#i am looking respectfully…..and that is all i will say on the matter

[sonotpattismith]

my lost, fearless leader (Yuta Okkotsu x Reader)

As the men masqueraded, I hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned, because love’s never lost once perspective is earned.

word count: 9k

warnings: angst, me never making it easy for poor Yuta

a/n: inspired by Peter by Taylor Swift. Lowkey a self-insert as I too am a therapist, tee hee. I hope y’all enjoy it, I absolutely love writing for Yuta even though I make him suffer every time 🥹🫶🏻

masterlist.

Dear Okkotsu,

I know you only landed last week, but you left me with so many questions when you said goodbye. At the risk of sounding too forward, I thought for a moment that you would kiss me before you left. You had a look in your eye, one I’d never seen before, and I even thought I saw you square your shoulders like you were about to charge into battle.

Inumaki offered to give me your number when I asked about you, but I feared too quick of a response if I were to text you. After all, I love to torture myself. Somehow a letter felt safer, more disconnected. Still, I hope you have the time to write back to me while you’re out there growing as you so desperately wanted to.

You still have me in your corner here in Tokyo.

With kind regards,

L/N.

Dear L/N,

I hope this letter gets to you soon, though I know it has some way to go— I don’t want to leave you waiting again. I wondered if I should just text you, but you’re right, maybe this is best for wimps like me who were too scared to kiss the girl they like before traveling oceans away. There’s more courage in me hiding behind a pen than I ever had standing in front of you.

No matter how badly I wanted to show you how I felt, I didn’t feel worthy enough when I looked at that scar on your face— one I should have been able to prevent. There’s so much for me to learn about this world, and Gojo-Sensei says Kenya is where I need to be. I trust him implicitly, and I only hope here I’ll be able to grow into someone worthy of coming back to all of you at Jujutsu High. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I hope to become someone worthy enough to indulge myself in you as well.

I hope you can find it in you to wait for me all the way in your corner of Tokyo.

Respectfully,

Okkotsu.

Dear Okkotsu,

You were right, your letter did travel far, and after two weeks, I feared I may not ever hear back from you.

What happened with Geto Suguru wasn’t your fault, and, if I remember correctly, you were the one that saved all of us that night. It breaks my heart that you feel you don’t have a place here with us. I never thought you needed to prove yourself, and if that’s the only reason you went thousands of miles away— then you should board the next flight back over.

If I had known it was the scar on my face that stopped you, I would have covered it just for you. No one else around here is willing to take the blame for me when I break one of Maki’s spears— that alone should earn you a spot right beside me over here. Speaking of, I hope the bump on your forehead has gone down.

Luckily for the both of us, patience is my best virtue, but I do hope you don’t make me wait terribly long. You don’t have to be the strongest.

Holding my breath,

Y/N.

Dear L/N,

Maybe eventually I’ll work up the courage to call you, but our weeks of waiting in between will just have to do for now.

I think you’re beautiful— regardless of your scar, and I hope I didn’t send the wrong message when I said it’s what stopped me. I only meant that it reminded me of the kind of guy that deserves your attention, one that has brought about more good than he has bad in his life.

I’ve hurt so many people, and it wouldn’t be right of me not to try to make up for the wrongs I’ve caused. It’s only been a month, but Miguel has taught me so much, and I’ve seen so many wonderful things. I’m not sure if you’re interested, but I’m sending you some pictures of all my favorite parts.

I hope Maki has been merciful to you, and, yes, my bump is gone. Still, the little scar there reminds me of you each time I see it. So, I suppose I should thank her.

We’ve been talking so much about me, but I want to hear how you’re doing back in your corner of the world. How have your classes been going? I almost miss hearing everyone arguing with Gojo-Sensei every morning.

I don’t want to be the strongest, but I want to be strong enough to be worthy of you. The last thing I want is to keep you waiting too long, but however long it takes for me to be able to make a mark on those who have shown such faith in me.

Thinking of you,

Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

Surely that’s not you in that picture beside the giraffe? It’s only been two months— what are they feeding you over there? I had to do a triple take. You look well, Okkotsu.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s really you behind that ink. You were never so bold when you were here. Do you have a ghostwriter? I have my doubts, but I still hope all those thoughtful words really are coming from you.

I can see how hard you’ve been working, and I hope you’re beginning to find in yourself the pride I and all us here at home have always had in you. I don’t think anyone blames you for the unfairness that’s clung to you thus far, and no one expects you to make up for any of it— at least I know I don’t. If you really insist on doing so though, maybe you can start by giving me a call every once and a while? I’m sure you're busy, but I’d love to hear your voice again.

Classes have been going well. We’re almost going into our second year now, and everyone still talks so fondly of you. We wish you were here to start the year with us. I certainly miss having someone who was equally as clueless when it came to this world— it felt like you were the last shred of normalcy I was hanging onto. It’s okay though, I suppose I have some growing to do too.

Also, you don’t need to be so formal with me, I think you’ve earned the first name basis. Unless of course, you need to build up the courage for that, too.

I only felt it was fair to send some pictures of all of us here as well— though they’re nowhere near as badass as your safari photos. Please keep sending them— I’ll cherish the ones I have here for now though.

Still waiting for you,

Y/N.

Three months following Yuta’s departure from Tokyo, you first received an actual call from him. You had just turned in for the night, muscles aching from the mission you and Maki had just returned from only an hour or two prior. Truthfully, you were having a difficult time with the added responsibility that was accompanying your new year at Jujutsu High. Last year, at the very least, you had Yuta there who seemed on a fairly level playing field with you. Still, he held more of a determination to move forward in his life as a sorcerer than you did. After your encounter with Geto Suguru that had left you partially blinded in your right eye, it was difficult for you to find that gusto you had when you first arrived.

The deep lulls of slumber had just begun to penetrate your exhausted mind, and you could swear a more pleasant dream was just beyond your reach. When your phone began vibrating underneath your still cool pillow, your brows furrowed at the intrusion. The sound caused an electric-like jolt in your body that had you shooting up as if someone had just pulled the fire alarm. Calming your racing heart, you reached down to snatch the device up. Your eyes squinted to adjust to the blue light emitting from the screen, and you saw a number you didn’t recognize. Under the caller location though, it indicated that it was coming from Kenya.

Sitting up with a gasp, you gaped down at the device, uncertain excitement bubbling in your stomach and up your chest. Without a second thought, you swiped to answer the call. Amidst your anticipation of who you thought might be on the other line, you forgot to greet the caller.

“Um… uh- hello?”

A smile spread across your cheeks at the sound of his timid voice.

“A call from Kenya,” You began teasingly, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “I wonder who it could be.”

There was an abrupt shuffling on the other line, and you could already picture him pacing around whatever space he was currently occupying.

“You got me!” Yuta quipped nervously, quickly checking the time on his phone upon hearing the sleepy tone that laced your voice. It wasn’t too late over in Tokyo, and he figured if he didn’t call you now while he still had the nerve to do it, he never would. Okkotsu had determined during his time in Kenya that his confidence somehow peaked right after a successful mission. Naturally, this was when he calculated it would be the best time to call you with the lowest possibility of making a stuttering fool of himself. “Di-Did I wake you? I can call back another-”

“After you took three months to gather all that courage up?” You joked with a fond smile, reaching down to toy with the corner of your pillow. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “I think I can stay up for a few minutes.”

He was grateful, so eternally grateful that you couldn’t see the way the blood rushed up his neck and into his face. Pressing a cool hand against his cheek as if it would make the heat die down, he forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It had been too long already since he last spoke, and the silence on the call was becoming overbearing as he thought of anything to say.

“You there, Yuta?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh-- still here.” The boy chuckled pathetically, pounding his balled up fist against his thigh, willing himself to quit being such a loser. Shooting up to begin his short trek around his room once again, he took a deep breath. “I-I wanted to thank you. You know, for writing to me the past few months. I think they’ve been kind of motivating me, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, lying back down on your pillow to stare stupidly up at the ceiling of your dorm. In hearing that shy voice that you had been missing for so long, you had forgotten about the aching, abused muscles that had been assaulting you just minutes prior. In its place was the rushing endorphins of your child-like crush on the boy on the other line. “So, when you come back strong enough to beat Sensei’s ass, I can take partial credit, right?”

His soft laugh filled your once silent room, inciting the overwhelming butterflies in your stomach to erupt in a fluttering haze.

“It’ll all be you.” Yuta joked halfheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck in relief that he’d gotten past the awkward silence unscathed. He flopped back down onto his bed and looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. “Uh… speaking of Sensei, how is everything over there? The exchange event is coming up soon, right?”

This made your smile slowly wane.

“Yeah, it’s next month. There was some drama with the first years, but everyone else seems to be pretty excited.”

“Everyone else? It sounds like you’re not including yourself in there.”

You sighed gently. Yuta was always so determined about growing as a sorcerer, so these types of events were always right up his alley. Not to mention the manner in which he absolutely wiped out the sister school at last year’s event. It actually caused a bit of second-hand embarrassment to watch the whole ordeal play out— no matter how quickly it concluded. After the atrocities of the past few months though, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be excited for the goodwill event.

It wasn’t that long ago that you watched all your friends meet near death at the hands of Suguru Geto, and you weren’t too far behind. They had all seemingly moved on from it all so fast— all of them except for Yuta Okkotsu. It seemed that all it had done was given him more ammunition to spark his journey of self discovery. You wished it had had the same effect on you. In truth though, all it sparked was a fear that your life, along with your friends, was constantly at the mercy of a crueler fate than most your age would be subjected to.

It felt wrong. Yuta shouldn’t have felt the need to bear the weight of you and your friends’ injuries all on his own. He shouldn’t have needed to go off to search for some unknown answer to all the insecurities his grueling life had thrust upon him. Still, it was so important to him. You could see the way it gave him purpose, a will to keep going despite all that he’d been through. It wasn’t his fault, but you always wished you could have found that same purpose within slaying curses and putting your life on the line.

A soft call of your name on the other line pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts. Shaking your head, you attempted to lighten the mood.

“Last name again? So formal. I thought we were past that, Okkotsu.”

“Oh-- right, sorry.” He stammered out before trying your first name out on his lips. It was delicate in the way it rolled off his tongue, sending warmth straight through your chest. Recalling your sudden silence once his nerves subsided, his lips pulled pensively into a thin line. “Um, have you been doing okay? You know, since…”

Brows rising just a hair, you were shocked at how easily he read through your sudden change in tone. Your lip quivered into a slight frown. A deep breath was suddenly pushing down that biting urge you had to tear up.

“Yeah, I’ve been okay. Just… wish you were still here is all.” You confessed into the dark, lonely dorm room. “I think you were the only one who understood how overwhelming this all was.”

Yuta felt his chest constrict at your earnest confession. Part of him felt guilty for not being there, but he knew deep down that he was doing the right thing by building himself up before he allowed himself to come back— especially to you. Still, the boy knew where you were coming from. It wasn’t easy being the newcomer in a world where your peers had a fifteen year head start on.

The two of you understood each other—empathized with one another. You both strived to make sure the other was doing okay; whether that be sneaking out late at night to practice with one another in hopes you both wouldn’t make fools of yourselves in training the next day, or just being someone that the other could glance knowingly at when one of your classmates mentioned something it seemed that everyone else was privy to, except you two.

“I’m getting stronger everyday.” Yuta offered earnestly, a soft, empathetic smile playing on his lips— the kind you could just hear through his gentle tone. “And I know you are too. We’re gonna kick some major butt one day, y’know?”

The boy was relieved when your glittering laugh filled his speakers, and he found himself laughing along with you. A comfortable silence blanketed over you two, and for a moment it felt as though you were laying right beside him, your gentle breaths lighting a fire within his soul. The courage that he thought he had lost upon hearing your voice for the first time in months was slowly flooding back to him, and he began pensively rolling his bottom lip between his fingers.

“Hey,” Okkotsu called out feebly, resting his hand down on his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his fingers. Reaching down to your discarded letter beside him, he picked up the picture you’d sent along with it. It was of all the second years, and he wondered with a smile if you had Gojo-Sensei take it for you all, and, if so, how much he complained about not being included. You stood in the middle of Inumaki and Maki, Panda standing proudly and towering behind you. His thumb reached out to graze softly over your face. In the photo, one of your hands was teasingly covering your right eye, and he blushed as he remembered your earlier conversation about that scar. You hummed in acknowledgment on the other line. “Did you mean it? You know… when you said you’d wait for me?”

“Did you mean it when you said you were gonna come back for me?” You countered quickly.

Yuta exhaled nervously, the churning in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out. Staring back at your smiling face in the photo, he nodded breathlessly.

“Of course, I meant it. I meant every word.”

“Then so did I.”

Yuta Okkotsu’s reassuring promise helped ground you in your studies of jujutsu for a while longer, but you could still feel the aching insistence in the back of your mind that told you this wasn’t where you were meant to be. Your friendship with the sorcerer continued to grow even over the thousands of miles that separated you. He’d call you whenever he had the chance to, and you’d text him about updates on what all his friends had been up to without him. Although both Inumaki and Maki kept up with him regularly, he allowed you to retell stories he’d more often than not already heard from them.

He could tell that you were struggling to find and hold your place as a sorcerer. You always listened enthusiastically when he’d tell you about the new techniques he was learning or the missions he’d been sent on, nodding along on the other line and hanging onto every word he said. Still, when he’d await to hear the progress of your training or how your latest mission had gone, you didn’t have the same enthusiasm in your tone.

It had been almost a year since he’d been gone. The two of you had never implicitly discussed the nature of your relationship, but your lingering promise to each other seemed to be enough to keep your hearts locked safely away for the other’s return. As the months dragged on though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth staying in the world of jujutsu that seemed to so expertly traumatize you and your peers.

You insisted on video calling him for once, eager to once again put a face to the voice that had been filling your every night for the past few months. Maybe, you thought to yourself, if you saw those warm, inviting eyes again paired with that timid smile, you’d find it in you to hold out just a bit longer.

“Ca-Can you see me?” Yuta’s ever anxious voice filled your quiet room once again. The palm of his hand briefly covered the camera before it was moved away, and it appeared as though he had propped you up on a dresser of some sort. He stepped back, hunching over so his face was still in the frame, staring hesitantly into the screen.

A brief exhale of disbelief left you at the sight of him. He had changed so much over the past year; from the inches he’d sprouted up, to the new broadness of his lean shoulders, right down to his more maturely parted hair as it swayed in his face. His features appeared sharper than when you’d last seen him, a testament to how much he’d grown physically as well as mentally. The dark circles you remember being everpresent under his long, midnight-blue eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and you wondered just how hard this Miguel character had been working him. Despite his apparent lack of sleep though, he grinned cheerfully upon seeing your face.

Forgoing your previous concern, an ecstatic smile of your own lit up your face as you took him in. You had always thought he had a sort of innocent, gentle cuteness to him, but time and knowledge seemed to have morphed those characteristics into the sharp, hauntingly striking ghost of the boy you once knew presented before you. For the first time since knowing him, you thought you felt more nervous than he did at the moment.

“Wow! You look--” He paused, a slight flush filling his face, and suddenly he was that timid boy again, staring down at you with the false promise of a kiss. Your heart melted at the sight. Yuta was still looking nervously back at you, mouth hanging open as if his mind was running faster than his tongue could process. You raised your brows expectantly at him, hiding your amused smile. “Uh—pretty! You— you look really pretty.”

A soft blush fell across your cheeks.

“Thanks, Yuta.” You laughed softly, eyes fluttering across his face admiringly. “You look like you’ve… grown.”

“Oh, me?” He laughed skittishly, hand coming up to rustle through his jet black locks. His brows were furrowed slightly as he looked down at his own appearance as if he was only just now noticing the growth spurt he’d had in the past year. “Yeah! I guess—”

“Is that blood on your shirt?” You suddenly noticed, leaning forward so your squinting eyes could get a better look at the dark matter that clung to his white top. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and in an instant, his fumbling hands were working to unbutton his uniform shirt. It was no use though, the white t-shirt underneath was also stained through.

“Sorry, I just got back from a mission.” He admitted dejectedly, grabbing the phone and sitting on the floor, resting his back against the bed behind him. “I would’ve showered, but I didn’t want to keep you up too late.”

You sat back against your headboard tentatively. It was incredible to you how he was never phased by the violence and bloodshed that shrouded this lifestyle. There were so many nights that you lay awake, eyes unblinking as you tried to forget the horrors you’d witnessed just long enough to get some sleep.

“How do you do it, Yu?” You asked timidly.

Yuta took in the way your wide eyes glimmered with the threat of unspilled tears. There it was again— that underlying fear in your tone and demeanor that told him that something wasn’t quite right, and it hadn’t been right since you came so close to death.

“What do you mean, love?” He wasn’t sure where that term of endearment came from, maybe from the concern that had been pooling in him for months and had now suddenly burst upon seeing that broken look in your eyes. Either way, it was too late to take it back now.

“Act like everything’s normal when you come home covered in blood and guts and watch people die— watch your friends—”

“I’m doing this for my friends.” His response had a defensive edge to it, but his wide eyes were gentle, taking in your vulnerable state carefully. “And for the people I’ve had to watch die. Bad things will happen whether I’m a part of them or not. How can I sit back and do nothing when that’s all I’ve done my entire life?”

You suddenly felt small in your corner of the world. He was selfless, fearless, purposeful in his mission as a sorcerer, and you couldn’t fault him for it. Moreso, you faulted yourself for lacking that same drive.

“I just– sometimes I feel like this isn’t for me. I’m not like you, Yuta. I don’t think I’m strong enough for this. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Yuta continued to insist upon believing in your growth, just as you had believed in his. His persistence in your strength of character only served to break your heart more. You knew the deeper his faith in you ran, the more crushing his disappointment would be when you inevitably let him down. In the weeks following your dismayed conversation with him, you weren’t answering his calls as often, afraid he would be on the other line hoping to hear of your growth and the things you’d overcome— but you had none to show for. You usually texted him with false excuses that you were on a mission, or that you were simply too tired to talk that night. No matter how hard you tried to pride yourself in your little victories, your faith in your abilities as a sorcerer was waning quickly before your eyes.

He had always said that he was the one undeserving of his place in this world— of his place beside you. The stronger he grew though, the more you only noticed the opposite.

It was a month after your phone call that you received a small package from Kenya, recognizing the stamp immediately as one of the various animal themed ones Yuta seemed to keep stockpiled just for you. Chewing at your bottom lip, a sense of guilt washed over you, knowing you hadn’t been keeping up with him as much as you once did. Despite this, he continued to try, desperate to get through to you somehow before you slipped from between his fingers all together.

Ripping open the orange, padded envelope, you overturned the contents onto your bed. The wooden beads of a bracelet clacked softly against one another as they fell upon the comforter, a letter landing gently atop it. You ran your fingers along the thin bracelet, thinking maybe if you concentrated long enough, you’d be able to feel the warmth of his fingers lingering from when he’d carefully placed it into the envelope for you. You picked up the accompanying letter.

Dear Y/N,

It seems like they’ve been keeping you really busy over there in your corner of the world! I had so much I wanted to tell you, but I thought maybe it’d be best to put it all into a letter so you could read it at a time that’s best for you.

Gojo-Sensei says that I’ll probably be coming back soon, maybe in the next couple of months even. If all goes well, I hope to be joining everyone for our final year. It’d be nice to all be together again. It’d be nice to actually see you again.

You don’t have to tell me everything, but I know you’ve been going through a hard time recently, and I’m sorry I’m not there to help you. You were wrong the other night on the phone— you are stronger than you think. This life isn’t easy, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not fit for it just because it hurts you right now.

When I felt I had no strength left in me to keep going, it was you who lent me some of yours until I could stand again. I’m sending it back to you now, so please use it to keep moving forward until I can lend you some of mine. Please, keep waiting for me.

The beads on the bracelet I sent you represent all the things I wish for you. The red represent bravery and strength, the kind I know you have in you still. Until you find them though, let these be a reminder. The yellow are for growth, and until you can see it coming your way, let these motivate you.

I got one just like it for myself, so I can be reminded everyday of the things I love about you. I’ll keep it on me always, and I hope as you’re waiting that you’ll do the same.

Still yours,

Yuta.

Tears were streaming freely down your cheeks and staining the precious letter before you. With wobbling lips, you bit back a quiet sob as you carefully slipped the thin bracelet onto your wrist. Strength. Bravery. Growth. They were all pillars that seemed so far away from you, but Yuta was convinced you held them just within your grasp. If anything, the beads would serve as a reminder that someone important was counting on you, and you’d rather suffer the uphill battle than disappoint him.

The next morning, you woke early to speak with Gojo. He was lounging lazily in his large, plush chair, laptop sat carelessly on his lap when you came in. As if expecting you all along, he looked up from his bored typing to offer a sly smile— the type that told you he was always steps ahead of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo greeted, closing his laptop and setting it haphazardly on his desk. Leaning back, he laced his fingers casually in his lap, jutting his chin toward the seat in front of him.

Hesitantly, you sat down. Your posture was rigid as you stared back at his half-covered face. Although your sensei had never given you a reason to fear him, you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of how he might react to your request.

“I… I don’t know how to say this.”

He stayed silent, allowing you to collect your thoughts. The small smile tugging at his lips said he already knew what was plaguing your mind. Fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, you were reminded of the importance that you stand your ground here.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for being a sorcerer.” It was out there, and it hung heavily in the air around you. Looking down at your twiddling fingers, you felt that familiar lump building in your throat. Your sensei was silent before you. Glancing up at him through tear soaked eyes, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat. “I’m not like the others. I can’t bounce back like they do. It scares me; the death, the fighting, the loss— it terrifies me, Gojo. I can’t do it anymore. I-I just—”

“You’ve been struggling for a while now, haven’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question— an observation he’d been holding onto for some time. The older man wasn’t oblivious, he could see when his students were beginning to slip away; physically and mentally.

“How did you know?” You briefly wondered if Yuta had mentioned something to him during their regular check in calls, but you doubted it.

Standing abruptly from his chair, he strolled leisurely around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You remind me of someone, is all.” Gojo’s cryptic message left more questions than answers. Though you had grown used to his dodgy answers and coded messages, now was really not the time. Before you could express your annoyance, he continued. “You’re not stuck, you know.”

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him in disbelief. Standing up to face him as he stared out the window, your mind was racing at the possibilities.

“You mean— I could leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’d talk to the higher ups today for you if that’s really what you want.” Still, the edge in his tone indicated that he wasn’t about to let you off that easily. As if sensing your apprehension, he tilted his head playfully toward you, a fond smile on his face. “I’ve seen what this gig can do to people. I don’t need to see you fall victim to it too.”

“I mean— I…” You were stumbling over your words. For the past few years, you were sure that your future was set for you— one you were apprehensive about living, but one that was secure nonetheless. Where would you go from here?

Gojo hummed pensively— invitingly. God, how you wished he would just spit out what he clearly wanted so desperately to say. Of course, he always wanted his students to come to their own conclusions, set their own fates.

“The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.” The sensei announced dramatically, taking another lap around the room. You shivered at the mention of that night. He leaned toward you with a raised brow. “That’s when this all started, am I right? You almost died, if I remember correctly.”

“I would have if it hadn’t been for—”

“Yuta Okkotsu.” He cut you off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and for a moment you thought you saw his head tilt down as if to look at the bracelet you were currently rolling between your fingers. Nodding softly, he continued. “Still, you cut it pretty close. Must have been traumatizing. Partially lost your sight, almost lost your friends, your life.”

You nodded silently, unsure of where he was going with this long winded rant. Of course, him giving you a simple out was just too easy for Gojo-Sensei’s ‘everything is a life lesson’ style of teaching.

“Tell you what, why don’t I set up a meeting for you to meet with a counselor? Someone who specializes in all our creepy-crawly problems?”

“Like… like therapy?” You questioned with furrowed brows. A therapist for sorcerers? You didn’t even know such a thing existed. Still, the prospect sparked a certain hope in your chest, one that the six eyes saw instantly. He didn’t bother to conceal his victorious smile.

“Yup. Nice, comfy couch and everything.” He advertised as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. His long fingers began typing purposefully against the screen before he looked up at you again. “Of course, she’s kind of running a one-man show, so her schedule is pretty tight. I can pull a few strings for you though.” His words rang in your mind with a faint echo. That suggestive, underlying tone in his voice, it was beginning to seep through, and your gut was telling you his suggestion was a lot more calculated than you would ever give him credit for. “That kind of work is in high demand, you know— what with all the new curses popping up since Itadori came along.”

Gojo was continuing to drop hints, but you had already heard him loud and clear. This was something he thought you could do— somewhere he knew you would fit within this hectic world. As a teacher, it was his job to train the up and coming sorcerers for the perils that lay ahead of them. In the same prospect though, he had also become incredibly adept at discovering their potential and nudging them toward it— even if it wasn’t as gently as he thought.

The following week you met with the therapist Gojo had supposedly pulled so many strings to get you in to see. She had a small office just minutes away from the school, and you wondered why she wasn’t on campus. She hadn’t suggested it to you first, though she was well aware of what Gojo was trying to do when he set up this meeting. So, amidst your explanation of everything you had been experiencing since that night, you dropped in questions. How did she know this was the right path for her— how closely did she work with Jujutsu High— how did she get where she was?

By the gentle and encouraging manner in which she answered all of your questions, you had a gut feeling once again that Gojo had already been three steps ahead of you. You were set to transfer out of Jujutsu High the following week. Your sensei funded your education through an outside university, who’s higher ups had connections with the school. Kaori, the god-sent sorcerer counselor who’d seemingly fallen from the heavens right when you needed her, was more than happy to take you under her wing as well. In truth, she was relieved to have some help around the office given the influx of referrals she’d been receiving recently.

Everything had been falling into place, yet there was still one last loose end you had yet to tie up from your life as a sorcerer. You looked down at the box of letters you’d kept over the past year or so from Yuta. Following his last letter, and how determined he seemed to be that you would make it as a sorcerer— you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you had given up. After everything he’d done to grow himself into the man he was now, a fearless and loyal sword to his friends and the innocent— and you had given up. In the end, despite his insistence that it was him not worthy enough to stick around, you realized it had been you all along.

You weren’t worthy of Yuta Okkotsu.

Your trembling finger hovered over his contact, but you couldn’t do it. Clicking your phone off, you stared up at the ceiling of your now empty dorm room and allowed the hot tears to burn your cheeks, dripping down your neck and into the hem of your shirt. He was still finishing up his training, growing into a man he could be proud of, experiencing the things that made him feel alive. It would be selfish of you to drop this on him now.

Setting down the box on your desk, you pulled out a spare sheet of paper and sat down to draft your last prose to Yuta Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you will have already heard about my departure from Jujutsu High. I wanted to call you and tell you everything that’s been on my mind, to give you a proper goodbye, but I didn’t want to interrupt your progress overseas.

I wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me over the years. I’ll cherish each bit of it as long as I live. You kept me holding on through my lowest points, even if it wasn’t the life of sorcery that I was holding onto.

I know I’m cowardly, but I just couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you that I had given up. You’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to hold your place here, and I suppose a part of me feels foolish for giving mine up so easily.

Your passion for undoing the wrongs in this world is so beautiful, and although I couldn’t share it with you, it only ever made me love you more. Please never take it for granted. Continue to fight to hold your place here, because you hold more power than you could ever come to know. I can feel it, even when you’re not here.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t wait for you.

Forever yours,

Y/N

When Yuta Okkotsu arrived back at Jujutsu High three months later, he had already been sitting on the news of your departure for two weeks. His friends thought it best to at least prepare him for when he returned, but he figured so much when you stopped responding to his calls and messages. No amount of preparation could have stopped the hole from opening up in his chest upon reading the letter you’d left in his dorm room. It sat neatly on his untouched pillow— a ghost that haunted him the second he stepped in.

He tried with fervor to be excited for his return, smiling along half heartedly when his friends shoved a party hat on his head and insisted upon celebrating all the birthdays they’d missed. Those haunting blue eyes only stared lifelessly at the cake before him, his soul still sat on the edge of his bed where he’d read your letter.

Forever yours.

Yuta wondered if those simple two words meant the door was open for him to swing in and come find you as he so ardently promised he would. Gojo-Sensei said you were happy though— working toward your place in the world. It was one he no longer felt he had a place in— not when his life consisted so wholly of the very things you were running from.

Months passed, and the both of you tried so desperately to move on. Despite being content in the roots your lives had sprouted, there was always a missing piece that stopped the both of you from blossoming. You always held your breath in hopes he’d come back to you like he said he would, and he always hoped you were still waiting for him despite his insistence that you were happier without him. The both of you were only kids when you’d carelessly thrown out such a vow, after all.

Gojo felt whole-heartedly confident in his whim to have Kaori train you. There was a spark in you, one that wanted to heal those that this world had so carelessly wounded, even if that meant you having to heal yourself first. In the end, it was the right decision, and he prided himself in the fact that there was a happy medium to keep your talents within the jujutsu world still while also fulfilling your purpose. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that lingered ever present though, and that was the infuriating case of you and Yuta Okkotsu.

It was getting depressing— watching the boy mope around pretending to not have the very obvious chip on his shoulder all the damn time. Your old sensei still kept up with you and your progress often, seeing as the school worked closely with Kaori to refer in need sorcerers on a regular basis. Each time he’d pop in for a visit or called unexpectedly, you’d always ask how everyone back at the school was doing. Sure, you really did hope your old friends were doing okay, but you were really holding your breath for when he’d mention Yuta. Gojo always spoke of him so highly, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly each time, thinking of how proud you were at how much he’d accomplished— just as he said he would. Still, the six eyes never missed that morose glimmer in your eye as you’d nod along to his stories.

“Have you ever tried sleeping at night, or are those dark circles just a part of you now?”

Yuta was snapped from his stupor when his sensei dropped unceremoniously beside him as he looked on at his friends ahead of him. As if having just been reminded of his perpetual exhaustion, he reached up subconsciously to rub at those aforementioned dark eyes.

“Oh, haha,” Yuta’s halfhearted attempt at a laugh only served to drive Gojo’s purpose right home. “Yeah, guess my sleep schedule never really adjusted back to normal, huh?”

“You aren’t performing like you should be, Okkotsu.”

He gaped exasperatedly at his sensei, blinking a few times as if maybe he just hadn’t heard him correctly. Frankly, he had been kicking ass lately, and everyone around him knew it too. Still, if Gojo-Sensei was telling him he was falling behind, it was seemingly the only opinion that mattered. Even if it wore him down till only his skeleton remained, he would keep getting better until he could prove himself to the man who took a chance on him.

Already picking up on the look of determination on the boy’s face, Gojo put out a solemn ‘slow your roll’ hand in front of him. Sighing in amusement, the sensei thought the boy would crush a semi-truck between his hands if it’d make him grow— meant he could prove himself.

“Your mind isn’t here. Hasn’t been since you got back. I can tell, you know.”

Okkotsu’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. No matter how much he worked to train physically, to learn to control his cursed energy and techniques, there was always that one lingering barrier that seemed to keep him from reaching his potential. Of course, he knew he had been more distracted since your departure, but he figured— hoped— it would pass eventually. He thought maybe if he ignored it long enough, pushed down that frenzy to rip his hair out by the roots and bellow out every frustration he’d held in for allowing her to slip away, each day as the urge melted away into dreams of her at night that woke him with a crater in his chest— maybe eventually it would fade just as she did.

“Try to get some rest, clear your mind. Do what you gotta do.” Gojo emphasized, leaning down to tower over his apprehensive prodigy with a knowing smile. His covered eyes flicked down to where Yuta’s fingers were rolling the beads of his colorful bracelet pensively. He hummed in amusement. “You know, I know someone who has that same bracelet.”

His student perked up ever so subtly upon hearing this. The prying man quickly moved to grasp his wrist and inspect the bracelet closer. It made Yuta feel exposed, wanting to crawl under his covers and not come out again if it meant no one else would lay their eyes on the one connection he still had to you. Gulping thickly, he snatched his wrist back, covering the wooden jewelry protectively under his other hand.

“Oh, you know her, don’t you?” Satoru feigned remembrance, snapping his fingers dramatically. “She used to go here.”

The stunned boy stammered out your name in question. It still felt so natural, so effortless rolling off of his tongue despite the prolonged period that had passed since he’d uttered those syllables.

“Yeah! Saw it on her just last week.”

All the blood seemed to drain from Yuta Okkotsu’s face. His wide, haunting eyes suddenly transfixed hazily on the smiling man before him in a manner that would have been terrifying had it been directed at a stranger. You still wore the bracelet he got you? The prospect had his mind spinning, and his stomach churning anxiously. The poor guy looked as though he would short circuit at any moment; brows twitching into a deep furrow, the corners of his lips fluttering in uncertainty. He blinked a few times before looking up at his sensei with a new sense of determination clouding his eyes.

“Where did you say she went?”

Bingo!

The clock’s ticking mocked you menacing as you raced to finish your assessment notes within the hour. Kaori was always merciful with you, understanding that you were still learning and would likely take more time with things, but you couldn’t help but urge yourself to do better. It had been almost a year that you had been studying while working alongside the counselor, and you had blossomed in a way you never thought would have been possible. Granted, you weren’t able to do any of what you had lovingly labeled as ‘the fun stuff’ yet, you had adjusted surprisingly well to the countless intake assessments and documentation your mentor had entrusted you with. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having a second counselor there with her, but anything helped ease the weight of her overwhelming caseload. She knew it was good experience for you too.

Despite her hectic schedule, Kaori still found time to meet with you often to check in regarding the struggles that brought you to her in the first place, insisting it would be a crucial step in your training as well. Slowly but surely, you were beginning to rebuild that confidence in yourself and your own purpose in this monstrous world. It felt cathartic, being a part of the process of healing for those torn down by the very things that hurt you so long ago as well. It was meaningful— fulfilling. You wondered if this was how Yuta felt when he was out there, helping people as well, just in his own way. A sharp pang struck you each time your mind wandered too far though, and you were always quick to reel it back in.

Your bottom lip was caught ruthlessly between your teeth, and it seemed the clacking of your keyboard was fighting against the ticking of the clock for dominance. A small spark of defeat struck you as you heard the door of the office creak open. Looking up at the time, your brows furrowed in confusion. You were sure that you had already completed the last intake Kaori had scheduled for you today. Scrambling into the drawer beside you to pull out a new form, you hoped you would at least look somewhat prepared whenever the unexpected patient came to your desk.

“Hi, there!” You called out from your tucked away cubicle, fumbling to save the document you were working on. “I’m back here, you can come on in.”

Slow footsteps approached closer and closer before pausing in front of your desk. Pushing the hair from your eyes, you looked up with a warm, inviting smile.

Oh.

The smile on your face slowly faded as Yuta Okkotsu towered over your desk. It wasn’t the version of him you once knew; this one was taller, more refined, more calculated with the manner in which he held himself. His wide, midnight-blue eyes regarded you carefully, but his face revealed nothing. Your mouth opened and closed pathetically, your mind desperately trying to catch up with the way your day had suddenly progressed. Stepping forward, he calmly sank down into the chair in front of you, hands gripping the arms casually.

“Yu—”

“I heard you offer counseling for sorcerers, right?” He was suddenly smiling sweetly at you, but there was a controlled glint in his eyes— holding him back. Not allowing you to respond, he continued. “Well, I have some things to get off my chest, so it’s lucky I found you, huh?”

You sank back into your chair, allowing the papers in your hands to slip from your fingers and swoosh softly onto the desk. Nodding gently, you urged him to go on, anxiety balling up in the pit of your stomach. He launched off on a long-winded story, one you already knew like the back of your hand— you lived it, after all. Your already knowing the climax didn’t stop the furious blush that overtook you as he recalled the letter he’d found in his dorm upon his arrival back to Tokyo.

“She always had this sweet way of signing off all her letters to me.” Yuta recounted with a soft smile, eyes glimmering as they looked back at you. Yours, on the other hand, were holding back the dam of tears that had been building up for countless months. As the first tear slipped down your cheek, you saw his resolve start to crumble, gaze chasing the drop as it raced down your skin. His bottom lip trembled. “She signed that last one— she signed it off ‘forever yours’, but I never saw her again.”

“Yuta—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t happy?” He finally snapped, his own tears swimming in his eyes. Bracing his hands on the desk, he leaned forward desperately. “I would’ve understood, I would’ve—”

“I tried! I tried to tell you, but you were so sure that I was going to get through it. How was I supposed to look you in the eyes after you gave up so much of your life to train to be better? How was I supposed to tell you I was giving up?”

“You promised me!” His cry rang out in the quiet office, shoving his chair back to stand over you once again. You heard Kaori’s office door open abruptly, likely startled by the perceived altercation. Despite his dominating presence and lingering stance, you couldn’t find it in you to be intimidated by him. You shook your head softly toward your mentor, letting her know you were fine. As the door hesitantly shut once again, Yuta was sinking closer to you despairingly. “I would’ve come back for you— I wouldn’t have cared where I had to look, okay? I wouldn’t have cared that you left everything— but you weren’t supposed to leave me.”

His wounded tone finally caught up to you, and you let your head fall down onto your crumpled hands as you cried. Yuta sighed softly, almost regretting his stinging confession. Quickly looping around the desk, he settled down on his knees in front of you and turned you to face him.

“I’m sorry, Yuta.” You cried, falling into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you from your chair. He was stronger than you last remembered him being, but his touch was just as delicate. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. We’re here now, right?” He assured gently, pulling you away from his chest so he could look at you with a smile, tears still clinging to his lashes. His cool hand ran down from your shoulder to your wrist, and he traced the bracelet that hadn’t come off your wrist since you received it. A soft flush covered his cheeks. “You kept it, huh?”

“You kept yours, too.” You laughed breathlessly, wiping at your cheeks with one hand and grasping his bracelet with the other.

“I told you, I always meant everything I said to you. I still do.” His words almost made you break down again, but you worried if you started boo-hoo crying again that Kaori might just burst through the door with more determination than she had last time.

So instead, you took a moment to glance over his matured face, shaking your head in amusement upon seeing those familiar dark circles still hanging under his eyes. Your heart clenched as your eyes ran across the small scar that Maki left on his forehead. When you met his gaze once again, it gave you pause. Yuta had that look in his eyes— the same one he had all those years ago before he left for Kenya. The rapid patter of your heart could be felt in your throat.

Despite your nerves, your lips twitched up into a knowing smile. You reached up tentatively to place a hand over your right eye, covering the scar that had stopped him all those years ago. He pursed his lips at this action and shook his head. In an instant, his long fingers were wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.

“Don’t.” Yuta said simply before leaning down to capture your lips in his, more assuredly than his sixteen year old self ever could have dared to, but just as sweetly as the boy who promised to come back to you would have.

[bilbao-song]

are any of you following the whole ulterior motives thing. bc i have been watching from a distance for like a year and well. as it turns out the singer guy lives very distressingly close to me and i THINK i have seen him in my town. like at the store. im like 99% sure bc one day there was a guy with some variety of british accent talking on the phone and the absurdity and inexplicable impressiveness of hearing a british accent in the midwestern usa caused my brain to short circuit so hard i started awkwardly laughing and had to walk off to a different aisle so he wouldn’t think i was like. actually laughing at him. and now that i have seen photos i’m like ALMOST certain it was him!!!!!!! which is bonkers in yonkers bc all this time i was like oh boy i hope they find this song 🥺 it’s such a bop i need the whole thing woe is me who could it be. it is basically my neighbor. screaming crying yelling throwing up bursting into flames smashing things etc

[galedekarios]

one thing that really tugs at my heartstrings while going through the epilogue files a bit more is how desperately gale wants to stay in touch with the protag (unromanced) and the friends he's made on their journey together.

not only has he talked to his students about the protag and their adventures at length, he invites the protag to be a guest lecturer:

Player: I found the love of my life. I'd say I'm pretty happy. Gale: And I couldn't be happier for you. A fitting reward for the sacrifices you made in getting here. Gale: I've told my students plenty of tales about our escapades. You're something of a hero to them, you know. Gale: I'd be delighted to introduce you to my current cohort - as a guest lecturer, perhaps? I'm sure they'd have plenty of questions for you.

he is also happy to invite the protag to his tower for the duration of their stay:

Player: It would be my pleasure. Gale: Excellent. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the allure of sharing your expertise. Gale: Of course you'll be most welcome to stay with me in my tower. Tara the Tressym: Ahem. Gale: My apologies, Tara. That would be our tower.

and even if they should refuse his invitation to be a guest lecturer, he hopes they'll at least consider coming to visit him in his tower in waterdeep:

Player: I'll respectfully decline. Sounds too much like hard work to me. Gale: I totally understand. Perhaps our exploits might be a little on the mature side for my students, come to think of it... Gale: Still, at the very least you must come visit me. I've a pantry full of Waterdhavian delicacies and a delightful bottle of Elverquisst with your name on them... devnote: Attempting to persuade the player to visit him, really wants them to come [if the player is illithid] Player: My diet is more... cerebral these days, Gale. You'll need to rethink your menu. Gale: Say no more. There's a wizard in Blackstaff's anatomical department who owes me a favour, no questions asked. All diets will be catered for. I can hardly wait. [if the player rejected to become an illithid] Player: Good food and good company? Now that I can manage. Gale: Excellent, excellent, excellent. I can hardly wait. devnote: Relieved you've accepted his offer

[end of convo for both] Gale: It will give us plenty of time to catch up on your adventures. Gale: I'm very curious to know what you've been up to these past months, but I suspect the telling of that tale would keep you tied to me all evening. Gale: So, in the spirit of selflessness I encourage you to mix and mingle for now. We've time enough to come. devnote: Looking forward to staying in touch with the player

he's crushed if the protag refuses:

Player: Sorry, Gale. I don't think that's going to happen. Gale: Oh. Well, no matter. Dinner alone can be every bit as enjoyable as with company. devnote: Deflated, trying not to show it Tara the Tressym: Alone? And what am I - a stuffed toy? Gale: Please - enjoy the rest of your evening. devnote: Deflated, trying not to show it

this all ties into another little moment after this first conversation.

if the protag has talked with gale already and has hugged him, there's a second, shorter conversation, in which gale gets choked up as he reminisces over how the party is together once more:

Gale: I can't believe this is real. I never thought we'd gather like this again. devnote: Taking in the moment, appreciating it Gale: It's quite... ahem, yes really quite lovely. devnote: Getting a bit choked up, trying to hide it/breeze past it

tl;dr: gale loves his friends so very, very much and hopes they'll allow him to be able to stay in contact with them.

[rumisgf]

— ATTRACTIVE THINGS HE SAYS/DOES

includes: katsuki bakugou, denki kaminari, shoto todoroki

warnings: college!au, black reader obv, suggestive, she/her pronouns used once

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

you can try to get pouty or sassy with him if you want to, but it is not a game you will win. one thing he likes is checking yo ass (cs he knows you secretly get a kick out of it).

“fix that attitude ‘fore i fix it for you.”

and he does not let you smart mouth him at all. he’s the sassy one, not you babes.

“what’chu say?”

you start trynna cuss at him or give him more attitude? he’ll deadass look to the left, to the right, behind him, then look back at you and be like “oh, you talkin’ to me?”

“ay, watch yo mouth.”

possessive in not a toxic way but still obvious

he cares a lot about your grades and he’ll memorize your classes so if you decide to skip a day or two, he’s texting you making sure you at least did your work

and like y’all are still in highschool, he’ll deadass take your phone if you need to catch up and keep it in his pocket

“uh uh, yer not gettin’ this back until you finish. we clear, baby?”

unconsciously flexes his jaw when he stretches

digs his tongue into his cheek whenever he’s focused and furrows his eyebrows

bakugou manspreading. that’s all.

if he sees someone trying to flirt with you he will deadass laugh in their face

moves you out of the way by grabbing your waist

if he wants you to sit with him he simply pats the spot next to him (or sometimes his lap) and is like “c‘ mere”

if you couldn’t tell, yeah he likes to give orders (☺️)

speaking of orders, knows your food order from every place you like by heart

and is the one who sends your food back if they get your order wrong

“yo, excuse me! yeah send this shit back she didn’t want pickles on her shit.”

he actually talks to older adults very respectfully

as he got older, he matured and his manners towards his professors is definitely one of the things that swept you off your feet

DENKI KAMINARI

he knows damn well when you missed him and loves to be especially affectionate just to have you all shy under his touch and with his words

“hi pretty babyy”

“aww, am i making you nervous?”

“you miss me my princess?”

“you’re real cute, y’know that?”

when you achieve something like learning how to play a game he’s showing you or doing good on an exam he always says things like “see, there you go” “good job, baby ‘m so prouda you”

he’s very attentive to you, he lets you be clingy whenever you want

taps his pencil gently with his fingers or plays with his rings whenever he’s trying to focus hard on something

then when he’s confused he runs his fingers through his hair with furrowed eyebrows and his lips pouted up

always responds with “yes, baby?” whenever you say his name to get his attention

and to make sure he’s not neglecting you all the time when he sits down to play video games he has you either cuddled up in his lap, sitting between his legs on the floor, or laying your head on his lap depending on how he’s sitting

no matter who he’s with always greet you with “hi baby” or “hey babe”, he has absolutely no shame showing affection to you

definitely participate in all those tiktok slideshows where people show off they girlfriends

pulls you into his lap by the waist

<< his morning voice 33

getting to go to the gym with him or at least see him after he goes to the gym is a true blessing bc his messy hair immediately makes him 10x hotter

always hugs you tightly and wraps both arms around your body

and loves hugging you from behind

hypes up every post you make and spams your comments

SHOUTO TODOROKI

when he gets mad it makes you feel all hot, especially because it’s rarely directed at you

his voice. that’s all.

he’s so polite and treats you like the highest human being on earth (as he should)

“are you alright, my love?”

“i’m so sorry my angel, let me make it up to you please.”

“here, i’ll carry that for you love.”

“goodnight my princess, i’ll be dreaming about you.”

he hugs you with his whole body, making sure he can feel every inch of your skin pressed up on his.

and he makes you do it to, pulling you in by your waist flush against his stomach.

makes sure to hold your hand every time he’s walking you somewhere because your safety is a priority to him

always ask before he does things, he hates feeling like he’s making you uncomfortable. “can i kiss you?” “is this okay? “you sure you want to, lovely?”

contrary, to popular belief he’s way too good at eye contact

and then gets confused when you become all flustered even though he’s staring into your eyes as you speak

“what’s wrong? is there something on my face?”

but eventually you admit how nervous it makes you, and he takes note

so now, he especially looks you in your eyes during conversation

“hmm? go ahead sweetheart i’m listenin’.”

whenever he’s studying for an upcoming exam, he leans back more in his seat and when he goes to stretch, his shirt lifts up and reveals his lower stomach

he comes well dressed no matter how bad of a day he’s having or what time he woke up

whenever he walks in a room, trust he got that shit on (because he’s way too rich to be dressed like a fool)

his dorm is always clean: bed’s always made, has a specific shelf for school supplies, etc

him cursing. that's all.

whenever you fall asleep on his chest he holds you tight under his free arm with his hand over your head, just because he wants so bad to protect you

in general tends to be protective

keeps a hand on your waist at events, walks next to the road on the sidewalk and will make sure you dont, puts his hand in front of you if the car stops too hard, all that

© rumisgf

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere. 

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building. 

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting. 

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry. 

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt. 

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady. 

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?” 

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard. 

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade. 

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him. 

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white. 

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe. 

He thinks he might throw up. 

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak. 

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity. 

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai. 

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below. 

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly. 

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?” 

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to. 

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved. 

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him. 

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you? 

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful. 

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you. 

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him. 

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving. 

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him. 

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again. 

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to. 

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him. 

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care. 

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him. 

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him. 

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side. 

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again. 

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?” 

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do. 

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye. 

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention. 

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with: 

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something. 

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips. 

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible. 

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time. 

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you. 

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it. 

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from  his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away. 

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible. 

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it. 

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this. 

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge. 

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you. 

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut. 

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.”

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

[juanarc-thethird]

Can you do the "He has risen baby girl" scene as well? Maybe it is Jacques who pretends to be sad about what happened to Jaune and Nora.

Continuation of "That" scene from DeadPool & Wolverine

Very small spoilers

The moment Nora and Jaune joined hands to overload the machine, it exploded with the two of them in the middle. Ruby and Ren were knocked back by the blast wave. When they came to, seconds later, they saw that where their friends were standing was completely destroyed.

Ren: Did they...

Ruby: Come on Ren, get up and help me find them!

Ren: Yes!

Just as they stand up to start looking for them, some guards from the Schnee company grabbed them.

Ren: Huh?!

Ruby: Hey! Let me go!

They are taken upstairs where Weiss and the rest of his friends are, all immobilized. Weiss is tied to a chair, Blake is handcuffed, and Yang is tied in chains.

Ruby: Girls, are you okay?!

Blake: We are, but we have bigger problems.

At that moment Jacques Schnee appears, looking at all the destruction his machine caused.

Jacques: Look what you did to my machine. My poor, poor machine. You kids will pay for this.

Ruby: What?! You're the one responsible for all this in the first place!

Ren: When Ironwood finds out about this he'll put you behind bars!

Yang: And we all know your hair is just a wig!

Jacques: *red* What did you say! You little-

Weiss: What was that?

Yang: Sorry, I'm still a little angry.

Jacques: It doesn't matter, no one will know about this.

Ironwood: Nobody will know about what, exactly?

Jacques is startled when he hears his voice and turns to look at the general.

Jacques: James?! What are you doing here?

Ironwood: We noticed a power anomaly in this area and came to investigate. Are you responsible for this?!

Jacques: *Nervous* A-Am I responsible for this?! Well, in stopping the machine, yes!

Ruby: He is ly-Hmmm!!

One of the guards covered Ruby's mouth before she could say anything. The others did the same with her friends to prevent any trouble.

Jacques: *Fake crying* Two brave heroes, a young men and a young woman with promising futures, gave their lives for us. I looked upon them as my own children. But that doesn't matter anymore. There is nothing in this world that I can do or that anyone can do to bring them back...

Nora: He has risen baby girl!

Jacques: *Angry* FUCK!

"Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls, starts playing in the background for some reason.

Everyone turns to where Nora's voice was heard and sees her and Jaune appear safe and sound. Sparks from the rubble fall on the two of them as they walk towards the group. Nora's suit was somewhat burned while Jaune was sweaty, showing off his shiny muscles as sparks from the rubble bounce off of the two of them.

Nora: *Smiling* We found the off switch

Jaune: *Angry* And we're doing just fine, you piece of shit.

Blake/Yang/Ruby: 👀 👀 👀*Looking at Jaune's abs... respectfully... Ish*

Weiss: *Aslo looking with fuck me eyes* Fine indeed~💕

Nora: All right... *takes a jacket and gives it to Jaune* Put your greasy tits away you preening slut.

[scrollypoly]

Alex Kister has made a response to the document made by Ven

The link to the document. PLEASE READ THIS DOCUMENT BEFORE SPREADING FALSE CLAIMS

Alright this is a much more concise and well written document than Ven's was, so ill be brief. Im also gonna strike out my neutrality for this, because after reading Ven's document and seeing the behavior of the accusers on tumblr, I have lost what little belief in this document that i had and belief it was made in poor faith to slander and condemn Alex on false claims.

First, the important claims. Alex did not groom anyone. In fact, Alex says that Ven and DB are older than Alex, and Ven's statements of them being in their 29s corroborates this, as Alex is only 20 years old. Stop spreading misinfo that Alex is a pedophile or a groomer

Alex hits every point that Ven makes in their document and talks through them all. He talks only briefly for how Ven went through their prior relationship, just enough to acknowledge that it wasn't a healthy relationship and that Ven also had some responsibility in how the relationship went down, especially around the miscommunication between the two of them. These miscommunications would later come up in DB's relationship with Alex as well. It is not Alex's responsibility to see through others when they communicate that things are fine when they are not. It is up to the other party to properly communicate their feelings and any problems they may be having in the relationship. Even in the screenshots from Ven's document, we see clearly that when Ven or DB express any discomfort about something, Alex apologizes and backpedals. This is good and normal behavior.

Alex also discusses Ven's intentions with this document

Literally all of this could have been solved privately and been so much better for everyone. I acknowledge and respect that Ven and DB were hurt by their relationships with Alex, but a relationship is a private matter, and problems in that relationship should be respectfully handled between those in the relationship. This document was cruel, exposing Alex's sexual discussions to the public, outting his identity as a transgender person, and slandering him with little regard for the truth or hearing his side of the interactions. This matter should have been handled privately.

One of the things i acknowledged Alex being in the wrong for in my post on Ven's document was suicide baiting. I'll let this snippet in his document speak for itself. I am undecided on how i feel about the interaction, but this gives very important insight to it.

Alex also speaks and gives more context and information about his relationship with DB. As stated earlier, DB was also older than Alex. Alex did not groom DB. The same problems with miscommunication Alex had with Ven can also be discussed here. DB was in a consenting relationship with Alex and as Alex shows, responded in kind to Alex's advances and even advanced the relationship further on my own. From Alex's perspective in this document, it looks like he and DB had a comfortable consenting relationship that was suddenly retracted by DB. If DB was uncomfortable with anything in this relationship, they should have spoken up and discussed it with Alex.

All in all, Ven's document already had a lot of flaws, and Alex's response points out many more flaws that I didn't initially see as well. Please note this response is only to Ven's document, and does not acknowledge the other allegations made by donut, mitcha, or any of the others. I assume Alex will also talk about those, I will wait and see before discussing those allegations further.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Drawing Down the Moon (Alastor x Ancient Roman!Witch!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any? Please correct me if I am wrong. The subject matter is a little niche.

Description: Alastor reencounters an old friend.

Word Count: 2,871

Master Lists:

All Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

A/N i’ve been reading about roman magic laws for school okay?? don’t judge me. Maybe one of the nichest things I've ever written (except that one Akutagawa x Reader fic I have on my Wattpad where I made them talk to one another in ancient Greek and Latin (its called Leo, Leonis and tbh, that fic slaps if I do say so myself)). Won't be surprised if no one reads or likes this one but I don't care. This will be a monster of a fic, she's been lurking in the recesses of my mind for a hot second now.

"Why would she lie for so long? Does she think I wouldn't accept her?" Charlie was animatedly talking at Alastor as they walked the streets of Hell, "What about me, ME, says un understanding... misunderstanding?... Disunder- Wait, w-where are we?"

Alastor sprung to life as Charlie finally asked a question he had an answer to. Theatrically, he stepped into her curious line of sight, his arms held wide.

"Cannibal Town!" respectfully, Alastor turned and took Charlie's arm in his own, "There's a friend of mine I think you should meet."

"In Cannibal Town?" Charlie doubtfully asked as Alastor began to lead her towards a crowded shop entrance, "But it's... it's... surprisingly nice here."

"Isn't it, though?" Alastor proudly replied, "And it is all thanks to a very special someone."

Alastor opened the stained glass doors to the emporium, allowing Charlie to walk through them before he followed in her wake. The store was full, packed to the brim with cannibals of all sorts, all of whom seemed to part respectfully in the face of Alastor, allowing him to approach the front counter with Charlie trailing after him.

"Ah, Johnny my good fellow." Alastor hummed to the cashier, leaning casually on the counter.

The demon seated behind the table looked up with a wide smile.

"Mister Alastor, it has been quite a while since we've seen your face around these parts."

Charlie watched the interaction in mild surprise. It wasn't often she had the pleasure of meeting someone Alastor knew who didn't hate him or want him dead. Curiosity clouded her mind as Alastor waved the man off.

"I don't mean to be rude but, we're in a bit of a rush." Alastor said, politeness pooling delicately around his words, "Rosie wouldn't happen to be in, would she?"

"Ah, well, you see, Mister Alastor..." the demon seemed slightly uncomfortable, scratching at his ear slightly, "She's a tad... preoccupied at the moment?"

"A guest?" Alastor asked.

"A guest." Johnny reluctantly confirmed.

"Well, no matter. Is she in the back?"

"Yes," Johnny got to his feet, leaning forward as Alastor linked arms with Charlie once again, leading her behind the counter, "but I really don't think it's a good idea to... and they're gone."

"Wasn't that rude?" Charlie asked as Alastor pulled her behind the curtain that separated the main store from the backrooms and Rosie's apartment, "Oh no, is that guy going to get in trouble? Because of us?"

"Everything will be just fine my dear, don't you worry." Alastor patted her hand reassuringly as they came to stop before a door.

Letting Charlie's arm fall free, he straightened his jacket just the slightest bit before knocking on the door. There was a moment of silent anticipation before a voice from the other side called:

"Who is it?!"

"Alastor, Rosie." Alastor replied calmly.

There was a rustling of fabric, a handful of hasty footsteps, and the door swung open to reveal a woman. She was tall and beautiful in her long dress and her wide brimmed hat.

"Oh my stars!" she exclaimed with a bright smile, "Do my eyes deceive me? Alastor? Alastor! Where have you been? These halls really lost some of their sparkle without your lively presence and-"

The woman, Rosie, trailed off as she caught sight of Charlie standing beside her dear friend.

"Oh, who's this you brought with you? Come now, Alastor, she's much too young for you. Oh, I'm just kidding. But where are your manners, Mister? Introduce us, why don't you?"

"Ah, yes, Charlie, this is Rosie: the most darling, delightful, and dangerous Overlord this side of the pentagram."

At his words, Rosie smiled, giving a perfect curtsy. It was as her form lowered that Charlie caught sight of the interior of the room, and the strange seated figure it housed. Alastor seemed not to have noticed and as Rosie straightened herself up again, she laughed slightly.

"Oh, always such a charmer."

"And Rosie," Alastor continued, "it is my pleasure to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, daughter of Lucifer and heir to the throne of Hell."

Charlie smiled weakly, waving slightly at the imposing and nearly off-puttingly cheerful woman.

"How do you do?" she asked awkwardly, "I am very sorry for interrupting your meeting, I tried to get Alastor to wait but..."

"Oh, yes!" Rosie suddenly exclaimed, almost as if she had forgotten about her previous guest in all the excitement, "Come on in you two, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

Charlie was about to protest when Rosie grabbed her by the arm, dragging her into the room. Alastor followed, turning his back as he shut the door behind them. Charlie's mouth fell open slightly as her eyes finally saw the truth of Rosie's guest.

She was tall, probably tall enough to rival Alastor or Rosie herself. Skin tinged slightly blue, she seemed to be covered in a faint gold dust that clung to her draped, toga-like dress and skin in equal amount. Heaps of gold jewelry hung on every inch of her as well, wrapping her wrists, her neck, her ankles, her fingers, even braided into her hair. Resting atop her head was a crown of gold with a half moon on it, her feet were bare. With wide, white eyes that nearly seemed unseeing, the woman watched Charlie carefully.

"Can I offer you something to eat?" Rosie was asking, but Charlie could barley hear her, unable to break eye contact with the woman, "I'm sure I have a leg around here or something..."

"I am afraid were not here for food." Alastor thankfully stepped in, turning to Rosie with closed eyes and a wide smile, "We happen to be in need of some help."

"Alastor?" the woman spoke and her voice resounded in itself, loud yet soft at the same time, singular and yet somehow plural.

"Well, aren't you fresh."

That was the first thing she had ever said to him. Alastor had been wandering Hell, minding his own business when he had heard that voice say those words and felt a fire ignited in him. Slowly, he had turned around to see a pair of towering demons. Overlords, he realized, and big ones at that. Alastor's smile sharpened at its edges as he began to formulate a plan.

Charlie turned at last, as if whatever spell the stranger had cast on her had broken at the sound of her voice, to look at Alastor in mild confusion. She heard his breath hitch in his throat. The man in question was frozen, his ears twitching wildly, his eyes now wide open.

"Is that you?" the demon asked again.

Alastor somehow seemed to reassemble himself before their very eyes. Slowly, he turned to the room's only occupied chair.

"Who are you?"

Alastor feigned innocence, looking up at the titan herself as she took a step forward. In an instant, she stood at his height, looking him dead in the eyes.

"An odd one too." she hummed thoughtfully, white eyes tracking the stars, reading his future it almost seemed, "Most people go with what before who."

Alastor was unsure how to respond to that one. The titan chuckled, a grin flashing across her face. It was unexpected, disconcerting. Alastor hadn't thought her face capable of any expression save solemn disinterest. She turned her head slightly to the side, looking back over her shoulder to her companion.

"Zestial, cara mea?"

The spidery demon took a step forward, meeting her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Don't you have something you need to be getting to?"

Alastor may have been dumbstruck, but he wasn't stupid. He heard the order as clearly as if she had not bothered with the formalities of disguising it. It shocked Alastor to his core. This might be his first time encountering Zestial but, he had heard the demon's name before. Most frequently, it had been spat at him by his victims who claimed that one of Hell's oldest and most respected demons would come for him. So who was this other overlord, the titan? Sure, he'd heard of her before but enough that such blatant disrespect towards Hell's most respected made sense? No. Not at all, in fact.

Zestial paused a moment before bowing his head slightly.

"You're quite right." he hummed, "I will be seeing you presently I expect?"

"Perchance." the titan lazily replied, her gaze having long since switched back to Alastor, set on analyzing his features, "I'll let you know."

With another polite bow, Zestial had turned and began walking in the opposite direction. The titan held an arm out for Alastor. He looked at it curiously before meeting the demon's eye's again. She laughed.

"So suspicious. I thought you we're the one killing overlords, not me."

His eyes went wide.

"How do you..." he cleared his throat, "how did you know?"

It was a stupid question and he knew it. There hadn't been any secret keeping, not really. Sure, he never outright said he was the Radio Demon who broadcasted screams but he supposed there couldn't be many Radio Demon's out there really. It didn't matter that he had only been going after overlords for a month or so now, she was one. Of course she would know.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

All it took was one look. Suddenly, he was new again, spat fresh out of life on Earth and in to Hell's gaping maw. One look at her, and he dissolved at the edges, forming and reforming his own ability to speak and comprehend the world around him.

"It is." the woman hummed, a wide smile breaking across her face, revealing the blackness of her teeth, her mouth.

Alastor soon formed a bit of a soft spot for the inhuman overlord. It was that first meeting, that first walk. He had asked, hunting for information to wield against her, about her life on Earth and in Hell. It was her fault really, for answering. That's what had him stuck.

Y/n had laid her life out for him like a freshly pressed table cloth. She had been raised on the streets of ancient Rome and executed as a witch. She was perhaps the oldest demon remaining in Hell, the exterminations having eventually wiped out even the strongest members of her times. Just as Alastor had been reborn as a deer due to his death, so too was she reborn as what they had accused her of. Every ritual, every spell, prophecy itself all worked for her. It was then Alastor understood the interaction he had witnessed between Zestial and Y/n, then he understood the respect.

He found himself drawn to her more and more and, somehow, he always seemed to be able to find her when he went searching. He assumed it was some strange magical nonsense she controlled. Alastor didn't question it.

Y/n showed him Hell in a way he had never seen it before. She taught him where to gather herbs and how to use them, how to bend the earth to his will, how to spin iunges and call down the storms, the rain, the moon. Alastor devoured, fed by her hand.

It was odd, Charlie had never seen a demon like her before. The white eyes, the teeth black with what seemed to be darkness, the gold. All of it was off putting yet somehow, captivating. Alastor seemed to be acting weird, his eyes flitting wildly across the woman, taking in her every detail. Charlie wasn't sure what to do about that.

In some sense, Alastor seemed to be scared. In another, he was in an overjoyed state of disbelief. Charlie wasn't sure which was more disconcerting, or how to respond to either and so, she simply watched.

"I have a question, mea ocella."

Y/n announced one day and Alastor turned from where he sat spinning stories into his microphone at her feet. That was what she had called him, her little eye. She told him it was a term of endearment. Alastor had no reason to doubt. The red grass swayed slightly in the breeze as he looked up at her, immediately bringing a halt to his broadcast.

"What is it?"

"You've been so set on ending all us overlords for so long now," she hummed, "wouldn't you like to do something different?"

"Something like what?"

"See from the other side of the glass."

Her white eyes glowed blue, the gold on her skin shining out into the world around like stars. Alastor sighed.

"You're prophesying again."

She nodded in agreement. Y/n had never seen the point in lying, she had never known its use. Not since before she could remember, back in the times she lived. They were so distant now, so immaterial and unimportant she rarely payed those memories much mind.

"So, what is it you see me doing?"

"Simple riddle or play on words?"

The two types of prophesy, the two options. Alastor put a finger to his chin, humming in thought.

"Simple riddle. Please, not in dactylic hexameter if you would, decoding that always gives me a headache."

"But that has been the meter of prophecy since Justice herself sat on the Delphic throne, mea ocella." Y/n retorted in surprise, meeting Alastor's eyes.

"Yeah, well."

Y/n laughed lightly, looking back out blankly toward the future.

"As you wish, ocella. Just this once. My gift to you."

Alastor hummed his non-comital thanks, turning his gaze back out the the skyline of the city as well.

"One will be two, two will be four, when that number comes be ready for more. Seven years past under grim sudden stress, four becomes ten, I'll tell you what happens next. Help one bright star to the top, not too far, and you will be free from the one not the three."

"Rhymes? Really?"

Y/n looked down at him, the glow fading from her as their eyes met and the future vanished from the scope of her vision.

"You asked for no hexameter, I still get to have fun."

"Yeah, yeah."

The pair fell into a comfortable silence. Alastor ran the words of her fortune in his head, trying to gain any semblance of reason from them.

"They don't sound very... avoidable."

"That's because it's not one of the ones you can change."

"Oh."

Y/n pulled herself to her feet suddenly, her chiton swirling around her. Alastor watched in awe as her image flickered in the air for a moment between the image of herself just a head shorter than him, the one who loomed around nine feet tall, and some three headed monster at what must've been five stories. Leaning, she held a hand out for him to grasp. It took Alastor a moment to realize, shaking his head slightly as he at last accepted Y/n's help and got to his feet.

"Where are we going?"

"I've decided you are going to be an overlord, mea ocella."

"Why?"

"I think it might help you down the line."

It had been years since Alastor had seen her. Long before he had taken his so called seven year sabbatical, Y/n had vanished. Alastor knew she wasn't dead, he would have been able to tell if she was dead. Surly the world would have shifted in some new and strange way to lose the goddess of the crossroads, the titan, Hekate made flesh and blood. Nothing like that had happened and so he knew she was alive, just not where or how.

Y/n's prophecies were always accurate. Standing here before her now, Alastor recalled her words from all those decades before.

One will be two, two will be four. When that number comes, be ready for more.

One had been just him. Two? When he had died and met his shadow. Alastor realized now that three had been Y/n herself and that the fourth important person who had come into his afterlife was the very person who owned his soul.

Seven years past under grim sudden stress, four becomes ten, I'll tell you what happens next.

Seven years he'd been gone, indeed under an unexpected and disastrous situation. When, after seven long years, he had returned to Hell, he had gone to the hotel. It was at the Hazbin Hotel that he not only met Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, and Sir Pentious but that they became vital parts of his life along with Husk and Nifty who before then had mostly existed on the periphery. Those six, plus the original four, made ten.

Help one bright star to the top, not too far, and you will be free from the one not the three.

All along, all those years ago, she had known. Alastor had always respected Y/n, always harbored a soft and disconcerting love for the witch. Never before now had either felt so overwhelming. Alastor took a trembling step forward from his place at Charlie's side. The world closed in, she was the only thing he could see.

Y/n smiled as he sunk to his knee before her, his head bowed.

"Mea ocella." she happily hummed, lifting his head up gently with the tips of her bluish grey fingers.

"Y/n."

----

This fic will probably have a part two.

TAGS:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0 @kahlan170 @wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007 @juskonutoh @simpingsohard @sethianaa @gabile18 @slytherin4ever @skyeliteratures @zombiesnips-blog

[kingconia]

i love your works so much 💕💕 u write the characters so well! i was wondering if you could do the housewardens + a mc who listens to heavy rock and metal? or, alternatively, a mc who plays guitar. thank you <3

A/N: Ah, I am very thankful for these words. I decided to mix these two idea for different characters. I hope it is alright.

HOUSEWARDENS WITH MC, WHO IS INTERESTED IN HEAVY MUSIC

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— I have a headcanon that Riddle rarely listens to music, and if he does, it is something classical and organic. Perhaps, lo-fi for studies purposes, too, but rarely;

— When you ask about putting some of your favourite songs for the evening, Riddle has no arguments against it. You are such a lovely and delightful person, surely, you music is just as sweet as–

— Oh, dear. Congratulations, you scared him with the noises of hell, blasting through dynamics...

— Respectfully, he hates your music preferences. And there is no way it will change. However, he tries to be nice about it...

•

”You are looking as if you are having a heart attack,” you comment absentmindedly, putting song on the pause. ”Riddle, I told you, that you shouldn't make yourself listen to it, if—”

”I am fine! I am fine, really,” he quickly reassures you, plastering a nervous smile on his face. ”Please, put it back. I... I really enjoyed this last part, where... Uhm... He screamed.”

You sigh.

Riddle was impossible to deal with.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— When you tell Leona that you make your own music, he thinks you play something careful or pop-like. He doesn't like this type of music, but obviously he can endure a little torment for you;

— However as you take a guitar in your hands, Leona is genuinely shocked. Very pleasantly shocked!

— I headcanon Leona listening to heavy rock, too, so, I think that he absolutely loves what you do. He is your fan number one now, and he brags about you to everyone.

— If you also sing, he will use your voice as a lullaby material. ”Y/n, play ’Numb’ by Linkin Park, I want to sleep.”

•

”Guess what?” You ask as you are standing behind sitting Leona, resting elbows on his shoulders.

”Hm? What is it?”

”Headmaster asked me to sing for the Halloween concert,” you smirk proudly.

As emerald eyes lit up slightly—a very rare sight to witness—Leona folds arms on his chest, clearly boasting:

”Of course, he did,” turning his head to your side, he lands a kiss on your cheek. ”That's my star right there!”

You huff, but your cheeks are instantly flushed from his compliment. Why he has to be so embarrassing?

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— I am sorry, but as soon as he finds out about you, being a musician, he will not even care about what type of music it is. From now, you are playing in the Monster Lounge in all your free times—

— But jokes aside, Azul instantly supports you. He doesn't really have an established opinion about heavy metal. Music is music, isn't it?

— Though, if you ask me, I don't think Azul is a big fan of this genre in general. But he is your fan, so it doesn't really matter;

— He will definitely suggest to become your personal manager, because, of course, he would.

•

”So?” You let out a tired, a little rushed breath, looking at your boyfriend expectantly. ”Was it good? Was it bad? Monster Lounge worthy, or?”

There is a strange dreamy smile on Azul's face, with his teeth slightly baring as he rushes to your side:

”My dear, it was an absolute masterpiece. It is not Monster Lounge worthy. It is a world worthy.’

”Azul,” you groan, rolling your eyes tiredly. ”Please, don't lie to me. It is just some silly songs.”

Ignoring your remark, he presses his cheek to yours, announcing with a strange triumph in his voice.

”And that how legends are made.”

You fight an urge to smack him with a guitar. What an idiot.

Kalim Al-Asim. 🧡

— I think Kalim likes hyperpop the most, but overall, he listens everything. So, don't be afraid, he is definitely not a one to judge or say something against your tastes;

— When you crash in his place to hang out, and put your playlist, he is absolutely delighted! He likes every song you show him, and he makes sure to add it on his favourites, too;

— Kalim might or might not ask you for you account in Magicfy, so you both could constantly see what you are listening to, and exchange songs you like;

— And he makes a special playlist for you, with songs he thinks you might like, and never heard before.

•

”Did you like it?” Kalim asks, shifting from one leg to another, almost nervously. ”A few of them were added from Jamil's playlist, but I hadn't seen anything similar in your Magicfy, so—”

”Kali-im,” you are practically throwing yourself on him, wrapping arms around his neck tightly. ”Kalim, you are the best.”

You spent your last night listening through playlist he made—consisting of forty five songs!—and you can't help but feel grateful. Kalim chose every single song so carefully, just to please you.

”I am glad you like it!”

And, surely, everyone knows that the path to someone's heart lays through new and unexplored music!

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Your confession that you make music bring a lot of satisfaction to him. He thinks, it is important to have some similar interests, and he loves the idea both of you being invested in this type of art;

— However, Vil had never expected that you are creating rock music. It is not something he listens to, but, he supports your interest nevertheless;

— You are always amazing in his eyes, but if Vil spots some mistake in your work, or just suggestion how to improve your lyrics, he will point it out;

— Just like Azul, invested in making you a star. Buys you expensive technics, connects you with different famous people, who can teach you something useful, and, accidentally, mentions you in front of his colleagues... Oh, he knows what he is doing.

•

”I am so nervous,” you mumble, fixing your hair for the fifth time in a row. ”This concert place is huge. Why it is so huge?”

”Calm down,” Vil sighs, slightly smacking your hands away. ”And keep your hands of your face and hair, I worked too long on them for you ruining it so easily.”

You smile apologetically.

”Don't worry, my twinkle star. The stage is yours—and you got it,” he kisses you on the back of your hand reassuringly, well-aware of how hard it is; to preform for the first time. ”Now go. And when you return, I will make sure to reward you thoroughly.”

As your cheeks heat up, you can't think of anything but a mystery reward you were promised to... Well, Vil definitely knows how to fight with anxiety.

Idia Shroud. 💙

— Idia literally doesn't care what music is playing. He puts random playlists on the background, when he is playing games most of the time. He is not even familiar with the names of songs or musical bands;

— When you ask if you can put your music, Idia literally just shrugs;

— Have zero reaction on your playlist. Might or might not nod occasionally in the beat of song, but that's it;

— But, if his head hurts, he will ask to turn it down. His migraines can't tolerate this kind of loudness, sorry.

•

”Can I put my playlist?” You ask quietly, plopping on the sofa as you enter the room.

”Not today,” Idia sighs, sitting next to you slowly. ”My head hurts, and if I wanted to hear man screaming in this state, I would simply go to the housewarden meeting.”

You chuckle softly, reaching to pat his hair. As your fingers sink in his unruly locks, he mumbles something incoherent, nuzzling in your touch instantly.

”Rest then, darling,” you scratch the skin of his head gently. ”I am here.”

”Thank you...”

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— Malleus is so excited that you asked him to check your music out, that he doesn't even care about such details as this;

— He has a really superficial knowledge about genres and stuff, but since Lilia plays in the group in his free-time, and it is also the heavy stuff, Malleus is not that ignorant;

— But, truth to be told, he would love your songs anyway. It is you, who makes this songs special, not the other way around;

— Just as Leona, he is your most loyal fan, bragging about you everywhere. He likes to sit on your lap, while you work on lyrics and notes, too.

•

”Had you been here for a long time?” You ask with unhidden surprise in your voice.

Malleus is standing in the doorway, leaning on the door frame with his shoulder, arms folded on his chest. He smiles widely as you acknowledge him, stars in eyes becoming even brighter than before.

”It doesn't matter. The image of you working on what you love, these fingers fumbling in strings, fascinates me completely. The time passes without a notice.”

You huff, already being used to this kind of compliments from him.

”Then come and sit with me,” you offer, patting the place next to you. ”I don't mind having you here, after all.”

And that what makes him beam openly.

What a level of trust it is!

[azureseacloud]

Hidden Messages

Ghost (Band)

Part 5

Dewdrop x reader

Words: 4839

Warnings: swearing, shenanigans, ✨ghouls✨

So, uh, I know it’s been a while but I finally finished this part and I honestly don’t know what happened but somehow it is double the size of the others (oops). There goes my attempt at keeping them all the same length 😭

Not sure when the next part will be out, but I am riding the strong wave of hyperfixation that I got from watching the ghovie, so it will hopefully take less time than this part.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and if you want to chat about ghost or the ghovie or anything really, shoot me a message (I don’t bite, unlike the ghouls ;)

Thanks for your support, love you all <3

Taglist: @gummy-dummy

@viylikescats

@ghoulettess

@starwalker3001

Striding hurriedly through the corridor, you grasped the cup of fresh coffee tightly. Its warmth seeped into the palm of your hand as the strong aroma hung in the air.

Tucked under your other arm was your laptop enclosed on a folder containing the last documents that you had finished last night. You rounded the corner, ducking down the next left and knocking on the first door with your free hand.

“Come in,” Sister Imperator’s stern voice sounded from the other side.

You opened the door, trying not to drop the laptop precariously held under your arm.

“Good morning, Sister,” you greeted her as you made your way over to stand before her desk.

She sat in her chair, a set of glasses perched on her nose. Her greying hair was done up in a tight bun with a few loose strands falling around her face. The suit she wore was a smooth grey.

“Morning. Do you have everything that I asked for?” She replied, her voice stern. That was how it always was though, and it was the one word that perfectly described her entire demeanour.

“Right here.” You handed her the folder of documents. “And I emailed the rest of them as well.”

Sister nodded as she flicked through the pages, skimming each one. Your eyes wandered around the room, scanning over the various novels and grimoires stuffed into the dark bookshelf that took up most of the room.

Practice started in ten minutes, and you were hoping this meeting would be short. You could have had extra time if not for Cirrus, who hadn’t wanted to let you go just as Dewdrop had the morning before.

Ghouls were so much like cats.

It was a similarity you had marked several times throughout working with them. Although, when you had brought it up to Phantom one time, he’d vehemently denied it, even though he’d literally been purring loudly right before you said it.

“Did you sort out the issue with the venue?” Sister asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, they needed an extra few forms filled out for the pyrotechnics. I filled those out, just waiting now for their confirmation, which we should receive some time today.”

She nodded, finishing flicking through the files. “Excellent work.”

“Thank you, Sister.” You smiled graciously.

“What are you planning to do today?”

“I was going to watch the ghouls and Papa practice. But if there’s something you need my help with, I’ll gladly lend a hand.”

Sister Imperator’s gaze roved over you. It always felt like she was somehow seeing through you and into your mind.

“No, that’s fine.” She looked back down at the papers again, shuffling them, before glancing back up. “The ghouls seem to be very fond of you.”

You blinked, unsure what to say. “Yeah, they seem to like me.”

Sister’s piercing eyes moved over your face, as if analysing your thoughts and feelings just by taking in your features. A chill ran up your spine before she ended the brief silence.

“Don’t ever forget that they aren’t like us. They aren’t human, no matter how convincing they may seem.” Her words were etched with warning. “I’d hate for you to get hurt. You’d be so very hard to replace.”

You nodded respectfully, her words and their possible meanings running through your mind.

“You may go.” She waved a hand, and you hurried out of the room, holding your laptop tightly under your arm. Was she trying to warn you?

Or was that a threat?

******

They were in the middle of a song by the time you made it down to the rehearsal room. The muffled thumping of the beats and the sweet cries of guitars could be heard through the walls as you beelined for the door.

Pausing with your hand on the handle, you took a moment to collect yourself. You were already aware that Dew was going to be out for your attention, just as he had yesterday. Perhaps even more so.

But he wouldn’t be the only one. All the ghouls became “absolute attention whores”—as you had heard the siblings of sin describe it—when on stage. And today, there was only one person to focus their antics on.

Why did you agree to this again?

Before you could get too caught up in your thoughts—or think back to Sister Imperator’s cryptic words that had been stuck in your head the entire walk down—you twisted the handle and opened the door.

The music washed over you in a loud wave, the blaring sounds of guitars, drums, keyboards and the vocals belonging to Papa and his ghouls filling your ears. Music was always so much more magical when it was performed live, and you were already tapping your fingers against your thigh in time with the beat.

You closed the door behind you, eyes darting immediately to the stage. Dew was staring straight at you already, deftly playing his signature white guitar. He tilted the guitar to the side, flashing the ‘You Suck’ sticker on the back in way of greeting.

How wonderful.

Flipping him off in return, you tore your eyes off his figure (holy shit that cape!) to slide over the other ghouls as you made your way to the front. Cirrus waved from her spot, flaring the blue of her cape. You shot her a thumbs up, clapping as she did a little twirl. Aurora waved as she and Cumulus sang the backup vocals into the same mic. Swiss flashed his (slightly creepy) smile, giving a delicate wave that quickly turned into him motioning ‘come here’ with his two fingers as he swayed his hips to the music.

Phantom stole your gaze then, stepping in and swinging his guitar under a leg while still playing. Behind him, Rain gave you a friendly nod, which you returned with a smile.

All of them looked amazing, the satin blue adding a splash of colour that contrasted wonderfully with their black uniforms. It gave them all a regal air, and you could see that they seemed pretty thrilled about the accessory.

You stopped halfway down the rows of benches, leaning against one as you waited for the song to finish, unsure where to sit. It was slightly daunting having them all focus on you like this.

“Cry all you want, but there’s not a single fucking thing you can do about those goddamn Rats.” Papa Copia hissed out, his bright blue jacket practically glowing under the lights.

You were nodding along until the song finished, the final echoes of the guitars fading.

“Hello lovely Sibling,” Copia greeted, speaking into the mic. You smiled back, waving shyly. “Come closer, we don’t bite—well they do but I’m sure you’re used to that.” He laughed at his little joke, and you rolled your eyes playfully.

Copia was always a friendly face, with his cheeky jokes and eccentric quirks. He was very different to all the other papas, but you liked him. He’d made you feel comfortable when you had first arrived here, and that was something that you were always reminded of when you saw him. He still checked in every now and then, ensuring that his ghouls were treating you right and that Sister wasn’t working you too hard.

“It sounded really good,” you called up at them as you made your way to the front. You forced your eyes to stay on Copia, even though you wanted to look at the ghoul to the right of him. You’d have plenty of time to admire Dewdrop later, you reminded yourself, although you weren’t sure if it was a good idea to give him that satisfaction.

“Ah, thank you my dear. It will be nice to have someone in here to perform for. We all have a few new tricks to test out.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, getting a laugh out of you as you sat down in the front row, slightly to the right.

Papa grouped the ghouls together, probably discussing the order of songs or those ‘new tricks’ he had mentioned. After a moment they all returned to their positions as Copia vanished somewhere up the back, most likely to make a grand entrance for the next song.

Your gaze flicked to Dew as he stepped over to the very edge of the stage, looking down at you in a way that had shivers racing down your spine.

That was a view you could get used to.

Your eyes began tracing his figure, stopping to admire certain points—the way he held the guitar casually, how his hand wrapped loosely around the neck, his fucking gorgeous boots that you had always been so jealous of, and the way his jacket clung to his form. Then there was the cape. That fucking cape. The buckle clasped across one side of his chest like an insignia, the blue spilling out over his should—

You stiffened, snapping to realisation of where your thoughts, and your eyes, had travelled to. Fuck.

Looking back up sheepishly, you could feel the ghoul’s cocky smirk, knowing he would have been watching you the whole time. Darting your eyes back to the front of the stage, you cleared your throat, kicking one leg over the other and leaning back in the seat, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Aw, don’t get all shy on me, my dearest.” The smug edge in his voice was unmissable. “There’s no need to be embarrassed for liking what you see.” You rolled your eyes, ignoring the subtle heat that had settled in your cheeks. Or at least, you hoped it was subtle.

“Relax Dew,” you lightly called up to him. “I was just having a look at the new cape. Cirrus has been telling me all about it.” And it certainly looked fucking amazing on him, but you weren’t going to say that. “Believe it or not, not everyone wants to fuck you.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew that you had just set yourself up.

The ghoul cackled, leaning over the stage to look down at you. “Wrong, sweetheart. And the way you can’t keep your eyes off me tells me that you definitely do as well. All you have to do is ask, lovely sin, and I’ll show you just how much you’re missing.”

You stared back up at the ghoul, mouth falling open. You heard him huff a laugh at your reaction, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. Before you could protest—or keel over and die from what he had just said—Mountain’s drums echoed out and just like that, the music started.

You instantly ripped your eyes away from the cocky ghoul, pinpointing Cirrus who was jumping around at her keyboard. She waved and you managed a small wave back. But even without your eyes on him, all you could think about now was that fucking fire ghoul and what he had just said.

Unholy shit, did that mean he knew how you felt about him!? Had your reaction just given it away? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Maybe he was just messing with you. That was all, right? He didn’t actually want to fuck you—did he? What if he did?

More importantly, was he aware that his words had literally just short-circuited your brain? Deep fried it? Baked and roasted and toasted? The rehearsal had barely even started and he’d already got to you.

You snapped out of your spiralling thoughts as Copia reached the microphone just in front of you, his voice pouring out the lyrics to Call Me Little Sunshine. You could hear your frantic heart thumping against the beat of the drums, as you tried to focus on what Copia was singing, and not those other thoughts that were fighting to overrun your mind. You had to pull it together.

Then that ghoul waltzed smoothly into your eyeline, his fingers skirting along the frets of the guitar. Unbidden, a picture rose to mind of him running those fingers along your body, as his mouth—

Nope, you were not going to think about that right now.

You shifted in your seat, catching the smug tilt of Dew’s head, as if he was aware of the turn your thoughts had taken. You exhaled, recovering your composure, and returned your gaze to Copia.

“You will never walk alone,” Papa sung, his beautiful ghostly voice and intense eye contact giving you chills as you watched with awe. “You can always reach me. You will never ever walk alone.”

“Call me!” Swiss, Cumulus and Aurora’s voices rung out, hauntingly beautiful in their harmony. Swiss smiled at you again, flashing those brilliant white teeth, and you smiled back.

The performance really was amazing, especially being this close to the stage. You’d gotten the job a few months ago, in the middle of their break, so you hadn’t really had the opportunity to see them perform, except for the occasional event at the clergy. But that usually ended with you in the back of the crowd, so watching them today was a whole different experience.

Dew crossed your vision again, this time pointing at you as it reached the chorus again, then making a ‘call me’ motion. Rolling your eyes with a smile, you watched as Rain cut in front of him, languidly reaching his ringed hand out towards you. You reached out as well, your hands too far apart to touch.

Then Phantom pushed in front, leaning backwards over the stage, his upside-down goggled eyes staring at you. Rain and Dew both grabbed the Quintessence ghoul before he fell, pulling him back on the stage as the song ended. You giggled as Rain steadied Phantom, while Dew just gave him a smack on the helmet.

Once they’d sorted that out, Dewdrop stepped up to the front and launched straight into Square Hammer. The three guitarist ghouls were in front of you as they began on the opening, Dew leaning back with Rain. Phantom joined them for the next part, all of them stomping in unison.

You really wanted those boots. Maybe you could steal a pair off Cirrus.

As Papa’s voice began, Dew threw a pick at you. Somehow, you miraculously managed to catch it before it hit your face, raising an eyebrow at the ghoul as he swaggered back to his side of the stage. You slipped it into your pocket, hiding the smile it brought to your face.

It went on like this for a while as they went through every song on their set list. You were bobbing your head and tapping your fingers with the beat, singing along with them. When Cirrus came over for her solo in Mummy Dust, you loudly cheered her on, both of you blowing kisses at each other.

On the other hand, Dewdrop was certainly out to get you. Aside from his usual movements and charm, he was definitely putting on a show for you: hovering on the edge of the stage right above you, running his hands along his body slowly in a way that had your heart racing, licking his fingers and even the guitar, plus a whole lot of other innuendo gestures and actions he seemed to fit into each song.

You were certain the little gremlin was making sure that you were looking in his direction whenever he did any of those actions. It was driving you crazy—and although you tried your hardest to pretend otherwise, you were sure that some of your reactions were noticeable. Worse, you almost couldn’t take your eyes off him, and your thoughts kept spiralling as much as you tried to shut them down.

But by Satan, you were loving it.

Toward the end of the rehearsal, during a short break, Cirrus hopped down the stage and came over to you.

“How are you going?” She asked with the hint of a smile in her voice. You were sure your face said it all—you were practically buzzing with energy.

“Fucking fantastic,” you answered back, nodding at her cape. “You were right about looking absolutely stunning.”

“Aw, thanks gorgeous.” She did a small twirl with it, then grabbed your hands and pulled you up to stand. Staggering at the unexpected movement, she used her grip to steady you.

“What are you doing?” You asked as she began leading you through the seats to the left. There was a little corridor there, which you assumed led up to the—oh no.

“Bringing you up to play with me,” she answered with a wicked grin as your mind landed on the same conclusion.

“Uh Cirrus, I don’t think—“

“You’ll be fine.” The corridor was small and closed off from the rest of the rehearsal room. She led you through it, her hand still firmly on yours. “So, how’s the show?”

“Really good. You’re all so amazing. And the capes are just breathtaking.”

“What about Dew?” She asked, giving you a teasing side look. “Better than those videos I keep sending you?”

“Is that even a question you need to ask? Of course it’s better.” Cirrus laughed at that, a giggle escaping you as well while your cheeks heated.

“Mmm, I thought so from the way you’ve been staring at him.”

“Shut up,” you whispered back at her. “I just can’t help it, and I think that maybe he’s noticed.” You weren’t going to repeat the words he had said to you at the beginning—you would tell her that later, when you weren’t in the same vicinity as the fire ghoul.

“You don’t say?” She gasped, sarcasm heavy in her voice as a smirk tugged at her lips.

Fuck, if that was Cirrus’ reaction then you had definitely not been subtle.

Just then, the corridor opened up into a cozy backstage area, with velvet carpeting and a set of red couches to the side. There were a couple mirrors fitted with benches—ready for last minute and mid-show adjustments, you assumed. A large rack of clothing was beside one of the couches, hung with what looked like Papa’s various outfits.

Copia was there, getting changed into his signature red jacket. He looked up as you walked in.

“Ah, are you going to join us for the next song, lovely sibling?” His eyes lit up as he asked.

“I don’t think I really have much of a choice,” you answered, as Cirrus tugged you to the front of the room. Before Copia could reply, you were out onto the stage. She brought you up to her platform and only let you go once you’d reached the keyboard, as if she suspected you might try to run away.

You looked over the stage, taking in the view of the empty room. It was admittedly a little daunting, being up on stage like this, even without a crowd present.

Yeah, maybe running away was a good idea.

“Finally come up to play with us?” Swiss called from his own platform, a hand caressing his mic stand once again. You were sure that ghoul had been a stripper in hell—if the mic stand was swapped out for a pole, you didn’t think there would be much difference.

“Yes,” you replied, nodding your head as Cirrus draped her arm around your shoulders. “I am totally not a hostage right now.”

Swiss snorted. You thought you heard another laugh, spotting Phantom as he joined the three of you.

“I see Cirrus has brought us an unwilling victim,” Phantom joked, sliding his pick along the string. You heard the sound of another guitar join the echoes of Phantom’s as Dew began playing his own solo. Even from the distance, you could see his fingers moving insanely fast.

“Show off,” Cirrus commented, squeezing your shoulder pointedly. You didn’t miss the way Swiss looked between you and the ghoul currently shredding his guitar, a smile slowly growing on his face. He opened his mouth to say something just as Papa walked out.

“Are we all ready?” Copia’s voice was barely audible over the sound of Dew’s guitar. He propped his hands on his hips, glaring at the oblivious ghoul until Rain grabbed his shoulder, stopping the fire ghoul and gesturing over at Papa.

“I said,” Copia began, this time speaking into the mic, “are we ready? Three, two, one!”

They jumped right in to the next song. It only took a few seconds before you placed it—Kiss the Go Goat.

Cirrus’ energy was contagious, and it wasn’t long before you were jumping around with her. The two of you danced around the platform, Cirrus letting you play the very few notes that you remembered from when she had taught you, while she easily covered the rest that you didn’t.

As she moved her fingers smoothly across the keys, her other hand pulled you to the mic as the pre-chorus came close. You shook your head at her, but she just smiled and drew you closer.

When it arrived, the two of you sang into the mic together, Cirrus smiling widely. You grinned back, pushing away your doubts as you shyly sung the next backing vocals along with her.

You almost didn’t notice Dew stopping by Swiss’ platform, the multi ghoul crouching down with him. Your eyes were immediately set on the two ghouls. What were they up to?

Dew stepped away, catching your stare. He started sauntering your way, stopping just in front of the platform. Tilting his head, he exhaled, smoke slowly seeping out of his helmet.

Oh. Unholy fuck.

The fire ghoul walked back a few steps, still watching you, then turned back around, returning to his spot on stage.

While you were still processing that—and how fucking attractive it was—Cirrus gave you a sharp jab in the ribs and you jolted back to reality.

“He definitely knows,” she said in your ear gleefully. “He did that just for you.”

You swatted her hand away, scowling at her. She grinned teasingly, leaning back into the mic with you as the next pre-chorus arrived.

“Please youuu,” you both sung, blending your vocals with those of Swiss, Aurora and Cumulus.

As soon as the chorus ended, Cirrus launched into her keyboard solo. Standing back to give her space, something brushed against your arm and you twisted around to see Swiss. He held out his hand, waiting for you to take it. You rolled your eyes, placing your hand in his and letting him steal you away to his platform while Cirrus was distracted.

“Having fun?” He asked, handing you his tambourine as he swayed along to the music.

“Of course.” You tapped the instrument along as the keyboard transitioned to guitar. “You guys have the best job in the clergy.”

“Actually, I think you have the best job.” Swiss leaned in closer. “You get to admire us all day.”

You smacked his arm playfully with the tambourine, the ghoul’s teeth gleaming in a teasing way as Dew’s solo came to an end. You kept in rhythm as best you could with the Tamborine, as Swiss handled the back up vocals.

Your eyes caught the shine of a white guitar as Dew threw a pick at Swiss. It bounced off his goggles, the multi ghoul making a rather suggestive gesture to Dewdrop in return, thrusting his hips against the microphone stand.

Dewdrop’s attention switched back to you, and he pointed at his chest.

“He’s the guy you wanna do,” Papa sang. Dew moved his hand, holding up two fingers. “And you know that it takes two. Luckily, he wants to do you too.”

You watched as Dew tilted his hand and curled his two fingers smoothly toward you, in a motion that couldn’t be mistaken in any other way.

Then the charming ghoul blew a kiss, before strumming out the ending of the song, twisting with just enough force to have his cape flare behind him in a dramatic image that you would mentally save in your mind.

And then he was walking away once again, Phantom tilting his head curiously as he watched the other guitarist leave.

Swiss tapped you on the shoulder, and you ripped your eyes away from the fire ghoul, mentally trying to smooth your expression.

“What?”

“He’s definitely got it out for you today,” Swiss smirked. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this feral before, especially at rehearsal.”

“No he doesn’t,” you replied back, offering the Tamborine to the multi ghoul. He took it, shaking it at you.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He flashed another smile as Dance Macabre began. “But that ghoul definitely wants to bewitch you all night.”

You let out an exasperated sigh in response, rolling your eyes at the multi ghoul as he snickered at his own joke.

The next two songs went by rather quickly. You returned to Cirrus’ platform, where Aurora and Cumulus visited to sing and dance along with you. Surprisingly, there were no visits from Dewdrop this time—which was good, because you weren’t entirely sure how many more you could take. He was all over your mind, and you were finding yourself subconsciously looking in his direction every few seconds, which didn’t go unnoticed by Cirrus.

As the last song finally ended, Copia turned around, doing a little ‘ta-da’ motion with his hands as the last of the guitars faded out.

“So, how did we do, lovely sibling?”

“You were all perfect,” you called out, giving him a thumbs up.

Papa clapped his hands. “Excellent. You were pretty perfect yourself, no? Thank you for joining us today, it’s always better to perform to an audience instead of an empty room. Now, I do believe I am wanted by Sister, but the rest of you can continue without me. I want you to do one more run through.” He began to walk to the backstage then paused, putting a finger up.

“No shenanigans.” The warning seemed to be mainly directed at Swiss and Dew. He gave them each a pointed look, then made his way off the stage.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You quickly checked it, spotting a few emails from the venue that you’d sent the pyrotechnic forms to last night. Instead of clearing it, it seemed like they had a few more concerns that you would have to address. Yay.

“Are you staying here with us?” Aurora asked, tapping her hands together.

“I would love to, but it seems like this venue has some more forms to fill out,” you sighed. “Thanks for letting me join though, it was a lot of fun. I love your capes!” Aurora and Cumulus both did a twirl, the smaller ghoul giggling as they gave you a hug before returning to their platforms.

Cirrus simply gave you a knowing grin that told you she would be teasing you all about Dew later. You sighed.

“I’ll see you later.”

“You definitely will,” she sang back.

You had a quick (and super subtle) look for the fire ghoul as you headed to the back of the stage. You couldn’t see him, and it wasn’t until you reached the doorway of the backstage room that something grabbed you by the waist, spinning you around so your back was pressed against their chest.

“Looking for me, dearest sibling?” He purred in your ear, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin.

Heart racing, you didn’t move as he leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning across your neck.

“Oh, hi Dew. I didn’t see you there.” He hummed in response, thumbs brushing over your hips and your breath hitched.

“I told you that you wouldn’t be able to keep your eyes off me.” His smug voice was right next to your ear.

“I-no-That’s not true,” you countered, even as you knew it certainly was. You had no doubt he knew too.

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re flustered,” Dew murmured gleefully, running his hands along your sides as he released you with a teasing laugh.

You stood there for a moment, completely flabbergasted, as he strode back out onto the stage like he hadn’t just got your heart racing so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if you went into cardiac arrest. Reaching out a hand, you leaned heavily against the wall not trusting your legs.

Unholy shit.

Unholy Shit.

You had a lot to process. Seeing them perform up close—having him perform up close, was something you definitely needed to see again. None of those videos compared to actually being there. But at the same time, you almost felt like your heart was going to give out. He knew exactly what to do to get you flushed and heated.

And what he had just done? You could still feel the warmth of his body, his breath on your neck and hear the echoes of his laugh. It seemed that maybe, just maybe, Cirrus was right about him being interested in you.

Satan, what were you going to do now?

[white-poppie]

⎯ I’ll be lovin’ you right ♡ (m.atsumu x reader)

SYNOPSIS: The playboy of your high school, Atsumu Miya apparently has a thing for you. After having rejected his advances, Atsumu is 'heartbroken' (quotes intended). Seeing his melancholy, his brother Osamu tells you to give him a week to prove himself out of the playboy image. Can Atsumu prove his adoration towards you being pure without any other intentions in seven days a week? SONG REC: 'Seven' by Jungkook GENRE: FLUFF, long fic WC: 2.1k WARNINGS: sad sumu agenda, heights, it might seem wonky on Monday and Tuesday, but it gets so much better ୨୧ A/N: I AM SO TIRED I CAN"T ANYMORE!!! *dies dramatically*

You rejected Atsumu Miya last Friday.

The taller blonde stood in front of you in his gym clothes. The jersey #05 in white stood out from the rest of the maroon uniform.

You looked at him blankly, as he had been beating around the bush for the past few minutes. You were hungry; it was lunch. But, as a matter of habit, you were curious. Too curious for your own good. As he continued to talk, he became increasingly vague. You wanted to understand what he was trying to say, but your hunger took over, and you were losing patience.

“Atsumu, I am sorry but I don’t really get what you are talking about. How is Suna looking through your phone relevant?” You say with a pinch of annoyance in your voice. Atsumu sighs and takes a deep breath.

“My bad...what I mean is…I like you and everyone teases me for it 'cause I act like an idiot around you.” You are always an idiot is what you want to say but you purse your lips and look at him quizzically. Is he seriously confessing to you because he dislikes being teased by his team?

“I am sorry but I don’t think your feelings are sincere, Atsumu san,” you say respectfully. “I am sorry.” You feel like he is only confessing to you out of a desire to fit in with his friends and avoid their teasing, rather than out of genuine affection for you.

Atsumu frowns and nods. It’s not something he is used to, but he doesn’t protest even if it really hurts his ego. You sigh as you leave the gym, almost feeling sorry for him. If it weren't you, it would be someone else.

On Saturday, you meet Osamu at the supermarket. Awkwardly standing at the cashier line, the grey-haired Miya smiles softly at you and nods in acknowledgement. The air is heavy with tension as both of you silently pay for your groceries.

"Y/N," he says, and you pause in your tracks, about to leave. "Can we talk?" It's a dreaded notion that you nod at. You follow Osamu out of the market with your grocery bag in one hand as you approach a bench on a kid's playground.

Osamu sits next to you, his back leaning on the rest casually as he tries to muster the softest voice possible in his Kanto dialect.

“Heard ‘Sumu asked ya to date him…” he says solemnly. You freeze at the sudden statement and nod apprehensively.

“M not saying this cause he’s my brother, but Atsumu…he is a nice guy; his reputation is quite wrong from how he actually is.” He says and you almost have to double take, wait…Osamu is supporting Atsumu?

He interlaces his fingers and looks at the ground, “I’ve never seen him as serious about someone as he is for you, and the whole team notices it.” He pauses, “Atsumu is cocky but easily embarrassed when teased about stuff like this, he made a premature decision to have confessed to you.” 

Osamu takes a deep breath before speaking next, "Y/n I am asking you for a favour…I want you to give Atsumu seven days to prove himself.” Your eyebrows scrunch at his words, and before you can interject, he speaks again.

“I know it’s not the best idea, but I know him and as much as I enjoy Atsumu being sad, I know he’ll soon enough be miserable ⎯ because that’s how men are, they lose their chance with someone and then develop stronger feelings for that person causing it all to hurt more.” He says and pauses, “it will impact his career to Y/N, not that I am saying that you’re responsible for him, but just stating things.”

“Give yourself some time to think and text me if you are for giving him seven days to prove himself. Let me know tomorrow.”

On Sunday, you spend most of the morning staring at your ceiling. Pondering what Osamu said You know deep down that he wouldn't steer you wrong, and you have seen how sincere Osamu is in his opinions.

You take a deep breath and send a quick text to Osamu.

"I'm in."

And thus started the mission: to make you fall in love with Atsumu Miya in seven days.

Monday

You sigh as you close the door of your house behind you, only to find Atsumu standing right in front, his schoolbag on one shoulder, and the trademark Atsumu grin on his face: "Morning, Y/N!"

Your eyebrows scrunch at his sudden joyful declaration, "Morning." You reply, and then it hits you: How did he know where you lived?

"How do you know my address?" You ask in bewilderment, and he grins sheepishly.

"I asked my way around; I wanted to pick you up, so I left at 5," he says proudly, and you just stare at him, unsure how to react. The intention was sweet, but does he realise how creepy that is?

You smile awkwardly and nod, walking towards school as Atsumu follows you like a duckling, humming a 00's song. As vexatious as it might be, there was something oddly endearing about Atsumu's unconventional way to win you over, like a pathetic wet kitten.

"Y/N?" he says as you look towards him. "Wanna grab lunch after school tomorrow? I have practice almost the entire day today." You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should accept his invitation. The thought of spending more time with Atsumu both intrigues and scares you. "Sure, why not? Lunch sounds nice." 

Tuesday

 On Tuesday, you find yourself anxiously awaiting lunchtime, your mind filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. As the final bell rings, you make your way to the designated meeting spot, hoping that Atsumu will show up. And sure enough, there he is, standing by the school gates with a mischievous grin on his face.

"I know a good ramen shop nearby," he says, and you smile while walking with him. As you enter the small, cosy restaurant, the aroma of savoury broth and freshly cooked noodles fills the air, instantly making your mouth water. Atsumu confidently orders for both of you.

The order arrives, and you take a bite of the hot noodles, your eyes instantly widening in delight. "Holy this is amazing; why is this place so underrated?" You gasp, and he chuckles at your words as if you are the most adorable thing in the world.

You almost blush at his gaze before it hits you, its a challenge for him. You are a challenge to him. There's a dull pain in your chest as you keep eating your ramen. The more you eat, the more you can't help but wonder if Atsumu's intentions are genuine. Is he truly interested in you or is he just looking for another conquest? 

Wednesday

You notice that Atsumu is ignoring you completely today. He doesn't even acknowledge your presence when you walk into the room. It leaves you feeling confused and hurt. You try to brush it off, convincing yourself that maybe he's just having a bad day. But deep down, you can't shake off the feeling of being used and toyed with.

The school ends, and you are walking to your home before you feel your hand being grabbed. You turn around in panic and see Atsumu, his eyes softening at your distress as he realises your hand. 

"I want to talk to you," he says softly. his eyes, filled with genuine concern, melt away any resistance within you. 

"Okay," you reply, finally feeling ready to address the mixed signals and confusion that have left you feeling hurt.

"The way you were looking at me yesterday made me think that you were misunderstanding my intentions here." He says and takes a deep breath, "I genuinely like you, YN. I am not stupid. I can see your confusion. Do you really think I am that bad of a person?"/ The vulnerability and hurt in his voice are almost making your heart ache. "No," you reply softly, meeting his gaze. "I don't think you're a bad person. I just... I've been so confused, and I didn't know how to interpret your actions."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because you play with hearts, and I didn't want mine to be another casualty," you admit, your voice wavering. "But seeing how vulnerable and honest you're being right now, I can't help but reconsider." Emotions swirl within you as you take a moment to gather your thoughts. "I want to believe that you genuinely like me, but I need reassurance that I won't end up getting hurt." 

Atsumu smiles at you, reconsidering, and says softly, "It's one week, right? It's not even halfway; don't you know I am full of surprises?"

Thursday

"Come on, it'll be okay!" He says as he grabs your hand and runs to the school roof with you, your lunchboxes in hand.

"What if someone catches us?" You say in panic. 

Atsumu looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes and laughs. "Who cares? We'll worry about the consequences later, if there are any."  He says and settles on the ledge, patting the spot next to him for you to sit on. 

You gingerly open your bento as you two eat and Atsumu rants about his practice, occasionally stealing a bite or two from your box You can't help but laugh at Atsumu's playful antics, feeling the stress of getting caught dissipate. As he swipes another bite from your lunch, you playfully scold him, but secretly enjoy the exchange. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rush through your veins. As you gaze out at the sprawling cityscape before you, you can't help but feel a sense of freedom and excitement. In that moment, you realise that maybe taking risks with Atsumu isn't such a bad idea after all.

Friday

Atsumu sits in another row, leaning back on his chair, big and burly, his hand resting on the chair's backrest as he chats with his friends, his obnoxious laughter filling the room as you wait for the teacher.

Atsumu momentarily looks at you, and his eyes soften. A small grin is etching its way on his face, and he waves playfully at you. You got caught looking.

The class soon starts, and the teacher begins the lesson. About half an hour later, you feel tapping on your shoulder. You look back as the girl behind you gives you a small chit, pointing towards Atsumu, wordlessly, the author of the message.

You unfold the tiny piece of paper underneath your desk, preventing any onlookers with their perverse gazes and loud mouths.  "Whatcha looking at?" You huff at his lame attempt, a slight warmth blooming on your cheeks as you contemplate your response.  After a moment of hesitation, you take out your own pen and scribble a reply on the chit, "Not you."

"Ouchie, baby, you've hurt my feelings."Atsumu pouts, making an exaggerated sad face, as he pretends to wipe away imaginary tears as he hands the chit back to you.   You chuckle softly at his antics as he sends another chit. "We have a match on Sunday; be there." You raise an eyebrow at his invitation. "Only if you promise not to show off too much."  Atsumu grins mischievously, accepting the challenge with a nod.

Saturday

Most of Saturday goes around with you frolicking around your house, getting over your chores. You decide not to text Atsumu, knowing that he will be busy with practice, but you find yourself mulling over him more than you'd like. As the day goes on, you find yourself checking your phone more frequently, hoping for a message from him. 

You groan as you flop on your bed and take a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

How's [delete] That's too informal, right?

How is practice going? [delete] No, that sounds so plain. All those assignments about real-life talking versus texting articles were right; it's so difficult to detect tone!

Hey! [send]

How is practice going? [send]

Okay better. You sigh as you keep your phone on the stand and groan to finish your work. BEfore you hear a ping sound and immediately run over to the phone.

Atsumu: +1 photo

Your heart thumps as you open it. Its a selfie, Atsumu grinning like a child, his hair sweat and face flushed, with the caption: "grinding! 💪🔥"  In the background, you can see a low-quality Osamu photobombing, his hands on his waist, and you can't help but giggle. He'll be okay.

Sunday

On Sunday, you find yourself standing outside the gymnasium, nervously adjusting your bag strap.  As the doors swing open, you step inside, greeted by the sounds of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor and the echo of volleyball spikes as a warm-up.

You shift on your feet in front of the gate before Suna spots you, a fox-like grin on his face before he turns towards his teammate.

"Oi, Atsumu, your lucky charm is here," he says in a teasing voice, and you can't help but flush ever-so-slightly.

"Shut up, Suna." Atsumu groans lowly as he looks up from his stretching routine without breaking his stance, his shirt hiking up slightly as he smiles at you before walking towards you. 

"Hi," he says softly, as if he was almost expecting you to not show up.

"Hi," you mumble.

"I didn't think you'd actually come," he manages to say, his words coming out in a breathless whisper, and you can't help but smile. You look back briefly to see the entire team grinning at the two of you silently.

Atsumu looks back, and you swear you saw his cheeks redden. "Scram!" he says, his voice breaking, and a few of the members can't help but snort at the sound, especially Osamu.

"Sumu, the game boutta, start," he calls his twin as you see the other team lining up.

Atsumu looks back at you with a slight pout on his lips. "Cheer f'me?" He asks softly, and your heart thumps. Atsumu hates when his fangirls cheer for him. You give Atsumu a warm smile and nod. "Of course."  Is this what Osamu was talking about? You are special in his eyes? 

The game begins with an intense match, with both teams clawing at each other's throats. But amidst the chaos, you can't take your eyes off Atsumu. But it's fierce; you can see Inarizaki losing hope after the first set, and you can sense Atsumu's frustration rising. Set one over, and Inarizaki is behind. You see the players huffing and groaning in disappointment as they go to the bench to strategize and relax. You keep observing Atsumu from the audience, noticing how his brows furrow and his jaw tighten with every passing moment. Despite the mounting pressure, he never loses his focus. As the second set begins, their strategy still doesn't seem to be working, and Atsumu and Osamu seem livid.

Amidst the chorus of shouts, you can't help but scream, "Atsumu! You've got this! Stay determined!" Surprised, Atsumu lifts his head and locks eyes with you for a brief moment before a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. You silently vow to always be his biggest fan, both on and off the court.

He tightens his grip on the volleyball, channelling all his frustration and energy into each powerful serve. With every swing of his arm, the ball slices through the air, landing with a resounding thud on the opposing team's side of the court.  The tension is palpable; you keep praying for him as he strikes, misses. Team strikes, team misses. Just one more, and before you can register it, the final spike is delivered by Atsumu. The crowd erupts into applause. 26-28. Inarizaki won.

The team erupts into what seem to be roars of victory, and you can't help, but smile widely when you watch Atsumu pat his teammates before Kita pats his back and points at you, saying something you can't hear. Atsumu nods at him before he runs towards the crowd, and your heart starts thumping. In your mind, you are squealing as loud as his fangirls when Atsumu leans over to the boundary right in front of you as he smiles at you, and you smile back with the same intensity for the first time.

"How was I?" He says, and you can't help but lean forward and hug him tightly. His eyes widen at the sudden embrace, and he freezes before hugging you back in his arms, all sweaty, and almost lifting you up from the audience. Atsumu looks into your eyes, his face twitching with nervousness, before he leans and captures your lips in a kiss. His breathing is shaky, and you flush before returning the kiss to his quivering lips. The audience is filled with mixed reactions, but they are silent and gasping for most

When you pull away, you look back and see all of Inarizaki hooting and clapping loudly for you two. The kiss turns both your brains into mush, and you realise that Atsumu is capable of "loving you right."

© white-poppie 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or translate without permission. do not claim work or layout as yours.

— HAIKYU!! - Fanfictions

TAGS: @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle,@rintaroubby @nanaseishiro @innerpurple, @cleaningfairylevi @ynjimenez, @the-queen-of-sorrows, @prettypei

PPL WHO ASKED TO BE TAGGED IN THIS FIC (temp tags, lemme know if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist): @kyoung-jin, @qualitygiantshoepsychic, @kryzi, @snazzyturtles, @juicyorphan123, @akidev, @selfconcitedslut, @amecchii

﹒ Taglist   (lmk in the comments in case you wanna be added and the link doesn't work!)

psst, hey, over here! Uhm hi :) Do you like reading? If so can you please check out my first novel? I am a 15-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! It's okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future. “Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!!

Also Check out: L'appel du vide (✔️) (Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! With no memories of what transpired two days before his death, you team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband? )

[balkanradfem]

I've noticed a woman on the street today; she had pants that made her backside very noticeable. I made myself look away, and wondered to myself, am I allowed to stare after her? Am I being creepy right now? Should I mind my own business and not let my gaze wonder? Would she feel uncomfortable knowing I'm looking at her, regardless of what I'm thinking? (I thought she looked very nice).

And it reminded me to how when a woman on tumblr posts a very gaze-catching photo, all of us ssa ladies comment on it 'I am looking respectfully' and we mean it. We're saying, we like the picture, and we respect you, and we also cannot tear our gaze apart because you are incredibly attractive on that pic.

And isn't that a lovely way to respond? We never for a moment forget to consider that she is human, and to write in a way that wouldn't make another human being feel threatened and uncomfortable.

Think what a stark contrast that is to male reactions to female pictures! Males will throw in numbers on an imagined scale, jokes on how they would destroy or violate her, isolating and criticizing parts of her, enacting fantasies of possessiveness and unwanted sexual advances, condemning her personality, and then go the whole way to jealousy over who has ownership of her, anger that she dared to post it, indignation over her existing, threats, sexual threats, and in the end they will throw slurs if she exists and isn't offered as a service to them.

It's disturbing, the first thing they do is forget that she is a human being, they see an object without thoughts, or ability of having an emotional reaction to what is being said. Or, maybe they don't forget it, and it's that emotional reaction of fear, discomfort, pain and demotion of her self-esteem is what they are really after.

My point is, I love the culture of women being respectful to other women. I feel comfortable here, knowing nobody will ever forget that another woman is human, no matter how much or little clothing she is wearing, regardless of attraction we feel, regardless of what she is showing to us. We don't want to do anything to damage her self-esteem, her courage or her own self-perception, we don't want her to feel threatened or uncomfortable. That means women can do whatever they want without having to fear disastrous consequences. As they should!

And I think it's good too, that my first thoughts are if I'm making someone uncomfortable. It's good to be aware that other human beings are not here to be gawked at, regardless of what they're wearing.

[dancingundermoonlight101]

The times I've thought about you have been plenty. It's a never-ending cycle, for you see, I am falure of a Prime.

Megatron, as you stand before me, blade stabbing through my spark, through the pain and sorrow, I can't help but feel relief. Relief that between the two of us, you are the one to remain alive. With the war over, you having won, I would like to make one final request of you old friend.

Don't kill my comrades.

No matter how much you hate them, what threat they may pose, I beg of you. Leave them alive. It pains me to say, but without me, they won't interfere much with your plans anymore. I can only hope you remember your roots. The kindness and hope for something better your spark held when I was but your archivist, and you, my warrior. It might be selfish to think this in my final moments. But I've always loved you, Megatron.

Perhaps in death, will these feelings finally meet their end.

I love you. I loved you. I never stopped loving you, even in my final moments. I hope to Primus we meet in our next lives and I hope again that it's a much kinder life. One without war or inequality or corruption. One where I can hold your servo in mine without shame. One where you are not Lord Megatron and I Optimus Prime. Leaders of the Decepticons and Autobots respectfully.

Until we meet again in the well of all sparks...

------

Megatron glared at the body of the deceased Prime. A dark pit in his spark. A black hole threatening to swallow all its light. He had thought it a good idea to have Shockwave and Soundwave make a machine that would make the last moments and thoughts of anybot visible and audible. He thought maybe he'd see the Prime's thoughts pleading him to not kill his comrades, as well as fear. Something to explain why Optimus in his final moments commed him ".: Spare them:."

Megatron didn't spare them, of course. He was frankly going to enjoy killing them one by one. But they had all escaped.

How bothersome.

He'd find them someday. He's sure of it. And just to spit in Optimus's last wish, he will torture them, too.

The Prime's face in his last moments echoed in his mind. He growled at the useless longing in his spark, squeezing a random object and breaking it.

He still couldn't believe it. Optimus Prime in love with his arch nemesis. How foolish. How stupid. Ridiculous!

Megatron clawed at the chesplates just over his spark. He could not cry, for his tears had run dry long ago. Foolish indeed. This is not what he thought he wanted. Ruling over Cybertron, having cyberformed earth into a second world for his species.. He had thought he wanted it. Now that he had it, Megatron found it empty. His ambitions were gone, no longer did he have a true equal in this whole galaxy.

None would ever be Optimus Prime.

No, he had to set things right. A world without Optimus is not a world Megatron can live with. Where's the fun in getting everything he wants without a little bit of a constant challenge?

.

. .

. . . .

Megatron, a true Decepticon, able to deceive even himself. Primus mused at this. Silly child, went on to kill his other half. This just won't do.

Their short story won't end like this. Primus will not allow it. He Who is Forever Tainted by Unicron, you will live life anew. You shall only know when the time is right, and your debt to Primus has been paid off of what they have done. Do not make the same choices that lead you to make your biggest regret. Make no mistake, this wish is not for you, but for he who is favored by me.

Make the child of Primus, he who was once Orion Pax and later one of Primus's true Primes enjoy a life worth living.

This is your one and only chance. Make it count.

. . . .

. .

.

M—

—atr–n

Meg-tron

"MEGATRON!"

Megatron woke up with a jolt. He tried to online his battle protocols, and they hummed loudly, ready to come out. But something stopped him. A servo, two, actually. Each cupped his cheeks and wiped away his tears. He turned to look at the bot whose servos they belonged to and found none other than Optimus Prime. "You're alive?"

Optimus looked bewildered for a moment, he could feel it through their bond. Bond? He felt affection, worry, and love from the Prime.

"I am very much alive, Megatron." Optimus leaned in to press their forehelms together. Megatron's servos easily reached to hold the Prime's waist as if they'd done so thousands of times. Maybe even more than that. "You must have had a nightmate."

"A nightmare.." It seemed so vivid. A world without Optimus, one where he had..

Megatron doesn't even want to think about it. His spark was still beating wildly in its chamber, and he recognized he still felt fear. A few well placed kisses from his bondmate further eased his worries and sorrow that still felt fresh in his processor and spark. Right. He and Optimus were Conjuxed now. Megatron greedily leaned into the kiss, but one small playful bap from his beloved made him huff and smile. Softening the kiss that would have become more desperate had it continued.

Megatron held Optimus for a long moment. His helm burrowed on the Prime's neck, the action mirrored by his other half. Small comforting kisses are being pressed on Megatron's neck along with quiet words of love. Primus, Optimus was a soft fool. But he was Megatron's soft fool.

They had layed back down at one point, still as close to one another as they could be. And they remained like that. Optimus having fallen asleep again at one point.

Megatron knew Optimus was a blessing, he just hadn't realized how much of one he was until he had that dream. No. The fragmented memories of his past life. Megatron had never seen them before, and even now they were hazy. But the feelings had persisted and carried over. He realized this now. It was thanks to them he reacted rather irrationally at many points in this life, but his longing for Optimus to be by his side remained the same. It had just taken a much, much more romantic turn than his other self would have thought.

Megatron had no regrets though. None at all. As he pressed a soft kiss on Optimus's audial, he smiled soft. "I love you." He wispered. He had said it so many times already, yet somehow this felt like the first.

[mybrainisrotted]

Gojo/gn!reader, established relationship. Post Shibuya incident spoilers. When our man returned.

Read on Ao3.

"I mean this respectfully Ijichi, please get the fuck out of my way."

The metal examining table under Gojo's thighs is cold and uncomfortable, but it's a different sort of cold and uncomfortable and for that he's grateful. But the voice that echoes in the hall outside the medical room sends a rush of warmth through him that makes it feel like his heart has been restarted when he didn't even know it had stopped. For a moment--a second stretched indefinitely--he forgets where he's been, what he's seen, what he's felt, who he's lost.

The door slams open, bouncing off the wall hard enough to make even Shoko wince a bit as she takes a drag from her nearly ever present cigarette. Smiling softly, she joins Ijichi in the hall, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait anymore."

Gojo's already on his feet when you come barreling into him, arms open and ready to catch you. Your body molds to his, arms wrapped tight around his middle, face pressed against his chest where he's sure you can hear how his heart has picked up pace, slamming against his ribcage. He folds himself around you as best he can, squeezing you a little too tightly because he knows that's how you like your hugs. You take a deep breath and let it out with a pleased hum, nuzzling your cheek against him.

"You smell like you. Like home."

The corner of Gojo's mouth ticks up, and he presses his own nose to the top of your head, letting the faint but familiar scent of your coconut shampoo take over his senses. It triggers memories that are uniquely coded to you; smoothing fingers over your shoulder as he ghosts his lips over the back of your neck in bed, and steam filled showers that you always begrudge him for taking with you even as you lovingly massage that shampoo into his hair (which he bought to keep at his place specifically for this purpose), humming softly under your breath as your nails gently rake over his scalp.

Gojo's favourite part was smelling you on his things. Rolling over in bed, alone, and burying his nose in his pillow and smelling you. Drying his hands on his towel, sitting on his couch, pulling on his clothes and having that faint scent of coconut suddenly tickle his nose. You're with him even when you aren't. And in the Prison Realm, with nothing to do to pass the infinite looping of time except dive inward into his own mind, he'd tucked his chin into the collar of his shirt and--smelled you. Lingering within the fabric and threads was the simple essence of you and suddenly he hadn't felt so alone.

"I'm sorry I've been gone," Gojo murmurs, mouth at your temple and fingers smoothing nonsensical patterns up and down your spine. Now that he's got you in his grasp again, when the likelihood of that had begun to seem like a fleeting possibility, he doesn't want to let you go. "It won't happen again. I promise."

You squirm in his hold, placing both hands on his chest to push him back slightly so you can look at him face to face. You don't think you've ever seen him on school grounds without his blindfold or sunglasses. The nineteen days without him makes you realize between the sky and the ocean there isn't a shade of blue that could possibly capture what you see swirling in his irises.

"You don't need to apologize for something out of your control, Satoru," you say with a slight frown. You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, committing him to memory all over again, warming when his expression softens under your touch. "You have no idea how happy I am that you're back. That's the only thing that matters."

Something in Gojo's eyes flickers, and though he smirks it doesn't carry his usual lightheartedness. The coil of tension in his stomach twists uncomfortably. "Missed the strongest sorcerer, huh?"

You shake your head again, smoothing the pad of your thumb over his lower lip. "I missed your corny jokes. I missed your surprise mochi deliveries. I missed our late night hot chocolate talks on your balcony." Your fingers trace a gentle path upward, over his sharp cheekbones and soft brows, smoothing a lock of silky white hair over his temple and then settling at his nape. "I missed your morning bed head. I missed your laugh. I missed your touch. I missed the way you said you loved me. I missed my sweet Satoru."

The love you give him, have always given him, is free of strings and expectations. Gojo doesn't know what his future is going to look like but he knows he wants one with you. By your side. His smile wobbles as he gently swipes away the tears at the corners of your eyes, that knot in his stomach loosening with your words. He kisses you on the forehead, on each damp cheek, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips, once, twice, three times, before he taps his head to yours.

"I missed you too, sweetheart."

[usedtobecooler]

would looooove to see a plus size reader who is a virgin but like knows how to get herself off, she’s very familiar with her vibrator and dildo. and eddie??? sweet subby (switchy if ur nasty) eddie who is also a virgin and while he is a perv he’s also a blushing FOOL when it comes to pretty girls. and he’s absolutely gobsmacked by how comfortable the reader is talking about sex. they start talking about their experiences and he’s thrown for a loop when she says she’s a virgin. like ?????? he needs her to ride his face right now cause she’s perfect and he neeeeeds her. something about a sort of confident plus size woman bossing eddie around does it for me. maybe it’s because i am a sort of confident plus size woman but that’s neither here nor there tbh!!!!! lol anyway pointless rant over

a/n | respectfully anon i think you wrote this prompt with me literally in mind because you've described me as a person (y'know, apart from the virgin part) and the perfect soft eddie that i've had engrained in my brain. i hope that i've done it justice and this is everything you imagined!

warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), use of sex toys, face sitting, hair pulling, virginity taking (eddie taking readers virginity), unprotected sex (wrap it, guys!), oral (f receiving), dirty talking, sub!eddie, perv!eddie, reader is a bully but in a soft way, plus size!reader.

word count | 2.3k

If you were to ask Eddie how this happened, he'd feign innocence and pretend like it was all a simple, innocent mistake, how he ended up in this situation. He couldn't find it in himself to be nauseated with his actions when his face was buried in your pussy like this.

"What do you mean you're a virgin?" Eddie had asked, shocked and a clear look of bewilderment in his eyes when you had confessed to him your big secret. Virgins in their twenties were few and far between and he couldn't believe that you were one of them.

In his eyes you were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever set eyes on, plump in all the places he liked (which was everywhere, really, he loved how perfectly your soft body fit in his hands), the perfect mixture of cute and hard faced, the way you gave the guys a run for their money at everything because you were just so naturally good at anything you tried a hand at.

"Eddie, c'mon, look at me. Guys aren't lining up around the block to date me, I'm not your typical girl next door, like Nancy Wheeler." You were all matter of fact in your words as you shrugged, it was no big deal, men sucked and were notoriously bad at female anatomy anyway. So, why would you look for sex from men when you were happy with what you could do to yourself and had your box of treasures to look to?

"I know a few guys who like you, sweetheart, you just don't give them a chance." Eddie's heart raced as he spoke to you, because yeah, he does know of a few guys who like you. He sees the way men ogle you up and down when you're turned the other way, he hears them whistle when you walk by. You're oblivious, but he isn't.

"I have Mr. Bunny and a massage wand. Why would I need a man when I have them?" You'd quipped, tilting your head in question. You had made it no secret you were into your own sexual desires and chose to delve into them yourself, you were probably the only sex positive chick Eddie had ever met. Not a priss like most, comfortable enough to know what you liked and chase it.

"I'm not gonna ask what those are." Eddie said, pretending like he had no clue but his palms had began sweating and his cock had kicked up a little at the thought of you using toys to touch yourself with. The conversation had wrapped abruptly after that and you had all but forgotten it once you got home.

So, yeah, screw him for getting a little curious and stopping by when he knew your parents weren't home, claiming he'd left his chain (which never came off, by the way) the last time he'd visited, bouldering up the stairs and coming face to face with you laid out on your bed, surrounded by soft pillows and going to town on yourself with said 'massage wand'.

You were covered over with an oversized Sabbath shirt, though your fingers were rubbing circles around your clothed left nipple with your free hand, chunky thighs spread so he could see everything as your wand buzzed along your clit, causing you to choke out small whimpers and sighs. Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth hung open slightly as the pleasure coursed through you.

He'd stood there quietly for longer than he'd ever admit to, but Eddie couldn't tear his eyes off of you. The way you were out in the open like this, dripping wet cunt on display for anybody to see if they walked in.

"God, oh my God." Your mouth had opened in a broken whine, moans choked as you came, body shuddering through it and a damp patch forming below you on your grey comforter from your release. You'd stayed like that with shut eyes for a moment after, eventually switching the vibrator off and suddenly the silence was deafening.

Eddie was almost backing his way out of the door when you opened your eyes, bugging out slightly for a second but then you'd relaxed not even a moment later, body going soft as you snuggled back down into your pillows, "Enjoy the show then, handsome?" You asked, smirking at Eddie who was standing there like a deer caught in headlights.

"I, uh, I'm really sorry," Eddie's cheeks were flushing a deep shade of red, embarrassment taking over him as he stood there with a clear erection in his tight jeans. You made no move to shut your legs properly, only shuffling a little to let the muscles rest, your glistening pussy still clearly in his frame of sight. It had done nothing to help his problem.

"Are you just gonna stand there and look stupid or do you want some help with that?" You'd motioned towards his cock with your head, never losing the smirk on your face as you'd done it.

Only somehow once Eddie had eventually moved his feet it ended up like this, you hovering over the top of him as he lay flat on his back in the plush pillows on your bed, his face buried so deep in your sweet pussy he could hardly breathe, though he wouldn't be mad if that was the way he was gonna go.

His hands squeeze your thighs tightly, and you have to admit he's so good at this, licking and sucking on your clit like his life depends on it whilst you fist at his hair, wide hips fucking back and forth on his face in tandem with his tongue.

"You're such a little perv," You gasp, shuddering as his tongue breaches your hole and fucks up into you gently, you take the opportunity to get your fingers on your clit and rub it in little circles, "comin' in here to catch a glimpse of me fucking myself. Dirty boy."

Eddie whines into your cunt, gripping your thighs impossibly tighter and you don't miss the feeling of his body lifting off the bed slightly, clearly looking for some sort of relief. He's looking at you with his big, wet eyes, clearly watching to see if you're genuinely enjoying it and not just putting on the noises.

But you'd never felt like this before, every sound leaving your lips was genuine, and suddenly your fingers were being nudged away by his nose, your sensitive clit being assaulted by Eddie's sinful tongue again, this time fast and with purpose, in desperation of helping you chase your orgasm.

Your fingers wrap even tighter in his hair now, mouth falling open into loud and desperate whines, your impending orgasm building in your tummy so rapidly you have no time to think about it before your thighs are squeezing Eddie's head impossibly tight, legs shaking and hips fucking into his face with a cry of his name, "Oh my God, Eddie!"

Once he's sure you're done, Eddie finally comes up for a proper breath of air, though he immediately goes to attacking your thighs, nipping and sucking them hard enough to leave blooming purple bruises, staking his claim to you. All you can do is watch in admiration because you were sure men like this didn't exist outside of movies.

"Was that good for you?" He asks, voice all quiet and timid as he looks up at you through his thick lashes, glossy brown eyes swimming with something, like he's looking for validation that he did a good job.

"It was incredible, Eds," Your voice is all fucked out, "you did so good, can't believe how good it was."

Eddie keens at your praise, cheeks flushing dark and a stupid big grin spreading over his face, "Good, I'm glad your first sexual encounter was a decent experience."

You furrow your brows at him, moving to shuffle off of Eddie and settle next to him on the bed, "Who said it was over yet?" You ask, all orgasm dumb, "I asked you if you needed help and you ended up servicing me, isn't it meant to go that we help each other out?"

"Not necessarily, sweetheart," Eddie chuckles, making to sit up but then your hand comes out to push him back down, black stiletto shaped nails digging into his chest a little, "woah, babe, you don't have to do anything for me."

Your hand ghosts down his chest, stopping at the obvious tent in his jeans and you don't miss the way he hisses, sucking in a sharp breath even from that little movement, "But I want to. Don't you want to fuck me?"

If Eddie hadn't of known you he'd of thought your words were slightly insecure and child-like, but he knows you well enough to know you're putting on a whiney voice because you want him to fuck you without a second thought, like he would any other chick who asked, and not his best friend who hadn't even been touched by a man before.

"Sweetheart, that's a big step and I don't want you to feel like you're having to do this." Eddie rests his hand on top of yours, trying to gently push it away from his cock but you don't let him, batting it out of the way.

"Who else would I trust enough to give it to?" You ask, cocking your head to the side, "I trust you, silly. That's why I want this."

Eddie sucks in a breath, cock clearly kicking up a little in his pants and you gasp when you feel it, palm and fingers squeezing him slightly until he's shuddering.

It all happens in a bit of a blur, but suddenly you're under Eddie as he hovers over you in between your spread legs, your deft fingers unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his jeans. He helps you slide them down his thighs and then he kicks them off, leaving him bare from the waist down the same as you.

Your eyes bug out a little bit at the sight of his cock springing up, unapologetic and big. He's girthy and a lot longer than your rampant rabbit toy, and suddenly you're gulping, nervousness settling in even though you feel your cunt clench around nothing as you look.

Eddie catches this, catching your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, "Hey, we don't have to do this. Just say the word."

"Just fuck me, idiot." You sigh, caught off guard a little when Eddie grabs hold of his cock by the base and lets the tip glide in between your folds, catching and dragging on your clit so nicely that you're gasping.

The initial breach of his cock is a surprise, not necessarily uncomfortable but not good either. You suck in a breath and Eddie looks at you with worried, glassy eyes until you nod to tell him to keep going. He bottoms out eventually, filling up your cunt in a way that has you gasping for air and clenching your tight walls around him.

You don't miss how he hisses, the gorgeous moan that escapes his mouth, face softening a little. He's absolutely beautiful like this, all wanton and soft, submissive looking.

"Y'gonna move or are you worried you'll bust a nut too quick?" You quip, though it doesn't come out as mean as you planned because your voice is all breathy and stuttered from how full you feel.

Eddie chuckles a little, grabbing onto your thick thighs to use for purchase as he pulls back just a few inches, rocking into you slowly, "Is this okay?" He asks through a moan, and you can't believe how stupidly kind he's being.

"Yeah, s'good. You can speed up." You say honestly, enjoying the slight burn that you feel as he shifts. It's not terrible, you think, probably due to already coming twice before even getting this far.

"M'gonna come ridiculously fast," Eddie admits, before he pulls back properly and slides back into you, causing you both to moan in tandem. One of his hands slides under your shirt, roaming your soft tummy whilst the other grips your thigh as he starts a good rhythm.

Soon, you're a whining, moaning mess, "Fuck, Eddie," you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight, "this feels so good, God."

"I know," Eddie's closer to you now, foreheads basically bumping as he fucks into you, his pace speeding up as he chases his high, "your pussy feels like fuckin' heaven around me."

You clench around his cock at his words, a broken cry escaping you, "Yeah?" You ask, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair tightly and you open your eyes to look into his, "Come, then. Come in me."

Eddie's mouth opens in a quiet moan, as he shoves forward a bit rougher, hips stunted a little as he comes, a feral grunt escaping him as he shoves into you to the hilt, your tight cunt milking him so deliciously he feels like he's died and gone to heaven.

You don't dwell on the fact you didn't come too, so busy looking at Eddie as he collapses onto the swell of your tits that you don't care. You knew it probably wouldn't happen, anyway. That'd happen eventually though, you were sure.

Your hands sooth at Eddie's scalp as you feel his cock soften in you, "Thank you for making my first time so good, handsome." You whisper, heart fluttering as he keens into your touch, "Couldn't of asked for anybody better."

"You're more than welcome, sweetheart." Eddie's voice sounds sleepy, muffled against your breasts, "You just say the word and we can do it again."

You giggle a little at that, "That sounds good. Maybe I can get on top next time."

You ignore the way his spent cock perks up a little at your words, giggling again as you begin to drift off.

[firelordsfirelady]

X. Breaking Free

Author: @firelordsfirelady

Imagine: When Y/N—a princess of one of the Water Tribes—is told she’s leaving her tribe, she never expects that she’s to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son, nor was she prepared to be exiled the very day she arrived at the Fire Nation. With her life in the hands of her new fiancée, how will life change for the princess? 

Pairing: Zuko x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: arranged marriage, feelings of fear, banishment, mentions of burns/abuse, frustration, violence, betrayal

Word Count: 1081

Destined to be Yin and Yang 

I own no rights to Avatar the Last Airbender or any of the characters/story. 

Author’s Notes

The characters are all aged up so Zuko’s banishment happens when he’s 16 

Keep in mind I am bringing a unique world with inspiration from ATLA in their characters, some of the events that happen, bending, etc. Not many things may align or occur with what happened in the show. It’s intended that way, so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

See Y/N’s inspiration here. 

Destined to be Yin and Yang Soundtrack (YouTube)

I sat at the desk in my room as I guided the pencil strokes on the piece of paper. The lines and curves I made slowly began to resemble someone kicking the air in front of them. Chewing on the end of the pencil, I debated which element to add to the end. As I stared at the drawing, I found the stance similar to a move Zuko had used during one of our training sessions. The muscles in my hand moved on their own accord as they effortlessly guided the pencil to draw a fireball coming from the kick. I was debating if I wanted to add shading to the picture when I heard some commotion.

I emerged on the deck to find the crew smiling as they walked around to their stations. Iroh stood by the railing as he sipped from his cup of tea.

“Y/N, my dear, how are you feeling?” Iroh gave me a wide smile as I approached his place by the railing. The crew around us rushed to get the ship ready to leave.

“I’m feeling okay.” I shrugged before Zuko approached us with a victorious grin on his face. I felt the color drain from my face, but I placed a smile on my face as the Prince came to stand with us.

“We have set course for the Fire Nation.” Zuko’s words were full of excitement, and I felt my heart shatter as I digested his words. I fought the heartbreak at the thought of him being excited to return home to someone else.

“I believe this calls for cupcakes.” I clapped my hands together. Looking between the two Firebenders, I smiled as neither of them had the chance to say anything before I added, “No objections? Good.” Respectfully bowing to Zuko and Iroh, I casually walked away until I was below deck and out of sight. Walking into the kitchen, I told Shisam that I wanted to use the kitchen for a while to make cupcakes for everyone.

“Do you want a hand in making the cupcakes?” Shisam asked. “I don’t bake much, but I did bake for my daughter’s birthday every year.” I gave the man a smile as I nodded my head.

“If you would like to.” Shisam smiled as he grabbed some mixing bowls. Together, Shisam and I mixed enough batter to make enough cupcakes to feed the entire crew. As the cupcakes baked, Shisam told me about his ten year-old daughter back home and all the things they enjoyed doing together. After the cupcakes were done, Shisam offered to deliver the cupcakes to the crew’s quarters. Smiling in thanks, I fixed a plate of cupcakes for Zuko and Iroh. I left the rest of the cupcakes for the kitchen staff to enjoy as they came in to work on preparing dinner. 

My footsteps were light as a feather as I walked to Iroh’s door with a plate full of my cupcakes. I could hear a faint discussion behind the door. I paused at the door before I knocked

“Don’t you think your return home might be…surprising to your father?” Iroh’s voice was laced with concern.

“What matters is that I have proven my honor to my father.” Zuko’s words were said with such conviction. “Nothing else matters more than that.” My heart’s muscles painfully contracted in my chest. 

“What about Y/N?” The mention of my name made my breath catch in my throat. “What do you think will happen with your engagement?” Zuko scoffed at Iroh’s concern for me.

“Father will probably withdraw his approval for this marriage.” Zuko’s bitter words felt like a dull knife pierced through my heart.

“You are the master of your own destiny, Zuko.” I swallowed the ache in my chest before I placed a forced smile upon my lips and then knocked on the door.

“Iroh?” I asked in an innocent tone as if I hadn’t just overheard their conversation. The door in front of me opened to reveal a smiling Iroh. I looked over Iroh’s shoulder to find Zuko standing with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The Prince refused to meet my eyes, and I quickly shifted my attention to Iroh as I held out the plate of cupcakes to the older gentleman.

“Y/N,” Iroh tried to greet me in a lighthearted manner. “What gorgeous-looking cupcakes. I hope they’re as tasty as they appear.” Iroh’s words did little to ease the pain I felt, but I placed the plate in his waiting hands with a smile on my face.

“Who else do you know that makes better sweets?” I forced a light laugh from my chest. “Do let me know what you rate them at dinner?” I asked as I slowly took a step backward. He nodded his head in response.

“I look forward to it.” Iroh said, and I bowed to the two of them before I turned on my heel and walked away. As I heard the door to Iroh’s room shut, I stopped to lean against the wall of the hallway. A shadow moving in the corner of my caught my attention, and I looked over to watch as Zuko’s door closed. I could feel my pulse in my head as I quietly walked over to the door and listened to the sounds of someone moving quietly within. Summoning every ounce of bravery I had, I threw open Zuko’s door and found a young Airbender standing in front of Zuko’s desk. He held a small leather journal in his hand. The color drained from my face as images of the previous Avatars flashed before my eyes. Blinking away the images, the Airbend held a finger to his lips.

“Zuko--” I yelled out as I shifted into an offensive stance. A blast of air blew me at the wall behind me. I heard Zuko shout as my head hit the wall and the world went black.

There was a soft mattress supporting my body when I slowly regained consciousness. I let out a soft groan as my body ached.

“We have set a course for an outpost nearby.” Zuko’s somber voice came from beside me. Slowly opening my eyes, I found Zuko staring at his feet as he sat in the chair next to my bed. “You need to rest.” “Don’t worry, Zuko…we will find the Avatar….” My words were slow and quiet as my eyes fluttered close and I gave away to a dreamless slumber.

Tag List @chevysstuffs @puttyly @ginger24880 @night-fall-moon @junieshohoho @0kauy @coolgirl458 @hypnoticbeing @angelruinz @preeyansha @playboygeniusphilanthropist @ssonniiu  @chi-ara @hagridshaircare @stell404  @kyo-kyo1 @herondale-lightworm @simonsbluee @nadlx33333 @nerdisthenewcool