable, even as his fingers curled to rub your sweet spot, heat pooling in your lower belly and building towards a climax.

He must have known, his tone a bit softer as he asked “What is it Doll?”

“A-am I just a toy?”

He kissed your shoulder blade, tip of his cock rubbing against your folds and asking for entrance. “You belong with us. You’re made for us. Part of our pack- that’s where you belong.” He whispered against your shoulder, slowly pushing in.

His fingers came to a halt at your whimper, then were pulled out. “No, you aren’t. Maybe I have been too mean to you.” He rushed out, voice drifting away which just made your anxiety spike.

You were being lifted and moved before you could voice your concerns again, Yeosang’s familiar hands on your waist, his cheek pressed against yours as you were now laying on his chest. “You mean so much to us baby, I promise.”

“But-” You protest was cut off by lips on yours, hands running over your sides and knees parting yours more. You melted in Yeosang beneath you, relaxing even further as you felt Hongjoong’s hands on the curve of your ass and up your back.

Your moan was swallowed up hungrily by Yeosang’s lips, perfectly sandwiched between them as Hongjoong pushed his full length into you.

He let out a shaky breath against the back of your neck, reaching around to cup one of your breasts, fingers rolling your nipple between them. He tugged roughly just as he started a brutal pace with his cock, causing you to cry out against Yeosang’s lips.

The man beneath you moved his hands to your ass, spreading your cheeks and holding them still as Hongjoong’s pelvis slammed into yours over and over. Unable to keep kissing him, your head lulled to the side, drool and spit coming with you and now leaking onto Yeosang’s shoulder.  “Taking him so well Baby, really just made for us.”

“J-Joongie~” The impending climax that had been building from his fingers was now back in reach.

“Gonna cream on my cock Doll? You’re clenching so hard- fuck so tight. You’re going to have to relax if you wanna take us both in this sweet pussy of yours though-” He laughed suddenly, a bit breathless, “-oh you like that idea?”

Yeosang groaned under you, lips now marring up your neck with little bites and hickies. He pulled back as Hongjoong grabbed you by the back of the head, a fist full of the bag and your hair, pulling so that you couldn’t hide your sounds against the man beneath you.

“Show Yeosang how good I fuck you Doll. How much you love my cock inside you.” Hongjoong practically growled the words out, demanding you cum for him.

It snapped that coil and you were cumming just as he said, jaw going slack and drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth as you cried out loudly for him. He fucked you through it, pulling you harshly back on his cock that just overstimulated you even further. Your arms thrashed, looking for something to grab onto and potentially pull away once Yeosang grabbed your hips and used his own strength to slam you back even harder on Hongjoong’s cock.

Tears were running down your cheeks, wetting the bag and having it stick to your skin as you cried for them. “T-too much! Too much!”

“Take it baby. Soak us. You can do it. I know you can.” Yeosang’s soft pleading beneath you was a stark contrast to Hongjoong’s degrading words behind you.

“Give me another Doll. Be a good fucking toy. Show me how pathetic you are for cock. For my cock.” With Yeosang holding your hips, Hongjoong’s free hand grabbed your throat, muffling your protests as the pain was becoming too much but also so pleasurable.

You came again, hard enough you pushed Hongjoong out of you and soaked them just as Yeosang asked. Sobbing as your body shook in their arms, you would have collapsed if not for their hold on you.

Seconds felt like minutes, small sobs still wrecking your body moments later as the sensations began to die down. Hongjoong removed his hands to rub your ass, running his nails over the reddened flesh and digging in on occasion. Yeosang however was showering you with soft kisses where he could reach, praising you under his breath for doing such a good job for them.

Only when the trembling of your muscles stopped did you feel Hongjoong’s cock press back against your sobbing hole. “You can fuck her now, but stretch her out for me.” He thrust in once, just to pull completely out with a happy sigh. “Want to mark her up so prettily.”

Yeosang didn’t hesitate to push his cock up into you, burying himself deep. “Oh fuck- baby.”

You whined, still a little too fucked out to form a coherent response. That climax had you seeing stars and you hadn’t fully crashed back to earth. It most definitely wasn’t happening with how good he felt inside you.

When he pushed a finger in, making your cunt even tighter around his cock, you let out another incoherent babble of a whine. He chuckled in your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple as he moved slowly. Long, deep, languid thrusts as he slowly stretched you out.

Soft moans and whimpers fell from your lips, regaining some energy and control from the harsh fucking you had just taken and simply enjoying the way he was moving. Though Hongjoong’s nails on your back, the trail of love bites, and his occasional slaps to your ass worked you up just as well.

Yeosang adding in a second finger had you drooling and feeling so full, but the third had you crying out a bit. “It’s okay baby, almost there. Don’t you want to take both of us?”

“Be a good hole to use?” Hongjoong nipped at the back of your neck roughly, tingles running down your spine.

“Y-yes please.” You whined out, pliant between them as you struggled to keep your breathing even.

Hongjoong laughed in your ear, Yeosang’s fingers out of your hole to be replaced by Hongjoong’s and he demanded a faster pace.

It was hard to focus as Yeosang matched Hongjoong’s pace, his own breathing picking up and little moans falling deliciously from his lips right against the bag around your head. You moaned out for him, turning your head to plead for a kiss. As his lips clashed with yours, Hongjoong’s fingers were gone and you were getting very full very fast.

He bottomed out, the three of you trembling and pausing your actions to adjust as your walls fluttered around them. Their gravelly groans, their tight grip on your body, Yeosang’s chest heaving beneath you, and their cocks pulsating inside- all of it felt more intense since you could only feel and hear.

“All ours Doll.”

“All ours.” Yeosang murmured against your lips, savoring your taste, just to have the bag ripped off your head and your throat grabbed. Your eyes locked onto Yeosang’s, stomach flipping at the pure fucked out expression he had, mouth covered in spit from your messy kisses and pupils blown wide.

Hongjoong’s visage was in your sight the next second, hard eyes boring into yours as he heavy breath fanned against your lips. “Say it.”

“A-all yours.” The words tumbled from your lips effortlessly, then again and again as Hongjoong’s soft lips were moving against yours. He didn’t pull away as he began to move, swallowing up your moans and breathing his own against yours.

Yeosang’s whines were louder, his hips bucking up to offset Hongjoong’s thrusts but match his pace. Muscles taunt against your breasts, held in place by them both as their pace picked up.

You felt so full, already ready to cum again but you were eager for their permission. You wanted their praise, their approval. Their love. Or as close to it as you could get at this moment.

“We’re yours too, you know.” Hongjoong mumbled softly against your lips as he pulled away, leaning back to fuck you even harder. “You belong to us-”

“And w-we belong to you.” Yeosang moaned out beneath you, stealing a sloppy kiss as you collapsed against him. Both of their hands were on your hips, Hongjoong’s resting over Yeosang’s possessively.

In the back of your mind, this whole scenario felt so filthy to you. But you couldn’t really care. You belonged to them and they belonged to you.

Whatever they had going on just fuzzled your brain even more, head lulling to the side to cry out freely for them when you could catch your breath enough to do so.

Orgasm hitting hard, your eyes flew open before rolling back, tongue slipping out as it felt like you had no control over your body, it was just pure electrifying ecstasy. Once the peak passed, you had enough sense to see that Hongjoong was now muffling Yeosang’s cries with his own mouth, their cum filling you up.

With every ounce of strength you had you pressed closer, the three of you clashing lips and spit and teeth as their hips were stuttering to a stop, so much cum filling you even further and pushing out of you with a need to go somewhere.

Vaguely you felt Hongjoong pull away as you were nothing more than a limp noodle, shaking from the remaining shocks of pleasure that was dimming your mind more and more by the second. Vaguely you could hear Yeosang asking him to clean you two up, his hands running over your marked up back and ass.

The only coherent thing you did process was his deep voice in your ear. “Sleep baby, we’ll take you home when you wake up.”

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[mrshesh]

Hi can I request literally Johnny cage anything, give me all the Johnny cage stuff. I love your work and need more you’re amazing.

"careful, honey!" - johnny cage x reader

overview: cleaning johnny cage's wounds

pairing: johnny cage x gender neutral reader, romantic

genre: fluff

a/n: hi, beautiful! i love requests like these. since i'm a sucker for some physical touch, i thought i'd make this! and thank you so much for the kind words! you're the sweetest. i hope you love it.

“Ow!” Johnny exclaims, trying to lean away from you as you sit beside him, cleaning the gash on his cheekbone with alcohol. Even though he’s acting like a child, you’re enjoying this - it’s not every day you get to tend to him.

“Okay, I know it hurts, but you’ve got to be still.” You cup his cheeks to make him look at you, avoiding touching the gash. He sighs and scoots closer to you hesitantly. The thought of the burn of the isopropyl on his skin makes him shiver, but he’s willing to put up with it - you’re his nurse for today, after all. “I’m sorry, honey, but it hurts like a bitch.” He chuckles, hissing when the cotton bud soaked in the flaming liquid meets his skin. “It didn’t hurt as much as getting punched in the face, though?” You giggle, leaning closer to him with concentration laced across your features. “I told that motherfucker to avoid the face…” Johnny rolls his eyes, recalling the sparring match with Jax moments earlier. It’s no secret that Johnny’s a cocky bastard, so much so that his conceit got him into this pickle. If he didn’t make a bet with Jax that he could easily win against him in a blindfolded spar, he wouldn’t be sitting here, tooting because you’re cleaning his wound. 

“Well, you were blindfolded, so…” “Okay, don’t try to school me, honey.” “Do you want me to clean your face or not?” “Sorry…” You both stare at each other and giggle, and Johhny feels the pain of the firewater disappear for a second. The way your eyes sparkle when you laugh has him in a trance. You’re always quick to help him when in need, even though he might initially protest. He won’t turn you down - not when he adores every second of your touch. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. 

“How much did you bet that you could win?” You curiously ask, moving on to the slash on his jawline. Johnny’s hands immediately grab onto your forearm, stopping you from treating it further. “Careful, honey!” “It hurts that bad?” “Oh, you’d be surprised, baby.” He calms down, taking a moment to breathe. “A signed picture of me.” “What?” “I bet a signed picture of me.” “Of course you did.” You groan, grabbing his cheek gently and turning his head to you. “You need to be careful, babe. What if he knocked your teeth out?” “I’d get gold teeth.” He smirks, a light pink tint finding his cheeks. “And I’d get your name engraved in them.” “So romantic.” You chuckle, looking him in the eyes. You’ve always adored this arrogant shithead. He has a special place in your heart, despite being so foolish. 

He brushes your hair away from your face, taking all of you in. Your eyes, skin, lips, hair, nose - everything! He absorbs it all, feeling the image of your features in his mind spread to the rest of his body, giving him chills that could resemble Raiden’s thunder. He’s so in love with you. “There’s that smile.” He ogles, observing your frontal. “Oh, you’re so beautiful.” He coos, making you lose focus. “Are you trying to distract me so I don’t clean your wound?” “No! I swear!” “Okay, then, prepare yourself. I’m going for it.” You nod at him, bringing the cotton bud to his jawline. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait- can I hold your hand?” “Nope.” “Honey! Ouch!”