#i really dont know how this is going to go

[florexyy]

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓻 - ✗♡✗♡

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ♡ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

ㄨpairing: Playboy!San x Fem!Reader

ㄨsummary: Y/N never paid much attention to Choi San: campus heartbreaker, walking red flag, and notorious for ruining girls with just one crooked smile. He had a reputation for chewing people up and spitting them out before sunrise. Shes spent months avoiding his games. But one drink fueled night at Hongjoongs dorm changes everything. Lingering stares turn into something heavier. The tension snaps when theyre left alone and resisting him stops being an option.

ㄨcontent: nsfw! mdni!, smut, sexual tension, p in v, fingering, eating out, blow job, bite marks, dirty talk, san being rough, hair pulling, pet names(princess,good girl), ons, alcohol consume, san being possessive asf(and crazy jealous of hongjoong + mentioned while fucking) IF U DONT LIKE ANYTHING ROUGH DONT READ THIS(╥‸╥)

ㄨwc: 4k

ㄨa/n: hi guys im back with another smut story, since the last one literally blew up, tysm for all the reblogs n likes!! i hope u like it(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

(also the ending feels a bit rushed mb D:)

The first time you heard Choi San’s name, it came like a warning soft, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

“Dont even think about it. He will flirt just to watch you fall.” “Hes hot as fuck, sure, but trust me, look away.” “He will say youre different. He says that to everyone.”

You never put much belief in gossip. But San? He was the gossip.

The cocky grin. The loose hoodie always half-untied. A girl curled up in his lap, or his hand casually splayed on someones waist, like it was his campus.

Youd only met him once, a half-asleep introduction when your best friend, Hongjoong, dragged you to his dorm to pick something up. San was shirtless on the couch, eyes heavy-lidded, like he couldnt decide whether to irritate you or ruin you.

He said your name once. Smirked. Went right back to sleep.

You still remember how he said it.

Lately, though… somethings changed. Or maybe hes just actually seeing you now.

Youve caught him watching from across the quad, by the cafeteria, leaning against some wall like time doesnt apply to him. And when your eyes meet?

He doesnt look away.

He holds it, just long enough to settle in your stomach. Then that damn smile, like he knows something you havent figured out yet.

Fucking jerk.

This morning, you spot him again, just outside the lit building as youre leaving class. Your notebook is clutched to your chest, your focus on not tripping down the stairs.

Hes there, leaning against a random wall like he always does waiting for the next girl to talk to him and end up breaking her heart, one earbud in, casually scrolling through his phone like nothing around him matters. Like the whole worlds moving, and hes just waiting for it to catch up.

Then he looks up.

Your eyes meet without thinking. Reflex. You couldve looked away. Maybe you shouldve.

Definitely shouldve.

But you dont.

This time, he doesnt smile. Just tilts his head, eyeing you slow and deliberate, like hes studying something hes seen a hundred times but never really looked at before. Like maybe youre no longer part of the background.

Which sucked.

Youre the first to look away. You feel it, tight in your chest. And you know he sees it.

He always does.

Later that day a message from your best friend pops up on your phone.

joong⋆˙⟡: “dorm hangout tn. bring urself + your tolerance lol”

You pause, thumbs hovering.

You already know San shares that dorm. And suddenly, your stomach flips.

You tell yourself its not about him.

Its just a chill night, with your best friend, and his friends...

Just drinks. Just games. Just a couch and some music and a few bad decisions.

Nothings going to happen. Probably.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ♡ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You hadnt planned to stay long.

Well guess who was sprawled across the beanbag chair in the corner, already a drink in hand,

Right

San

His gaze lifts lazily from his red cup to your face, and that grin widens.

“Well, well… look who it is.”

You roll your eyes and walk in like hes not even worth acknowledging. The couch cushions dip as you squeeze between two mutual friends, and someone passes you a drink without asking.

Across the room, you can feel him watching you.

“You know San, right?” someone says to you, like youve never met.

“Unfortunately,” you mutter under your breath, taking a sip.

He hears it.

“She acts like she hates me” San tells the room, his voice smooth and loud enough to cut through the music, “but she never actually leaves when I show up.”

The room laughs. You don't.

You glance at Hongjoong, who raises his eyebrows like dont start. You wont. You swear.

But when your eyes flick back to San, hes still looking at you.

Not smirking now. Not teasing. Just watching.

You turn away.

A while later, the lights are lower. The drinks are stronger. A half-circle has formed on the floor for some classic chaotic college game, Never Have I Ever.

You get roped in.

People are already tipsy, confessions flying across the room like grenades.

“Never have I ever made out with someones ex.” “Never have I ever had a one night stand.” “Never have I ever sent a nude to the wrong person.”

Laughter. Groans. People are getting louder. Bolder. Sloppier.

And San, fucking San, is sitting directly across from you now, legs spread, leaning back on his hands like hes right where he belongs.

Your eyes meet.

He lifts his drink slowly, watching you over the rim of the cup.

“Never have I ever wanted someone I shouldnt have.”

He drinks. So do you.

Silence.

Then a couple people ooh and giggle, but youre barely listening.

Because San is still watching you. Like he knows.

Most people have cleared out.

The musics still playing in the background, but its quieter now, muted by the foggy haze of alcohol and half shut doors. A few bodies remain scattered across the couch and carpet, tipsy, distracted.

But you only notice him.

San is leaning against the wall, red solo cup dangling lazily from his fingers, eyes still fixed on you like hes waiting for something.

Thats it.

You slam your empty cup on the table and get up.

Walk straight across the room. Grab his wrist.

He lets you, doesnt resist for a second, just arches an eyebrow as you pull him down the narrow hall toward the back of the dorm.

“Y/N” he drawls, half amused, “you planning to fight me or fuck me?”

You dont answer.

You shove open the door to Hongjoongs room, thankfully empty and drag him inside.

It clicks shut behind you.

You release his wrist and turn to face him, jaw tight. Your hearts pounding, but you ignore it.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap.

He blinks. “My problem?”

"Yeah, San. You stare at me all night like you own me. You say shit like that in front of everyone. What are you trying to do? Embarrass me? Make me part of your collection?”

I pause.

"Why are you so obsessed with me being next on your "who i played" list "

He’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Then… a laugh. Soft. Dangerous.

He steps forward.

“You really think Im trying to play you?” he says, voice low. “Youve been ignoring me for months. Dodging me like Im contagious. But the moment I look at you a little too long, you drag me into a room and ask me what my problem is?”

Hes in front of you now. So close you can smell the cologne clinging to his shirt, spicy, smoky, infuriatingly good.

You hold your ground, even tho you could practically feel your heart jumping out your chest.

“I dragged you in here to tell you to stop.”

“Then say it.”

“What?”

His voice drops.

“Say it. Tell me you dont want me. Right now. Ill walk out that door.”

Silence.

Your mouth opens. Closes. Nothing comes out.

And you hated yourself for that.

Because hes looking at you like he knows. And the worst part is, hes right.

He takes one more step, and suddenly his hand is on your hip. Gentle. Testing. Like hes giving you time to push him away.

You dont.

His breath ghosts along your cheek as he whispers.

“Didnt think so.”

You lift your head, looking up at the tall boy standing in front of you, your eyes meeting his. His gaze softens for a split second as he notices your vulnerable expression, but then hardens again.

“Those eyes... theyre going to be the death of me” he mutters before leaning down, his lips hovering near yours.

Your eyes flick down to his soft, plump lips, then to his Adams apple as it bobs while he swallows. Your face heats up a rush of alcohol and flusteredness mixing in your cheeks.

He holds the tension there, close enough you can feel his breath, but not quite touching. Then his voice drops lower “Say it. Tell me you dont want me.”

You can barely breathe, caught between wanting to push him away and the pull of every inch of him so close. The room feels smaller, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

His lips press against yours, slow and teasing at first, then deepening with an urgent hunger that makes your heart pound. You reach up, trying to wrap your hands around his neck, but youre a little too short, and its harder than you expected. Your fingers barely graze the nape of his neck, but he just chuckles softly against your mouth.

Without missing a beat, his hands find your waist and lift you up effortlessly. You gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips to steady yourself.

“Wrap your legs around me. Now,” he commands, his voice low and rough, but there’s something almost desperate in it.

You obey, pulling him closer as your fingers finally find their way to the back of his neck, tightening your grip as the kiss deepens again.

He grunts in approval against your lips, the heat between you igniting something fierce. His hands tighten around your waist as he carries you forward, closing the small distance to Hongjoongs bed.

Without hesitation, he spins you around and slams you down onto the mattress, his body pressing against yours with delicious force.

Your breath catches, heart hammering as his hands roam, and the air between you crackles with raw, unspoken promises.

"So you did plan on fucking me?" He whispers between sloppy kisses.

Before you can answer, he leans back down and kisses you.

Sans eyes darken with lust as he looks down at your disheveled state, chest rising and falling, lips kiss swollen and parted. His hands grip the hem of your shirt, knuckles brushing the warm skin underneath.

His fingers trail upward slowly, brushing against your stomach, light, teasing touches that make your breath hitch. His gaze flicks up to meet yours, and for a moment, everything slows.

“Youre so fucking pretty like this” he mutters, voice thick and strained.

Your right hand grabs the back of his head, pulling him closer to your mouth as your lips brush his jaw, desperate and breathless.

“Cross me off your list” you whisper, voice trembling. “I dont care about it anymore… just take me already.”

You whimper the words against his skin, and it breaks something in him.

His body shudders, a low groan escaping his throat as he crushes his mouth back to yours, rougher this time, deeper, like hes been holding back for far too long and finally snapped.

A predatory grin spreads across Sans face at your words, his patience snapping completely.

“You asked for it, princess” he growls, his voice dark and full of promise.

In one fluid motion, his fingers find the hem of your shirt again, only this time, theres no teasing. He yanks it upward and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

Your breath catches, skin prickling at the sudden exposure, but before you can say a word, his lips crash back onto yours, hungry, wild, and unapologetic.

His hands slide over your bare skin like hes claiming every inch, fingertips burning trails across your waist, your sides, the curve of your back as he presses you deeper into the mattress.

You moan into the kiss, the sound slipping out before you can even think. Its not just from the way his mouth moves against yours, but from the way the tension thats been coiling in your chest all night finally snaps, spilling out in that one broken, breathless sound. Its messy, needy, and it makes him kiss you harder.

Your hands move instinctively, driven by something primal, sliding up his chest until they find his broad shoulders. Your fingers spread wide as you grip him, feeling the firm muscle flex under your touch. Theres something grounding in it, something solid and safe beneath the chaos. You cling to him, like if you let go now, you might fall apart completely.

His body reacts immediately, a low growl vibrating from his throat as your nails graze his skin. He pushes into you more firmly, the kiss deepening, hotter, rougher, like hes been waiting for you to unravel in his hands.

Sans hands roam up your back, fingers quickly finding the clasp of your bra. With practiced ease, he unhooks it, the soft click echoing in the quiet room as the straps slip off your shoulders.

You grow impatient, breath hitching as you lean closer and say, “San just do something already.”

His grin widens, dark and hungry, as he pulls you back into a heated kiss, eager to answer your challenge.

A dark chuckle escapes him once again as he slides your bra straps down your arms.

“Patience, princess. I want to savor this.”

But his hands betray his words as they roam greedily.

Your head falls back against the smooth fabric of Hongjoongs pillow. Fuck, were really doing this in my best friends bed, you mumble softly to yourself.

San pauses for a moment, a flicker of amusement flashing across his face before he leans down to nip at your neck.

“I dont care whose bed this is” he murmurs, biting harder, clearly unfazed by the location.

A-ah! San- you moan softly as his teeth gently sink into your skin.

He sucks on the bite mark, making sure itll leave a dark mark, his hands gripping your waist possessively, kissing down your chest.

You feel a familiar heat pooling between your legs. “Dont tease me” you whisper, voice thick with need.

Sans eyes flash with mischief as he notices your growing desperation, deliberately steering clear of where you want him most.

“But I love teasing you… its too fun watching you squirm.” He presses a soft kiss to your stomach instead.

Your hand quickly snakes into his hair, gripping a handful and pulling him closer down your body.

“Please” you whine, voice trembling, probably sounding needy as hell.

He lets out a low grunt at your boldness but finally yields, lowering himself until his face is just above the waistband of your jeans.

His fingers hook into the fabric, tracing the edge of your pants with deliberate intent.

There was nothing innocent in the way he looked at you. You whimper, hips arching up slightly.

San hooks his fingers into your jeans and underwear simultaneously, his breath growing heavier as he slowly tugs them down.

“Youre gonna regret being so demanding… Ill punish you for it.”

You quickly glance upward, suddenly finding the ceiling incredibly fascinating the moment he pulls your pants down in one smooth motion.

A soft ahem escapes you.

Embarrassment washing over you.

He catches your sudden shyness and smirks, swiftly pulling your pants all the way off and tossing them aside. "Dont act shy now, you were the one begging for this. Look at me" His voice is firm and commanding as his hands slide to spread your thighs apart.

You let out a soft groan as his strong hands spread your thighs apart, your pussy completely exposed and on full display beneath his touch.

Sans gaze turns almost feral as he drinks in the sight of you, pupils blown wide with desire. His thumbs glide in slow, teasing cirlces along your inner thighs, spreading warmth and tension with every pass. "So fucking pretty…and all mine to ruin" he mutters, voice low and wrecked. He leans in, breath hot against your trembling skin, making you twitch beneath his touch before he even lays his mouth on you.

He finally gives in to your pleading, lowering his mouth to you with a hunger he no longer tries to hide. His tongue slides out, giving you one slow, deliberate lick that makes your whole body jolt. "Mmm…you taste even better than I imagined" he growls against you, voice low and ruined. Without another word, his tongue begins to move with purpose circling flicking, devouring you like hes starved and youre the only thing thats ever mattered.

“Fuck, San… please” you gasp, your voice shaky with need as you throw your head back, sinking deeper into the pillow.

Your fingers stay tangled in his hair, gripping tighter, desperate to keep him right where you want him.

You bite your lip gently at the sudden contact of his tongue on your wet hole, a soft gasp escaping you as the sensation sends a shiver down your spine.

San flicks his tongue faster, one hand gripping tight to steady your wild movements as you try to buck beneath him.

“Dont hold back those sounds, i want to hear every one of them” he growls, voice thick with heat, before diving back in deeper.

You whine between broken moans, "Fuck, Sannie, please…use a finger."

He lifts his head slightly, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.

“Since you asked so nicely…” he murmurs, sliding one finger inside your as his mouth returns to worshipping your needy cunt.

"Oh fuck, please… yes", you gasp, bucking your hips upward with desperate need.

He slips another finger in, curling them expertly as he pumps in and out, "Youre so wet for me… dripping all over my hand" he growls, voice rough with desire. "My fingers arent enough, are they?"

“Mh, San… I’m gonna—cum!” you moan, struggling to catch your breath as waves of sensation overflow your body.

San doesn’t stop, his fingers repeatedly finding that sweet spot as he growls against your skin.

“Cum for me, Y/N. Cum all over my fingers and scream my name” he commands, voice low and urgent.

The familiar rush of your climax builds faster than you anticipated. “Shit- I-”

It doesn’t take long before you finally fall apart, your breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps.

He senses your approaching climax and presses down harder, his fingers coiling inside you as he watches your face twist with pleasure. "Let go, princess… Ive got you" he whispers, eyes locked on you as you unravel completely.

San slowly slides his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to taste you as you catch your breath.

“That was just the beginning” he murmurs, wiping his chin before reaching for his belt buckle.

You swallow hard, your head still spinning from the alcohol as your eyes fixate on the noticeable bulge beneath his clothes.

He unbuckles his belt with deliberate slowness, savoring the way your eyes are locked onto the movement.

With a smooth motion, he unzips his jeans, releasing his hard cock from the confines of fabric.

Your eyes widen, saliva pooling in your mouth as you realize hes already leaking beads of pre cum.

San notices your reaction and lets out a deep chuckle, wrapping his hand firmly around himself.

“You look hungry… come here and taste it. Unless youre too scared,” he challenges, slowly stroking with deliberate intent.

You slowly inch forward, your hand wrapping around his shaft.

“Im not,” you whisper, voice steady and filled with quiet confidence.

His breath catches the moment your fingers brush him, but he keeps his cool, eyes locking onto yours with steady confidence.

“Prove it, then. Show me what that pretty mouth can do” he hums tilting his head back slightly, patiently waiting for you to make the next move.

You softly wrap your hands around him, stroking lazily before opening your mouth and shoving him in. A moan escapes as he hits the back of your throat causing you to gag.

Sans hips jerk forward instinctively at the sensation, his hand quickly gripping your hair. "Fuck… just like that. Take it deeper. Y/N. I know you can" He pulls your hair slightly, urging you on.

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as his cock twitched in your mouth, signaling he was already close.

He looks down at you with dark, intense eyes, noticing the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“Youre crying, but you’re still sucking me so well. Such a messy girl” he groans, his thighs tightening. “I’m gonna cum…”

You quickly pull away, a thin strand of saliva stretching from your lips to the tip of his dick.

San curses under his breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as he watches the string break.

“Whyd you stop? I was so close to filling that pretty little throat” he growls, gripping himself tightly, struggling to hold back his release.

You whine softly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “I want you to fuck me” you say, your needy hole throbbing painfully.

His eyes flash with raw desire as he grips your chin firmly, compelling you to meet his gaze.

“Turn around. Now.” His voice is sharp and commanding, thick with lust as he moves to position himself behind you.

You turn around in one swift motion, obeying him, arching your back and lifting your hips, presenting yourself to him without hesitation.

San grabs you firmly as he aligns his cock with your entrance.

“This what you want? My cock inside you?” he teases, pressing the tip gently against your wet folds but deliberately not pushing in yet.

You desperately wiggle your ass against his cock, eyes pleading.

“Please, Sannie,” you beg softly.

He roughly slaps your ass, making you jolt forward before he finally thrusts into you with rough urgency.

“Youre so desperate, its pathetic,” he growls, burying himself fully and setting a brutal pace as he moves inside you.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden stretch as he bottoms out.

“Fuck!” you scream, breath catching in your throat.

He pulls your hair once more, using it as leverage to pull you even closer, tightening his embrace around you.

You open your mouth, broken moans and whimpers escaping as he pounds into you, every movement sending waves of heat crashing through your body.

San leans down to bite your shoulder, his movements becoming erratic as he repeatedly hits your sweet spot.

“Youre so good… squeezing me so damn tight. Im gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

“Fuck, you feel so good… so big-” you gasp, clenching tightly around him.

He groans deeply as you clench around him, his grip tightening on your waist with just enough pressure to make you gasp. A crooked grin on his face despite the intensity between you. "Youre gonna cum again, arent you?" he mutter, voice low and rough. "I can feel it… your pussy is trembling" With that, he snaps his hips harder, driving deeper with every thrust.

“Ah- so good! I dont wanna cum yet,” you whine, voice trembling as your body fights to hold back the overwhelming release building inside you.

He lets out a dark, breathless laugh, slowing his movements but staying buried deep inside you, his chest pressed firmly against your back.

“Then dont. Hold it in” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “But Im not stopping until you break.” He grinds deliberately against your g spot.

You bite down on your lip hard, so hard, youre sure you can taste the faint metallic hint of blood.

His hand tangled in your hair tightens suddenly, slamming your head down firmly into Hongjoongs pillow, claiming control without hesitation.

The sharp scent of Hongjoongs cologne floods your senses as San presses you down into the pillow,

“Smell that?” he growls low in your ear. “Thats Joongs pillow. Makes me want to mark you even more.” His voice drips with eager possessiveness.

You feel the air catch in your throat, forcing muffled sounds to spill into the pillow as you struggle to breathe through the intensity.

San keeps you firmly pinned, his every thrust pressing you deeper into the mattress, your muffled sounds swallowed by the pillow beneath you, only feeding the fire in his eyes. "Thats it" he growls, voice low and commanding. "Let Joongs pillow muffle those screams… while I ruin you like this."

You couldnt help but notice how often San mentioned Hongjoong. Was it… jealousy lacing his voice?

He pulls your head up again, jaw clenched tight as his eyes lock onto the pillow with a sharp glare.

“Why do you always smell like him? It pisses me off” he growls, jealousy thick in his voice as he thrusts harder.

“H-hes my best friend” you moan softly, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and need.

San lets out a low, dangerous growl, his eyes blazing with possessive fire.

“Best friend or not, you belong to me now.” He sinks his teeth aggresively into your neck again, leaving his mark.

You finally feel your second high building, clenching around him one last time.

“San, I’m gonna cum!” you gasp, breath hitching with desperate need.

He growls against your neck, teeth still harshly biting as he feels you tightening around him.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my cock” he demands, his own release drawing near.

“Cl-close!” you scream, your release spilling over his cock as you tremble with overwhelming pleasure.

San lets out a raw roar as he feels your release wash over him, his cum swelling deep inside you.

“Fuck yes, good girl.” He thrusts inside you one last time, locking himself firmly inside.

San collapses beside you on the bed, breathing heavily.

“Shit” you mumble quietly, still catching your breath.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Don’t ‘shit’ me” he pants, breath ragged but voice firm. “You loved every second of it.”

"shut the fuck up youre an asshole" You whisper softly as your heavy eyelids begin to close.

Until you quickly drift off to sleep.

Was he still the schools heartthrob, the boy every eye chased and every rumor circled? Maybe to the outside world, he kept that title effortless, untouchable.

Or was he fully yours now?

Who knows.

[starlinggirll]

Art x breastfeeding reader…. She’s over supplying and yk EXACTLY where that’s going…

art thought having twins would make things easier in some aspects.

like breastfeeding.

each boy will have a boob to suckle out of, they would both be happy. and happy kids = happy wife. and a happy wife means a happy life.

right?

right.

both boys had a favoritism to your right boob. he doesn't know why, he personally finds both of them as pretty as the other. but now you're in pain, something about your left boob clogging?

he doesn't know what that means, but your left boob does look bigger, but not in a good way. in a 'about to burst' way.

"are you okay?" he whispers, careful not to piss you off. his hands rub your sides, his eyes gently and full of worry. you shake your head, whimpering. "no. nothing is coming out and-" you groan, looking up at him with tearful eyes. "there's alot of milk in this one but nothing is coming out. not even the pump is helping."

he gulps, slightly conflicted because he's just as out of his element as you. his hand goes up to your jaw, offering a nervous smile. "maybe i can help...?"

in a matter of minutes you're on his lap, left tit in his mouth while he massages your right one. you try not to moan, your hand softly gripping his hair. "you're having too much fun.." you whine, and he continues sucking, a bit of your milk dripping down his chin.

its in about a minute of him sucking that you feel it physically unclog. he pulls away, looking up at you with the biggest smile. "did it work?" he asks and you nod, smiling while letting a sigh of relief. "thank you so much." you mumble, kissing him before getting off him.

"you taste really good..." he mumbles, grabbing your hand before you pull your shirt back on. "can i have more, please..." he whines, pulling you back into his lap. "the twins have enough already."

you dont get to answer before he's already sucking your nipple, his forehead pressed against your breast, you're too tired to say no, and the position he has you in is comfortable. and the relief he's giving you by practically pumping your milk.

he notices how comfortable you're getting, and he smiles. "you're so strong, you know?" he praises, pressing lingering kisses against your neck. "you can sleep.." he purrs, cradling you like you cradle the twins. "its okay."

໒꒱‧ tags below

@hrtshapedblg @val3ntin33

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I'LL TAKE A QUIET LIFE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you didn't mean for things to turn out the way they did—you swear you really didn't. but when a certain someone decides to provoke you when you're trying to do the right thing… well. things take a turn for the worse. all you wanted was to peacefully borrow dazai for his birthday, whisking him away for a one-week getaway from the city and work, but you know how dazai is, and you couldn't risk any of his coworkers letting something slip. so, now, instead of a nice peaceful surprise and maintaining relations with the agency, you've had to resort to kidnapping. again. you'll make the most of it anyway.

(word count: 13.2k, fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, dazai-typical suicide mentions, past suicide attempts referenced, oral (male receiving), a bit of face fucking, unprotected sex, a little overstimulation, minor implied ptsd episode/grieving (reader))

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY TO THE CUTEST BOY IN THE WHOLEEE WORLD WAHHHHHHH take a cute little post-canon fic for the big day<33 i am so proud of how this fic came out. before you read, i do want you guys to take note that there's a bit of a time jump—i have this fic set around 5-6 months after the ada-pm swap fic. i have a lot to say about this fic so maybeee come back up here at the end to read this because there are some spoilers for it ... this is ur last warning ....... ANYWAY, so as you all know (even though you have no faith in me) pmreader universe DOES have a happy ending. to get to that happy ending, the biggest hurdle that needs to be crossed is what was addressed in one of the more recent pmreader fics (i think i've seen this love before): dazai struggles to find a reason to live. i can't really see him marrying pmreader when he still feels so hopeless about himself/living, for HER sake more than his mind you, because he knows he's very fickle with life and doesn't want to marry her and then leave her behind. so i do think that this is a necessary step to the happy ending: dazai needs to acknowledge that he does see himself having a future with her & their relationship gives him a reason to wake up in the morning. now, this of course doesn't take away from his depression—i dont want any of you to misunderstand and i dont think you will, but i just want to make it clear that him acknowledging this doesn't take away from his depression. it's something that i headcanon dazai struggles with his whole life, but i think this is a necessary step to the happy ending. also on another note, pmreader !!! i hope her whole thing doesn't feel like it comes out of the blue. once they get together again at age 22, i hc that the first few months of their relationship are so chaotic that neither of them can fully come to terms with their situation, and once she does, she really does begin to doubt things. because of course she loves him, and she wants him to feel like he's fulfilled odasaku's last request so he can feel better about himself, but she starts to feel like her presence in his life might be holding him back. so those lingering doubts + her doing something that reminds her of a past she can't remember puts her in a rlly vulnerable space. AND I THINK I CONVEYED IT WELL, but i just like explaining. ANYWAY if you guys got this far, i love you, thank u for entertaining my rambly thoughts

Dazai is over three hours late to work, but in his defense, it’s his birthday, and not even Kunikida is cruel enough to scold Dazai on his birthday. Still, he very much expects dirty looks from the man, and maybe a few loud comments about his terrible work ethic, but that’s just Kunikida. If he wasn’t giving Dazai dirty looks and making loud comments, Dazai would be concerned.

Which is why when he steps into the office at half past twelve and is met with dead silence, Dazai knows something is wrong. He shuts the door quietly behind him and looks around warily, trying to figure out what’s going on. There’s no sign of forced entry or any fighting—there’s an untouched stack of papers in the waiting area that he assumes are from a new client, and a hot coffee still steaming next to it. 

It’s all so unassuming, it’s what he expects coming into work, but it’s too quiet. He can’t hear Naomi bothering Tanizaki, he can’t hear Yosano complaining about the stick up Kunikida’s ass or Kunikida promptly scolding her for her language, he can’t hear Kyouka, Kenji, and Atsushi chatting away whenever Kunikida is pulled away by something. There’s no furious typing from the clerks as they fix all of the mistakes in the reports being filed, and there’s no sighing when they think they finish, only to realize that there’s another report, likely one of Dazai’s, waiting for them to edit.

It’s too quiet, and that’s how Dazai knows something is seriously wrong.

When he steps into the office, he almost expects nobody to be there—maybe they were all called out to some emergency mission, and Dazai is going to have to race to catch up with them. 

What he doesn’t expect is finding his coworkers all sitting stiffly and silently in their seats, and a heavy Port Mafia presence all over the room. Hirotsu is leaning against the far back wall, a cigarette dangling between his lips, Gin is hanging over Haruno, carelessly playing with one of her knives, and Tachihara is trying to convince Atsushi to play a game of cards with him as if Akutagawa isn’t looming right behind him. 

If it were just the Black Lizards, Dazai thinks that they’d probably fight back, but naturally, the red-headed slug is here too, leaning up against the wall with Hirotsu, arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. Dazai’s eyes narrow when Chuuya gives him a smirk that’s far too smug, but the insult on his lips dies when his eyes land on the last person in the room.

You’re sitting on top of his desk, a pretty smile on your lips and a glitter in your eyes that promises no good. You look beautiful, and Dazai’s chest feels all warm and fuzzy—he hasn’t seen you in a few weeks now because you’ve been abroad dealing with pressure from some foreign organizations, and he didn’t think you’d be back for his birthday. He’s so enamored by the sight of you that he almost doesn’t catch the glint of metal on your lap or the way Kunikida is sitting tense at his desk next to where you’re lounging.

“Hey,” you say easily, like there isn’t a gun in your lap pointed at his coworker, safety off, finger firm on the trigger, ready to pull it at a moment’s notice. “Happy birthday.”

“What-” Dazai starts to say, baffled, but flinches when he feels something prick his neck, head snapping to the side to focus on a vaguely familiar figure now standing at his side—your new subordinate, Dazai can’t remember his name. 

Whatever he injected Dazai with works fast, because he’s instantly dizzy, his gaze blurring, and his head all woozy. Just as his knees start to give out, he feels the kid grab under his arms to make sure he doesn’t hit the ground, and he hears you say proudly: “This is a kidnapping.”

---------

In your defense, you really did try to talk things out peacefully with the Armed Detective Agency before resorting to this. 

You weren’t planning on kidnapping Dazai, but you knew he probably didn’t call out of work, and the last thing you needed was to be scolded by Mori for causing any more tension between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia if they realized that you were the reason Dazai didn’t show up to work. 

Things have been rocky on both sides since the failed transfer—the Agency because the Port Mafia dared to take one of their own, and the Port Mafia because the Agency reneged on their deal and took their member back—but you can’t afford for things to be rocky when things are still incredibly unstable. So instead of just picking up Dazai and leaving for a few days and possibly pissing off the Agency for not giving them any forewarning, you decided to do the right thing and tell them before disappearing with one of their detectives.

Except the President of the Agency isn’t in town. So, you were stuck dealing with that bullheaded blonde who clearly still holds a grudge over the incident with Pushkin and he decided to act on his grudge by making your life as difficult as possible. 

All too smugly, he refused to give Dazai leave for the week because they have an emergency case that needs all hands on deck, and when you offered up Klaus to replace him, much to the boy’s abject horror, he refused. Then you offered up Klaus and Akutagawa, and he still refused. You even proposed giving them Chuuya for the week, and that wasn’t enough, so that’s when you realized he was just being difficult to be petty.

And you doubt the man actually would’ve forced Dazai to miss out on time with you on his birthday, Dazai is his friend and he’s not that much of an asshole. He probably would've okay'd it as soon as Dazai showed up to the office, but he was clearly just trying to be a pain in your ass. And well, you didn’t take that kindly, obviously, so all thoughts of preserving the fragile peace went out the window as you quite promptly demanded all hands on deck for a possible conflict because you were not going to let Kunikida Doppo keep that smug expression on his face for a second longer.

Was Chuuya happy about it? No, you could tell when he gave you a side eye after he showed up, but you knew he wasn’t going to sit by and let the Agency get one over you. So, he was content to stand there as a looming threat, because you were pretty sure that the Black Lizards weren’t going to be enough to scare the Agency into backing down, but the threat of Nakahara Chuuya splattering one of their own against the wall so that there was nothing left for their doctor to revive was more than enough to keep them down.

The Black Lizards and Akutagawa didn’t have the authority to question your orders, and Klaus was more than willing to spill blood at any given moment, so the only thing you have left to worry about is Mori, and you’ll deal with that once you get back from your getaway with Dazai. If Chuuya’s feeling nice, he’ll probably handle it for you, but you don’t think he’s pleased with how you offered him up like a bargaining chip to the Agency.

Your lips curve up into a smile when Klaus tosses Dazai over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Was drugging him unnecessary? Probably, but you didn’t want to deal with his smug ass making comments about the lengths you go to so that you can steal him away for the week the whole way up to the house you and Chuuya bought on the coastline of Hokkaido. It wasn’t just for Dazai—it was your own pride on the line too, it was the principle.

As you motion for Klaus to bring Dazai out to the car, you rise to your feet and look down at Kunikida. You place your gun under his chin to tilt his head up so that he’s looking up at you; he swallows thickly as he glances down at where your finger is still resting on the trigger, throat bobbing before he glowers at you. You give him a too-sweet smile.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” you say, very pleased with yourself. You look back at Chuuya, signalling him to come with you as you put your gun away and start to make your way out of the Agency. You lift your hand in a lazy wave before saying, “I’ll bring him back in a few days.” 

It’s only when the door to the Agency shuts behind you that he finally speaks to you, hands shoved in his pockets as he says dryly, “Mori specifically told us not to antagonize the Agency over the next few weeks.”

“The Agency antagonized me,” you reply airily. “It would’ve been a terrible look for us if we let them walk all over us and come out unscathed. There are already too many rumors circulating in the East about us being weak after the Guild Incident, and now, Dostoevsky, the failed transfer, and the Clocktower—preserving our reputation is more important than relations with the Agency.”

Chuuya barks out a laugh. “You can twist anything to fit your narrative, can't you? If you weren’t an executive, you’d make a great lawyer.”

You raise your eyebrows, unfazed. “It’s not twisting if it’s the truth.”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath before shaking his head as he holds the door to the cafe open for you. “Right. Next time you decide to ‘preserve our reputation’ through a diplomatic disaster, at least give me a damn warning first.”

“There’s no fun in that,” you say with an easy smile. “Will you deal with Mori while I’m gone?” 

“You’re shameless,” Chuuya tells you flatly. “No, I’m not dealing with Mori. You just tried to pawn me off to the Agency like a fucking mule. You can deal with him.”

“Please.” You flutter your eyelashes at him, pushing your lip out in a pout that has him rolling his eyes. You scowl and then offer, “I’ll take over your mission in Sapporo when I get back.”

“Deal,” Chuuya agrees immediately, reaching out to open the car door for you. You slide inside, and he shuts the door behind you; you immediately roll the window down. He gives you a sharp smile, resting his arms on the car door and leaning in. “I would’ve dealt with him either way.”

“I know because you’re a sucker,” you reply, raising your eyebrows and giving him an equally sharp smile. “I just thought I’d be nice and offer you something in return.”

Chuuya clicks his tongue sharply as he leans back. He stands up straight and gives you a side eye. “Bitch,” he mutters, but there’s a fond smile on his lips. “Enjoy your week with that bastard, you’re gonna be in for hell with Mori once you get back.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you say dryly, turning to the side as Klaus opens the door to toss Dazai into the car. Literally. “Jesus, Klaus, be a bit more careful with him.”

“No.” Klaus says and then sneers down at Dazai before slamming the door shut behind him.

You shake your head and adjust Dazai into a more comfortable position. He should be out for at least two or three hours—you aren’t quite sure, he’s always had a freaky metabolism, but you don’t know if it’s gotten faster or slower in the four years he was gone. You rest his head in your lap, brushing his hair out of his face. You’ve missed him a lot; you’ve barely been able to see him at all the past few weeks because you’ve been so busy, and your chest aches just at the sight of him in your lap. You turn your gaze back up to the window to find Chuuya staring at you in disgust. Klaus is there too, scowling.

“What is your problem with him?” you ask the boy, giving him a weird look. “You’ve hardly even met him before now.”

“I don’t like him,” Klaus replies, raising his chin.

You stare at him in disbelief, but Klaus only huffs and stalks off, likely to cause chaos elsewhere. Chuuya snorts in amusement, trying to muffle a laugh as he turns his face away. You roll your eyes and fling your hand up dismissively. Klaus has always had something up his ass about Dazai, you never understood why. You’ve learned better than to question what runs through that boy’s head.

“You should get going,” Chuuya says, stepping back from the window. “The jet’s waiting for you.”

“Right,” you agree, stretching your arms and then resting your hand on Dazai’s forehead, fingers carding absently through his hair. “Thanks, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies dryly, turning his back to the car to walk over to where he’d parked his motorcycle. He lifts his hand up in a lazy wave. “See you next week.”

“See you next week.”

---------

Dazai wakes up to the whole world shaking. His heart rate spikes as he shoots up, disoriented and confused. His hand flies to his head, blinking hard to try to clear his blurry vision. He doesn’t even really remember what happened. He remembers waking up late for work and feeling smug because Kunikida couldn’t scold him because it’s his birthday, and he remembers…

Oh.

You.

Dazai glances around, trying to figure out where the hell he is. He’s laying on a white couch in a small room… or, this isn’t a room, is it? There’s a window next to him. Dazai squints at the sudden bright light that blinds him, but he shifts closer to the window so he can look out of it.

He is in the air.

Dazai blanches when he realizes that he’s in a plane. It must be close to landing because the ground is much closer than he expected. He doesn’t recognize the area—there doesn’t seem to be any big cities nearby, only forests and the ocean, so he’s not really sure where you’re bringing him.

He pushes himself out of his seat, stumbling a bit before he catches himself. Whatever you injected him with was strong, but at least now he has something he can whine and complain about. Maybe he’ll be able to convince you to make him the sweet buns you tried baking a few times back when you two were teenagers. You never liked the way they came out, but Dazai had been obsessed with them and was thoroughly upset when you refused to make them every time he asked. 

He salivates a bit at the thought and decides to get a head start on his guilt tripping, making his way over to where you’re sitting. A smile unconsciously pulls at his lips when he sees you sitting a few seats away. Your back is facing him, but he can see you’re focused on your computer, typing furiously with earbuds plugged in your ears. He stumbles once more before kneeling on the seat behind yours, draping himself lazily over the back of it to rest his chin on the top of your head.

His lips part to make a complaint when he pauses, gaze focusing on what exactly it is that you’re doing on your laptop.

Are you on a… video call?

Dazai stares at the screen blankly, recognizing the several faces staring right back at him. Leo Tolstoy looks unbearably amused when he sees Dazai in the frame of the camera, hiding a smile with his hand. An older man who Dazai realizes is Carlo Goldoni raises his eyebrows, lips twitching. Mishima Yukio casually rubs at his lips, pretending he’s not smiling. There are three others, two men and a woman who Dazai doesn’t recognize—they must be new allies of the Port Mafia.

Well, Dazai thinks awkwardly, staring at the screen as he realizes that he just interrupted a meeting between you and several mob bosses. He doesn’t bother moving now, they’ve already seen him, and you don’t seem bothered, considering you don’t immediately shove his face out of view of the camera.

“I’ll contact you all when I’m available again to speak next week,” you say after a moment. “Thank you for meeting.”

You exit the call without waiting for them to answer, taking out the earbuds from your ears. Dazai lifts his chin when he feels you turning your head to look up at him. He gives you a sheepish smile. 

“Did I interrupt?” he asks quietly. 

“No,” you reply. “We’re almost here anyway.”

Dazai shuffles around to sit across from you, resting his arms on the table and his head on top of them. He looks up at you, eyes still a bit droopy from whatever you drugged him with. Your lips curl up into a soft smile, and warmth spreads through Dazai’s chest at the sight of it. His cheeks heat up, so he hides them in his arms and peeks up at you. The smile on your lips becomes a bit fonder, you place your arms on the table, mimicking him, and then rest your head down like he did, peeking up at him the same way as he is at you.

It’s a simple action. A nothing action, really. You’re just mimicking him. Teasing him for being flustered. He doesn’t know why his chest suddenly feels like it's about to cave in. He doesn’t know why he suddenly wants to cry. He doesn’t know why he’s so suddenly and violently reminded of how much he loves you. 

Maybe it’s just because he’s missed you these past few weeks.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper. 

A lump that’s shaped suspiciously like his heart forms in his throat as he looks up at you. He hides his smile behind his arms and says quietly, “You kidnapped me.” Then adds belatedly, “Again.”

“I did,” you agree, eyes glittering with amusement. “It’s a bit of a tradition now, don’t you think?”

“Where are we going?” he asks curiously, hand creeping forward to try to grab yours. He pokes your arm twice; you raise your eyebrows before realizing what he wants and putting your hand in his. Dazai’s fingers slide to your wrist to press against your pulse, feeling the familiar, even thrums and matching his own heartrate to to them.

“To a foreign countryside so I can kill you and dump your body,” you say without pause.

Dazai snorts, lifting your hand to his lips so he can kiss your palm, lashes fluttering shut when your fingers brush over his cheekbone. He says dreamily, “A woman after my own heart.” 

“You’re such a freak,” you say fondly.

“Your freak,” he corrects with a flirty smile before setting your joined hands back down on the table. “I can’t believe you kidnapped me again. And drugged me. I still feel a bit woozy, y’know? How are you going to make it up to me?” 

“A one week escape from work isn’t enough?” you ask dryly.

“Nope,” he agrees, popping the ‘p’. “How about you make me those sweet buns you used to make this week? I haven’t had them in ages, I miss them.”

You squint at him, leaning back in your seat but leaving your hand in his. “Maritozzi?” you ask, and Dazai faintly recognizes the name from back then, so he nods. “What flavor?” 

Dazai pauses and then asks, “Strawberry? Or lemon?” 

“Both?” you offer.

His eyes widen slightly. He didn’t expect you to give in so quickly. Back when you guys were teenagers, he’d whine and ask you to make them and it would turn into a six hour argument of him insisting that he deserves them and you refusing him. 

“That was easier than I expected,” he admits sheepishly. 

“It’s your birthday,” you say like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Again, Dazai’s heart flutters, and he squeezes your hand gently. “The first one we’ve celebrated together in four years. We can stop to get the ingredients on the way to the house.”

The house. Where is it that you’re taking him? Dazai’s mind bounces around with potential answers—far enough that you had to take him on a plane, but not so far that he’s just woken up and its already begun its descent. Dazai has a quick metabolism and a high tolerance for most drugs. You know this and probably would’ve accounted for it, but there’s a large margin of error. You don’t know if his metabolism has gotten quicker or slower over the years apart, and you don’t know if his tolerance has weakened, so you probably didn’t want to risk pushing the dosage anymore than you would’ve four years ago.

Which probably puts the time at… four hours after you injected him? Which would make sense from the position of the sun in the sky. Probably took forty minutes from injection to take off between getting him here and getting everything settled. So a three hour flight? About? Where would that leave you guys? Seoul? No, it couldn’t be—there were no cities anywhere in sight. One of the northern islands then?

“You didn’t answer my question,” he whines. “Where are we going?” 

You hesitate for a moment like you don’t want to tell him, but he pouts and widens his eyes in the way that always makes you give in. You roll your eyes at him exagerratedly, and he gives you a sweet smile in response.

“A property up in Hokkaido,” you finally say. Dazai is smug, realizing his deductions were right, until you continue speaking. “It’s near a small village. Pretty. Me and Chuuya scoped it out and bought it a couple of months ago just to have.”

What. Dazai stares at you blankly, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion, unsure why he suddenly closed off. He narrows his eyes at you, willing away the bitterness that suddenly swells in his chest. It’s sharp and sour, and he definitely doesn’t like it, but when he tries to push it away, it only intensifies. 

“You bought property with Chuuya,” he asks flatly. “You’re taking me to a property that you bought with the slug.”

You roll your eyes. “Stop that,” you say immediately. “I’m taking you to a property that I scoped out because I wanted to bring you here. Chuuya jumped on and offered to pay for half because he wanted a place to escape to outside the city.”

Dazai squints at you, and you raise your eyebrows challengingly. He immediately huffs and looks away, stomach lurching when the plane begins the final part of the descent to the ground. He decides to change the subject instead of pressing, maybe he’ll whine about it some more later.

“So,” he says slowly, voice dropping just enough to catch your attention from the way you tilt your head to the side. “You’ve kidnapped me away from the Agency… to bring me to a house in the middle of nowhere… and decided not to tell me about it until now…”

You hum in response, eyes narrowing, and Dazai leans closer over the table separating the two of you, lips curling up into a lecherous smirk that has you rolling your eyes. You already know what’s coming, but you must let him have his fun on his birthday.

“And we’ll be there for… how long again?”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, seemingly intent on staring out the window. “A week.”

Dazai whistles, leaning back in his seat again. His eyes rove over you—it's been a hot minute since the two of you have been able to do anything intimate. He hasn’t even seen you in a few weeks. And before that, most days, you’re either too exhausted or he’s too in his own head about things to get in the mood. But this… Seven days. No work. No people interrupting. No reason to spiral in his own head. His lips unconsciously pull into another small smile, teeth scraping his tongue as his gaze lingers on the top few buttons of your dress shirt—they’re undone, just low enough for him to see a hint of…

You clear your throat. Dazai’s gaze snaps back up to your face. He gives you an innocent smile that makes you roll your eyes at him again. 

“Pervert,” you accuse.

“Yeah,” Dazai breaths out, voice a bit raspy as he lifts your hand back to his lips. He kisses your knuckles and then the inside of your wrist, gaze flickering back up to your eyes. “I’m going to take advantage of this week.”

The corner of your mouth twitches like you’re fighting off a smile. “Oh, I counted on it.”

Dazai lets go of your wrist when the plane lands. He watches you tuck your hand back into your lap, pulling your phone out to shoot a text to someone before sliding it back into your pocket. His eyes stay on you as the plane rolls to a stop, watching the way the sunlight dances across your cheekbones. You look beautiful—always do—but you’ll look more beautiful tonight when he has you underneath him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you tell him flatly as you rise to your feet. Dazai follows after you, standing too close, and when he leans down to ghost his lips to your neck, you swat at his head, but he immediately dodges and then drapes himself over your shoulders obnoxiously. “Osamu.”

Dazai lets his full body weight rest on you. You stumble forward, trying to walk toward the exit of the plane, but fail miserably because you’re dragging his dead weight with you. His lips curl up into a smile when he hears your frustrated groan, arms tightening around you.

“Get off of me, you freak,” you complain. “Walk on your own.”

“But I’m still so woozy,” he sighs dramatically. “You drugged me, take accountability and carry me to the car before I pass out and hit my head and die on my birthday. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

He pouts against your skin, nipping your neck for a second before resting his forehead in the crook of it, right next to the small mark he just left. Vision obscured, he misses the way you motion for the pilot, who had come out to lower the steps to the ground, to grab him until he feels two hands around his waist lifting him off the ground. Dazai yelps and flails, trying to figure out what exactly just happened, and blanches when he realizes he’s being held princess style by a grown man.

“Watanabe-san, please make sure Osamu makes it down the steps safely. We wouldn’t want him to pass out and hit his head and die on his birthday, would we?” you say with a sweet smile.

“Of course not, hime,” the man replies gruffly. 

Mortified, Dazai tries to worm out of the man’s arms, but his grip is too tight. He looks at you, betrayed, but you’re only fighting giggles as you make your way over to the car waiting on the tarmac, leaving him in the arms of this man.

By the time he makes it to the sleek black car waiting for the two of you, Dazai’s face is flaming red. The moment he’s placed on the ground, he throws himself into the car and turns his back to you. You laugh and climb in after him, pressing your lips to his shoulder.

“I hate you,” he whines. 

“I love you too.”

---------

Dazai naps once the two of you get to the house, so you focus on getting everything together to make the maritozzi in the morning. You don’t really like making it—the pastries make you upset. Or, well, it’s not the pastries that make you upset, but the fact that every time you make them, you get this strange, aching feeling in your chest—a sense of deja vu so strong that it nearly brings you to your knees.

Your hands always remember what to do, even when your mind doesn’t. You knead the dough with a practiced ease that doesn’t feel like it belongs to you. You know exactly how much flour to dust on the board, how warm the milk should be, how to press your thumb into the dough to check if it’s ready. 

It’s muscle memory, maybe.

You sigh as you rest your hands on the kitchen counter. You plan to start baking in the morning, but you already feel that… odd feeling spreading through you, both sharp and tender at the same time. A homesickness for a place you can’t name. Grief for people you don’t remember.  It happens every time: a flicker of something just out of reach. A child’s gleeful laugh, a pair of warm hands guiding yours, a whispered promise that isn’t kept.

You lay your head in your arms for a moment, eyes sliding shut. You can never get the maritozzi right, regardless of how hard you try. You don’t know what you’re doing wrong, or even what’s wrong with them at all, but you know it’s not right. You hate making them. Each time, you can’t help the hope that swells in your chest that maybe this time will be different. Maybe you’ll get it right. 

Each time you’re disappointed. 

And yet, here you are again trying.

The things you do for love.

You feel a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind, hands slipping beneath your shirt. Dazai drapes himself over your back, pinning you to the counter. He sighs softly as he kisses the nape of your neck and your shoulder before burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you whisper softly, a smile pulling on your lips as you lift a hand to rest it on the top of his head. You feel his heartbeat thrumming against your back, and his fingers tracing absent patterns on your stomach. “You were tired.”

“You’ve been away for a few weeks,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your neck. You feel him yawn before nuzzling his face against your skin, eyes sliding shut. “I wasn’t sleeping well.”

“My apologies,” you say with faux remorse. “How dare I go away for work and mess up your sleeping schedule.”

He hums in agreement. “A crime worthy of capital punishment, honestly,” he says, and you feel him smile softly, kissing your neck again. You let out a breathy sigh and instinctively tilt your head to the side to give him more room. “I had to sleep without my favorite pillow. You know, the soft, warm, breathing one that makes cute little noises when I kiss her neck.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scowl, but the expression quickly fades when you feel him trailing slow kisses up your neck, deliberately lingering just below your ear.

“How are you ever going to make it up to me?” he whispers playfully before he nips your skin. 

You ignore his noise of complaint when you shift in his arms so that you can face him, resting your hands on his hips as you look up at him through your lashes. You give him a sweet smile before saying, “I can think of a few ways.”

“Oh yeah,” Dazai drawls, lips curling up into a lazy smirk as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt again. “Is this the part where you beg for forgiveness?”

“Oh?” you hum, leaning in to ghost your lips against his jaw, kissing slowly to his ear as you murmur, “You want me to beg?”

He lets out a soft groan when you nip his skin. “I want you to convince me you’re sorry for leaving me to suffer all alone,” he corrects, breathing a little heavier when you start to kiss down the column of his throat. His voice catches over his words as you slide down the sweatpants he changed into and lower yourself to your knees in front of him. “Oh, fuck.”

“You poor thing,” you say softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his hip bone. “All alone for weeks. I bet you were just aching without me.”

“I—” His voice breaks into a groan as your mouth trails lower down the line of his ‘v’, lashes fluttering as he rests his hands back onto the counter and glances up at the ceiling before looking back down at you. His pupils are blown wide, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them before. “You have no idea.”

“I think I have an idea,” you say more to yourself than to him, a teasing smile playing at your lips as you finally lift your hand to stroke his leaky cock. His hips jerk instinctively, he twitches in your hand like he’s already on the verge of finishing, and you lift your gaze. His chest is heaving, pink lips swollen and parted, head tilted back as he looks up at the ceiling again, desperately trying to gain control of himself.

God, you love him. You’ve loved him for years, since you were sixteen, even if you only started acknowledging the depths of your feelings for him when you were eighteen. He was always so flighty and unpredictable, you never expected one day he’d be yours the way he is now. You’ll never let him go now. You’ve missed him these past few weeks apart much more than you realized. 

“I would do terrible things for you, Osamu,” you tell him softly, running your thumb over his tip just so you can hear the way he keens. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” he pants. You’re not even sure if he fully hears what you say, already lost in the haze of pleasure, and you don’t really care. “Please.”

You don’t look away from him for a second as you take his tip into your mouth, flattening your tongue against his slit to lap up all of the precum that had beaded there. He lets out a ragged groan, but you can’t see his face, so you lift your hand to grab one of his and tug to get his attention.

His head falls forward, bangs falling in his eyes as he looks down at you. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he breathes heavily, gaze entirely unfocused as need quickly fogs and dismantles the cogs of his quick brain. Having gotten what you wanted, you try to slip your hand free to hold his hips again, but his grip on your hand tightens, refusing to let go.

You hum softly, entwining your fingers with his instead as you slowly take him deeper into your mouth. His eyes half-roll back when his tip hits the back of your throat and your tongue presses against the vein on the underside of his cock. He almost lets his head fall back again, but your grip on his hand keeps him grounded to you. Even as fucked out as he is with his cock deep down your throat and your nails tracing patterns on his inner thighs, he manages to keep his gaze mostly locked to yours.

“I—haaah, fuck—you feel s’good,” he slurs, free hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. He lets you set the pace, and you pick a slow and steady one that you know kills him. You want to see how long he can last before he snaps. “I—so many nights…”

His sentences are garbled and mostly unintelligible. It makes you happy—you’re glad he lets his brain shut off when he’s with you like this. He used to try so hard to maintain control that you could tell it was stressing him out when he was supposed to be feeling good, but he doesn’t bother with the pretenses anymore, letting everything crumble away the moment he has you in bed with him. Or, in this case, in the middle of the kitchen. 

You can’t respond, so you resign to letting out a soft hum of acknowledgment; the vibrations make him whimper, cock twitching in your mouth as he gnaws on his bottom lip, desperately trying not to cum so quickly. You can feel his thighs tense beneath your touch as holds himself back from fucking your face.

Your gaze traces his face, catching sight of the red flush of his cheeks, his wet lips, the way his expression is all twisted—he’s so pretty, so you decide to have a bit of mercy on him. 

Plus, it is still his birthday after all.

You lift your hand to tap his hip twice, signaling to him that he can take control if he wants, and the effect is immediate. His eyes snap open fully, glassy and wild with need, and then he moves. 

His grip on your hand tightens just a bit, and the hand on the back of your head slips down to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, tracing how they’re stretched around his cock. He rocks his hips forward once—slowly, like he’s testing the waters, worried that you might change your mind, but you stay still and pliant, looking up at him through your lashes imploringly.

“Fuck,” he breathes out again. “Love you. So good to me. Always been so good to me.”

He thrusts again, this time deeper, more sure of himself, and you relax your throat for him, letting him set the rhythm. It's not rough or frantic—not yet—just a slow, needy grind of someone who’s waited for this too long. His hand slides back to cup the back of your head as he starts to pick up the pace; you gag a little on his cock, eyes tearing up, but you squeeze his hand encouragingly, telling him silently to continue. To give you more. 

He does.

He rolls his hips forward sharply, cock thrusting deeper, harder, and you take it, eyes fluttering shut for just a second as your throat stretches around him. His thighs tremble under your hands, breath ragged as he fucks your throat. The noises in the kitchen—his low groans, the way you’re choking on his cock, each wet, sloppy thrust into your mouth—it makes your head all foggy, heat pooling in your lower stomach. 

His free hand comes back to your jaw, thumb swiping at the drool spilling from the corner of your mouth before he squeezes your cheeks gently to feel his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, your throat burns, and still, you stay there, tears spilling freely down your cheeks, because he’s close. You can feel it. His thigh tenses under your palm, his fingers tighten around yours, his rhythm stutters and takes a more erratic turn, and his voice breaks on your name, groans shifting into pitched moans.

“Haah,” he gasps, hips jerking. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, please, please, baby, I—I’m gonna—”

Your nose is flush to his pubic hair as he cums deep down your throat—his cum tastes so familiar, too salty, after all of these years, he still hasn’t taken your advice of a better diet. Hazily, you remind yourself to scold him about it later, but right now, you’re too focused on trying not to choke over him, swallowing the copious amounts of cum he spilled into your mouth as he trembles above you violently, still feeling the aftershocks of the intense orgasm.

When he finally pulls out, he drops to his knees in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks as he leans in, kissing you deeply. He kisses you like he’s trying to devour you—claim you, even, like he hasn’t already, like you haven’t been his since the moment the two of you met. His breath is uneven, chest heaving, and there’s a flicker of something wild in his eyes as he pulls back to look at you, eyes roving over you. His eyes slide shut again as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re everything,” he whispers, hands sliding down to your sides as he ghosts his lips against yours. “God, you’re everything. You have no idea what you do to me.” 

You lift your hands to cup his cheeks, pressing your lips to his again. You toy with the tips of his hair as your lips slide messily against his, letting out a soft moan when his hand slides to the small of your back, pulling your body flush to his. His hands dip lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your cotton shorts, and you smile against his lips. 

“I’m not fucking you on the kitchen floor,” you say, leaning back slightly. He chases your lips to kiss you again, a hazy smile on his lips as he gives you a half-lidded look.

“It would be hot though,” he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip before letting out a low groan against your skin, dragging his lips from your jaw to your ear. You let out a shaky breath when his fingers slide down to your panties, pressing his finger down on your clit through thin silk and moaning again. “Have you face down, nails clawing against the tile, pinned between me and the floor—nowhere to go, can only take it.”

“Jesus, Osamu,” you say shakily, eyes sliding shut as his fingers curl into your hair, pulling your head back so he can kiss down your neck, kisses wet and lingering as he sucks at your skin. He traces slow circles around your clit, and your grip on his shoulders tightens as you try to ground yourself. “Not the kitchen floor.”

“Such a bore,” he complains. “Ruining my fun. It’s still my birthday, y’know?”

Before you can retort, Dazai’s hands drop to your thighs, and you yelp as he rises to his feet, bringing you with him. Sometimes you forget how strong Dazai is—it’s easy when he constantly acts like he’s helpless and drowns himself in long jackets and loose clothes. He used to be able to go blow-for-blow with Chuuya in combat, and although you know damn well he hasn’t kept up his training, you can feel the lean muscles of his biceps beneath his sweatshirt.

Your grip tightens on them; he’s still mouthing at your neck as he carries you into the back bedroom. You whisper softly, “You are so…”

When you don’t finish, Dazai nips your neck playfully and finishes, “Handsome? Charming? The image of your deepest, darkest desires?” 

Usually, you would roll your eyes at him, but this time, you gasp, “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

He nudges the door open with his foot before kicking it shut. He sets you down gently on the bed, pushing you back until your back is flat and hovering above you to steal another kiss. This one is slow and lazy as he settles above you on his elbows, tongue running along your bottom lip, and fingers dragging over your ribs reverently. You think you could kiss him forever and never get sick of it.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by an inch, his eyes are half-lidded, and his breath is warm against your lips as he looks down at you. 

“Still with me?” he murmurs, thumb circling your hip bone.

“Always,” you answer quietly.

His eyes soften as he looks down at you, lifting his hand from your hip so he can cup the side of your face. You lean into his touch, lashes fluttering shut momentarily as you bask in the familiar warmth of his skin. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You give him a hazy smile as you look back up at him. “For what?” you ask, voice teasing, but Dazai’s smile only softens even more. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, and you nip at it playfully.

“Everything.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to question him, leaning down to press his lips to yours again. This kiss is chaster than the last, like he just wants to savor in the taste of you rather than outright devour you. His thumb traces soft circles over your cheek, and his other hand slides down your body to your thigh, hiking your leg over his waist so he can slot his hips between your legs.

He kisses you and holds you so gently that you forget to breathe until your lungs start burning. When you push at his shoulder to get some air, he immediately leans down to keep kissing your neck, sliding your shirt up, and tapping you to beckon you to lift your shoulders so he can pull it off. 

Once he has it off and flings it to the side, he leans back to let his eyes roam your body. His pupils are blown wide, and his fingers are a bit shaky; he slides them down your body, tracing your figure like he’s worshiping it. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers more to himself than to you. “Divine. The kind of beauty that drives saints to sin and kings to kneel. You make the stars look dim, and the heavens seem dull. I still can’t believe you’re mine. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.”

“My god, Dazai,” you laugh, face heating up at his words. “A bit over the top with the poetry tonight, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly,” he says, voice low and serious as his gaze lifts back to your face. He repeats softly, “No, not nearly.”

Your throat swells as you look up at him, and he runs his knuckles across your cheek before trailing his fingers down your face. His thumb presses heavily against your bottom lip, and you give him a kittish smile before taking it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit as you look up at him through your lashes.

His breath catches, and you hum around his finger when he presses down slightly on your tongue, rolling your hips up to grind against his clothed cock. He murmurs, voice strained, “You drive me insane.”

“Oh yeah?” you press, voice breathy. “Prove it?” 

He kisses slowly to your collarbone, making sure to leave marks on his way down. “Gladly,” he rasps, swiping his tongue along your collarbone before biting over the bone lightly. 

“You’re going to leave so many marks,” you complain, breath hitching when he slowly rocks his hips against yours. He’s already hard again; you can feel him through the thin material of your panties, and you want him desperately. Your walls clench around nothing, and the heat pooling in your stomach has your thighs trembling. “Shit, Osamu, will you just—”

“Good thing I have you to myself all week,” he croons, a smug smirk on his lips as he kisses down your chest to the swell of your breasts. He lets out a shaky puff of air as he pulls back just a bit to get an eyeful of your tits before his lips wrap around your nipple. He moans against you as he rolls it between his teeth, lifting his free hand to grope your other breast. Your back arches up as you press yourself into his touch, a keen escaping your lips. “Gonna mark you up all over, you won’t even have to hide them.”

“Please,” you gasp, head falling back against the pillows. “Please, Osamu, I—”

You choke over your words when you feel him slide your panties down your legs. He pulls his lips off your nipple with a pop before trailing wet kisses back up your chest until his face is hovering above yours. His thumb slips from your mouth so that he can pinch your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“Please, what?” he hums insufferably. “C’mon, baby, use your words.”

“You’re so—” You start to reply irritably, only to whimper when he rolls his hips again.

“So what?” he presses, giving you a cocky smile as he taps your cheek twice to get your attention again. “What am I? You’re so cute, I’ve barely done anything, and you’re already so close to finishing.”

“I hate you. I—haaaah, shit—” you moan, but your lashes flutter shut as Dazai slides his fingers between your wet folds. “Osamu—”

He lets out a ragged breath, hot against your skin. “Shit, baby, you’re drenched,” he groans. “All this just from letting me fuck your face? Fuck, I love you. Tell me what you need. Tell me. I want to hear you say it. It’s my birthday.”

“Fuck me,” you gasp, lifting trembling hands to cup his cheeks. “Please, fuck me, Osamu.”

“God, I love hearing you beg,” he breathes out, nipping at your jaw before his lips drag hot and slow up to your ear. “Love seeing you all worked up for me. Only I get to see you like this, yeah?”

His teeth graze your ear lobe, and you exhale shakily, shivering under his touch. He laughs softly, infuriatingly pleased with himself, and you can’t even hit him with a snide comment like you usually would, because your whole body shudders when you feel his cock slide between your folds.

“You don’t even know how good you look right now,” he goes on, voice low and smooth as he traces his fingers down your body again. 

The noise you let out is embarrassing, something caught between a whine and a gasp of his name when he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance. Your hips jerk up, desperate for him to sink inside you again, but he holds your hips down. It’s been weeks since the two of you have done anything together, and your body is falling apart just at the idea of having him deep inside you again. 

“Please,” you whisper again, voice coming out more of a whine than anything else. “Osamu, it’s been so long, I—”

Dazai doesn’t let you finish your sentence. The words are knocked from your lungs when he snaps his hips forward, thrusting deep inside you. Your hands slide underneath his sweatshirt, nails raking down his back as you writhe beneath him. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you, and you’re pleased to realize he’s just as much of a mess as you. His lips are pink and swollen, his face is flushed, hair matted to his forehead, and dark eyes unfocused. He looks beautiful.

You love him. You’ve always loved him, but it hits you so suddenly that it makes your chest ache. You surge upwards to press your lips against his, and Dazai moans into your mouth, rocking his hips against yours suddenly as he presses you back down into the mattress, tongues sliding together messily. Each thrust is deep and even, less like he’s trying to chase release and more like he’s just savoring in the feeling of being with you like this again. 

“Osamu,” you beg, and you don’t really know what you’re begging for, but your lashes suddenly feel wet, and he’s lifting one hand to wipe tears you didn’t realize were falling over your cheeks. “Osamu, I—”

Your words break into a moan when Dazai thrusts just a little harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white at the edges. Dazai ghosts his lips against yours, laughing breathlessly. 

“Aw, baby, you missed me, didn’t you?” His voice is teasing as he brushes kisses across your face, deceptively gentle when compared to the way he’s fucking the air right out of your lungs with every thrust. “I missed you too, we’ve both been so busy lately… Didn’t even know if you’d have time today with everything going on.”

Even with your brain fogged with pleasure, you can hear the brief waver of insecurity in his tone. You lift your hands up to cup his cheeks between your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye.

“Always have time for you,” you tell him softly. “Especially today.”

Dazai’s throat bobs at your words, and instead of responding, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. The room is filled with the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin, breathless moans, and his cock driving in and out of your cunt. You gasp his name, hips bucking up to meet his, both of you now chasing release. 

You’re so close that it hurts, abdomen coiled tight and thighs so tense that they’re shaking around his waist. When he slips his hand between you to rub tight circles on your clit, you finally fall apart. His name spills from your lips and your vision whitens at the edges, you let out a ragged sob that he swallows with a kiss as he fucks you through your high, gasping your name like a prayer over and over again. He’s close, too—you can feel it in the way his rhythm falters and how his breath hitches over every chant of your name.

Your walls spasm around him as he chases your high, pleasure shifting into overstimulation as he uses your body for himself now. You hiccup over a sob as your whole body squirms beneath him, but he holds you down, fucking you so hard that your body jolts further up the bed with each thrust. Your vision darkens at the edges a bit, your head feels woozy, and it’s when you really feel the pinpricks of numbness spreading from your fingertips up to your arms, that he finally finishes, burying himself deep inside you as he cums with a low, broken moan of your name. 

He doesn’t move for a long moment, just breathing hard against your shoulder, body trembling above yours. He finally lifts his head, and with a lazy, sated grin, he says, “What a birthday gift.”

You roll your eyes at him, but the smile that curls at your lips is fond.

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to caress his face, thumb running along his cheekbone. “Happy birthday.”

“I love you,” he replies softly, eyes sliding shut as he kisses your palm. “Thank you.”

---------

You wake up early the next morning to make the maritozzi for Dazai. He’s still fast asleep in bed next to you by the time you wake up, tangled in the sheets and curled into your warmth. Slipping out of bed without waking him is no easy feat—he’s always clingy in the mornings, even more so when he’s exhausted. You know he hasn’t been sleeping well these past few weeks you’ve been away, and the last thing you want is to disturb the rare peace he’s found.

So, for a while, you stay. You hum softly under your breath, fingers trailing gently through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. It takes nearly half an hour before his grip on you slackens enough for you to ease out of his arms and tiptoe into the kitchen.

You’ve been up for a few hours now. Dazai is still sleeping, surprisingly; you underestimated just how tired he was. Usually, you can slip out of bed, but he’ll come wandering in, looking for you within the hour. His sleep rarely lasts when you’re not in bed with him. 

The pastries are almost done now; though, you just took them out to cool, and you've put together a little basket for when they’re done. You think maybe you’ll drag him outside to eat. He needs to get some sun; all he’s been doing the past few months is rotting away in your apartment or his. 

You hum softly to yourself as you grab a blanket out of the closet, folding it before placing it next to the basket. You need to clean still, too, but—

You jump slightly when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Dazai’s familiar weight settles on your back as he leans on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck to kiss your skin gently before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Cheater,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “Making my favorite, so I can’t be mad at you for sneaking out of bed. So unfair.”

You smile to yourself, looking to the side so you can see him. He still looks sleepy—his eyes are drooping shut and his breathing is heavy, but the bags beneath his eyes are lighter, if only a little. You lift up your hand so you can cup the side of his face before leaning in to press your lips against his cheek.

“Good morning,” you say quietly. “You slept for a while.”

His eyes slide shut when your lips brush his skin. “Come back to bed,” he whispers. “Lay with me a little longer.”

“I need to finish cleaning,” you tell him, ignoring the way he pushes his bottom lip out dramatically; he looks stupid pouting so hard with his eyes closed. Your chest bubbles with warmth. “It’ll be annoying to clean the cream after it hardens in the bowl.”

His eyes fly open at that, gaze suddenly sharp as he scans the counter. He lights up when he sees the two bowls on the counter in front of you, giving you imploring eyes and a sweet smile. You roll your eyes at him.

“You’re such a child,” you insult fondly, but you do reach forward to scoop up some of the leftover cream onto your finger, lifting it to his lips. Dazai immediately wraps his lips around the digit, sucking the thick cream right off your finger and moaning obnoxiously. 

“Strawberry,” he says approvingly after he pulls his lips off your finger with a loud pop. He gives you a sharp smile before saying, “You taste better though. My favorite type of c—”

“Stop,” you interrupt before he can finish the sentence. He pouts again, but then presses a slow kiss to the back of your neck. You sigh, leaning into his touch despite yourself, and he hums softly as he rocks the two of you back and forth slowly, resting his forehead on the top of your head. You rest your hand over one of his, eye sliding shut and then admit, “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“It’s been a long three weeks,” he agrees softly. “I wish Mori would start sending someone else to handle business abroad.”

“I wish you could come with me,” you say with a frown. “The only time you’ve ever left the country, you were thrown in prison. There’s so many places I want to bring you.”

“You don’t know that,” he says petulantly. “I could’ve left during the two years I was underground.”

“Did you?”

“... No.”

“Do you like arguing for the sake of arguing?” you ask dryly, but you find yourself smiling fondly. 

“Where do you want to take me?” he asks instead of answering the question, arms tightening around you. “Hmm? Tell me.”

Your lips part to list off all of your favorite travel destinations. Paris, the City of Love—Dazai would be horrendously obnoxious there with you, but he would love it, so it would probably be one of the first places you brought him. The Yucatán Peninsula too, you think, and maybe Egypt—he had a whole phase back when the two of you were teenagers where he would spend hours a day researching ancient civilizations, watching people explore old ruins with a pout and complaining incessantly about being stuck in Yokohama. You want to bring him to Zhuhai one day to show him the Chimelong Ocean Kingdom, but Qu Yuan and Cao Xueqin have been fighting for territory there for almost two years now so it won’t be any time soon.

But you don’t say anything, because your gaze draws back to the mess of bowls on the counter and then to where the maritozzi are cooling. More than anything, you want to bring him to a home that no longer exists. A home you don’t even remember. You don’t know why you’ve been yearning so badly for it lately; you went years without thinking of your past before you met Mori, not even once had it crossed your mind in that time, but over the last few months, it's crossed your mind frequently. You swear that you can feel familiar arms wrapping around you, a laugh that makes your chest ache that you can’t quite place; you find yourself looking up at the stars, and you can almost hear whispers of a voice you should know laying next to you, telling you all the stories of the constellations.

Dazai seems to recognize something is wrong, because he lifts his hand to your chin to tilt your face up and to the side so that your gaze lands on his. He frowns slightly, running his thumb over your skin before he says, “Dance with me?” 

“Dance?” you ask, trying to laugh but it comes out too forced. Dazai only gives you a sweet smile in return before he spins you around to face him, one hand resting on your waist while the other reaches for yours, entwining his fingers with yours as he starts spinning to a song only he can hear, dragging you along with him as he dances the two of you around the island in the kitchen. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I prefer romantic,” he disagrees as he spins you beneath his arm, dipping you down slightly and holding you there for a moment so he can lean in and place an obnoxiously loud kiss right on your nose. “Isn’t this romantic?” 

You laugh again, and this one is more genuine as you look up at him. His dark eyes are a warm golden color beneath the morning light, sickeningly soft as he looks down at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him. Your throat suddenly feels too tight, and his lips curl up into a soft smile as he places another kiss on your face, this time on your lips.

He lifts you from the dip, and you slip your hand from his so you can hook both of your arms loosely around his neck. His hands settle on your hips as the two of you continue to sway slowly to an imaginary song. 

“Why don’t you like baking them?” he asks quietly. It’s a question you know he’s been dying to know the answer to for years; you’re surprised it took him this long to ask.

Your gaze lowers. “I think… my mother was the one who taught me how to bake them,” you say softly. “I can never get them right. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything right away. His hold on you tightens just the slightest bit as he rests his forehead against yours. Your lips press together and your eyes sting with sudden tears. You think about how your hands move automatically through the steps, how your heart always sinks when they come out just a little too dense or the cream doesn’t taste quite right. It’s like there’s a version of the pastry that lives in your memory—light, sweet, perfect—and no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to recreate it. 

Like it belonged to another life. Another version of you. One that was pure, sweet, gentle, and this one doesn’t deserve it.

This version of you has seen too much, done too much. You carry too many shadows in your heart and have too much blood under your fingernails. You were softer then—before the Great War, before Mori, before the Port Mafia.  Every time you make them, you’re reminded that you’ll never be that girl again. The one that exists now… you don’t even know if she can be considered human by most people. The pastries don’t come out right because they’re not meant to. You no longer know how to make something so sweet. You don’t deserve something so gentle.

You suddenly understand why you’ve been thinking so much of your past.

Your gaze flickers up to Dazai as he lifts his hands to cradle your face between his hands. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it can fall. He gives you a small, sad smile before he asks quietly, “This isn’t about the pastries, is it?”

You try to look away but he doesn’t let you. Your voice is barely a rasp as you say, “They’re not right. They don’t—”

I’m not right. I don’t know if I deserve this.

“They’re yours,” he murmurs, cutting you off before you can finish what you’re about to say. He leans in to press his lips against your temple. “They’re perfect to me.”

You’re you. You’re perfect to me.

“It’s not what I want to give you,” you insist. Your voice cracks, much to your horror. You turn your face into his shoulder, not wanting him to see the tears that threaten to spill. “I feel like I’m holding you back, Osamu. That you’ll never be able separate yourself from your past as long as you’re with me, and you’ll never believe in your own goodness when you come home to me every night. I don’t want to be the reason you can never accept that you’ve fulfilled Oda’s last request.”

Dazai’s smile is unbearably soft as he gently pulls your face from his shoulder and forces you to look at him again. His gaze darts up to the basket you started putting together on the table and he asks quietly, “Did you want to eat breakfast outside?” 

You nod, swallowing thickly.

“C’mon,” he nudges you. “Let’s finish getting it all together and go eat. We can talk out there.”

---------

Dazai has never had a reason to live.

The first time he tried to kill himself, he was eleven. It was when his grandfather had started pitting his siblings and cousins against each other, and Dazai first started questioning why he was even alive. He had no ambition for power like his siblings, he had no passion for any hobbies like his mother, and he had no friends, not even his own family liked him. His mother found him slumped over in the bathroom and rushed him to the hospital—she made him swear to never do something like this again. He agreed, but his promise to her died when she did when he was fourteen. 

The second time he tried to kill himself, he was fourteen. His mother got caught trying to smuggle Dazai and his siblings out of his grandfather’s estate. Two of his siblings had already been killed by his cousins, and she was desperate to not lose anymore of her children. She got caught trying to escape with them, and his grandfather ordered his father to kill her. Dazai jumped from the rooftop that very night—that’s how he ended up in Mori’s clutches. 

He’s not sure how many times he tried to die from fourteen to fifteen. More than he can count, and they got progressively more violent and desperate over time. When he met Chuuya and then Odasaku, he found his first friends—although at the time, he’d never been able to fully bring himself to believe that they viewed him that way. Dazai slowed down on his attempts after meeting them; he didn’t fully stop, he just became more… passive with it. Attempts to blow himself up shifted into recklessness during missions; instead of drinking various poisons, he would drink copious amounts of alcohol until his skin was gray and clammy and the room started spinning. 

And then, he met you. 

And then, he met you.

Dazai’s lips curl up into a soft smile as he watches you set up all the stuff you’d prepared for breakfast. He keeps trying to sneak one of the maritozzi buns, but you catch him every time, slapping his hand away and giving him an accusing look. You’re still upset, but you’re a bit calmer now as you focus on something else.

You drove him mad. You drive him mad. You didn’t flinch at his barbed humor or the way he suddenly and irrationally tried to push you away after worming his way into your life. You never gave up when he deflected conversation with a smile or silence. You didn’t recoil from the mess that he was; you just acknowledged it like it was something as simple as the weather, accepting it, him, into your life so easily. You saw through the cocky facade and self-destruction, and you stayed anyway.

It terrified him. He couldn’t fathom it for years—you didn’t lecture him over his self-destructive tendencies, and you never pulled the whole ‘please, stop for me’ shit that he hated so much. You just sat with him. On the nights when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t remember how many bottles he’d emptied, you were there. You didn’t touch him unless he asked, didn’t talk unless he initiated it, and over time, Dazai found himself relying on you in a way that scared him. 

After meeting you, for the first time in maybe his whole life, he started to want things again—small, stupid things, but things nonetheless. He wanted a morning that didn’t start with a hangover so he could wake up early and have coffee with you before you left for your meetings. He wanted to come back from a mission in one piece so he could watch a movie with you before laying down. He wanted to be able to sit beside you and not feel like a grenade with the pin halfway out, ready to take you out with him. Dazai has never believed that he deserved you, and a part of him almost wants to laugh when he realizes that you feel the same about him. 

He thinks back to the conversation he had with you a few months ago when you came back from Rome early to be with him, and he feels so silly.

“What are you thinking?” you ask quietly as you set the basket to the side, finally looking up at him, but only briefly. 

“Do you remember the conversation we had a few months ago? When you came back early from Rome?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Dazai wiggles across the blanket so that he can sit beside you. He nudges your shoulder with his, beckoning you to look at him again. You turn your head to the side, gaze focusing on him. 

“Yeah,” you answer after a moment. “Of course.”

“It’s us,” he whispers. “It’s always been us.”

You look at him, tilting your head to the side. You press your lips together tightly, an expression on your face like you understand what he’s saying, but you think maybe you’re misunderstanding and don’t want to get your hopes up. You set the napkins in your hands down, and Dazai continues, voice low.

“I didn’t understand it then,” he admits quietly. “I think maybe I haven’t understood it until right now, but it’s us. My reason to live—it’s you and me, has been for years. Since we were sixteen. I—”

“Osamu,” you start to say, and your voice wavers. You want to believe him, but you’re scared of being disappointed, like maybe he’s just saying this in the spur of the moment to make you feel better.

He shifts to sit on his knees, grabbing your hands and pulling them into his lap, squeezing them tightly. He can feel your fingers shaking ever so slightly. 

“It’s true,” he insists. “Being with you… it gives me something to look forward to every day. You make me want things I didn’t think I could want. You make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling.”

He lifts one of your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then your palm. His voice is shaking a bit now, but he continues. “You make me want to live. Not just survive. Not just keep breathing because I haven't figured out how to stop. Live. Really live. I want a future with you, I want—”

Dazai’s voice breaks, his grip tightens on your hand. Your eyes are wet with tears, and your lips are trembling, and Dazai loves you. He loves you so much that it makes him sick sometimes.

“I want to marry you,” he rasps. “I want to wake up every morning your husband. I want you to be my wife.”

He watches as you inhale deeply. He can feel your nails digging into his hands and it stings, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t realize just how much he means the words until he says them. And he realizes, a bit belatedly, that he doesn’t have a ring and this isn’t the proposal you deserve, but there’s so much hope in your eyes that he can’t take it back now.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Osamu,” you whisper. “Please, don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.” He lets go of your hands to cup your cheeks. He lets out a broken laugh, blinking hard. “I’ve never been more certain of anything. You’re the only thing in my life that’s ever made sense. I want to live, and I want to live with you. As your husband. And I—I don’t have a ring. I didn’t plan this, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t think I was capable of ever asking anyone—of ever wanting this.”

He leans in to press his forehead to yours. He can taste the mint on your breath, and he can’t help himself from stealing a kiss, a brief brush of his lips against yours that makes his chest ache. 

“But I want it with you. I want to be yours in every way a person can belong to someone. And I want you to be mine,” he says softly, hands sliding down from your face to cradle your neck instead. “This—it isn’t me asking, okay? I want to get a ring, I want to do it right, make it special, but I want you to know, because there is no world where you’re ever holding me back. You’re what keeps me going, so whatever silly thoughts you have going on in that pretty head of yours, they need to stop, okay?”

You take in a ragged breath and lean forward, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, and Dazai pulls you into his lap, holding you close, one hand wrapped rightly around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses the top of your head and lets out a long breath, a weight lifting from his chest. Your body fits against his like it always has, like you’re made to be here, curled in his arms with the early afternoon light painting you in gold. He shuts his eyes and buries his face in your hair, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he finally murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple in a lingering kiss. “I don’t even fully understand it, but I know that I want you. I need you. You don’t have to change for me; you don’t have to be someone else for my sake. You as you are—it’s enough. You’re enough. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted; it doesn’t matter that you’re still with the Mafia and I’m with the Agency. None of that matters to me. What Odasaku asked of me… you being in my life doesn’t change anything. He’d never have wanted me to chase after his last request if it meant coming at the cost of you. Do you even know how many years he spent trying to get me to pull my head out of my ass and make a move on you? I think he was more relieved than either of us were when we finally got together.”

You let out a watery laugh, or maybe it’s a sob, Dazai can’t really tell, but he holds you a bit tighter, savoring in the feeling of having you in his arms. He thinks he could stay here forever if given the chance. Live a quiet life away from everything, just you, him and the rest of your lives together.

Maybe one day.

“I love you,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his throat before settling against him. The tension in your shoulders slowly dissipates, and you let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me.”

He kisses the top of your head again. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I love you too.”

The two of you bask in each others arms, relaxing beneath the early afternoon sun. He toys with your hair absently, running soothing circles on your upper back. After a few moments, he glances back on the maritozzi you’d pulled out of the basket.

“... Can I have one now?” he asks, giving you an imploring look when you pull back to give him a deadpan one. “Please. It’s literally been five years, do you know how much self control I’ve had the past hour?” 

Your lips curl up into a fond smile. “Fine.”

Dazai’s hand snatches out immediately before you can change your mind, shovelling the sweet bun into his mouth all at once. Your eyes shoot open in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Osamu,” you say, scrambling for a water bottle when he chokes over it. “What is wrong with you? My god, could you eat it normally?”

His eyes sting with tears, but he manages to give you a thumbs-up between coughs and wheezes. “So worth it,” he gasps, mouth-half-full, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

You hand him the water, watching with a mixture of horror and amusement as he gulps it down. You shake your head when he finally manages to swallow, muttering, “You’re insane.”

Dazai leans back with a dramatic groan, collapsing onto the blanket like he’s completed a Herculean task. He reaches out for your hand, entwining your fingers again and tugging you to lay on top of him. 

“So perfect,” he sighs dreamily, voice still a bit hoarse. He winks at you and gives you a flirty smile and then coos, “Just like the baker.”

“You’re so corny,” you complain, but you’re smiling when you look away from him.

“I’m so yours,” he corrects teasingly, kissing your knuckles.

Your smile softens. 

“You are,” you agree quietly, “and I’m yours.”

Yeah, Dazai thinks, an adoring expression on his face as you lean in to brush some of the cream at the corner of his mouth away with your thumb. Yeah, this is definitely all he ever needs.

[kittehscribbles34]

ramb nation where are you?

extended rambtenna thoughts re: the second image. under the cut because its long

so like. i use the name rambtenna because its a good shortcut for understanding the vibes im going for but i dont think they were ever really Officially Romantically Involved. nor do i think they really liked eachother all that much. even before dess disappeared and everything was fine at the dreemurr house, i don't think they really bothered with one another. mutual disregard

however, after things started going to shit... both ramb and tenna started to believe they Knew Kris Best. tenna because he provided entertainment and escapism for them during the divorce, and ramb because he let kris play their games (and also got played with like any other toy, which is a big honor for a Power Strip). when things became worse, they both started holding such strong nostalgia and reverence for kris that they became closer to one another as a result, but.. they both hold very different views on How to make kris happy so they simultaneously each saw the other as incompetent and naive. still, when times are tough, its good to have someone to reminisce with, right? they lean on eachother, not out of love, but out of necessity. someone to grieve the past with. they cant stand eachother but at the same time they cant help but bond over what used to be (or perhaps, just what they wanted there to be). mutually stuck in the past, clinging to each other for the last flickers of nostalgic warmth before they have to accept that its time to move on.

all that to say im not really a yaoi guy Or a crackshipping guy so i dont really know how this happened to me. but theres something there right

[gatorbites-imagines]

ORDER UP

gimmie uhhhhhhhhhhhh a mark x alien male reader and mark has to teach the reader earth social norms

THANKS PAPA FOR FEEDING ME

Mark Grayson x Alien male reader 

Headcanons 

I almost made reader something like Jean Jacket from the movie Nope, or the aliens from Arrival, but I contained myself.  

Settled for something more vague and insect in nature, cuz I like mandibles. Hes not Haluma levels, but... like brother like brother ig. 

this was really fun to write... imagine Mark feeding reader those beetle jellies.

You discover earth on your own on your travels. You were a bit of an outcast amongst your people (or perhaps, you were banished off the planet). 

Its not your fault that they were so boring. It was part of your peoples culture to live boring, repetitive lives. Even if you could live hundreds or thousands of years, your people never left their planet or explored the stars. 

Well, you started studying, you started developing powers and one thing lead to another. Turns out the reason your people dont want knowledge is that you guys grow stronger the more you know, and too much knowledge can drive you mad. 

But you didnt want to go mad, you just wanted to explore, which was how you get to earth. 

Well, first you settle on Mars and meet the nice martians. They warn you about earth and their earthlings, one of the nicer ones is giving off pheromones and brain waves of attraction in your directions, and had you possessed the ability, you might have blushed. Instead, your mandibles quiver. 

Anyways. After Mars you fly to the earth's moon, and settle down for a little rest. The pretty martian had given you a nice meal, so you were gonna enjoy it. 

So what that you needed to melt it down with your stomach acid first before slurping it up like some kinda smoothie, it was delicious, and it allowed you to pick up every single molecule that made it up. 

Your happy munching gives the GDA time to notice you, cuz of course they are keeping track of the moon, and they don't know what to do with you. 

Your head kinda looks like a mixture of a wasp, and some kind of horned beetle. There was a very impressive horn sticking out of your head, if you do say so yourself... well... its not really that impressive amongst your people... like... at all... you had never succeeded in getting a mate, let's just say that... 

From what the GDA could see you wore clothes, but it also meshed with your natural exoskeleton. You had no visible wings, but instead a long and segmented tail, that looked almost like the tail of a scorpion, just longer and more flexible. 

There were two arms and two legs visible on you, making you appear humanoid, for the most part. You had pretty wide shoulders and slim hips, giving you a real “dorito” build, in the words of one Rex splode. 

Mark ends up being the one sent to check you out, to see if you are a threat or not and all that, because when you finish eating you kick off of the moon's surface, and it takes you less than 10 seconds to reach earth's atmosphere. 

Your mandibles start tittering when you float above the planet, eyes sparkling with wonder at this beautiful, interesting planet, with all these living beings and vast nature. 

Its only your extreme senses that lets you know something is approaching. Fighting isnt your biggest hobby, but you can if needed, but your sensors tell you Mark is cautious but nonviolent. 

Its a bit of a struggle in the beginning as you try to work your translator you fit the human language. You'll only need it for a few minutes, then you'll have understood it all, but still. 

Mark isnt really sure what he should do with you, since you are technically just a tourist. Not here to take over the planet, not here to cause issues, just here to hang out and see what its all about. 

You letting slip that you tore through a viltrumite on your travels, even flexing your claws, which grow to about 6 inches in length and sharp enough to punch a hole through viltrumites, they do get a bit more cautious. 

In the beginning Mark sticks close as Invincible to keep an eye on you, but also because hes a nerd and its just so interesting to meet someone from another planet. 

Most other encounters has had with non-earthlings have been violent, aside from Allen of course, but still.  

Invincible and his alien pal become a hashtag on social media as Mark shows you around the planet, videos of you excitedly asking questions and being fascinated by the dumbest things go viral. 

“And how does this so-called global warming effect you, my friend” goes on video. You are crouching down, asking a pigeon. The pigeon coos back, puffing up its feathers, your tail flicks from side to side, you nod with a grim expression. “is that so” you reply.  

Makes Mark realize you can learn any language, at any time. He swears he sees you talking to a plant at some point. When he carefully asks you just snicker, mandibles clicking. “Of course, I understand them Invincible, their waves are very strong” 

Mark has to help you a bit with the social norms of earth. You get especially confused when different countries and different people have their own rules and norms. All planets you've seen until now don't do this. 

“Does this not just make it more difficult, friend Invincible?” you ask, as your long thin tongue flick out from between your mandibles to lap up the delicious sorbet you had been introduced to. 

Mark just sighs and shrugs with an “yeah...” kind of expression, because how's he gonna explain earths level of problems to someone from outta space. 

Imagine you join Mark in a fight, and afterwards Mark has to change out of his costume and you walk in on him. You yelp and smack your hands over your eyes, turning around when he starts pulling off his suit. 

It's not like he's naked or anything, it's just been shredded so he needs to change it. “I did not know you were molting friend Invincible, my deepest apologies” you chitter, tail smacking something so it falls over as you try and stumble out. 

This leads to a conversation about how humans don't have shells, and that clothes aren't part of their bodies. It makes you sigh dreamily, wishing you could change your colors and textures at will. 

Does Mark develop feelings? Maybe, it would be cute if he did, and would give him a major crisis.  

If he does and you stay on earth, then you end up learning and growing so much that you can alter your shape, giving you a human form. Well, for the most part. You will always look kinda uncanny. Just enough to be off-putting to people. Mark loves you though. 

Rumor going around is that you are a fae or vampire. Nobody is even surprised at this point, the world is messed up, so what if Mark Grayson is dating something nonhuman.

[tojigasm]

I'm a sucker for Bucky protecting his girlfriend out in public because he's appalled by the lack of respect for women nowadays. inspired by the lovely Soph, @http-shield

You and Bucky have a routine —every friday, one of you picks a place for dinner: almost always being a favroite of your own, of course. And tonight, written in Bucky's captial block letter dad print on your shared kitchen whiteboard was 'GIANNIS.'

upon arriving home, you could hardly contain your excitment as you read the word aloud with a squeal before heading upstairs to decompress before needing to refresh.

Bucky had already texted to let you know he'd be picking you up after work and for you to be ready at 6:30pm on the dot. Over the years, you've come to learn that when Bucky says 6:30, he really means 6 – ever the prepared one he is.

so, of course, by the time 5:30 rolls around, you're already dressed and scrolling through your phone on Bucky's couch in the den when he calls you.

"Hiii Bucky," you dont pretend to hold your glee back -- giggling into the phone and thumbing the ruffled end of your dress.

Bucky chuckles on the other end.

"Hi, pretty girl, you excited?"

you nod with an eager hum.

"I'm just leaving the tower now so just hold tight fr'me, 'kay, baby?"

you hum again, "Sounds good. Drive safe, I love you."

Bucky blows a kiss through the speaker. "Love you too, sweetheart."

────────

When Bucky's truck headlights shine through the curtains of the living room, you're immediately grabbing your purse and slipping on your heels before Bucky's able to send you his 'im outside' text.

Bucky's already outside of his truck, holding the passenger door open for you, phone in hand sending what you assume is said text - only to be confirmed by the buzz from your phone in your hand.

When Bucky sees you round the corner of your apartment, giddy and bouncing with excitement, he's immediately amused as he takes your hand in his, pulling you into an assertive kiss.

The scruff of his beard makes you giggle into the kiss, pulling away and nuzzling your face into his chest. Bucky slips his hand to your jaw, stroking your soft skin before guiding you up by your chin.

"Y'look, so pretty." He kisses the tip of your nose.

"Thank you, Bucky..." you say quietly, flushed at his affection.

Bucky smiles down at you with adoration, the pad of his thumb stroking the soft skin of your chin. The moment passes in such an intimate fashion that you feel tears prick at your waterline.

"You hungry?" Bucky whispers, leaning down to let his lips softly brush against yours.

You nod.

Bucky gives you a lofty smile, "Good," He presses his lips to yours again before guiding you by the hand to step into the truck.

────────

Once the two of you are sat for dinner, you both play eye tag while waiting for your meals -- stroking your heel up and down the inside of his calf while he kept his hand on the base of your thigh beneath the table, circling the pad of his thumb against your skin.

You ordered the pasta with the salad side dish, and Bucky ordered the lasgana with the garlic bread side dish, with the intention of allowing you to steal the majority of them.

The two of you leave your table with a to-go box and stomachs flushed with a warm red wine.

────────

Its when the two of you are making your way through the parking lot towards Bucky's truck that you notice two burly men making their way in your direction.

Bucky's at your side, holding the to-go bag and his free hand on your waist, discussing some crazy interaction he'd had with a civilian the other day while on a misson. You know he hasnt quite picked up on how nerbvous the two men are beginning to make you.

Bucky's easily bigger than both of them but you really dont want to see an argument or a fight tonight but you mentally check out in prepartion as one of the men gives you a leering smirk — one that makes the wine in your stomach sour and your face go pale.

Bucky's voice goes muffled and you can barely register that he's trying to get your attention but his attempts are cut short when the man you've been watching runs straight into you, sideswiping you so roughly that you stumble and nearly trip over yourself.

Bucky catches you and pushes you behind him protectively. "Hey, watch it!" Bucky calls to your offender, keeping his hand on you, grounding you, "You're bigger than her man!"

"Bucky," you say quielty, holding the back of his shirt, "Please, I wanna go."

Bucky takes a few deep breaths before turning around to meet your eyes softly.

"M'sorry, sweetheart." he strokes his hand over the top of your head, looking back at the guy once more, "Fuckin' asshole."

Tears prickle at your waterline, and you wipe at your cheeks with the end of your sleeve. "Buck, wanna go home." You whimper.

Bucky's eyes soften as he turns to you again. He can tell you're embarrassed. "I know, baby, I know." and so he pulls you into a soft hug and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

you breathe shakily into his chest, grasping onto his biceps. still shook up over the confrontation. Though you know, no matter what, Bucky would've settled the altercation easily if it had progressed further, but the thought of what might've happened if Bucky wasn't there makes you neasues to think about.

"Wanna go home" is all you can manage, and Bucky pulls back from the hug to hold his hands on your cheeks, "I know, I know, sweetheart. Here, can y'take this fr'me?" he hands you the to-go bag before scooping you up from under your thighs to hold you, letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders as he carries you towards his truck.

you sob into his neck, and he gently shushes you, whispering: 'I know, I know, I'm gettin' you there."

At his truck, he asks you to pull open the door for him before placing you in the seat and strapping you in with a kiss to your cheek, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb as he looks you over.

"Honey," He coos, dark brows furrowing.

There's something so paternal and protective in his tone that youre immeditaley brought to tears again and Bucky takes a step onto the ladder of the truck to pull you into a hug, pressing soft kisses to your temple and stroking his hand up and down your back soothingly.

"What can Daddy do to make it better?" He pulls back to wipe your tears away, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress.

you bite at the skin of your thumb - an anxous tick of yours. Bucky pulls your hand away from your mouth and instead massages your palm with enough pressure to ground you to answer for the moment.

"Can we watch a movie?" You stutter through wet choked breaths.

Bucky nods, "Of course, baby. Y'want ice cream?"

you nod, weaving your fingers with his larger ones. 'Yes, please."

"M'kay." he bites at his bottom lip with a reassuring smile, cricling the pad of his thumb on your wrist. "Y'gotta let go of my hand if you're planning on gettin' anything."

you drop his hand almost instantly, earning a chuckle from Bucky. He drops from the truck step to shut your door before jumping into the driver's seat, immediately pulling your hand into his lap to hold.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

I just read your Sieun with big boobs reader. Can you do a Seongje version

💋 “You Gonna Hide Those From Me Forever?”

Seongje x Fem!Reader (Big Boobs Edition) 💥 friends to something-else | teasing | slow tension | soft-filthy smut 📏 reader is busty and shy about it, Seongje is not subtle 🩵 tone: playful, hot, but with a little tension and surprise softness underneath

You're used to boys staring. You're not used to Seongje staring.

He’s always had that smug, easy attitude—confident in a way that made most people roll their eyes. You, though? You kept your distance. Not out of dislike—but because you knew the moment he noticed you?

You’d be doomed.

So you wore hoodies. Crossed your arms. Avoided leaning forward when you sat near him.

But Seongje wasn’t stupid. And one day—he finally called you out.

“You always wear stuff like that on purpose?” “Like what?” “Baggy. High collar. Arms crossed. You tryna hide something?”

Your throat dried. “No.”

He grinned. That Seongje grin. Arrogant. Dangerous. Knowing.

“Nah… you are. You totally are. Shit,” he laughed, leaning back. “How big are they?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re hiding D-cups in a zip-up. Who’s the real criminal here?”

You threatened to smack him. He didn’t stop grinning.

But a few days later, he walked in on you changing your shirt at your friend’s place.

He wasn’t supposed to be there.

You yelped and tried to cover yourself, arms crossed tightly over your chest—but it was too late.

His jaw dropped. Eyes glued.

“…Holy shit.”

“Seongje get out—!”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“You’ve been walking around like that this whole time?” he muttered, stunned. “No wonder I’ve been going insane.”

You threw a towel at him. He caught it—still staring.

“Let me see again.”

“What?!”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice lower now. Slower. “I’ve been trying to be good. I really have. But fuck—please. Just once.”

You didn’t say yes.

But you didn’t throw him out, either.

And a few seconds later, his fingers were brushing under your bra, tongue in your mouth, hips pressing you against the wall—

“So soft,” he murmured between kisses, eyes dark, “fuck, you’re so soft—”

He didn’t even make it to the bed. Just dropped to his knees in front of you, desperate and starved, hands everywhere—

“Bet you were hiding all this ‘cause you knew what I’d do to you, huh?”

You couldn’t even argue. Not with your shirt off and his mouth between your breasts.

kinda short but i dont have any isnpo

[lupusaur]

ngl the purebreed!reader x bob ramblings wormed into my head in ways beyond my power to do anything about them so I wanna share some Toughts™ What about Bob asking for your bite on his neck? I can imagine him rutting, no rhythm, just pure unadulterated pistoning into reader, babbling about wanting proof of your mating. He wants the world to know he has a mate, but you just refuse to give him a bite, even a teeny tiny little hickey is out of the question. usually you wouldn't even give a second thought to those horny ramblings of his (he always babbles nonsense when you have sex), but this time the mutt is actually getting you close to cumming over his knot. You try to dissuade him, telling him you'll give him one some day, that you're so close, so so fucking close But he just full on stops. Your orgasm fucking got away because the mutt is throwing a tantrum. You can see him quivering, clearly just as devastated because of your missing orgasm (of not more than you). Tears spill from his eyes, red and glassy. He's drooling all over you asking for a bite, telling you he won't give you his know if you don't bite him.

damn take the keys imma need u to drive now

but yesss he would 100% do this

w: reader says a hurtful thing in the spur of the moment without thinking

(i dont mean all these hurtful things Bob i love u sm but purebreed!reader holds grudges 💔🥀)

You're pissed because you never even thought of the possibility that this horny mutt who only has you on his mind and wanting to feel you on his knot (as he has mentioned MULTIPLE times) would stop right before you cum because of a bite.

Was clawing at his skin not enough to satisfy him anymore? Did it have to be a bite? A bite he gave you without your permission? A bite he has the nerve to ask for like it didn't screw with your life goals? And now he's holding your pleasure hostage over it.

You give a tiny nibble, not enough for it to even leave a hickey.

“N-No, has to be here, be-be deeper. Like this…” He gives a slow thrust, purposely stopping before hitting that sweet spot. You throw your head into the pillow wanting to scream. This fucking mutt has to know what he's doing. Does he think he can treat you like this? After forcing you to come out to your team about the mark because he cried like a suckling pup when you covered it? He's whining into your neck now, sobbing as he slowly pulls his cock out until only the tip remains. Is he really going to stop?

You thought it'd be a good way to let out some steam, even let him do it raw and whispered how you want him to come deep inside so you'd feel his love for days. All this walking on eggshells around him is getting annoying. Even if he were to unknowingly admit that he wasn't bitten yet, the team would think HE was taken advantage of. You could say Val would hate it as it'd affect The Sentry image but there's makeup and photoshop that can hide it.

“I hate you. If I knew you'd do this to me, I'd have left you in the vault!”

Bob felt pure bliss when he finally felt your teeth sink into the front of his throat like you were going to rip it out. He moaned, thanking you, and even saying he forgives you for saying such hurtful things. “You're on–You start your heat soon right? Emotions can cloud judgment–oh my god!” He roughly slammed his entire length, knot included, into your warm heat. The sudden stretch and pain mixed with pleasure nearly made you let go, but your jaw was locked on his jugular.

It would take a god to pry you off him, but the closest one wanted you to stay connected, to consume him like he consumes you. You didn't move when he came deep inside, blabbering about how he fulfilled your wish about feeling his love for days. You didn't move when he started back up again, thrusting into you with a new purpose. You didn't move when the blood mixed with the sweat on your bodies.

You fell for his trap. You gave into his tantrum.

“So good, s’much better now that– now that we're bonded! M sorry for denying you before, now I'll– My beautiful omega can have it all night!” Bob licked at your ears as it was the only part of you his mouth could get on before you flattened them. He finds it so cute how sensitive they are. Your tail too…it feels so good to entwine them together while breeding you like this! He knows how much you care for grooming, it's important after all! Like the dutiful mate he is, Bob will happily lick you clean, even if you cum a couple times he'll keep going until you can't. He loves cleaning up any mess you make!

You starting to wish you stayed in the vault.

[discomfort-honey]

hi Honeyy, could you write one where Law is hoooot hot, but he's actually a really nerdy virgin that gets turned on by fem!reader wearing a shirt of something he likes?

not au, if possible

thx a bunch!!

holllyyyyy shit this took forever. BUT i was super into it sooo

this is a long one lol. prolly wont write such long ones for every fic, thatd be absurd... unless..../hj

anywho i hope you enjoy, praying you like it mhmmhm

Limited Edition (Law x Fem!Reader)

warnings: virgin!law, inexperience, reader is a little selfish but still waits for consent, handjobs, law cums pretty quick, Honeyy dont make men pathetic challenge impossible, law has a crush on reader, spitting, 3rd POV (so written from everyones perspective but focuses on law) LEMME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING

law had always known he was fortunate in the looks department. he got stares, and sometimes people would come up and ask him on a date. some of the more bold people would loudly confess their love for him, leaving him in an awkward position.

but he would always turn them down. he would use the excuse that he's not interested in dating, which was true for the most part, but really he was just much too busy. he was busy studying to be a doctor, then training his devil fruit power to be useful to fight with, then he was preparing to be a pirate, and then he was out to sea. and he never stuck around anywhere long enough to form a connection like that.

enter you.

you hadn't exactly been shy about your attraction towards him. you had told him he was handsome the first night you met. he waved you off with a huff, hiding is reddening cheeks. but eventually you had joined his crew. his decision definitely was not swayed by how attracted he is to you. definitely. the way you began to call him 'captain', even with the occasional wink, had him clutching his chest, wondering if he was dying of a heart attack.

you would compliment him frequently, saying his shirt looks nice, or that you thought certain facial hair looked good on him.

one day, when you had first joined the crew, at dinner you had touched his arm, and ran your thumb over his gear tattoo.

"what're you doing?" he whipped his head towards you, surprised at the feeling.

"your tattoos are really well done" you complimented, smiling up at him.

"uh… thanks"

"do you have more?"

"yeah, on my chest and back"

"can i see?" he almost fainted when you winked at him. he cringes at the memory, thinking about how he had yanked his arm away with a harsh 'no'. truth be told, he was just incredibly shy. but you didn't seem to mind. just grinning at him with an amused giggle.

he knows he really likes you, but he has an issue he cant work past.

he's a virgin. a total, complete virgin. hes only kissed one person, and i mean it wasn't even a make-out.

all that is to say that his thought process has led him here, penguin and shachi's shared room.

"captain, you've got to be kidding me," shachi started to speak after his dear friend and captain explained the situation to them. "youre literally like, every girls 'bad boy' dream"

law gave them both a confused look "bad boy?"

"yeah!" penguin chimed in "youre a pirate, and you've got that hot "havent slept in five days" emo look"

law nodded along. he knew he was good looking, but he wasnt exactly privy to the fact that his lack of proper self care was attractive.

"just ask her out" they both said at the same time. it always confused law on how they could do that with no practice, but he was more focused on the content of their words.

"ask her?" he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. he felt comfortable enough with these two idiots. they were his greatest friends, so he didnt exactly mind letting his guard down.

"yeah!" penguin grinned at law "its easy, just say you wanna go out to dinner with 'em"

shachi interupted with "depending on her reaction, you can write it off as a friend thing, and be all like 'oh, i didnt mean a date'" ignoring shachis terrible impression of himself, law began to understand.

he hated to admit it, but they we're pretty smart sometimes.

he glanced at the clock. 12:37 am.

"i guess i'll ask her tomorrow" law said, standing up. he stretched, feeling the muscles in his back tense then relax. he could feel the tiredness washing over him. he hadn't really planned to ask you tomorrow. he said that to end the conversation, not wanting to deal with their complaints about why he wont. he sighs, and runs a hand through his messy hair "do you guys think she'd say yes?"

they both glanced at each other. he couldn't tell exactly what they were thinking.

"i dont know, captain, but i bet your odds are good" penguin patted him on the back and gave a hearty thumbs up.

so, law began to make his way back to his quarters. he began to do what he always does when he has a minute alone. overthink.

what if she says no? what if she says yes? im not good enough for her. i haven't even seen a girl with her shirt off. will she quit my crew?

he opens his door, and shuts it gently.

what if we go to dinner, and i say something stupid? what if i kiss her and she says i stink?

he sniffs his armpits. he still smells good from his shower earlier that evening. he nods to himself.

maybe not that one. what if she doesn't think im hot? what if-

the soft clinks of someone knocking on metal break through his brain fog. he turns to the door, and glances at the clock.

12:46 am.

he trudges to the door, not ready to deal with whatever problem the crew managed to have this time.

but he almost visibly lights up when he sees you standing on the other side.

"hey, captain!" you smile up at him. he has to force himself you frown so he doesn't groan at the sound of his title on your lips. "is.. this not a good time?"

he silently curses himself for frowning. bad choice.

"no, no its fine" good recovery. keep going…. "i was just about to get ready for bed." okay, good, maybe a little more- "but, if you need anything, i can help" stuck the landing!

and he can tell by your smile, he really did. he usually isn't willing to help his crew after a certain time, but honestly, you were a special case to him. he stepped aside to let you in his room.

"well, i was wondering about this," you hand him a print out of the schedule he made for the crew's yearly check-ups. "i wanted to know what this acronym meant"

honestly, he wasnt really paying attention. because as soon as you stepped into his room, he was completely mesmerized.

you were wearing your usual black sweatpants to sleep, and your cute bunny slippers. and your hair was put up, as opposed you how it was usually styled. he like it. he can see your nape clearly.

but he had only glanced at those things. no, his focus was entirely on something else.

your limited edition 'Sora, Warrior of the Sea' t-shirt. he knew it was the limited edition version because it was the one with Poison Pink's color scheme, and her name branded across the back. he recognized it from the catalogue of Sora merchandise he had. he had studied that thing front to back, and searched every island for any piece of merch he could get his hands on.

and damn did he want to get his hands on that shirt.

"captain?" oh shit, he was zoning out.

"you like sora?" he asked almost on autopilot

you gave him a confused look, before following his eyeline

"OH! yeah, i used to read the comics. im not really caught up, but i was like, a huge fan. i got this-" you smoothed your hands over the shirt, giving him the perfect excuse to look at your chest- "from a convention around here a few years back"

he swallowed, his throat felt dry. too dry. he glanced quickly around his room (he curses himself for not having picked up the few messy things lying around) for some water. but his gaze was drawn back to the shirt.

you liked Sora? your favorite-he assumed by your 'girls girl' attitude and choice of limited edition merch- was poison pink? he loved poison pink! he loved sora! he felt his affection for you growing all at once. it felt almost too much for him.

scratch that. not almost. it was too much. he bit his lip, feeling the familiar stirring in his lower stomach. shit, not now-

"do you like it, captain?" you asked in a sickly sweet tone. he knew you were always sweet with him because you heard horror stories of his temper from the crew, but he didn't mind whe you were being a suck up. he wished youd su-

he blinks, remembering to respond

"yeah, uh" he clears his throat, "SWS is my favorite comic… uh, since i was little" he feels the warmth in his face. it was quickly turning into a burning sensation.

"really? thats awesome! we'll have to read them together some time!" you giggled.

fuck. his pants were getting tighter by the second. the heat from his face going south, and quickly. he turned on his heel, facing away from you.

"uh, sure- it, uhm, its late. you should go." fuck. now he's stuttering. he's never going to let himself live this down. him, the great Heart Pirates captain, the Surgeon of Death, the Trafalgar d. water law, getting horny over Sora merch?!?!?

"uhm, okay…" you sound confused, and a bit hurt. like you thought the conversation was going well until now. well, youre right, but he just couldn't tell you why the talk suddenly died. "but you still haven't answered my question about the sheet…" your sweet voice called out to him like a siren, beckoning him to turn around. you sounded apologetic, too. like you felt like it was your fault he was kicking you out. he knew it wasn't your fault, and he feels guilt start to build up.

"right, uhm," he swallowed the lump in his throat, still turned to you. he tried to subtly adjust his pants. "which acronym was it?"

you paused for a moment. fuck, did he do something?

"captain, why did you turn around?" fuck. your voice is still sweet. like youre genuinely worried. you probably are, honestly. he feels the guilt growing steadily.

dammit. he paused for too long. and he still cant think of anything to say.

"i- uh, fuck" he muttered under his breath. he glances down. his now prominent erection visible through his skinny jeans

"captain," he felt your warm hand touch his shoulder. he almost gasped at the feeling and resisted when you attempted to turn him. your voice turned a little firmer "if youre not feeling well, i can help" god, he wished you would "im not a doctor, but i know how to care for a sick person"

"im not sick" law half regrets blurting out the truth immediately. maybe it would've been easier to just lie and kick you out, claiming he doesn't want to get you sick

"well there's something wrong!" shit, she's getting irritated.

law weighs his options, and decides to just be harsh and kick her out. not his favorite option, but in the end, it would be best for the both of them.

yep. the best option….

law tugs his sweatshirt down as far as it will go and begins to turn towards the door.

the thing about law, though, is that while he's not a gross person, he is a bit messy. he takes a shower every day, brushes his teeth and washes his face twice a day. makes sure his office and the surgery room are scrubbed clean every day. he even deep cleans his bedroom once a month. but he is a busy man, always studying his medical textbooks, running around with his crew… so sometimes, he may toss a shirt on his floor and not worry about it! in his defense, he only comes into the small room to sleep (and read Sora).

so when law steps back, he feels the familiar feeling of thin fabric under his foot. probably a tank top if he had to guess. but he was more focused on the feeling of him center of gravity switching, his balance being completely rocked. he hissed in a breath when his ass slammed against the floor. he heard your worried gasp, expecting you to call for him, or to kneel down next to him, but you were silent.

he opens his eyes, and looks up at you.

but youre not looking in his eyes.

youre looking at his lap.

he registers that he fell against his bookshelf, his back pressed against the wooden shelves. and his front faces you. and instinctively, he legs parted to catch himself. so now hes sitting like an idiot in front of you on his floor, legs spread- raging hard-on and all.

"captain-" you began to speak, so he panicked

"dont, please," his voice was the smallest you'd ever heard it. you could tell he's embarrassed, the way hes now shamefully closing his legs, tugging his sweatshirt down and huching over. "please just go" he was practically shaking.

and its adorable. you always thought he was hot. scratch that, he's like a skypeian god carved out of the most expensive marble by the most skilled artist. those tattoos he was especially proud of, the way his lean arms moved as he used his devil fruit, oh god those hands… you felt your throat go dry whenever you thought about them. the way the bottom of his shirt would lift when he stretched his tired muscles, giving you a glimpse of his happy trail. sometimes if you paid him extra attention, you had the privilege of seeing the light blush that overtook his face, no matter how harshly he acted, you could tell how he really felt.

but here, now, you knew you had to play your cards right. one wrong move and this could all fall apart. he could kick you out, maybe even out of the crew. or worse, he would take emotional damage and never recover. you've heard stories of men who get laughed at and are unable to get 'it' up ever again. no way you'd let that happy to your dear captain.

and maybe this is also for you. what can you say? youre a pirate. pirates are selfish.

you kneel down in front of him. he looks at you between his fingers

"what are you doing?" he's trying to be harsh, but his shaky breathing gives him away

"captain…." you watch as his fingers twitch at your voice "there's nothing to be embarrassed about" you know it's a cliche line, but youre only getting started

"i told you to leave." okay, he's still closing himself off. thats okay, you just have to give it a little more power

you lightly touch his knee, his whole body tenses at the feeling.

"are you sure thats what you want, captain?" you made sure to ask in that sweet voice you knew he liked. he tried to hide it, but there was always that look in his eyes. and he always did what you asked when you used the voice

he gaped at you. he looked like a cute, breathtakingly handsome fish. his mouth opened once, then closed. then opened again

you decided to take him out of his misery and finish your thought

"because…" you scoot your body closer, your breasts now pressed against his knees. his folded legs tense against him "i think you really want me to stay"

his breath hitches. he lowers his hands from his face, and you can see just how red he is. his brows are worried as he looks at you with hesitant eyes.

"i do," his voice is quiet, and theres a hint of insecurity, "b-but i really think you should go"

damn. he's resistant. maybe he's really just not into this? thats fine, you'll respect his boundaries. i mean, youre selfish, but not evil.

after one more try, youll give up! perfect plan. youre so smart.

"do you think im pretty, captain?" your thumb on his knee begins to rub comforting circles

he blinks at you before answering "of course i do"

"then…" okay, one last shot, make it count! "why cant i stay? i mean, i dont mind…" you glance between the two of you "helping you out"

he gulps. fuck, he thinks, the most gorgeous girl in the whole world is in my room, on my floor, touching me, and i cant even speak? she wants to help- no, no, dont get ahead of yourself, law.

he knows he needs to tell you the truth.

he knows youre going to laugh at him, call him weird, and storm out,

but as he glances up, he sees the look in your eyes. the caring, soft look. and he suddenly finds it easier to breathe.

"im a virgin." he blurts out without thinking

its your turn to blink at him. he instintantly regrets his words, cringing at them.

"thats okay, we dont have to go all the way if youre not ready"

.

…

……….

………………………..?

WHAT!?!?

his mind, after buffering, starts to race a million miles a second

what do you mean? so you dont care? wait, not all the way? was he ready? of course he wanted to fuck you! fuck! he has to respond, why is he so bad at responding?

"s-so… you dont care?"

"why would i care?"

"im almost 30, im a total virgin freak who got horny seeing your limited-edition Sora merch- i thought that youd be mad at me-"

you giggled. that melodic sound he could never get enough of

"captain, i think its cute how worked up you get… and besides, no shame in not having done it yet. sex isn't the only thing in your life, i get it!" you smiled sweetly, and the comforting hand on his knee squeezed reassuringly

he appreciated your words. it made him feel like you actually cared. he realizes in this moment that thats what was missing. he was never interested in those other people because he knew they didn't care about him. but you, you made him feel safe. you made him feel like he belonged.

you made him feel loved.

and while he wanted to savor the cute moment, he felt his dick throb in his tight pants.

"seriously, captain," your hands parted his knees, and he can feel your body heat as you lean closer "i think youre hot" he felt your hand on his cheek. youre close. too close-no, he corrects himself, not close enough.

"me too-i- i think youre hot" he stumbles awkwardly through his compliment, but its endearing coming from the usually stoic man. he adjusts himself so hes sitting upright.

youre close. you have a hand on his cheek, youre leaning in-fuck, he flutters his eyes closed, and leans forward.

your lips are soft, and they soothe his chapped ones. he feels your lips moving against his. man, youre good at this. or, at least better than him, he thinks. he begins to think about how he regrets not 'practicing', how he wishes he could make you feel just as good as youre making him feel with this simple kiss, but as soon as your hand moves down and cups his dick through his jeans, he forgets all of his worries

he groans against your lips, and you feel pride bubble in your stomach. most men dont make any noises cause theyre insecure, but this fine specimen is unabashedly groaning and bucking his hips into you hand. it looks like he doesn't even realize. how cute.

you bite his bottom lip, and he parts them for you. you slip your tongue in, and you can feel his gasp, his breath becoming yours. you remind yourself that you should move your hands, too, so you slip your hands under his sweatshirt. hes not wearing anything under it, which causes you to smile a bit against his lips as your fingers lightly caress his bare skin.

you trace where you know his tattoos are, the slightly raised skin extra noticeable to you, having memorized the path of his intricate marks. he parts from your lips, taking in a breath. his lips are parted, slightly swollen, and glossy with spit. he gasps in some air, but quickly calms his breathing. must be practice from all the exercise he gets. a little disappointing, you think briefly, you want to see him struggling to catch his breath. maybe later….

his call of your name snaps you out of your thoughts, as he lifts his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it aside. you take a moment to admire the way his muscles stretched then relax, the softer skin over his stomach calling out to you.

"hm?" you hum at another call of your name, your hands preoccupied with his torso still, you rake your eyes up to look at him properly "something wrong, captain?"

he shakes his head "no-no, please dont stop-" he gasps when your fingers find his belt "i just… ive never felt so-" his shoulders jump at the sound of his belt hitting the ground

"its okay, captain, ill take care of you" the sound of his zipper punctuating your sentence. you lick your lips, pulling on his waist band to indicate you want his pants off

he bites his lip, and raises his hips so you can pull his skinny jeans off. you leave his briefs on for now, deciding youd go a little slower, as not to overwhelm him. but damn, seeing the outline of his dick…. you always thought he would be big, but you really underestimated him.

his strong hands grasp your waist, panting against your lips as he leans towards you. you can feel his gasps against your cheek as you reach beneath the waistband of his briefs and finally touch him.

he cant believe this is happening. honestly, he assumed it was was a dream since you walked in the door, and now he's for certain it cant be real. because the feeling of your hand on his is good. too good. he can hear himself moaning when you tug his underwear down, and he lets out a guttural groan at the feeling of your spit hitting his tip. he thinks briefly that you didn't have to do that, theres enough precum dribbling from his tip to lube your hand, but he certainly wasn't going to complain.

his back arches off the bookshelf, and his hands grip you tighter, pulling you towards him.

"does it feel good, captain?" you kiss his jaw, stroking him slowly.

"y-yes, fuck, dont stop-" he moans out, fingers tracing the hem of your shirt. oh, right, you'd almost forgotten what started all of this. but as he throws his head back when you squeeze the base, shutting his eyes tight, you feel something bubbling inside of you.

jealousy? maybe… after all, he'd never gotten a boner when it was just you… or maybe the shirt was just his breaking point… you decide to find out.

he whines when you remove your hand, opening his eyes only to find you lifting your shirt over your head, tossing it to the side. youre wearing your favorite bra, its simple and comfortable, but you almost think your wearing your special sexy bra with the way he's looking at you

"youre so pretty-uhm, fuck-" he looks embarrassed to give out such an earnest compliment, and it makes your cheeks heat up.

you return your hand to his dick, swiping the precum with your thumb, making him groan. he cant take his eyes off your tits now, the way they jiggle with the movements of your arm, especially now that you're going faster-

fuck, hes not gonna last.

he opens his mouth to warn you, but all that comes out is an embarrassingly high-pitched moan. he watches your cleavage intensely. he suddenly feels bold enough to tug your cups down, revealing your nipples. his chest heaves with his quickening breathe, and he can feel his dick twitch

"are you close?" youre so sweet, always worrying about him

he responds with a nod, unable to form words. your hand moves quicker, and he clutches your sides, eyes locked onto your body. he feels like volcano, ready to erupt at any second

as he feels his orgasm approaching, on the brink of ecstasy, he makes the bold decision to look up at you. youre looking at him so sweetly, so lovingly, he cant help his heart from feeling full. which only adds to his orgasm as it hits him like a train.

his head falls against your shoulder, his moans fill the room as he cums, shooting his load against your hand and his abdomen. he whines when you stroke him through it, milking out all of his cum.

when you finally let go of him, he has to take a few seconds, calming his breathing.

"how do you feel, captain?" you rub his shoulder

"good, i feel good." he says quietly against you "uh," he begins, leaning back to look at you "i want you to feel the same"

his bold statement makes your core heat up, and you give him a smile

"yeah? do you know how, captain?" he fight a giggle at his blush, and slight pout. you see the world around you go blue, and suddenly youre on his bed under him, his pillows on the floor where you just were

"teach me"

A/N: sorry this ends kinda abruptly....... hmmm,,,,,.... may revisit and add onto it who can really say

[sqgeism]

Hi! for my req, im puctring a reader who is aloof and just as independent as anaxa is, but can you write a scenario where dove and him are married, and he comes to seek them out after a very long day? im thinking aloof but gentle type for reader, very private but very warm? man i love for kindred spirits :DD

𓎟𓎟 a sweet request from a lovely anonnie 𝄞 a love letter signed with anaxagoras' initials 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚

ℒ.ove mail — 🍒 ꫂ aww this is cute. im a big fan of this req LMAO i felt like its a good one to establish their dynamic <3 welcome back everyone ! we are back in the building and i dont have long till i leave again oops

every day anaxagoras is reminded why he hates attending office parties.

and it's not like he hates the fellow staff—not all of them—but most he loses his tolerance once someone starts drunkenly blabbering about some nonsense. gossips from the students, their personal lives, or maybe even from the head teachers and whatnot. which is why he leaves early, there's nothing of interest for him to discuss and he doesn't want to darken their mood with his brooding. also, why stay when he can just go home? makes more sense to him.

so putting into consideration that the day was long, and unbelievably hard (socializing with an insufferable co-worker), it made the appeal of coming home much sweeter.

sweet it was, seeing you after such a night. after the chaos, the quite frankly atrocious music, and being shoved around since no one could stand straight, he needed you. and you never failed to be there.

"you're home later than i thought." you say in response to his silence, your eyes still glued to the novel in your hands. "you really tried to tolerate it, hm?"

"indeed, but even i have my limits, and it does not take long to reach them." he mutters while hanging his coat, stripping himself of his usual layers of clothing till he was left with his shirt and pants, sighing. "dove, do you mind moving to the couch?" he asks. "i know you adore your lounge chair, but i.. i think i need you. for just tonight."

your laughter sounds like a blessing after everything. "only tonight? are you not aware you have me for the rest of our lives? but i don't mind, come here."

and every day your husband is reminded to thank whatever aeon brought you two together, because you just.. fit so perfectly. your legs between his, laying on top of him, arms around your waist as he just.. looks at you. adores you, even. years of marriage hasn't lessened just how much you mean to him in the grand scheme of things, and if it had changed, it was merely his admiration.

he thinks it must not mean much to you (it does), but the way his feelings have developed for you came in an unexpected yet.. somehow needed wave. he thought he could still metaphorically feel the sand beneath his feet after being swept underneath, but he came up for air and felt nothing below him. he had moved past what he thought was just shallow, fleeting affection. and now swam in the vast ocean of uncertainty yet excitement for what could come in his relationship.

but aeon forbid, marriage? being a husband.. he always thought it was nothing but a far away dream.

yet you're right here, giving him that look you always do, with that same smile he fell inlove with four years ago.

"anaxagoras?"

"yes, my dove?"

"you have that look again." the scholar tilts his head, humming curiously. "what look?"

"the look that tells me that you'd let me stay here forever if i just asked."

"will you?" "perhaps i will."

"then.." he brings you close, pressing the faintest kiss to your lips, murmuring against your mouth. "..stay, forever."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[goomyloid]

im the kris costume anon (that is... a description, alright self jklfhdfkjas) and i just had to jump up and down at what you said at the end about kris protecting noelle!!!!

because gosh did it do things to my brain when noelle said 'then kris, maybe you can take your sword and be the hero that protects me from the mice?' like... hmmmm noelle?? HMM???? i say as i fuck up the puzzle and scare her endlessly with mice anyway but--

gosh i love that yeah, kris as a knight as opposed to baggy clothes gremlin must've been so confusing for noelle! also they just naturally know all these aura farming ass poses, are agile as hell, and things that make them *look cool*?! i love that kris is still shorter than her though shdjsdhjs

i also wholly subscribe to the idea that kris is trying to protect noelle by distancing themself from her (or something) so it is Doing Things to my Brain to consider what noelle must've been thinking to see them as a knight

agljkghkhkfjas oh my god, i had a similar thought during the weird route of 'haha it's like kris is the knight protecting their mage ha a h a...' before tucking that away deep in my mind, because i thought i'd get flayed for it so it felt like someone dumped cold water on my head when i read what you said LMAOOOOO bless...!

I will say the things ur afraid of getting flayed for… theure gonna flay me instead… get behind me big goomyloid will protect you

axwgdhecqcshf i can imagine that noelle has never really thought of kris as being very “cool”… MAYBE when they were playing the piano she would think so? but “cool” probably isnt the right word (maybe earnest instead) and its definitely not the same as how they appear in the DW lol… suddenly bro is swordfighting and whatever else and noelle is just ?!?!?!?!??! (hand over mouth) Why are they kinda… i didnt know they could…

IT MAKES ME GIGGLE even though normal route kriselle is much more lowkey i think its a cool tidbit… who knows maybe seeing that different side of them will awaken something in her………. but in reality theyll always be a little penguin

also — i laugh when i see people draw kris taller than noelle tbh… this is proof that we fundamentally view the characters differently. sorry. kris always must be significantly shorter sorry

also yeah i definitely think that out of all people kris wants to protect by Keeping Them Out Of It it’s probably noelle. susie is way different, because not only is she super strong in character and blatantly disobeys Us all the time, but at this point shes kind of irreversibly deeply intertwined with whatever the hell is happening story-wise. i said it somewhere in a twitter thread but if kris is going to want anyone to understand their position, it’d probably be susie. conversely, kris is driven away from noelle for all sorts of reasons, one of which is probably guilt over Various Things (them possibly having something to do with dess’s disappearance, or the fact that theyre Working For Dess Now or something, or just general low self esteem and feeling as though they’d be weighing her down by staying in her life). they miss her but they feel like they dont have the right to, so they keep pushing themself away and clinging onto susie as a result (this isnt discrediting the krusie friendship or anything but rather one of many reasons that kris seems so attached to her)

cold silent knight there to protect noelle… little did kris know that this protection would lead them into getting closer to her again.. PLAN BACKFIRE epic fail loser!!!! i think about how before kris cut her off in the couch scene, noelle was probably going to say that kris said they would protect her (since she reiterates it later) and i just go Oughhhh. Aauuuugghhhh. if i could redo my little comic interpretation of the porch scene id add that in there because i Forgot

reminds me of this doodle i did (for angel/demon au) where kris’s silent protectiveness gets completely trashed as they are the one forced to hurt her……. forced to hurt the friend you promised to protect… you TOLD her youd protect her…. she is harmed and then as punishment you feel as though you must harm yourself. hey does anyone else see that 18-wheeler coming down this lane or is it just m

[hellspawnmotel]

do you have any personal thoughts on what exactly is it that drives the player to do a snowgrave route? or do you think we're not supposed to know yet..? like you know how in undertale the genocide route is mostly about curiosity and using the player's completionist mentality agaisnt them, i feel like snowgrave has something to do with the prophecy but we cant know for sure yet, do you think snowgrave would be more about playing with people's feelings or something like that ? sorta like, "I like noelle so i'll spend more time with her and make her strong" "i dont like berdly so i'll play the route where he dies" or maybe literally just "I love when stories make me feel awful so that's why i'll play the Mean route" LMAO since i think thats common in ppl who like to discuss the route

it’s interesting, I think it’s something we don’t really have enough information to know yet. I think it depends on the nature of the soul and how it got to this world, what put it here and why. I think…. the holiday family is kind of the center of everything, and noelle is the only member of it who’s like, available? rudy’s in the hospital and carol & dess are already fully involved, but noelle was still innocent and ignorant, and healthy. so to that end I don’t think it’s necessarily about who noelle is as a person, it’s because she has access to this power. the ability to break the game.

the thing that keeps getting brought up in chapter 3 is “freedom”. you want to play your own way and do whatever you want. youre enjoying the youthful days. it’s fun. I think the mechanics of the weird route are in direct conversation with the geno route and how people have reacted and gotten used to it over the years, and turned it from like a dark secret to half the conversation around undertale. so it’s asking “how far are you willing to go in order to achieve that same ‘freedom?’ we already know you’re willing to kill all these sweet and fun characters, you want that same thing again, but what if the only avenue to get there was through the slow psychological destruction of an innocent girl? would you be willing to do these terrible things to her? would you be willing to select just the right action to hurt her over and over? would you be willing to sit and watch the consequences of what you’ve done?”

I mean. that’s one angle anyway. I also subscribe to the idea of the weird route as “power-leveling” your favorite character, or just wanting to make the “weak girl” into something strong and threatening, in defiance of all those games that wouldn’t let you do just that. youre helping her of course. and girls like her dont usually get to become the strongest. you want to see it just once.

I think the former is much more likely to be the overall “point” of the weird route, but maybe the latter is like, the internal justification the player/soul gives themselves within the narrative. and of course in real life every actual person playing is going to feel differently and have different reasons. but again, we really don’t have enough information to make that kind of call. it could just as easily be something that will become clear only when we get much deeper in.

[aphroditezdaughter]

i found it a lot easier if i just remind myself the basics of “i want it i got it” i tell myself whatever i want, i manifest easily, effortlessly, and instantly. i don’t use a method really i just visualize/live in the end until i FEEL like i have it then i go about my day normally nor affirming unless i remember manifestation then im like “im so glad i manifest (____) so easily. its actually insane how instant it is!” yk? i dont robot affirm i just ‘remind’ myself every now and again. i cant do robotic affirmations because my brains like “well if you already have it why would you need to repeat that you have it 1000000000 times a day” and hey can’t beat that logic. so instead i just do that and try my best to actually FEEL it and then go about my day. i found this works wonders because im not worried how it will come because i know manifestation is instant! the moment you want something you align yourself with that thing!!!

🅼🅰🅽🅸🅵🅴🆂🆃🅸🅽🅶 🅸🆂 🆆🅰🆈 🅴🅰🆂🅸🅴🆁 🆃🅷🅰🅽 🆆🅴 🅶🅸🆅🅴 🅸🆃 🅲🆁🅴🅳🅸🆃 🅵🅾🆁

You literally just decide that you have it. That's it.

"I have doubts." Too bad, you already have it.

"I'm not seeing results." Ok? Who cares, it's already yours.

"I'm giving up on manifesting for this." Why are giving up on something that you already have? Hello?

"I hope that I'll get my desire!" Stop hoping for it. That's like saying 'Oh wow, I hope that I can breathe tomorrow!'

"I need to do all these random methods to get my desire!" No you don't...

"Manifesting takes a lot of effort and concentration!" It doesn't have to... you're making it more difficult for yourself.

We overcomplicate manifesting so much when all you have to do is choose to have it.

[melissa-titanium]

ive seen people make this point in the past but i figured id put my spin on it.

john being the nerd loser and dave being the cool popular kid. makes ZERO sense. to me at least

i dont exactly think john would have people DROOLING over him but. well socialized, well kept kid. friendly, a little strange, but knows how to hold a conversation. despite his nerdish specs and teeth desperately in need of braces, he's probably visually as much as a dork as the next person. struggles in school as much as the average 13 year old. good home life, probably the kid that everyone is excited for their birthday because his dad brings in enough cupcakes to feed the entire school. like i said, he's not EXCEPTIONALLY popular, but he wouldn't go unnoticed and would certainly have a small close-knit group of friends and would be tolerable in group projects.

dave. unsocialized, awkward, defensive and lewd. too into math to be cool but not smart enough in other classes to be a nerd. talks a lot, TOO much, making references and jokes that go over peoples heads and make others uncomfortable. odd hobbies. dead things in jars? friends with crows? rapping? swordfighting? he doesn't fall in line, doesn't fit the expectation. maybe his hobbies could pique some people's interests, but that's assuming they even choose to talk to him in the first place. i imagine he's made horrible first impressions with most people in school and doesn't go outside enough to meet anyone OUT of school. i don't exactly think he's "lame" enough to get bullied or anything like that but people most certainly avoid talking to him and leave him out of groups and stuff. people dread getting stuck in a group project with him because they know he's gonna be muttering epic new rap lyrics to himself in the middle of dissecting a frog and flaying its organs.

that's kinda all i think about it. i guess i just dont like seeing them fall into such easy cliches in fics when it would be much more interesting and beneficial to really LOOK into their characters before making the decision as of where 2 place them.

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ just to sit outside your door

( oliver aiku x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — I REVIVED THE LOST OLIVER FIC!!

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — oliver aiku x fem! reader, nicknames 'angel' and 'princess' , roommate! oliver, playboy! oliver, mutual pining, mention of drinking & clubs ( not explicit ), i really dont know what else, not proofread!!

♡ synopsis — mints and closed doors. that's what separated you and oliver aiku from being a couple. well, that and the fact you two swear there's nothing going on.

── .✦ i slithered here from eden, just to sit outside your door

The hallway always smelled like cologne and someone else's perfume. You could tell if she wore floral or fruity before you even turned the key. 

Tonight, it was jasmine and vanilla, and the second you stepped inside, you spotted stilettos tossed carelessly by the door.

"You're an angel, you know that?" Oliver's voice rang out from the couch.

He was lounging like a king, shirt half-unbuttoned, lips slightly swollen, hair messed in a way that said he didn't care enough to fix it—but still looked unfairly good. 

There was a glint in his eye, casual and amused, like he already knew you’d brought the mints again.

You held up the fresh pack and dropped them on the console. "You're a menace."

He gave a half-smile, tossing a lazy glance over his shoulder. "You love me."

You didn't answer. You just walked past him, caught a glimpse of a red bra hanging off the back of the couch, and sighed.

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you a second later.

It wasn’t always like this. 

When you first moved in, you thought the roommate thing might be a disaster. Oliver was… well, Oliver. 

Star athlete. Incorrigible flirt. The kind of guy who flirted with bartenders, professors...

and probably someone’s grandmother if he was bored enough.

But you two clicked.

Fast.

You had the same favorite ramen spot. You both hated doing dishes. 

You shared late-night ramen on the floor when the fridge broke, binge-watched entire series in one weekend, and somehow, somewhere along the way, your routines became entwined. 

You didn’t mean to get this close.

But now?

Now you were his best friend.

And he was yours.

Even if your parents didn’t believe you. 

Even if his teammates kept raising eyebrows every time they caught you two curled up on the couch together.

Even if you had to answer the same questions over and over:

“No, we’re not dating.”

“He’s like my brother. Except less annoying.”

“Yeah, we cuddle. It’s not weird.”

It was domestic. It was comfortable. It was safe.

But it was also dangerous, in a way you didn’t let yourself think about too often.

The first time someone caught you dancing together, it was slow.

You were at a team party, someone’s birthday. Music was low, drinks were flowing, and the lights were warm and golden. 

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping something sugary, when Oliver appeared in front of you, hand extended.

“Dance with me,” he said simply.

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stalling.”

He didn’t wait for your answer. He just tugged you into the center of the room where the couples had started swaying. 

You let him. Of course you did. 

How could you say no when he looked at you like that?

His hand settled on your waist. Yours looped around his neck. 

Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, as they always did. 

The music was slow, but your heart was racing.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You scoffed, tried to look away, but he leaned closer. You felt his breath on your cheek.

“I like this,” he said softly.

You pretended not to hear him.

Later, the music picked up. Someone cranked the volume. 

The beat dropped, and suddenly the living room turned into a makeshift dance floor. Your drink was cold in your hand, and your body was warm from the wine and the way Oliver’s hand slid around your waist like it belonged there.

He pulled you into him, moving in sync with the music. You danced like you’d done it a thousand times. Like you knew each other’s rhythms.

 Every touch was casual—except it wasn’t. Every brush of his fingers felt electric.

At some point, someone shouted over the music:

“Just kiss already!”

You and Oliver burst out laughing.

You didn’t kiss.

You went home together.

And, like always, you said goodnight.

And, like always, your doors shut behind you.

The date was your friend’s idea.

“You need to get out,” she said. “With someone who doesn’t leave bras on your couch.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed. The guy was nice. He wore cologne that wasn’t too strong. He had a nice smile.

But he wasn’t funny like Oliver. He didn’t know how to tease you without making you feel small. His laugh didn’t echo in your chest. His eyes didn’t make you forget what you were saying.

You picked at your food. Smiled when you were supposed to. But all you could think was:

He’s not him.

Oliver was at a club.

Loud. Crowded. Familiar. But something was off.

He leaned against the bar, drink untouched in his hand, staring out at the dance floor.

Someone touched his shoulder. “You look lonely, Aiku.”

He forced a smirk. “Just tired.”

A girl leaned in. Her perfume was heavy. Sweet. She touched his arm.

“Dance with me?”

He hesitated. Looked down at his phone.

No new messages.

Just a blank screen.

“I should go,” he said, more to himself than to her.

And he did.

He got home just before midnight. The apartment was too quiet without you. He paced for a bit. Changed into sweats. Brushed his teeth.

And then he heard the key.

He stood there as you opened the door, still in your dress, shoes in your hand. You looked surprised to see him standing so close. Neither of you spoke.

Then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rough. It was honest.

You dropped your heels with a soft thud and gripped the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer. The world narrowed to the feel of his lips, the way his hands cradled your face like you were something precious.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together.

Breathing heavy. Eyes locked.

“…Hi.”

He chuckled, lips brushing against yours. “Hey.”

You didn’t laugh this time. Neither of you did.

Because something had changed.

Something had always been there.

And now it was real.

You stood there with his forehead against yours, breathing in the same air, heart racing in your chest. His hands were still on your face, his thumb brushing your cheek like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Then—like someone flipped a switch—he took a step back. Scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna, uh… brush my teeth again. You still smell like that overpriced wine you love.”

You blinked. “And you still smell like desperation and club sweat.”

He grinned. There it was—his usual defense: banter.

“Nice to know I’ve still got it.”

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Night, princess.”

And just like that, the hallway was empty again. 

Two doors closed. 

One kiss hanging in the space between.

You didn’t sleep.

You tried. 

You lay there with the blanket kicked off, staring at the ceiling, arms folded across your chest like if you stayed still enough, your brain would follow.

It didn’t.

Because—holy sh*t. He kissed you. And you let him. You kissed him back. It wasn’t a maybe. It wasn’t a "what if."

It happened.

You sat up in bed, eyes wide in the dark.

“Did I actually…?”

You buried your face in your hands.

Oh my god. He kissed me. I kissed him. Oliver kissed me.

You got up.

His door opened before you knocked.

He looked like he’d been pacing. No shirt, just sweats slung low on his hips. His hair was all over the place. And he definitely hadn’t brushed his teeth again.

You stared at him.

“Were you waiting for me?”

He scoffed. “What? No. I just—heard your meltdown through the wall.”

Your stomach dropped. “You heard that?”

He smirked, leaning on the doorframe. “Word for word.”

You shoved past him into his room. “Okay. No. We’re talking about this.”

He closed the door behind you. “Didn’t know we needed to. You kissed me back.”

Your head whipped around. “You kissed me first!”

“Yeah, and you didn’t seem mad about it.”

He sat on the edge of his bed, arms braced behind him. “You wanna talk, let’s talk. Just don’t act like I ambushed you.”

You folded your arms. “So that’s what it was? Just... a heat of the moment thing?”

His eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t deflect. Didn’t crack a joke. He just shrugged, almost tired.

“No. It was a ‘you walked in, and I realized I didn’t wanna keep pretending I don’t want you’ thing.”

You went still.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this is. I just know I missed you tonight. And not in the roommate way. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when you got home, I didn’t think. I just… yeah.”

Silence settled between you. Not heavy. Just real.

“…Okay,” you finally said.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You took a breath. “So what now?”

He gave a half-laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. You tell me. I’ve never done this before. 

You know—wanting to be with someone and not immediately screwing it up.”

You walked over, standing between his knees. His hands naturally found your hips, and your fingers rested at the nape of his neck.

“Then let’s figure it out,” you said.

He looked up at you, smirked softly.

“So… are you gonna sleep in your room or mine tonight?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, Aiku.”

“I’ll leave the door open.”

this came to me in a dream (jk i was just thinking abt him)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[zzoupz]

dare i ask what actually happened?

I posted an image of my mouthwashing hcs (this one!)

they were received pretty well everywhere else, but people on twitter did Not like it (though as far as im aware, most of them are people outside the fandom) they were mad about jimmy being gay, but also a lot about the mere mention of lesboy

i muted it pretty quick and didnt read much of the response for my own mental health, but it quickly escalated while i was asleep. there were a lot of death threats and sui encouragements sent to my strawpage, those were the ones i had to read but i also blocked them and closed my gimmicks (<- basically the strawpage equivalent of tumblr anon asks)

some of the qrts hating on the post got really big (10k+ likes big) and thats what sent the harassment my way. again i didnt read much so i dont know how many there are and what they all say. but theres at least 3 or 4

i had to private my twitter account to stop the harassment. but also because i think its all so stupid and want these people to go care about something else

thats pretty much all im aware of!