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osarina · 3 months

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

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is not,” Chuuya spits.

“Is too.”

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

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

It works.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not quite as convinced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile.

“Naturally.”

You think Chuuya might kill you after this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His name?

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

NAME: ████████████████

ALIAS: Dazai Osamu

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Step one, complete. June 19th.

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

You snort. “It was pretty bad.”

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

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

“No, I got it,” you say dismissively.

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

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

“Well?” Chuuya demands. “What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair enough.”

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

You think the only other thing is-

Oh. Oh. You have an idea.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gonna love this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

“Bar Lupin.”

You roll your eyes.

Dazai gives you a dirty look.

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

You pause at that.

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

Oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lip curls up in irritation when your subordinate continues.

“It’s just-what if-”

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

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

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

“Way to inspire confidence,” Chuuya mutters dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile.

“It’s his birthday gift.”

Dazai is in a bad mood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute.

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

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

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

Oda smothers the smile again instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“That could have gone better.”

Ango slaps the back of his head hard.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Alright, it’s time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ignore it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait.”

Everything happens at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk later?”

“... ‘course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he’s not there?

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

No-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chuuya, go get the camera.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say cheese, mackerel,” Chuuya mocks.

“Fuck you,” Dazai complains.

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

Oda and Sakaguchi set up a fire later that night.

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

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

Itou: everything going ok?

You almost roll your eyes before responding with.

You: Yes. Why?

Itou: just curious :p

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Itou: check ur email.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t,” Dazai says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fun facts!

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

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

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

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

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stevie-petey · 4 months

Text

episode four: the sauna test

Steve pushes at Dustin’s feet to help him move further, but he’s quickly berated. “Not my feet, dumbass. Push my ass!” “What?” You and Steve exclaim at the same time. “Touch my butt, I don’t care!” Dustin’s screeching voice is muffled from the walls of the vent. Looking at you one last time, Steve sighs heavily and places his hands on your brother’s butt and starts to shove him deeper into the air duct. He can’t believe he’s doing this right now, shoving the butt of the brother of the girl he’s in love with. You stand next to Robin, mortified of what you’re currently witnessing, endlessly ashamed of the two boys.

Summary: dustin has some brotherly concern for you (dont tell anyone though), steve is offended you dont think he can fight, nancy gets upset during therapy hour, robin encourages child endangerment, erica becomes your hero, and you lose your lunch on hawkins makeshift tower of terror (aka sketchy russian elevators)

Rating: general, swearing

Warnings: swearing, use of y/n, fem!reader

Words: 7.5k

Before you swing in: hello my loves ! had a busy may wrapping up finals, move out, and adjusting back to life at home. i finally had the time to write this, and while im still iffy with some parts, im just excited to finally be at the elevator scene tbh. ive been DYING to write her. enjoy !!

Dustin stands outside your room the next morning, fist hovering over the door, unsure if he should knock. It’s early and he can’t get the panic he saw in your eyes last night out of his head. He hasn’t seen you that consumed with anxiety since you guys were kids and your parents began to fight.

He feels horrible for putting you in that position last night, at odds with him, Robin, and Steve.

Especially Steve.

Dustin hadn’t meant to start a fight between you and the teen. Contrary to popular belief, he actually does want the two of you together, but now he’s worried he’s somehow caused a rift in your relationship.

Sighing, your brother allows his knuckles to rap against your door. When he doesn’t hear anything, he slowly opens it and pokes his head in. You’re asleep in your bed, blankets strewn everywhere, and Dustin knows he’s fucked up because you almost never sleep in this late.

Now he’s worried he’s going to have to force you into a code blue.

Dustin lets himself into your room and stands before your bed. Then, because he’s your brother and finds it hard to express his worries for you in a normal way, he pokes your cheek with his finger. “Wake up.”

You stir at the touch but remain asleep. Dustin groans and starts repeatedly poking you. “Dude, get up.” He now starts poking your nose, your forehead and eyebrows, anywhere his finger can reach.

Finally the onslaught of pokes to your face is enough to wake you up. You raise your hand and slap Dustin away as you scrunch your face in displeasure. “Why do you always insist on waking me up this way?”

“It’s fun for me.”

You slap at your brother again and take a moment to stretch. Your body is exhausted, you got home late last night after your drive with Jonathan. Once the two of you had been done discussing your relationship problems, you both decided to just drive around Hawkins and simmer in your limited time together. For those few hours, only the two of you existed.

Yawning, you blink your eyes open at Dustin. “Is there a reason you’re waking me up before my alarm is supposed to go off?”

Dustin’s smug smile falls. He coughs and starts to fidget with his fingers. “Oh, I was just–well. Last night… Do you wanna talk about it?”

The implications of your brother’s words cause you to fully wake up. “Is this your poor attempt at commencing a code blue?”

“Well, do we need a code blue?”

You roll over and throw your blankets over your head, blocking out the world. “I already talked about my feelings last night with Jonathan, please give me at least twenty-four hours to recover.”

Dustin flicks your ear that pokes out from under the blankets at the mention of Jonathan. “Why were you with that guy last night?”

“Stop touching my face!” You yell at the kid, annoyed. “And because he’s my best friend. We both had shitty nights so we drove around and cried together.”

Your brother pauses. “Did you actually cry together?”

“No,” you now uncover your face and sigh. “Only I cried, but it was therapeutic nonetheless.”

Dustin drops his head, remembering how upset you’d been standing in the hallway last night with the others. “I’m sorry about last night, Y/N.”

“Hey, no.” You sit up now and force him to look at you. “No apologizing. I understand.”

Your friends have all gone their separate ways this summer and I know you’re so fixated on the Russians because you’re lonely. I understand, and I’m here for you.

It goes unsaid, but Dustin knows that you have him all figured out, though it doesn’t ease the guilt he feels for dragging you into all of this in the first place. “You don’t have to join me at Scoops today, Y/N.”

“I know, but I will anyway after my shift.” I have to keep you safe.

“We both know you’re only going to make sure I don’t burn the place down.” You worry too much.

“Oh, don’t think I won’t call Steve once this conversation is done to make sure he keeps an eye on you.” I know, but it’s my job and I love you.

“You’re the worst.” I love you, too.

You ruffle Dustin’s hair with a fond smile. It’s an intricate thing, the hidden language that can only be found between siblings. All that goes unsaid becomes masked behind teasing and taunts, but you both hear what’s underneath.

When Dustin leaves your room to go to the mall, you roll over in bed and reach for the phone that rests on top of your desk. Your fingers press the numbers that have become ingrained within your brain from countless nights of dialing. The line rings only one time before Steve’s tired voice answers.

“Hello?”

You smile hearing his voice, despite the distance that seems to have now formed between you. “Hi, honey.”

There’s rustling on the other end of the line and you know Steve still lays in his own bed only ten minutes from your own. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” you quickly reassure him, wincing when you realize you don’t normally call him so early. “Sorry, I was just calling to ask if you’d keep an eye on Dustin today? With the Russians and everything, I have work today and can’t be there–”

“Of course I’ll keep an eye on your brother, Y/N.” Steve gently interrupts your anxious rambling.

“Thank you,” you say softly with a laugh, embarrassed.

“Are we…” Steve hesitates, unsure how to find the right words. “Are we okay? I know things were–uh, weird. Last night. And that I was a dick and I just, I’m really sorry, Y/N. For everything.”

You close your eyes and exhale slowly, knowing that there’s more that Steve wants to say but is too afraid to tell you. Too ashamed to say that he’s embarrassed as well for allowing his pride to cloud his judgment, and you’re too exhausted to try and remind him again that you love him despite it all. “We’re okay, Steve. I promise.”

He takes a moment to respond, he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s never been good at this. Finally, he settles on what he’s able to give you. It seems that’s all he’s been able to do lately. “I’ll miss you today, angel.”

“I’ll miss you too, honey.” The name slips from your tongue in a languid manner, the warmth that accompanies the word still wraps itself around your body and reminds you of the love you feel for the boy. You hope he can feel the warmth too, you hope it descends down the landline and wraps around him as well. “I’ll see you after work.”

–

Your day only gets worse from there.

After only an hour or so of sadly sorting through books at work without a customer in sight, you hear a frail scream come from Mrs. Waters’ office. You run towards the woman in a heartbeat, panic stricken and afraid of what you’ll find.

Mrs. Waters is sitting tiredly in her office with her head in her hands when you run in. The usually upbeat woman is hunched over with despair and you’re quick to rush over to her with worry. “Mrs. Waters, is everything okay?”

She rubs at her temples and it’s then that you realize her telephone is in her hand. Without bothering to look, she clumsily places it back on the wall and looks up at you with sad, tired eyes. “I’m fine, dear. I–I just had a fright, that’s all.”

“What happened?” You pull a chair to sit next to the woman and grab her wrinkled, yet soft, hands.

“Oh, I’m old.” Mrs. Waters smiles at you sadly. There are tears in her eyes as she takes a deep breath to try and steady her nerves. “My, you would think I’d be used to phone calls from the hospital.”

“The hospital?”

Hearing the panic in your voice, your boss grabs the hands you have placed on top of her’s and squeezes with reassurance. “It wasn’t for me, dear.”

You’re still anxious for the woman in front of you. “Who then?”

“They called me for an old friend,” Mrs. Waters clutches at her chest with a certain fear that you’ve never seen within the woman. “She’s in the hospital because some young journalist found her eating fertilizer in her home last night. She’s always been… troubled.”

You gasp and pull away from your boss and your mind reels with this new information. Jonathan’s voice echoes within the walls of your mind, of his story of the woman he and Nancy had found last night after investigating the rats.

Mrs. Waters frowns at your unexpected reaction and notices the fear on your face. “Dear, I’m sure my friend will be alright–”

“What…” your voice shakes, and you clear your throat. “What’s your friend’s name, Mrs. Waters?”

The old woman sighs, sensing there’s something more to your worry, but her heart hurts for her friend and she’s seen more in her almost seventy years than she’s ever wanted to. “Her name is Doris Driscoll.”

–

You’re sent home early after your conversation with Mrs. Waters. She had been too worried for her friend and saw how shaken up by it you seemed to be as well, so she patted your arm and dismissed you.

“There’s no point keeping the store open today, Y/N. Go home to that cute boy of yours while I go visit an old friend.”

You had tried arguing with her, but even you knew it was no use.

Biking to Starcourt, now more than ever worried about your job, you feel your birthday looming over you and the worries of Nancy’s involvement with rats and old women eating fertilizer mixed with Jonathan’s fears.

This was supposed to be a good summer.

Your head spins as you walk into the backdoor of Scoops Ahoy, finding Robin, Steve, and Dustin all circled around the table as they discuss how to enter the Russian storage room.

“What? I sneak up behind, knock him out, and I take his keycard.” Steve is explaining when you walk in. He has his leg propped against the seat next to him as he twirls his sailor’s hat in his hand. “It’s easy.”

“Did you not hear the part about the massive gun?” Dustin blinks at the teen, having little faith in his confidence.

You make your way towards the group and lift Steve’s propped leg up so that you can sit before placing the leg across your lap. Feeling your touch, he looks up with surprise to see you, having expected your shift to end later in the day. “Y/N?”

“You’re not going near any Russian men with guns, Steve.” You say to him in lieu of a greeting.

Steve deflates in his seat. “That’s why I’d be sneaking.”

Dustin shares a look with you, the two of you remembering all the times Steve has tried, and failed, to win a fight. Clearing his throat, your brother crosses his arms and winks at you before turning to the teen. “Alright, please tell us this, and be honest. Have you ever actually… won a fight?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, that was one time–”

“Twice, honey.” You interrupt him with a smile, enjoying this conversation maybe a little too much. “Jonathan, remember him?”

“Listen, that doesn’t count.”

“Oh, but it does.” You pinch Steve’s shin. “He kicked your ass, I was there.”

He winces and moves his legs off of you. “He didn’t kick my ass–”

“You got a fat lip, crooked nose, swollen eye.” Dustin adds on, leaning against your chair now as the two of you gang up on Steve.

“He even pinned you at one point. I distinctly remember thinking he was going to kill you.” You say, smirking.

Steve scoffs. “Oh, you did not have any concern for me then–”

You hit his shoulder. “Yes I did! I’ve always been worried about you–”

“Can you guys not make everything about your weird relationship for like, three seconds, please?” Dustin whines as you and Steve start to bicker about something else entirely.

As the three of you argue, Robin seems to get an idea and runs out of the room. Noticing her sudden absence, you turn to Steve and frown. “What’s Robin up to?”

He stands up and sees her snatching money from the tip jar before running off. Steve calls after her, but she doesn’t slow down as she runs out of the shop. “What are you doing?”

“I need cash!” She says, as if that explains everything.

“Isn’t half of the tip money Steve’s?” You ask, now standing next to him by the register alongside Dustin.

“I’ll pay your boyfriend back later, Y/N.” Robin continues to walk towards the shop’s exit. “I’m going to find us a way into that room, a safe way, just like I promised you.”

You’re oddly touched that she remembered your insistence on keeping everyone safe. With a smile, you call across to her, “thank you!”

Robin blushes and forces herself to look away from you so that she can direct her attention to Steve. “In the meantime, sling ice cream, behave, and don’t get beat up. I’ll be back in a jiff!”

As you and Steve watch Robin leave, the two of you turn and catch Dustin licking at one of the ice cream scoops. You whack him with the back of your hand and cringe at him. “Dude, what the hell?”

Dustin flinches away from you as Steve snatches the scoop from the boy with his own disgusted look. “Not my scooper, man.”

“Why are you like this?” You ask your brother with disappointment in your voice, to which he huffs at.

“I’m a curious person.” You scoff at Dustin and he rolls his eyes at you before making his way out from behind the ice cream counter. “If I’m going to be judged, then I’m going to the arcade while we wait for whatever Robin has planned.”

He’s gone without another word, leaving you alone with Steve.

It’s still early in the day and there’s only a few customers in Scoops Ahoy, so it’s just you and Steve. It’s the first time you’ve been alone together since last night, when you’d been standing in front of him, begging him to listen to you, and all he could do was watch you silently with pain in his own eyes.

As if coming to this realization himself, Steve coughs and rocks back and forth awkwardly. He knows you told him this morning that everything was okay between you two, but things still feel off. Despite your best efforts, he can tell that you’re still struggling to seem okay with the whole Russian debacle. You’re still frail looking, unsure and anxious, and Steve hates that he’s the reason why.

Hesitantly, he reaches for your hand. “Care to, uh. Join me in the backroom?”

You raise your eyebrows at his question. “Are you propositioning me, Harrington?”

“No!” His eyes widen in fear and his voice squeaks, which only embarasses him more. He clears his throat and tries to swallow down his dread. “I mean, not like that. I figured we could, you know… talk.”

Now it’s your turn to fill with dread. He’s seen through you, despite your best efforts to try and appease everyone. Squeezing his hand, you nod at Steve and allow him to guide you into the backroom.

Steve pulls a chair out from the table and sits down, and before you can process what’s happening, he pulls you down and into his lap. You throw your arms around his neck to steady yourself at the sudden movement, which only makes Steve’s proud smile widen. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

“Sure did, angel.”

You laugh and shake your head at him, tightening your arms around his neck and settling into his lap. He rests his hands on your thighs and stares at you with such warmth, such patience, content to simply have you here with him. Despite the uncertainty that seems to now loom over the two of you, there’s still a certainty within it. There’s still a trust that accompanies the hesitancy, and it’s this trust that caresses your cheek and coaxes you to speak.

“I don’t like what we’re doing, Steve.” You confess to him, making your words as plain as possible so that nothing gets misconstrued; too often your words have gotten lost in translation.

Steve nods slightly, his eyes never leave yours, and he listens. “I get that, I do, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad about standing your ground. It’s just… I wanted to go along with Dustin, pretend for a few days that I’m not some moron who couldn’t get into college, you know?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you fix a piece of Steve’s hair that has fallen out of his sailor’s hat and sigh. “But there’s more to this than just my stupid need to protect everyone.”

“Did something else happen?”

You hesitate, unsure if what’s been on your mind holds any real weight, or if you’re just being paranoid now after everything you’ve been through these last few years. Biting your lip, you decide that it’s Steve you’re telling this to. Paranoid or not, he’ll listen and try to help you piece it all together as well. He always does. “A few days ago I saw Billy stumbling on the side of the road. He was… bleeding.”

Steve’s eyes harden at the teen’s name and instinctively his grip on you tightens. “Did he do anything to you?”

“No,” you breathe out sharply, remembering how disoriented Billy had been. He was in no condition to cause you any harm, which in itself frightened you. “There was something off about him, Steve. I–I can’t explain it, but a day before I saw Billy, I had been with Will and he was almost similar to Billy, I guess? He just–he was frozen, staring off into space, until I got his attention again.”

“Why do I feel like there’s something else you’re not telling me?”

You sigh. “Because there is. There’s always something else in the fucking town.” Anger begins to rise within you and you force yourself to swallow it down. Now isn’t the time for the anger that always simmers just below the surface, waiting. “I talked to Jonathan last night. He’s been with Nancy investigating rabid rats and an old woman who was caught eating her fertilizer.”

“Christ,” Steve exhales with bewilderment.

“And now Russians in Hawkins? What are the odds of this all happening within the same week?”

“Do you…” Looking around, Steve lowers his voice. “Do you think it’s happening again?”

“I don’t think so, El told us she closed the gate, but… I can’t explain any of this, either.” You feel helpless, and you hate it. There’s something you’re missing, there’s something connecting it all, and yet you’re going in circles.

It all can’t just be a coincidence, and it’s a horrible, maddening feeling.

And Steve tries to absolve you from it. “We’ll figure it out, together. You and me, even if you want to kill me by the time we’re done, I promise you that I’ll help you–” The phone starts to ring, cutting Steve off, and he sighs. Patting your thighs, he silently asks you to get up so that he can answer it.

Lazily walking over to the ringing phone, Steve picks it up with slight annoyance. “Scoops Ahoy, this is Steve.” There’s a feminine voice on the other line, which he frowns at, before handing the phone to you. “It’s for you?”

Surprised, you stand up and take the phone, unsure who would be calling for you at the ice cream shop. “Hello?”

“Y/N, it’s me. Um, hi.”

“Nancy?”

“I–uh, I called your job and this older lady told me you’d be at Scoops Ahoy? I needed someone to talk to, and I–I just,” She clears her throat, and it’s only now that you notice the exhaustion in her voice and how thick it sounds from dried up tears. “You know what? This is weird, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry–”

“Hey, no.” You fumble with the telephone cord and desperately wish you were with Nancy right now. After what Jonathan told you last night, you feel horrible for the girl, and from the sound of it, she needs someone there for her right now. “Talk to me, Nance. What happened?”

You hear her inhale a shaky breath, always the first to try and disguise any upset and hurt she may be feeling for the sake of others. She takes another deep breath, exhales slowly, and then begins to talk. “Jonathan and I had a fight.”

She tells you everything, from Mrs. Driscoll and the rats to Tom firing them for falsely identifying as reporters. It’s everything Jonathan told you last night, all his worst fears come true, except Nancy also tells you what he told her this morning. How condescending he had been, how he had reminded her of how poor he is, how he belittled her need to figure everything out herself.

“He kept defending all those assholes, Y/N.” More tears lace within Nancy’s voice. “He wouldn’t listen to me. He just kept repeating over and over again about how he needed the job, as if it wasn’t the single more humiliating thing I’ve ever had to endure.”

There’s so much you want to say, but you’re afraid it will only come out wrong. “I can’t imagine what you had to go through, Nance. I know those men were horrible to you, but you understand where Jonathan is coming from, right?”

“I mean, I thought I did, but,” she sniffs, her voice is soft and defeated. “I’m not so sure anymore. It feels like we can’t understand each other, like we’re physically incapable of seeing eye to eye. I know he has to provide for his family, I–I love that he takes care of them, that he always does what’s right, and yet it infuriates me sometimes.”

You can’t help but chuckle at what Nancy has said. She sounds so much like Jonathan in this moment, reminiscent of him telling you that her ambition is what he loves about her, and here she is saying his integrity is what she loves about him. “God, you two and your pride; you sound just like Jonathan. He said practically the same thing about you last night–”

“Jonathan talked to you about this?” Nancy’s voice becomes cold, defensive, and you know you’ve just said the wrong thing.

“Well, I mean,” you frantically try to alleviate the situation. “He only wanted advice, that’s all.”

Nancy scoffs, and you feel your heart drop. “So he can tell you all about how he feels, but bottles it up when it comes to his girlfriend?”

Well, fuck.

“He was scared and overwhelmed.” You try to keep your voice neutral, not wanting the girl to assume you’re on anyone’s side. “It’s a difficult situation, and he came to me for help just like you are right now.”

Jealousy claws at Nancy suddenly, it clashes against the hurt within her. Jonathan went to you, as he’s always done, he sought solace in you for the emotions within him that he still has yet to share with her. It reminds her, then, just how little she knows about him still. How many years stretch between you and Nancy when it comes to Jonathan.

“I’m sure you know all about how he feels,” she says bitterly, unable to stop herself. “The two of you understand one another.”

You sense that there’s something important with what she’s just said. The words were said with a history behind them, an insecurity that you cannot compensate for, and you feel defenseless against Nancy. “He was hurt, and so are you–”

“God, I should’ve known you’d take his side! I mean, you two always do this. I’m such an idiot.”

Panic begins to surround you. “Nancy, I’m not taking anyone’s side, just please listen to me–”

The line goes dead as Nancy hangs up.

Numb, you place the phone back on the wall and stare blankly at it. The pressure of tears presses against your eyes and you try to steady your breathing. You’ve hurt Nancy, you’ve caused a rift between you that threatens to collapse into a chasm, and you don’t know what to do.

Steve sees that you’re fighting back tears and he tugs you against his chest. His embrace soothes you, but when he asks what happened, all you can do is shake your head, too overwhelmed to speak. There’s too much to explain, a history between you and Jonathan that you know Steve accepts, and yet now you’re terrified you’ll somehow hurt him like you’ve hurt Nancy.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

Neither of you are sure what Steve is apologizing for, but it’s enough for now.

So much for an easy summer.

–

“It is fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the County Recorder’s Office.” Robin places a giant sheet of paper onto the table. On it are lines and shapes all drawn in blue with an intricate layout. You lean in close to inspect it as Robin continues explaining. “Starcourt Mall, the complete blueprints.”

Dustin praises her idea and you hesitantly agree; you would’ve never thought of asking for the mall’s blueprints. “You’ve got my attention.”

She smiles and starts to explain her plan. “This is us, Scoops,” her fingers trace over the paper as she guides you and the boys through the blueprint. “And this is where we want to get.”

“I don’t really see a way in.” Steve points out, now sitting at the table with an arm wrapped around you.

“There’s not,” Robin casts the top blueprint aside and reveals another one underneath. It’s similar in design, although this one lacks more shapes and is mostly lines. “If you’re talking exclusively about doors.”

You squint at the drawings, trying to figure out what they remind you of. “Are those…”

“Air ducts!” Dustin finishes for you, impressed with Robin’s idea.

“Safe, practical, and wouldn’t involve guns.” Turning to the girl, you nod at her and wink. “Buckley, you really keep your promises.”

Robin bows playfully. “Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room, and these air ducts,” she grabs a marker from the whiteboard and circles Scoops on the blueprints before drawing a winding line down to the hidden vault and circling it as well. “Lead all the way here.”

The four of you all look up at the vent above you, and while the idea seems like the safest option, you can’t help but wonder how horribly wrong it could go as well. You’ve never had the best luck, not when it comes to Hawkins, and the air ducts seem almost too easy of a solution to trust.

Steve finds a screwdriver in one of the shop’s drawers and takes apart the air vent with Dustin’s help. You stand next to Robin and watch with slight weariness, unsure where to go from here. Once Steve has removed the vent, he shines a flashlight inside and winces.

“I don’t know, guys. It’s a tight fit.”

“I can do it,” you step forward. “Can’t be that bad, right?”

Steve looks down at you from the ladder. “This feels like a trap.”

“Move, Harrington.” Once he’s off the ladder, you climb up yourself. When you look into the vent, your heart drops. It is a tight fit, there’s no way you’ll be able to crawl through it. Defeated, you climb down the ladder. “Well, shit.”

“I’ll fit.” Dustin now speaks up.

“No you will not.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “No collar bones, remember?”

“Excuse me?” Robin has never been more confused in her life.

Steve begins to explain Dustin’s medical condition while you continue arguing with your brother. “I’m not letting you do this!”

“You got the healthy genes while I got the rare genetic condition, Y/N.” Dustin starts to climb up the ladder as you tug at his shirt to try and stop him. “Let me abuse it!”

“But–”

Steve places a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll handle this, Y/N.”

You step back, hoping that he’ll talk some sense into your brother, but to your horror he only makes things worse. Dustin starts to climb into the vent with Steve below him, but he gets stuck about halfway in. “Steve, push me!”

The teen looks at you, unsure what the right call here is. “Do I…?”

“Yeah, just push the kid.” You rub your eyes, tired. “He’s already almost in the damn air duct anyways.”

Steve pushes at Dustin’s feet to help him move further, but he’s quickly berated. “Not my feet, dumbass. Push my ass!”

“What?” You and Steve exclaim at the same time.

“Touch my butt, I don’t care!” Dustin’s screeching voice is muffled from the walls of the vent.

Looking at you one last time, Steve sighs heavily and places his hands on your brother’s butt and starts to shove him deeper into the air duct. He can’t believe he’s doing this right now, shoving the butt of the brother of the girl he’s in love with. You stand next to Robin, mortified of what you’re currently witnessing, endlessly ashamed of the two boys.

The two boys argue, Dustin commanding Steve to push him harder as the teen tries his best to shove the kid, and Robin leans over to you. “Remind me, why are you into Harrington again?”

All you can do is sigh at her question, having no good answer as you watch Steve now manhandle Dustin and scream back insults at him.

They look ridiculous.

“Ahoy, sailors!” Someone rings the register’s bell impatiently. “All hands on deck!”

You and Robin turn to find Erica standing at the register as she repeatedly rings the bell and demands her daily free samples. You’re about to respond to her when you see Robin raise her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s thought of something.

“Would… Erica fit in the vent?”

Your hand snatches at Robin’s arm as you pull her away from the shop’s window. “Absolutely not. We’re not getting Erica involved!”

“C’mon, Y/N. She’s small, she could easily fit–”

“She’s ten.” She’s too young. You’ve always regretted that Dustin and the party were twelve when everything began.

You’ll be damned if you ruin another child’s life.

But Robin doesn’t know any of this, and she ignores you as she runs to the register and recruits Erica before you can stop her. Within a minute you have a very curious Erica Sinclair climbing the ladder up to the vent as she shines a flashlight through it.

You stand below her, helpless.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” She climbs down after a few minutes of studying the vent’s dimensions.

“You don’t know if you can fit?” Dustin asks.

Erica leans against the table and studies the four of you with distaste. “Oh, I can fit. I just don’t know if I want to.”

“Are you claustrophobic?” Robin teases her, but you only feel sympathy for the girl.

You step towards Erica, trying one last time to reason with her. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can back down now, no one will blame you. In fact, I will give you all my allowance if you say no.”

Dustin elbows you roughly to get you to shut up, he knows what you’re trying to do. You glare at him and rub your now tender shoulder. When you look towards Steve and Robin for backup, both teens send you pleading glances similar to the ones from last night.

Once again, you’re the odd man out.

None of this is what you want.

“I don’t have phobias,” Erica informs Robin. Then, she turns to you, “and no one tells me what to do.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Okay, well. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is, I still haven’t heard what’s in this for Erica.”

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting in a booth with the others as Steve slides Erica a freshly made sundae.

“More fudge, please.” She requests, pleased she’s won.

Steve looks at you, already fed up with the kid, and you feel no sympathy for him. “Go on, get the girl her bribery fudge. This is what you wanted.”

He cringes at the sarcasm in your voice and knows you’re once again pissed at him. Defeated, he hangs his head low and leaves to get Erica more fudge without another word. Once he’s gone, Robin opens up her blueprints and shows the girl the air ducts. “You see this? This is the route you’re going to take.”

You sit there quietly as Dustin and Robin talk to Erica. After they’ve explained the entire plan, she mentions that this all sounds like child endangerment. You let out an exhausted chuckle. “It does, doesn’t it? Isn’t that just hilarious to think about?”

Robin tries to reassure both you and Erica. “We’ll be in radio contact with you the whole time–”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Erica waves a finger in Robin’s face, unamused. “Child. Endangerment.”

“It’s a shame only you can see that.” You drop your head onto the table, entirely over the situation. “I mean, how can only the ten year old see how insane this is, huh?”

Dustin throws a straw at you and shushes you, annoyed with your theatrics. Clearing his throat, he turns to Erica. “We think these Russians want to do harm to our country.”

“Unconfirmed, actually.” You retort. With every passing minute, it becomes more and more evident that this really is happening, and there’s no way you can back out now; someone sane has to be there to protect everyone. Dustin and the others all seem deluded by the idea of fame and adventure, but all you want to do is keep your loved ones safe.

“Shut up,” Dustin shoves you further away from him as he tries to win over Erica’s agreement. “Great harm. Don’t you love your country?”

“You can’t spell ‘America’ without ‘Erica’.” She takes a sip from her drink, now listening.

You lift your head up from the table and share a baffled look with Dustin, both of you going through how to spell America in your heads. Amazingly, Erica is right. You really can’t spell the word without her name.

“Incredible,” you whisper, in complete disbelief.

Dustin shakes his head. “Uh, yeah. Oddly, that’s–uh, totally true… So, don’t do this for us. Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man, for America – Erica.”

After your brother’s speech, Erica puts down her drink and mocks him, still not entirely sold on the whole child endangerment idea. Instead, she goes on a whole spiel about how she loves capitalism and paying people for their services while you sit there, head pounding with a headache.

“And it seems to me,” Erica concludes with a smile, “my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all. So, you want my help? This USS Butterscotch better be the first of many. I’m talking free ice cream for life.”

Robin and Dustin mirror exasperated expressions on their faces, but honestly? You get a kick out of Erica recognizing her worth; she’s brilliant. Without saying anything, you lift your hand up for Erica to high five, which she happily accepts.

“To child endangerment!” You cheer, your voice oozing sarcasm, and Erica follows suit as Robin and Dustin both slump in their seats.

–

It’s your idea to prep Erica for whatever she may find after crawling through the ducts. You shoved a helmet on her head and forced knee pads onto the girl, which she adamantly protested against.

“This is excessive, even for you.”

You held up money, which promptly shut her up. “Wear the protection and do exactly as I say, or lose $5.”

After she took the money, you then held out your switchblade for her to take as well. “And use this if anything happens, alright?”

Erica had stared at you, slightly surprised. “Why do you carry knives on you?”

“Ask questions later.”

Now you’re anxiously waiting on the mall’s rooftop once more with Dustin, Steve, and Robin as you radio Erica for updates.

“You nerds in position or what?” Her voice drones through the walkie’s speaker.

“Yeah, we’re in position.” Robin confirms. The three of you have been scouting the shipment deck for the last thirty minutes, making sure all the possible Russian guards were gone. “It’s all quiet up here, so you’ve got the green light.”

You take the walkie from Robin. “But be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Be careful and green light, roger that. Commence Operation Child Endangerment.”

Robin snatches the walkie back and cringes at what Erica has said. “Can we maybe not call it that?”

“That's exactly what’s happening here.” You say with a snort.

“Thanks for the help, Y/N.”

You give Robin a thumbs up. “Anytime.”

Erica announces that she’s in the air ducts and you feel the familiar burden of fear creep through you as she now goes quiet. Steve’s hand finds yours and he attempts to ease your discomfort as you all wait. “Erica will be fine, Y/N.”

“Yeah, totally!” Robin tries to reassure you as well, though she looks nervous too.

The minutes drag by at an agonizingly slow pace. The three of you hold your breath, waiting for Erica’s assurance that she’s safe and okay, and you pray to whatever god that’s up there to listen and keep her safe.

If anything happens to her, it would only be your fault for not having learned your lesson sooner.

“Alright, nerds.” You let out a breath of relief when Erica radios again, and you can feel Steve exhale as well. He’d been worried, too. “I’m there.”

“Do you see anything?” Robin asks, voice alight with excitement now.

“Yeah, I see those boring boxes you’re so excited about.”

“Any guards?”

Erica pauses a moment, presumably scanning for any signs of danger, before responding. “Negative.”

You breathe out again with relief. At the very least, Erica is in a safe enough location.

However, Robin isn’t done asking questions yet. “Booby traps?”

“If I could see them, they’d be pretty shit traps, wouldn’t they?”

You grab the radio again from Robin. “Erica, have I told you that you’re my favorite child?”

“You haven’t, but I know I am,” there’s a bang over the other end of the walkie, then a loud thud followed by a grunt, before her voice comes through again. “I’m in.” Then, not even a minute later, the door to the vault begins to lift up, revealing a smug looking Erica on the other side.

You all stare at her in awe, and she snaps her fingers at you. “Free ice cream for life.”

Steve lets out a surprised laugh and a smile crosses your face as well. Even though you’re still entirely against what’s happening, you can’t believe that the plan worked. You guys successfully broke into a Russian vault.

That beats Demodogs any day.

You, Steve, Robin, and Dustin climb down from the roof to get to Erica as fast as you can. When you finally join her, you risk her fury and pull her into your arms for a hug. “You’re so much braver than I was at ten.”

Erica shoves you off of her. “That doesn’t at all surprise me.”

While you make sure she’s okay, Dustin and the others investigate the room. There’s boxes everywhere with tape all over them. Lifting one up onto a table, Steve turns to you. “Can I borrow that switchblade, Y/N?”

“She’s got it,” you point to Erica. “Talk to the kid.”

Steve frowns, having unexpected this, and, being scared of the girl, he laughs nervously. “Uh, Erica? Can I have that switchblade now?”

She rolls his eyes at him and digs through her pockets to retrieve it. “Aren’t you the man in the relationship? Why don’t you have your own pair of knives?”

You cover your mouth to try and stifle the laugh that escapes you, but it’s no use. Steve hears it and sticks his middle finger up at you before finally opening the box. Cutting through the tape, he opens the box’s flaps to find a metal storage container within them.

When Steve reaches his hand inside the box, you stop him. “Please, be careful.”

“I got this, angel.” However, he slows his movements and carefully grabs at the container’s handle. Slowly, he turns it, and it lets out a terrifying hiss as air escapes it. Removing the lid, more air comes crawling out and reveals four individual cylinders.

“Definitely not delicious noodles and sensible shoes.” You breathe out, and Steve hums in agreement.

“That’s a weird way of saying ‘you were right, Dustin’.” Your brother snarks, and you hit his shoulder to shut him up.

Meanwhile, Steve waves his hand at the four of you, motioning you to back up. “Uh, maybe you guys should, you know, stand back.”

Robin and Erica don’t hesitate to listen, but you and Dustin remain where you are. There’s a silent agreement between the two of you to not abandon Steve, he needs you. When he sees that you both haven’t listened, Steve pleads with you. “Just step back, please? I’m doing this for you guys, this could be dangerous.”

“No.” You and Dustin say at the same time.

Steve tries to argue again, but you remain firm in your stance. “I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

His words falter at the sincerity in your voice, and he wishes it was just the two of you alone right now so that he could stroke your cheek and kiss away your concerns. He’s filled with warmth by your care for him, but just like you would never put him in danger, Steve would never put you in any danger either.

He loves you with everything within him, he just wishes he could tell you this.

“If you die, I die.” Dustin proudly declares, breaking Steve out of his thoughts.

You stare at your brother, as does Steve, and together the two of you awkwardly pat the kid’s shoulder to acknowledge his sentiment. With a cough, you add, “Hendersons with Harrington.”

Steve clears his throat, overwhelmed and slightly off put by the bizarre support. “Okay, I guess.” He grabs at one of the cylinders and twists slowly, and when it unlocks, he lifts and reveals a bubbling green liquid. “What the hell?”

Robin asks what the substance is and you feel like you’ve lost your mind. You have no idea what the fuck is happening anymore. “God I hope it’s scary Kool-Aid”

As soon as the words have left your mouth, you feel rumbling beneath your feet.

Immediately, you know you’ve fucked up.

Dustin looks up at you in alarm. “Was that just me, or did the room move?”

“Booby traps,” Erica whispers, looking scared as well.

A mechanical whirring sound infiltrates your ears as the room starts to shake again, and every part of your body screams at you to run. Something is very, very wrong. Grabbing Dustin’s hand, you start to head towards the door. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Let’s go!” Robin follows you, not needing to be told twice, and grabs one of the vials of liquid as she does so.

“Which one is the button, Erica?” Dustin asks, fingers hovering over the control panel’s buttons after pressing one failed.

“Just press the damn button, nerd.”

You turn to her, panic rising. “He is, but nothing’s happening.”

“Press ‘open door’.”

Dustin presses the button again but still, nothing happens. Frantic to escape the room now, you shove him aside and try yourself. Your fingers press roughly against it, but still the doors won’t budge.

Steve joins, sliding next to you as he starts to try pressing the buttons. “Here, press the other button.”

You slap his hand. You’re overwhelmed and scared and anxious and he’s five seconds away from losing an eye. “I already did that!”

Dustin starts to argue with Steve now and they push you back, repeatedly hitting whatever they can touch, as Robin and Erica shout their own useless and unneeded advice that is helping absolutely no one. You stand behind the boys, hands pressed against your head as you start to hyperventilate with panic.

Then, walls come slamming down on all sides of the room, effectively kick starting your panic attack. The lights begin to flicker as the room suddenly drops. Your stomach lurches into your throat as you’re thrown downward, and instinctively you grab for Dustin in your panic as Steve grabs for you.

Everyone screams as you plunge into the darkness.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

⌑ taglist: @siriuslysmoking @sheisjoeschateau @thytorturedpoet @innercreationflower @juhdoche @frostandflamesfanfic @goosy-goose @quinnsadilla @munsons-queen @stefansring @rice-elephant @bex22109 @bitchkeery @bex22109 @officerrrfriendly @kazunish @idkitsem @emilieluckwood @ryoujoking @criesinlies @tagakalat @dcnerd98 @sucker-4-angst @kitdjarin1 @onecojg @innazra @areiofhope @spaghetittied @cultish-corner @g8sstuff @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @hsllfirescoops @l0ve-0f-my-life @newyorkangelbaby @aliceespector @chervbs @poppet055 @bookkeeperlove @bellenotthebeast @swiftieblyth @ladyobscurus @moon-flowerrs @estaticheart @dreamingofts18 @lanxsee @thecapricunt1616 @aheadfullofsteverogers @marvel-and-music @angie2274 @thescoopstroopers @xuimhao @rh1nestonecowg1rl @shelby-ren @carinacassiopeiae @eddiemunson-86-baby @ribbetzetoad @harryssideboobz @cherrycherry19 @mamamakaylamorgan23 @slttygeto @alltoomay @hiraethavis @torntaltos @eeniemeenie @latenightreadingpdf @gayandfairycore @aliceespector

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #nya #m's writing #steve is just a boy doing his best #and erica !!#WE FINALLY HAVE ERICA !!!

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papaya-twinks · 3 months

Note

lando with staff member maybe mclaren legal intern or lawyer?

Than youu and congrat🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: mean!lando, swearing

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - IM A LAW STUDENT YAYAYAYYAYAYAYYAYAYA but I’m doing intern instead 🤫

“Who’s she?” Lando raised an eyebrow at you walking round the lobby of the MTC. “New intern,” Oscar muttered, watching as you stared at the cars on display, awe etched across your face. “I can tell,” Lando muttered, the impressed look on hout face making Lando feel a strange sense of pride, somehow. “Should we say hi?” Lando asked as Oscar shrugged.

“Why not?” the Aussie shrugged, following Lando to where you were standing. “Yo,” a voice said behind you, making you jump slightly, your cheeks flushing as you found yourself staring at the two McLaren drivers. “Hello,” you said shyly, looking between them, surprised they’d come to you. “You’re new,” Lando said, the words more a statement of fact than a question as you nodded.

“D’you need help finding-?” Oscar was cut off by Lando. “You look stupid just walking round,” he said, his voice nonchalant and cool as you flushed a bit. “Sorry,” you muttered, looking down as Lando rolled his eyes. “Where are you supposed to be?” Lando said, looking you up and down. You were pretty, very pretty. And lost looking. Like a cute puppy.

“I’m not sure,” you said, “I was just told to be here,”. Lando looked at Oscar, a look of disbelief across the older man’s face. “She having a laugh?” Lando said, nodding his head curtly to you. His words were harsh and cold, but there was a hint of curiosity in his voice, which didn’t go unnoticed to you.

“Come with us,” Oscar decided, standing forwards as Lando followed, watching you hurry behind then, clutching your bag and phone. “Maybe but your phone in the bag, it’ll help,” Lando said, his voice borderline condescending. There was something about being an asshole to you that gave him some sort of sick pleasure.

Of course, it wasn’t as extreme as sadistic bullshit, but he still found it fun. Hyoid followed Lando and Oscar to a small room,a briefing room with a computer in it and a desk. Lando typed quickly on the computer, not looking. Jo as Oscar watched. “Name?” Lando asked. “Y/N Y/L/N,” he froze after your name, his eyebrow raised. That was a pretty name.

“Y/Bm” he muttered, typing in your name, immediately flashing up with the results. “What is it?” Oscar asked, peeking tour t eh computer and peering at the monitor. “An assistant, huh?” Lando said, “And my assistant, too,”. You nodded, clutching your bag as Lando sighed. “Sure, whatever,” Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get me some coffee,”.

You nodded hurriedly, scrambling out of the room as Lando watched you. “She’s gonna be a pain,” Lando rolled his eyes as Oscar tutted. “Give her a chance, mate,” Oscar clapped the Brit on his shoulder. Lando shrugged, watching as you came back with a cup, steam coming up from the lid. “So you are useful,” Lando mused, taking a sip of the coffee.

It was really good, actually. Not that he’d admit it. “Lando, mate,” Oscar snorted, “play nice,”. Lando rolled his eyes as his teammate left, leaving him standing with you, watching you. His eyes roved over your body, your pretty outfit, a little black dress, giving him a nice view. “Right, then,” he said, clapping his hands as he stared at you. “You’re gonna be helpful, and not a waste of space,” he said, nodding to you.

You nodded vehemently as Lando rolled his eyes, your enthusiasm and eagerness to please being very nearly endearing. Nearly. Lando was not about to find himself attracted to a girl he just met, and that too, knew nothing of. “Right,” he said, looking you up and down. “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked, your own gaze falling to the outfit that adorned your body.

“Zak told me to dress formally,” you said, tugging at the dress sheepishly. “Right, then,” Lando said. Formally, not like a pretty little doll. “So, Y/N,” he leaned on the table as he stared at you, your cheeks fed from the intensity, “what can you do to help me?”. Well, that was a dumb question. “Paperwork and stuff, I guess,” you shrugged, “whatever you want me to,”.

Lando clucked his tongue at your last phrase, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “Anything?” he asked as you nodded, not quite realising the sexual implications he’d managed to bring from your somewhat innocent sentence. “Well, for starters,” Lando spoke, his tone hard to decipher, “refill thus,” he handed you the cup.

He was gonna have fun with this.

A/N - Comment if you want a part 2 (need 10 to convince myself to do so) 👇

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris x you #f1 #lando norris smut #just an assistant

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sungbeam · 5 months

Text

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

nonidol!kang yeosang x f!reader

yeosang doesn't remember your name, but he remembers what kissing you tastes like and how you like your eggs in the morning. just your regular prince charming trying to find his cinderella, or in this case, his passenger princess..?

9.5k (lord.....), nc-17, s2l, frateez au, college au, mentions of alcohol, swearing, kissing, humor, fluff, minimal angst, another cinderella story au/trope(?), drama (i bring i bring all the drama-ma-ma-ma), a girl who is not a girl's girl :l, the barest of proofreading

a/n: this is for the @atzhouse you can't outrage us event! guys if the flirting is lackluster, it's cuz im running out of rizz

“I don't believe you.”—

The last place you expected to end up was in the front seat of some guy's white Lexus while the party raged on inside the ATZ fraternity house just down the street. According to him, he had to run out just before the crowd rolled in, and when he got back, somebody had snatched his parking spot.

—“Okay, but why don't you believe me?”—

The car smelled not like fresh leather, but an enchanting mixture of something like pine and smoked wood. Bitter, yet somehow, refreshing. You bet, even as the alcohol was hitting you, that it was what he smelled like.

His name was Yeosang—the guy sitting next to you in the driver's seat, the owner of this car, and the ATZ fraternity brother you bumped into at his house's own party. That had been just about twenty minutes ago when you'd ended up isolated from your pack of friends, and Yeosang had needed a desperate breather. It seemed he'd been running from someone (question mark), so you asked if he knew where the kitchen was. Eager to get away from whoever it was, he guided you straight to the kitchen and where the secret stash of flavored sojus were.

An offhand comment about wishing you didn't have to miss this one drama episode dropping tonight led to a longer conversation about the dramas you both enjoyed, which somehow landed you in his passenger seat.

The rest was history. Or—you supposed the rest was now.

“Because,” Yeosang said in a tone that sounded a lot like he was saying 'duh’, “you don't look like a biology major.”

He was gorgeous, even if the lighting in the party and out here was jack shit. The way the shadows cut across his face made him look like a faerie torn straight out of one of your old sketchbooks. You were half certain he had pointed ears beneath the cat-eared beanie he wore, but maybe that was just the alcohol doing its thing.

You sputtered out a laugh as he knocked back another gulp of his melon soju. He was more drunk than you were, maybe not by too much because that wouldn't have been fair, but it did take him seven tries to unlock his car seven minutes ago. “What's a bio major s'posed to look like?”

“Mmm…” he hummed, lips pressed together in a line that dug into his cheeks. “Not you.”

It only made you laugh harder. It wasn't even that funny. “That doesn't even make sense!”

“Does it have to make sense?” He squawked. His face shuddered for a moment as if he just experienced a glitch. “I forgot what I was gonna say, but it's the vibe.”

“The vibe,” you parroted in mild amusement. After you swallowed down your next gulp of soju, you gestured to him with the bottle, “Okay, now what about you? Your major, go.”

“I read shit.”

“Who doesn't?”

“Jared, 19,” he replied, dead serious.

Equally serious, you asked with wide eyes, “Really?”

He gave you an emphatic nod back. Really. Now, if you were a little less tipsy, you wouldn't have taken what he said at face value, but tonight was already miles away from your regularly scheduled program.

You pondered on that—the “I read shit,” not the misfortunes of one nineteen year old named Jared. “So if you read a lot of shit, does that make you a literature major? No, wait! I got it; you look like Comparative Lit.”

“Bingo,” he cheered, raising his bottle up into the air. “Wait. What do you mean I look like a comparative lit major? What does a comp lit major even look like?”

“I dunno, but it’s you.”

He pursed his lips into a deadpan at your callback to what he'd said before, and you merely stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult you were. “Touché, my friend. Touché…”

Silence passed between you two for the first time since you met each other. In the distance, you could hear the muffled sounds of the party raging on. It wasn't that you didn't go to parties often; it was more so that you usually went to house parties hosted by friends or friends-of-a-friend. Making it all the way to Greek Row was not something you did every weekend, but a mutual friend—Chungha—knew the ATZ president and got you and your friends in.

Nearly finished with his third bottle (or was it his fourth?...), Yeosang knocked the remainder down his throat with a grimace. With the empty bottle, he set it at his feet on the car floor to join another—the cup holders were already occupied with yours and his second rounds. The first was abandoned on the frat house lawn somewhere.

“I think—” he slurred, blinking slowly at you like a cat, “—that you look like an artist.”

“An artist?” You parroted dumbly and felt warmth rise to your cheeks. “And why would you say that? Vibes?”

“Well, yes!”

You sputtered out a laugh at the way he said that. “Then yes, I am an artist,” you said, emphasizing the latter half of the word so it sounded like “teest” and not “tist.”

Yeosang gave a hoot. “I'm so good at this. Does that—does that mean you can paint me like one of your French girls?” He pulled his lips into an adorable, little smile, the back of his hand poised beneath his chin as he fluttered his lashes.

“I don't think I could do you justice,” you admitted. There was a rather annoying buzz at the back of your brain that was distracting you. With a shake of your head, you refocused your gaze on him. “You're too pretty.”

He preened at the compliment, unconsciously reaching up to adjust his beanie. “Like calls to like then.”

“What does that mean?” Your buzzed-out brain couldn't compute—

“It means that prettiness is attracted to prettiness, and I'm attracted to you.”

You whined, burying your face in your hands. Yeosang giggled to himself, incredibly proud at making you flustered, his knees curling upward to kick his feet in the cramped space. “I don't like you.”

“You don't?”

“No,” you raised your head up with a displeased frown, only to see that his eyes seemed to be twinkling with unrestrained happiness and something else. You weren't in the right state to hyper-analyze the way he looked at you, but it made your heart skip more than just a beat. “It's not fair that you're a literature major.”

“But I'm drunk,” he said innocently.

“That's even worse!”

He grinned boyishly at you, bashfully stretching his limbs and then cupping the back of his neck with a hand. “What if I told you I'm minoring in math?”

You deadpanned. “I don't think that makes me feel any better. You rule both the realms of words and numbers.”

“It doesn't mean I'm good at math,” he guffawed, leaning back in his seat. “It's only there 'cause my mom's a math teacher, and having a math minor makes my parents feel better.”

That sounded familiar… awfully familiar. The thought made you sober a bit, and it seemed your counterpart wasn't so wasted that he didn't notice the shift either.

“Uh oh,” he chuckled nervously, “what'd I say?”

You waved your hand around dismissively. “Oh, it's nothing. I'm kind of the opposite—my bio major is sort of to appease my parents and the fine art minor is for my sanity.”

He pressed his lips into a line, nodding in understanding. “Ah, I see,” he drawled. “So you don't… you're not happy? With what you're doing, I mean.”

Maybe it was the way he asked it, but it made the cogs in your head turn. You bit your lip. “I'm happy-ish. It's kind of a lot, but I'll survive.”

“'m sorry I upset you,” he pouted. “But,” he stammered, swallowing, “but I get it. My parents never wanna talk about my major anymore. Pretty sure they're just bitter and disappointed. I always feel like I’m walking on eggshells around them.”

You could tell that it affected him more than he wanted to admit. You wordlessly passed him your half-drunk bottle, and he gladly took a generous sip. When it was back in your hands, you guzzled down the remainder.

The buzz was getting better.

“Well, if they're not proud of you, I am,” you declared, setting the empty bottle at your feet. Your eyes blinked slowly for a moment as you got your bearings again. Maybe… maybe you should stop drinking! Yes, that would be the smart thing to do.

Yeosang hummed. “Thanks,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He gazed over at you from his side of the car. “I'm proud of you, too. You'll be happy one day; it'll always turn out okay, Yn-ie.”

Something warm and fuzzy settled in your chest, like a cat had just curled up there, purring and content.

A thought suddenly popped into your head. “Yeosang, how do you like your eggs?”

He snorted and burst into laughter, coaxing a similar expression out of you. A moment later, you were trying your best to pout at him, “Hey! Don't laugh! I hear it's all the rage on the pick-up line scene.”

“You're trying to pick me up?” He giggled. All memories of the previous topic flew out the car window.

“Well, is it working?”

He licked his lips around a smile, leaning over the center console to rest his cheek against his fist. “Ask me again.”

You took another sip of your soju before returning it to its cupholder. “Okay. Yeosang, how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

“However you'd like them.”

You deadpanned, and that only made him laugh louder. His head tilted back so you caught a glimpse of his canines, before he brought himself back down to Earth. His cheeks looked as flushed as you felt—even in the dim streetlight you could make out the blooms of peony pink across his cheekbones. “Yeo.”

He reached over to pat your head a couple times, though the sloppiness of his movements made it feel closer to two affectionate smacks. “Okay okay. Sorry. How about we say it at the same time?”

“Okay.” That wasn't a bad compromise.

“Okay, one, two, three—”

“Sunny-side up,” you both said at once.

Your eyes and his eyes widened at once, gasps of delight sounding into the quiet car. Could this guy be any more perfect?

“You're not bluffing?” You asked with narrowed eyes.

Yeosang shook his head vigorously. “Mm-mm. I wouldn't lie to you, Yn-ie. Scout's honor,” he slurred, holding his hand up as if he was a boy scout.

You giggled at the gesture, and he broke form to melt into an ooey gooey puddle of liquefied butterflies. For a moment, he just stared at you with a strange look on his face, one that you couldn't quite place when you were in this inebriated state.

You chuckled, shifting your position when one leg started falling asleep. “What’s wr—?”

He leaned forward and—oh. Oh. Those were—his lips were on yours. He had leaned over the console and kissed you. He was kissing you.

And when you didn't kiss him back, he drew backwards, an embarrassed expression painted over the adorable flush on his cheeks. “That—I shouldn't have done that, should I? I'm sorry; I dunno what I was—”

You crushed your mouth against his this time, effectively stealing the apology right off his tongue. He tasted like melon soju, and his touch was gentle as he brought his hand up to cup the side of your face, cradle your jaw. He was tracing the outline of your features in the dark like he could sketch them in the lines in his mind.

He tasted like the color of amber, warm and bright, but not blindingly so. He was mellow and sweet, with the undertones of the burnt wood in his cologne.

You melded your lips against his mouth like you could engrave him into you, and you were practically half over the middle console already. Yeosang's free hand fumbled backward to find the button on the side of his chair—there. The chair began moving backward with a monotonous brrr sound, and as it moved you couldn't quite keep your lips physically attached to his.

You disconnected from him for what felt like an eternity in order to climb over—shoes knocking against empty soju bottles, ass nearly bumping the horn—and with some clumsy, awkward maneuvering, you were on him again, this time quite literally. You tumbled into his lap, his hands landing on either side of your waist and your hands bracing against the back of his chair.

He loosened a soft groan with the return of your lips to his, and he hauled you down closer to him, until your chests were pressed flush against one another and you couldn't tell which heartbeat was who's. His beanie fell off at some point, but your fingers buried themselves within the dark, silken mass of his hair, a hat in their own right.

When you both pulled away for breath, your chests heaved in tandem to catch it. You settled your cheek against his shoulder while you inhaled the smell of his cologne, much stronger now that you sat against his chest with your nose by his throat. His hand warmed the small of your back with the other cupping the back of your head in an affectionate cradle.

“I don't think I've ever kissed someone like that,” you admitted into the quiet. You suddenly couldn't hear the muffled music blasting from the party in the background anymore.

“Me neither,” he replied, voice hoarse from the kiss. “I've never met someone like you before.”

“Never in your life?”

“Never in my life.”

“So let me get this straight,” drawled Wooyoung with both hands poised at his temples, eyes screwed shut against the bright morning light coming in through the window. There were currently eight people crowded onto President Hongjoong's bed at a time that was far too early to be alive for a group of people who partied until four in the morning. “You're saying that you know this girl's family life, how she likes her eggs in the morning, and how she kisses—but you don't even know her name?”

Yeosang was propped up against the headboard, squeezed between a very unfairly serene-looking Seonghwa and a mildly hungover Hongjoong. Yeosang's bangs were flat against his forehead and he squinted his tired eyes through the strands. “No, that's not what I said. I said that I know her name… it's just not coming to me right now.”

He knew your name. Right? You told him your name, right? He addressed you by your name at least once last night, right?

(If he was being honest, as soon as Yeosang woke up this morning, he started whimsically recalling the events of last night in his head. But once he realized he neither had your number nor remembered your name, he jostled his friends up to invade the president's room for an emergency round table discussion. Who would have guessed their alarm clock would be a very panicked Maltese screaming, “I DON'T REMEMBER HER NAME!”)

“Which pretty much means you don't know her name,” Jongho piped up where he was laying against Yunho's back on the corner of the bed, his eyes closed while he attempted to squeeze in five more milliseconds of sleep.

“Well, do you know who she came with?” San asked. “She probably has at least one mutual friend or else she wouldn't have gotten in.”

Mingi furrowed his brows together. “Not necessarily. The pledges might not have been thorough when checking.”

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed. “You were supposed to be there with them at the door, Mingi.”

“Oh, was I?”

Yunho cut in before Hongjoong could tackle Mingi off the bed. He grinned to himself, “Okay, but San has a point. Usually people are only able to sneak in if they're with a group.”

“Awh,” Wooyoung cooed, reaching over to pinch at Yeosang's cheek, “Yeosangie fell in love with a stowaway—ow! Hey! He just bit me!”

“Deserved,” Seonghwa said plainly. He turned his head so as to not have to face Wooyoung's wounded puppy eyes. It was too early for this. “Do you know if she came with anyone, Yeosang-ah?”

Yeosang scrunched his nose up, disgruntled. “No. I'm pretty sure she was looking for her friends when we met… something like that. I remember some things, but not everything.” He pinched the place between his brows in an attempt to piece together his memory of last night. He could remember the way you made him feel—it was the jittery warmth that came with falling, and his heart had never grown wings before like it had around you.

After the kiss, the two of you had sunk into a comfortable, quiet conversation about anything and everything beneath the sun. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable and heard by someone other than his fraternity brothers. You were perfect, for lack of a better word. And he knew a lot of words.

But how could he fucking forget your name?

He was never drinking that much melon soju ever again.

“She's a biology major,” he offered with a defeated sigh, letting his hand fall into his lap.

“What does she look like?” Hongjoong asked.

Yeosang's gaze went up to the ceiling as he recalled what you looked like to his friends. It was pretty dark the entire time he was with you, but there were a few moments when the streetlights hit your face and his conscience was constantly trying to keep his drunk ass from kissing you within the first ten minutes of meeting you. He'd managed to hold it together for a little bit longer before throwing all caution to the wind.

When he was done, San said in light amusement, “I'm just surprised you kissed her first. She must be something then, huh?”

Yeosang couldn't conceal the smile that slowly crept onto his face. “Yeah, she's…” He cleared his throat. “I just don't want last night to be the first and last time I see her.” It couldn't be—just when he thought he clicked with someone, the universe couldn't possibly be so cruel as to rip you away from him, could it?

“Don't you worry!” Mingi chirped, “We'll help you find your passenger princess.”

Seonghwa snorted. “Passenger princess? What is this, Cinderella?”

“It might as well be,” San chuckled, lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Operation: Passenger Princess is a go!”

Yeosang wasn't sure if recruiting his friends’ help was a good or awful decision. But because his past, drunk self hadn't done many favors for his future, sober self, he would take all the help he could get.

You knew the moment you stumbled out of your bedroom and saw your roommate that you were in trouble. It wasn't trouble in the conventional sense; considering her eyes were laughing as she watched your pitiful walk of shame from your room to the shared bathroom, you knew you were not going to hear the end of everything that happened last night ever.

“Not a word,” you said to her as you winced at the blinding bathroom lights.

Her toothbrush hung out of her mouth as she slipped in behind you to spit her toothpaste into the sink. When her mouth was rinsed and clear, she made eye contact with you in the mirror, eyebrows wagging up and down. “So you and Yeosang, huh?”

You glared at her from around your own toothbrush. You would have taken the damn thing out to defend yourself, but you were already late.

Reina took full advantage of your occupied vocal chords. “I never knew pretty frat boys were your type, Yn,” she teased, practically floating out of the bathroom to go check on the state of her espresso in the kitchen.

“Aye hae yuu,” you grumbled around your toothbrush.

“What's that?” She cackled, bringing a hand up to the shell of her ear. “I love you? I love you, too, Yn. But you know who else loves you?—”

“Dompt shae it.”

“Yeosaaaang!”

You loathed the fact that her saying such things made butterflies flap their wings and dance around in your belly. It was simply delusional to think of love when all you and Yeosang did last night was make out in his car and accompany each other in deep, provoking conversation… conversation that definitely didn't make you feel incredibly seen or anything… definitely not.

Finally, you were able to spit your toothpaste out to make your argument. “Okay, first of all, I don't even have his number. And—how could he love me?” As if possession of a phone number could even correlate to love either.

Reina paused, her expression arranging into loud incredulity. “You what? After all I went through to separate the two of you to go home, you didn't exchange numbers?”

Okay, so maybe you shouldn't have disclosed that information—now you just looked stupid.

You lathered up facial cleanser in your hands and on your face. “Look. Exchanging numbers was just the last thing on our minds—” Oh, Yn. Have you ever said something smart?

Reina snorted. “Oh, I know.”

“We didn't just make out,” you grumbled, your cheeks warming beneath your hands. You furiously splashed cool water over your skin before patting your face dry. There likely wasn't much time left before you and Reina had to run to meet your other friends at your weekly volunteering session. “We talked.”

“Uh-huh, and you know that denial is a river in Egypt, right?”

Suffice to say that Reina most definitely did not let your shenanigans from last night go. The two of you managed to reach the food bank sometime before fifteen minutes past your original start time. Everyone else was already stationed and on time, and because you and Reina were the last to arrive, you were sent straight to dishwashing.

As you and Reina pulled on your twin pairs of pink rubber gloves, your friend Mark Lee (and brother with the NCT fraternity) barrelled into the backroom with a dirty ladle in his hands. His head perked up at the sight of you both, a smile blooming on his face. “Well, good morning, Party Animals. How was the ATZ party last night?”

He deposited the ladle into the sink for you to wash while he went to go find a clean one.

“It was cool, but I think Yn would love to tell you all about her experience,” Reina teased, bumping her elbow against your side.

Mark sidled up beside the two of you and leaned in close in proper tea-spilling fashion. “Oh my gosh, did something happen?”

You scowled at Reina, then said to Mark, “Nothing catastrophic—”

“She hooked up with Yeosang!”

You cut her a hard glance. “Reina, I don't think Neptune heard you.”

Mark's eyes went comically wide, jaw slackening. “Yn and Yeosang? That's so wild. Like—like Kang Yeosang?”

“I think? We didn't exactly exchange last names, but why would it be wild? We just kissed and talked.”

“Who kissed who now?” The new voice had you all glancing back over to the kitchen door where another member of the group, Yura, walked in. Yura was Reina's cousin, and the two grew up quite close, so it was natural that they ended up in similar social circles. You and all your other friends got along pleasantly with her. She flashed you all a small smile. “From the sounds of it, I'm guessing you guys had a fun time at the party last night?”

“We did!” Reina chirped.

“Shame you couldn't come with us this time,” you said offhandedly. It wasn't like Yura to miss a party.

Reina cocked her head to the side. “I could've sworn I saw you there though—”

“Ah,” Yura waved her hand to dismiss her cousin's thought. She chuckled, “You're probably mistaking someone else as me; I had that paper I needed to work on last night, remember? But Yn, you and Yeosang?”

You groaned. “I thought we were over this.”

“Dude, we can't not get over this,” Mark quipped back. “Yeosang just doesn't do stuff like that—hook up with people, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Yura chimed in, “I've seen him at a couple other Greek parties with some of my sorority friends and he looks pretty standoffish most of the time. He's usually always with one of his brothers. He's kind of cold, really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “I wouldn't call him cold; he's just a little shy, is all.”

“My friends told me that a lot of sorority girls chase after him,” Yura said with wide eyes. “They get, like, aggressive about him or something.”

You and Reina exchanged a look. Was that who he was running from last night? “That must be kinda stressful,” you said softly with a small frown.

“Apparently, that's why his social medias don't take DMs unless approved,” she shrugged.

Well, there went your backup plan of finding him on social media. Then again, if he recognized you or your name, would that help if you requested him? That was if you deigned to change your profile picture to yourself and not one of your silly doodles.

You couldn't help the weight that your heart seemed to gain as it sank to the pit of your stomach.

“Well, that's mildly disappointing,” Reina muttered, turning to quickly wash the ladle Mark had just dropped off.

“I just wouldn't want you to get targeted by any of those crazy sorority girls, y'know?” Yura gave a laugh that sounded almost nervous. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before snapping on a fresh pair of gloves.

You nodded, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, no, I—I get it. Thanks, Yura.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “Of course,” she said. With a wave, she made her way back toward the kitchen door. “Mark, we better get back to work. See you guys at lunch break!”

When she was gone, Mark clapped a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Hey, listen. I don't really know the guy personally, but me and Wooyoung are pretty tight. I can get in touch with them if you want—”

Baekhyun, the section leader for your session, charged into the kitchen with his arm piled high with dirty dishes. If you didn’t fear for the safety of the porcelain bowl at the top of the stack, you might have chuckled at the scene before you. “Mark! We don't pay you to stand around.”

“Hyung,” Mark huffed exasperatedly as he rushed over to help Baekhyun before the section leader could get knocked over the head by a rogue dish assisted by gravity. “You don't pay us. We're here out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“Well, I don't get paid enough for this,” Baekhyun said once all the dishes were transferred to the sink, and you and Reina were put to work. “Now come on; lots to do!”

Just as Mark was about to follow after Baekhyun, he caught your eyes. “I'm serious about the offer, Yn.”

You smiled. “Thanks, man, but let me think about it and I'll get back to you.”

“Yeah, just lemme know!” And he was gone.

Word broke out that someone in the ATZ household was searching for a girl. Word of mouth was a method of dissemination that could spread like wildfire, leaping from one tongue to one ear to another, leaving only ash and debris behind. And around Greek Row, it became a massive game of Telephone.

But while nearly everyone in the university's fraternities and sororities knew about his strife, Yeosang’s efforts seemed to be for naught. The only thing that emerged from this were more people harping after him, claiming to be 'the one he was looking for.’ None of them were you.

Your name had manifested itself in his head about halfway into the week. He'd been toiling over the theory readings his professor assigned for Thursday's lecture when he'd underlined a word, and it came crashing down upon him with ice cold clarity.

His eyes went wide as he shot up out of his chair, nearly sending Jongho careening off his bed on the other side of the room. “What the—”

“Yn,” Yeosang said. Then he declared a little louder, a giddy smile on his face, triumphant and bright, “Her name is Yn.”

Jongho resettled himself on top of his bed. “Well that narrows things down for us,” he drawled, taking his phone out and typing something out. “I don't suppose you have her last name.”

Yeosang fwumped onto the edge of his bed with his lips pressed into a line. “Dude. I literally just thought of her first name. Do you really think I can come up with—”

“Okay, okay,” Jongho laughed, flicking his wrist at him for a moment before resuming his typing.

“Who're you texting?” Yeosang asked as curiosity drew him across the room to Jongho's side.

His friend sat up so he could peer over his shoulder at the phone screen. “I'm doing the heavy lifting,” he teased. Based on the social media handle at the top of the direct messages channel, Jongho was texting Chungha, a friend of the frat's but a closer friend of President Hongjoong's, and the recently graduated head of the Phi Omega Phi sorority. “Hongjoong hyung mentioned offhandedly that Chungha wanted to get some friends into the party on Friday, so I'm seeing if she recognizes this Yn person you're looking for.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows flicked upward as he settled into a more comfortable position on Jongho’s bed while they awaited Chungha’s response. In the meantime, he pulled out his own phone in an attempt to search for your name amongst his mutuals. He frowned at the lack of a successful search—did you use a different name or did you not have a social media account? Was that why you hadn’t attempted to contact him in the past few days?

For a moment, a shard of self-consciousness pierced through his chest at the prospect that you didn’t want to contact him. Did sobriety make you embarrassed at what happened that night? Had he made you uncomfortable with the amount of vulnerability that was in the car—no, the vulnerability was mutual… but maybe—

“Gotcha.”

Yeosang’s head whipped back over to Jongho’s screen. Having your name and major seemed to ring a bell for Chungha, and she forwarded a social media handle, along with a “tell Yeosang good luck ;)”.

“Thank you, Jongho. And bless up, Chungha,” Yeosang muttered as he swiftly input the social media handle into his search bar. There it was—a private art account with your first name in the biography line. There were only one or two people who you both shared mutuals with, which made sense.

His thumb hovered over the request button, and he bit his lip. With little else left to do and his heart banging around in his ribs from the anticipation alone, he clicked the button.

It didn’t take you incredibly long to accept his follow request and to follow him back. (Though, half an hour felt like an eternity when he was so anxious.) He made it painfully obvious that you acted in response, because Yeosang fumbled his phone between his palms like it was a hot potato, before he dropped it and stubbed his toe with it.

Jongho sent him a strange look as he handed the device back to a red-faced Yeosang, who furrowed his brows together to think of an opening direct message to you.

“It doesn't have to be perfect,” Jongho said as he peered over Yeosang's shoulder this time. He had even paused the game he was playing on his phone to stay tuned into the live entertainment.

Yeosang made a face. “Yes, it does.” It had to be the perfect mix of witty and funny and subtle and—

He figured it out.

@/yskang99: how do u like ur eggs?

Jongho released a sound of utter flabbergast, and Yeosang shushed him, both pairs of eyes pinned to the three dots that appeared on the bottom left-hand side of the screen.

@/studioyn: sunny side up

Yeosang broke into a smile, and Jongho's face contorted into pure incredulity. “What kind of security question is that?”

“Inside joke,” Yeosang replied giddily, rising from Jongho's bed to cross over to his side of the room. He collapsed into his desk chair and propped his feet up along the end of his bed.

Jongho scoffed, shifting his lounging position. He threw his friend another incredulous glance before giving up and returning to his game. He'd done his job.

@/yskang99: congrats u passed the test!

@/studioyn: ahh so that was a test? i imagined us doing a virtual handshake tbh

@/yskang99: i like that better actually

@/studioyn: also how did u find me lmao

Yeosang bit his lip through a grin. I have my ways, he typed out cryptically, cheekily.

@/studioyn: wtvr u say ig… 🤨🤨🤨

For a brief moment, Yeosang wondered if he should bring up the concern lingering in his mind—why you hadn't reached out to him. He didn't want to simply assume that he was “popular” enough that just anybody knew who he was, but he was also aware that most people were able to track him down on social media. But would that kill the vibe? He liked the energy.

@/studioyn: i can't get a read on whether or not ur any different than how u were drunk

@/yskang99: would that matter?

@/studioyn: not particularly, no, but i've met people who r

@/yskang99: no i get that, i've met my fair share too :/

He began typing out slowly: I missed you… Then he swiftly amended it to: I missed talking to you.

@/studioyn: awhh wait ik we've only technically spoken the one time, but i missed talking to u too yeo :’)

A smile split his face from ear to ear. Would you wanna hang out again? Only if you're comfortable, of course.

He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. You were thinking and his heart was sinking.

Finally, your response came in. I'd love to, but I don't wanna disappoint you with my god awful schedule this next week.

@/yskang99: what abt the weekend? something low stakes maybe?

@/yskang99: my brothers and i r going to the nct house on sat

@/studioyn: oh!! im actually close friends w mark lee :] i'll see if i can drag my friends along, and we can link up there?

The thought of seeing you again, even if it was at another dumb Greek party, made electricity zip through his veins. His stomach filled to the brim with butterflies, and he had to shift his position because of how much it tickled.

@/yskang99: yeah sounds great :D i'll look forward to seeing u

@/studioyn: same here yeo :’))

@/studioyn: how's ur week been so far?

Yeosang leaned back in his chair again, propping his elbows on the armrests to sink into a comfortable position. He had a feeling he might be here awhile, but he would sit here all night if it meant talking to you.

“Yn! We're gonna be late!”

You nearly jolted at the sound of Reina's voice carrying through the other side of your bedroom door. You dropped your phone onto your bed, racing to finish up the rest of your makeup. “You can never be late to a Greek party!” You countered, swiping your thumb over the pigment you just put on your lips.

Your bedroom door opened just as you were slipping a chain necklace around your collar. Reina poked her head in, her eyes looking you up and down. “Ooh-la-la,” she gushed with a teasing smile. “Someone's gotten all dolled up. I wonder who for…”

You rolled your eyes and ignored the obvious warmth rising to your face. “I just felt like it,” you defended weakly while spritzing a light mist of perfume over your neck and wrists. You stood up from your desk to collect your wallet, keys, and lip gloss to dump into a purse, then went over to retrieve your phone.

The screen displayed another message from Yeosang, no doubt continuing the conversation you had to abruptly pause because you would be late for the NCT party. This was going to be the second Greek party in two weeks—a record for your books. But you had a feeling it was going to be a good time like last week, you were sure of it.

As you skimmed the message Yeosang sent, you slipped out of the room to join Reina in the main living space. She casted you a pointed look with arms crossed over her chest and lips pressed together.

“What?” You blinked over at her innocently.

“You're never gonna see your boy at this rate,” she said as the two of you picked out your shoes for the night.

You sent a text answering Yeosang and letting him know you would be at the party soon. “He's not 'my boy,’” you said.

“Right. He's your man.”

You hated how hard it was to keep the giggle in your throat down. It was embarrassing how you smiled just then, too, turning your head away from a smug Reina.

God, he was just a guy; how did you get so head-over-heels after just one night? It had to be the fact that you'd been texting him nonstop over the past few days. Though you were busy and exhausted, you continued to check your phone all throughout the days and stayed up long into the nights just to talk to him. He had you hook, line, and sinker.

At some point, you'd forgotten what Yura warned you about on Saturday.

Your friends picked you and Reina up in one of their family minivans. A round of greetings went up as you clambered in behind Reina, and your friend asked where her cousin was tonight if she wasn't carpooling with the rest of you.

“She said she was at her sorority friend's house,” Sieun said offhandedly from the driver's seat. The minivan door closed on its own with a mechanical whirring sound. “She's probably at the party already.”

Some nights, parties called for a pregame session, while others (not unlike this one) was attacked raw. Sieun parked the minivan about a block outside of Greek row where there were spaces between cars along the curbs and where there was less of a chance of her accidentally running over a drunk partygoer stumbling into the street. The party was already in full swing with neon green strobe lights blazing aggressively through the front windows, and Gasolina blasting at nothing less than one hundred percent speaker volume.

You felt your phone vibrate in your hand as Reina grabbed your hand to avoid instantly losing you in the crowd.

@/yskang99: im on the second floor where there's less people 😋😋 they've got a nice balcony we can hide on!!

“Mark said they've got spiked Capri Sun somewhere in here!” Reina shouted into your ear.

You nodded your head vigorously. “Let's find it then!”

@/studioyn: gonna grab hard caprisun and then head up!! do u want some??

@/yskang99: surprise me w a flavor, pretty pls x

You grinned to yourself and slid your phone into your purse to focus on the task at hand.

The NCT fraternity house wasn't a completely unknown landscape to you and Reina. Being friends with one of its brothers and friends-by-association with all the rest, you'd popped by more than a few times. You could likely navigate this house with your eyes closed; that was what it was like weaving through the dark rooms and throngs of people squeezed together like sardines in a can, anyway.

Along yours and Reina's trek to the kitchen, you gained a couple people in your conga line of linked hands, NCT's own Xiaojun and Jungwoo. NCT frat brothers always pregamed, so the two brothers were already tipsy and giggled about your kindergarten field trip line (with Reina being dubbed the poor kindergarten teacher tasked with keeping you together).

When you arrived at your destination, it didn't take long for you to lose both Xiaojun and Jungwoo to the game of Texas Hold 'Em being played at the breakfast table. The singular lightbulb overheard made it feel like a smoke-filled backdoor gambling den.

“Aha!” You cheered after playing a game of mystery cooler roulette, and opened the cooler lid that held the spiked Capri Sun juice pouches on ice.

“Mine!” Reina snatched up the last cherry flavored one, the shiny aluminum slippery and ice-cold as she impaled the opening with the thin, yellow straw.

You grabbed a Pacific Cooler flavored pouch for yourself, and a second for Yeosang.

“Ah, is that for the man of your dreams?” Reina said between sips, her pouch already half empty.

You sent her a look. “He has good taste, which means he'll probably appreciate Pacific Cooler as much as I do.”

“As long as it's not lemonade,” came a voice to your left. There stood a rather tall and lean man, his warm smile enunciated by the dim kitchen lighting as the green strobe lights from the living room painted across his face. “I can't deal with sour shit,” he explained, making a face.

You laughed. “That's valid. Fruit Punch is a classic though.”

“Can't argue with that,” he replied, leaning down to pick his poison for the night. He stabbed a straw into his pouch of strawberry kiwi juice, then arched an eyebrow at you. “I feel like I know you. Do I know you?”

“Hey,” Reina chimed in as she leaned over your shoulder, “you're with the ATZ frat, aren't you? I recognize you from Twister last week.”

He smiled sheepishly from around his straw. “Ah… haha, not my best moment, but yes. I'm Yunho.”

“Reina,” your friend replied.

“Yn,” you added on.

Yunho's expression jerked as if he'd just been delivered an electric shock. He waved his pointer finger at you. “Oh my god, you're Yeosang's girl!”

Your eyes shuddered in surprise. Yeosang's girl. “Sorry?” You stammered. There was an insane amount of possessive pronouns being used tonight, buy you definitely weren't complaining about it, and could he perhaps say that again—

“Yeah, he won't shut up about you.” Yunho slurped up the rest of his juice pouch, draining and flattening the life out of it in record time. “He loves Pacific Cooler, by the way.”

He took his leave then, saying nothing else to you and Reina except for shooting you a pair of finger guns like saying 'go get em, tiger!’

Reina wheezed, draping herself over you for a moment. “Oh—my god! Good thing Yeosang's just as down in the trenches as you are.”

“Don't do this to me, Reina,” you whined and dragged her along out of the kitchen toward the second floor staircase. “I don't need encouragement; the crush is enough!”

“It's never enough,” she declared with her pointer finger up in the sky. “You are gone, my friend! Gone, I say.”

You patted her head as you both began your ascent up the stairs. “Alrighty; then gone, I am. Do you remember where the balcony is on this floor?”

She hummed. “Ooh! Somewhere by Johnjae's room, abouts. I just remember because Mark told us how—”

“Right—the sophomore year Romeo and Juliet reenactment,” you snorted. You couldn't wrap your head around the batshit crazy things that occurred around these parts. “Who convinced Doyoung to play Paris anyway?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “Must've been bribed—oh, there it is, but I think there's a couple out there already…”

There was most definitely a couple on the balcony. Their outlines were silhouettes against the residual strobe lights shining up from downstairs, so it was a little too dark to make out who they were. They seemed close—the girl was all over the boy, the latter trying to hold her up by her waist. Maybe she'd had too much to drink, and for a moment, you were glad someone was taking care of her.

But when she leaned in for a kiss, green light glanced across their faces to reveal their features to you. It was only a split second, but it was all you needed.

“Reina,” you exhaled in shock, turning away from the balcony with enough speed to nearly give you whiplash.

She didn't question you, as you both careened back down the hall from where you came from, heading for one of the open bedrooms on this floor to collect yourselves. When the two of you were out of earshot of the balcony, she hissed under her breath in utter disbelief, “Yura?”

You'd seen it nearly clear as day, too. That was Yura kissing Yeosang.

Your head spun as you shouldered your way into Mark's and Haechan's room, their names plastered on the door in foam letter stickers from the craft store. As Reina closed the door and turned on the lights, you sat down in Mark's desk chair attempting to make sense of what you and Reina just witnessed.

Yeosang and Yura? But wasn't Yura the one who warned you that chasing after Yeosang was a risk because of how many others were, as well? Why would…

Oh.

Well, now you just felt stupid.

Reina dragged over Haechan's desk chair to settle in front of you, her expression less enraged than before, and more concerned over what she was reading off of your face. “Hey, don't do that. Don't think like that.”

“You don't know what I'm thinking,” you murmured, setting the untouched juice pouches on the desk.

“You're thinking that you're stupid.”

“Okay, maybe you do know what I'm thinking.” You inhaled, then exhaled slowly, leaning forward onto your knees. “I don't really know what to think or assume.”

Reina nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “That's okay. I don't think I really understand what I saw either.”

“But that was Yura, right?”

She bobbed her head again. “That was my cousin, yeah.”

“Would it be fair to even think that she told me all that shit last week to discourage me from seeing him?” You didn't enjoy thinking that another person would have such malicious intentions without understanding their point of view, especially someone you considered yourself friends with.

“Well,” Reina drawled, “I think we both saw what we saw, and Yura was acting strangely about it on Saturday. It would be fair if you were hurt by it; I think your feelings have been clear.”

You gave a small nod. “Do you think he…?”

“I'm not sure, hon.”

You resolved to talk to him about it. If anything, you had these juice pouches left to console yourself, but you wanted to make sure you knew where his feelings laid. You would be lying if you said your heart didn't harbor even a glimmer of hope that this was all a misunderstanding, and that the kiss was an accident and didn't matter.

You and Reina left the relative safety of Mark and Haechan's bedroom to go find Yeosang. There weren't any new messages between either of you since the Capri Sun exchange, and you thought about texting him on his whereabouts.

The balcony by Johnny and Jaehyun's room was empty now, barren of any evidence somebody was there in the first place.

You and Reina wandered back down to the main floor. The party was nowhere near over; the night was still young. Hope was sinking fast in your stomach as the two of you traveled from room to room in search of him, but with no luck. Even asking around was useless.

“Text him,” Reina encouraged, as the two of you sipped on the juice pouches that were supposed to be for you and him.

She held your spiked juice while you texted him.

As time passed, and a response had yet to come through, you tossed yours and Reina's flattened Capri Sun pouches into the nearest garbage can.

If he wasn't going to answer, then maybe you would just go home for the night. You had a lot to think about.

Defeated, you let Reina sweep you under her arm and guide you to the front door. “Let's go home, hm?” She said, rubbing your shoulder.

On your way to the front door, you paused. You thought you heard someone calling your name—

You turned around to find Mark barreling toward you through the crowd with another guy at his side. “Mark?” You shouted over the music.

“Hey, we've been looking all over for you,” he said. Nodding to his friend, he told you, “This is Wooyoung, by the way, the ATZ brother I'm friends with.”

“Yeosang's been looking for you,” Wooyoung said in earnest, eyes as wide as Mark's. Had they been looking for you as much as you were looking for Yeosang?

Something like hope sparked in your chest again—you were at odds. The fight had nearly dissipated from your blood and you were ready to go home. But if he was trying to find you… it must be worth it then, right?

“Where is he?” You asked.

It was nearing midnight by the time you settled yourself on the concrete curb outside the ATZ frat house just down the block from the target being thrown at the NCT house. With everyone over there, no wonder it was quiet enough to finally hear yourself think. With the coming of deep autumn, a slight breeze wafted by that drifted over your skin and raised goosebumps on your arms.

You heard gravel crunching from behind you, coming down the ATZ driveway, and before you could turn your head to look, a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. You held your breath, fingers finding the lapel to keep it from slipping as you glanced over at your counterpart.

Yeosang lowered himself onto the curb next to you, mimicking your position with his knees bent and arms resting upon them. “I—my phone died,” he said lowly.

“Oh.” That took care of at least two of your questions.

“Is there—” He stopped himself, amending his statement, “There's something on your mind.”

Understatement of the century. You pulled his jacket around you, the intertwining scents of alcohol and his cologne lingering on the collar. “I was going to meet you at the balcony, and I was there, but… but I saw you and Yura, and…”

It was his turn to say “oh.” He angled his body toward you now until his knees bumped against yours and he was muttering out an apology he didn't need to say. He laid his upper body over his arms that were folded onto his knees and peered up at you through lengthy lashes.

He was waiting for you to finish.

You swallowed, following his lead and turning your body toward him. “I saw her kiss you,” you said, the sound barely audible to anybody but you and him. “Reina and I went somewhere to kind of just soak in what we saw, and then we went back out to find you so I could talk to you about it, but we couldn't find you.”

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” he murmured, eyebrows furrowed together. “It—it didn't mean anything. She did try to kiss me, but I pushed her away before she could.”

You believed him. You loosened a small chuckle from your lips. “Y'know, it sounds silly to me now, but last week she told me that there were a number of girls who were pursing you and were very aggressive about it.”

He snorted. “If there were any, I only know of one.”

“She…?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, lips pursing. “I know she's liked me for a while, but I've made it clear I don't see her the same way. At last Friday's party, I was actually trying to lose her in the crowd when I found you.”

Your eyes widened. “So she was there?” Then Reina had actually seen her cousin at the party; Yura had lied about where she was.

“She told me tonight that she was scared about me liking you more than her,” Yeosang said as he lifted his body back up to rest his cheek against his fist. “She was really drunk—which was why you probably saw me trying to hold her up—and then she… tried to kiss me. I pushed her away, and one of her friends found us, so I handed her over and went to get some air.”

And that was why you couldn't find him. You released a breath you didn't realize you were holding in. “Are you—are you okay? I'm so sorry she did that to you.”

The corners of his lips tugged upward in a reassuring smile. “I'm alright, thank you. And it's not your fault.”

“I know, but still,” you insisted. “Your boundaries were violated, and it makes me feel so icky that I've called her a friend of mine, and—what?”

Your words came to a screeching halt when you realized that Yeosang was just smiling at you. Or rather, gazing at you, admiring you. It was whatever he did whenever his eyes possessed a set of twin jewels in his irises that needed no light to glitter like gold; and when his grin softened at the corners by a tenderness that knocked the wind out of you, all words and systems failed you.

You recognized this look, except this time, you weren't drunk.

“I'm really happy I met you,” he said in your silence. “And I'm happy I got to see you again.”

You nearly melted. You smiled back at him, replying quietly, “Couldn’t have said it any better. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“And thank you for believing me.” He reached for your hand, his movements slow as if giving you an opening to pull back if you wanted to. But you didn't, and you closed the remaining space to link your fingers and press your palms together.

You and Yeosang shared mutual smiles in the dim lighting outside his fraternity house. Your heart beat had quickened a considerable amount now that he was so close to you again.

You cleared your throat. "Just to be clear though—when you said she was scared about you liking me more than her—?"

His smile reached his eyes and turned them into upturned crescent moons. "I'm not scared," he said, "that I like you more than I have ever liked her." By a landslide.

Your heart gave a lurch in your chest. "Good," you smiled. "That's good, because I like you a whole lot, too."

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Yeosang inclined his chin toward where his car was parked a couple vehicles down. “Properly this time, now that we're not completely wasted?”

You laughed. “I would love nothing more.”

Pleased, he helped you to your feet. You must have stood up far too quickly though, because the blood rushed up to your head in a riptide current. You swore as the vertigo hit you, and your footing stumbled.

“Woah, careful there, pretty,” he murmured, his low voice by your ear as he steadied you with one hand pressed between your shoulder blades and the other around your waist.

Oh, there went your heart… it flew up to halo around Yeosang's head, and it wasn't yours anymore—

“You okay?” He mused.

You cleared your throat, straightening. “Yeah, I'm great,” you said sheepishly, ducking your head toward your chest.

A warm, fond chuckle left his mouth. “Cute,” he murmured. He lifted your chin up so you would look at him, his eyes darting down toward your mouth, and yours mirroring his movements. “I was wondering…”

“You can kiss me,” you blurted out, ignoring the utter leap in your pulse and the heat crawling up the back of your neck.

You tasted his smile as he leaned over to seal his mouth over your own, a long awaited return to the place that felt just right. You breathed him in, inhaled him, devoured him whole—you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer just as his hands pressed you flush against him.

In the distance against the heavy house music in the background, a cheer went up into the night sky.

You and Yeosang parted only to crane your heads in the direction of the noise, only to find what looked like a gathering of your friends and his friends hooting and applauding like it was New Years.

“OPERATION: PASSENGER PRINCESS WINS!” The guy from earlier, Wooyoung, practically howled up at the sky.

You pressed your face against Yeosang's shoulder as he groaned. “I am so sorry about them,” he chuckled through a grimace, lips grazing over your crown.

You laughed along with him. “My friends are also among the guilty party, Yeo.”

He kept his arm around your waist and you kept your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked away from your friends and toward his car. Contentment curled itself up over your chest again, and it nestled in deep, as if it planned to stay awhile.

“By the way,” you piped up as he unlocked his car.

“Mhm?”

You opened the passenger side door and leaned over the top of it to ask, “What the hell is Operation: Passenger Princess?”

Yeosang sputtered out a laugh and his cheekbones burned red. “How about we save that for our third date?”

You blinked, lips parting.

Yeosang grinned impishly. “Close that mouth, pretty, or I'll close it for you.”

Your jaw snapped closed, and his laugh echoed against the houses along this street. You climbed into the car after him, flustered beyond words. “I don't like you,” was all you could come up with.

“I'm sure you don't.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed! also, the plan is to try and write another wooyo frat au as well, so pray for me...

atz m.list

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demonpiratehuntress · 7 months

Note

recently read your baby!name x op characters and i was thinking what abt name x baby!op characters-

they somehow turned into babies for 24 hrs (like in your fic)

just randomly thought of this while scrolling thru baby op characters on pinterest lmao

anyways have a great day/ night~~

love this idea!! I just wanted to do baby (name) first since i've seen a few baby OP characters but im more than happy to do it!

i finally got my laptop back, but im actually so upset it took so long to be fixed, and that i couldn't get all your requests out sooner! im so sorry this took ages, and to everyone else who requested before i closed requests - yours will be out soon enough! once again, so so sorry everyone :(

taglist - @kabloswrld

baby OP Men! (Straw Hats, Law, Ace, Kaku)

featuring - Zoro x F!Reader, Ace x F!Reader, Law x F!Reader, Usopp x F!Reader, Luffy x F!Reader, Kaku x F!Reader, Sanji x F!Reader

summary - the OP men get turned into babies for 24 hours and naturally, you're the babysitter.

warnings - none except that i haven't watched far enough to know what Law and Ace were like as kids so them and Kaku will just be wild guesses. and there is no longer yellow font so i will just be making Law's colour blue.

ZORO

Waking up to the sounds of things breaking and crashing against other things wasn't uncommon on the Sunny. It has been something you'd all become accustomed to on the Merry, which just carried over to the Sunny. More often than not, the source was Zoro and Sanji, so you just rolled over and went back to bed.

Until the cry of an infant woke you right back up.

You looked down at yourself, sighing in relief when you realised it wasn't you this time. However, if not you then who?

You got your answer when you walked into the kitchen and spotted a green-haired baby fussing and throwing pots at a scowling blonde cook.

"Devil child!" Sanji yelled, earning him another pot to the face.

You laughed at the sight, and both of them turned to look at you. Sanji breathed a sigh of relief, while baby Zoro crawled across the countertop to get to you.

"What happened to him?" You asked the cook as you lifted the moody infant up into your arms, where he relaxed and cooed happily.

"That idiot got too cocky and tried to take on a devil fruit user without knowing what the devil fruit actually was," Sanji explained, throwing another hateful glare at the baby swordsman in your arms. "Now he's stuck like this for a whole day."

You volunteered to care for him, something that no one else seemed willing or able to do. You supposed it was fitting, since Zoro threw a tantrum every time he was with someone who wasn't you. It was funny really, how he would scream and throw things when you set him down or handed him to someone else and then immediately fall silent when you picked him up again. Zoro was not a clingy adult, but he was certainly a very clingy baby.

But you didn't mind.

He was calmest when you sat and watched the ocean with him perched on your lap, bouncing a little on your thighs as he tried to see over the railing. You laughed and lifted him up, setting the green-haired infant on your shoulders.

"That better, baby?"

He cooed and clapped his tiny hands, indicating he was much more satisfied now. Then his fingers found your hair, and be busied himself pulling and playing with it as you chuckled and let him be. His attention span was short, but even shorter now that he was barely a year old.

"Not too hard now," you reminded him, laughing when he just pulled harder. "Even as a baby you're a bully." That only earned you a whine and a harder tug on your strands, but you only laughed more because it didn't really hurt.

He ended up falling asleep on your chest that night, small hand fisting your shirt. You were humming and singing softly to get him to sleep, so it was a bit of a relief when you saw his eyes closed.

In the morning, he hovered over you with a teasing smirk on his face.

"So I'm a bully huh?"

ACE

After your encounter with the de-aging devil fruit user, you would think Ace would have been more inclined to avoiding him. But no, your boyfriend was super confident that he could take this guy on and not get hit with the de-aging beam, which is why you were now back on the Moby Dick with a very pouty infant Ace on your lap. He only wore a diaper, and had thrown a tantrum when you tried to put something else on. The crew was laughing and teasing him, which only made him poutier.

And also shoot little balls of fire at their shoes. He looked at you innocently, but you knew he did it on purpose.

Ace is just as naughty as you would think he'd be as a baby. If you lose sight of him for one second, he's gone and you're running around panicking and trying to find this troublemaker, which is much harder now that he's so small. You end up finding him under a table or crawling towards any set of stairs on the ship. And he'll giggle and smile innocently, instantly earning your forgiveness.

"You're a handful, you know that?" You huff as you pick him up right before he tumbles down some steps. "Stop trying to hurt yourself!"

Ace just cooed and reached for your face, patting your cheek affectionately before nuzzling his face against it. He becomes so clingy when you try to do work while babysitting him, always pulling your hair or squeezing your nose hard when you paid more attention to a chore than him.

"Ace! I'm trying to work, I'll play with you just now."

Ace babbles nonsense and starts to cry, making you sigh as you turn your attention back to him. Then he immediately stops crying and is happily giving you sloppy kisses all over your face, his mood changing in that split second.

You don't get any work done.

Ace also has a tendency to disappear when you set him down for one second, only to reappear by a screaming crewmate who's trying to put out a fire on their pants. The little 2nd division commander would howl with laughter and fall onto his back, before pouting when he realises he can't get up and then cries for you. Little Ace is a menace.

"You need to go sleep!" You sighed in exasperation as you rocked Ace back and forth gently, later that evening in your room. "Please?"

Ace just giggled and sucked in his tiny fingers, a very blatant 'no'. You sighed and sat on the bed, setting him on your lap. Trying to bounce him didn't work because he just got excited and more energetic. Then you finally remembered the one time he never fails to sleep, and you were almost mad at him for making you so tired and worn out that you'd forgotten.

You got him the softest food you can find in the kitchen, and watch in amusement as he falls face-first onto the bed next to the bowl. You quickly turn him over, laughing softly as you tucked him in.

LAW

Law doesn't make mistakes often, but when he does they have extreme consequences. Like now, when you'd warned him about something but he overlooked it, claiming it wasn't important. Which ended up with him sitting on your lap, looking at you with big, innocent eyes - an infant.

You weren't sure what to do with this tiny version of your pale boyfriend. So for a while you just sat there and kind of...stared at each other. He was looking into your soul - you were sure of it, because no baby has a look that intense.

"So..." You started, "What do you want to do?"

Blank stare. That's all you got. Law was not so different as a baby, he was extremely quiet and reserved, he didn't move much and he just stared. It was almost like talking to a baby doll.

"Right, um...are you hungry?" You tried again.

He blinked. Then he crawled off your lap, attempting to jump off the bed but being caught by you since he would very obviously hurt himself. He tried to glare, but he was so small and cute it became a very adorable pout.

"You're tiny remember!" You groaned. "I know you don't like asking for help but come on, you're going to hurt yourself."

He rolled his eyes.

"HEY!"

Then he giggled, something you didn't expect. Your jaw dropped, eyes going wide as he flat out giggled at your response to his little display of attitude. He was so cute giggling that you didn't want him to stop, but once he realised you were grinning at him he immediately went quiet and pouted again.

"You're impossible."

Another giggle, and you side-eyed him. He only giggled more before pointing to the bookshelf in his room. You sighed and took him over to it, letting him reach for whatever book he seemingly wanted you to read to him. Of course, it was a medical book.

You laid him against your chest as you leaned back against the headboard, opening the book and going to its contents section to decide which section to read to him. But he grew impatient, and reached out to grab a tiny fistful of pages and turn them over.

"Alright then."

As you began to read, Law listened intently and focused on the picutres, his eyes wide with interest. You smiled softly at the sight, marvelling at how cute he was when he was curious at this size. But he was still a baby, so after a few minutes of reading his eyes started to droop and he turned his body a little so he could grasp your shirt in his small fist. And then he was out, and you smiled and kisses the top of his head as you set the book aside and cuddled him.

Baby Law was so sweet and cute, even if his attitude was just like adult Law's.

KAKU

"And what have we learned?"

Of course, you couldn't expect a response from the man you were asking that question. That would be because he was now less than a year old, laying flat on his back across your legs and gazing up at you with big, innocent eyes. He just cooed softly and kicked his small legs lazily, reaching for you.

You sighed. The idiot had gone head-first into a fight he didn't properly think through. It was his most reckless move yet, and now he was paying the price as a baby. Simply because Jabra had pissed him off.

Kaku was a relatively calm and quiet baby. He didn't fuss much, and he wasn't too noisy. Adorably, he was also a shy and easily flustered little infant. But one thing he did want was your attention, and he wanted it the whole day.

So you carried him around the whole day, much like he'd done when you'd been babified. You rarely left him alone, and if you did it was only for bathroom breaks or like five seconds. You were afraid of leaving him around alone, because the other CP9 members could be mean and careless and some of them would definitely be rough with and bully him.

You had to admit, his little long nose was the cutest thing ever, apart from when he accidentally bumped it against you and then giggled. He was so sweet, rubbing the spot he bumped with his small hand and then giving you a sloppy kiss.

Baby Kaku is also very playful. Once he gets comfortable in his state. He tries to make funny noises with his long nose and then erupts into the cutest baby laughter right after. He will also curiously pull on his nose, only to have it wobble like a springboard when he's done, causing more giggles.

"Come onnnnn it'll be good!"

Unfortunately, he was very fussy with his food. You were trying to feed him some mashed potatoes, because that was the only appropriate thing you could find, but he just stared at you like 'really?' and kept his little mouth closed. After that, you were forced to go out and buy baby food.

Like Law, baby Kaku wants to be read to. But he won't be satisfied with the usual infant storytime books, because even as a baby he is much smarter than that. He prefers something historical, which may be boring for you but absolutely thrills him. He gets excited and bounces on your lap, tapping the book with his small hands while you're struggling to keep your eyes open.

When he's finally ready to sleep, he tries to fight it because he likes having you baby him like this. But eventually he drifts off when placed on your chest, because you're so warm and comfortable it lulls him into slumber.

When he wakes up an adult, he looks sheepish.

"We learned not to rush into a fight recklessly."

LUFFY

If you thought Luffy was a menace as a teenager, you were really in for it when he got turned into an infant by the same devil fruit user who'd done it to you. Of course, Luffy being Luffy, he forgot about that and charged straight into the fight without even considering your plan. And that's what now led to you having to carry a very fussy, very tiny Monkey D. Luffy back to the Thousand Sunny.

As expected, he is an active infant.

"Luffy no!"

But not only is he baby Luffy, he is baby Luffy with stretchy abilities. As seen now when he giggles loudly and grabs the mast, before propelling himself halfway across the ship. If Robin hadn't been around to catch him using her own devil fruit ability, you're pretty sure you'd be facing a sobbing, snotty-nosed little captain.

You have to chase this baby around the ship to actually change him or do any of the basic baby care things. He is so quick to crawl away when it comes to diaper-changing, but he is even quicker to crawl back with the promise of food, as usual. You cannot take your eyes off him though, because if you do for even one second he's gone and a ship-wide hunt for the naughty infant has to be conducted.

Infant Luffy is VERY good at hide and seek.

"Now where could Luffy be?" You say out loud as you walk around the ship, amused when a little giggle follows your words. "Maybe he's in the kitchen." Another giggle. "Or maybe he's right...here!"

And when you uncover his hiding spot and grab him, he squeals and tries to wriggle out of yours arms. But ultimately starts giggling and laughing uncontrollably as you tickle his little sides and smother his tiny face in kisses. He loves having all your attention on him, and will not hesitate to trip someone from the ground or reach around you to pull on their hair if they take your attention away from him for even a second. Baby Luffy is a lot clingier than grown up Luffy.

But if you sit him down in the aquarium or in the crow's nest and let him watch the fish or the water while you tell him stories about Shanks that he's told you before, he'll calm down a little bit and relax. His eyes will go big and he'll stare at you in awe as you tell him all of these stories, even if he doesn't really understand. And when you make big gestures to try and show him, he cutely tries to mimic you and make those same gestures with his little arms. Which always has you cooing at him and him giggling at how cute you found it.

He was so hyper that you almost couldn't put him to sleep, and you didn't think he would ever fall asleep. But after a while of you - once again - chasing him around the ship, you finally caught him and managed (somehow) to rock him to sleep.

When he woke up a grown boy, there really wasn't much difference in his behaviour, even after you told him about his infant self.

SANJI

Honestly you don't even know how it happened. One minute you're engaging the enemy, the next your old friend with the de-aging devil fruit appears and this time targets your boyfriend. Which is why now you're sitting in the kitchen with a pouty baby cook on the table, the two of you just staring at each other.

When he realises he can't cook like this, the poor blonde bursts into tears, looking so upset it breaks your heart. You quickly pull him into your arms and cradle him, and he slowly calms down and looks up at you with his big, round eyes.

"There we go," you smiled at him, kissing his little cheek. "It's okay."

If you think Sanji is clingy as a grown up, his clinginess soars to new heights as a baby. He will absolutely not let go of you if you're holding him, not for any reason other than you needing the bathroom. He wants your attention on him for the full 24 hours, which of course is nothing new but still makes you laugh every time he gets pouty when you're not looking at him.

He's also a very sly baby. He uses his cuteness to his advantage to get Zoro in trouble, because every time he cries and points to Zoro, you glare at the swordsman or chuck something at him, much to Sanji's amusement.

"You're ugly and annoying even as a baby!" You heard Zoro shouting when you'd left them alone for one second to fetch some food for Sanji. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"ZORO!" You chided as you walked back into the room, coincidentally as soon as Sanji decided to start bawling to exaggerate the situation. He pointed at the green-haired swordsman as he cried, making you sigh and smack him upside his head. This caused Sanji to stop crying and giggle, earning a glare from Zoro.

"Why, you-!"

"Zoro, he's just a baby," you sighed, "He's going to annoy you."

"He annoys me regardless," the swordsman huffed, walking away. "Just keep that little demon away from me."

Sanji stuck his tiny tongue out at the bulky man's figure as he retreated, making you laugh and scoop the cook up into your arms. He immediately relaxed and cooed happily, playing with your shirt as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Sanji is a fussy eater, which you kind of figured. He doesn't settle for just any soft food, he specifically likes pureed apple. So every time you have to feed him, you have to either feed him some you got from an island you had to stop at when you first found out about his preference, or you have to puree the apples yourself.

Changing Sanji's diaper is also easy, because he's very calm and he lets you do it without much fuss. You have no issues putting him to sleep, either, because once you've changed him for the last time at night, he's out like a light. And you smile and bring him to your bed to sleep, laying him in between your pillows.

When he wakes up, he's back to being a smug little mf because he woke up in your bed.

USOPP

Honestly you didn't even know what had happened while you had stayed on the ship to keep watch. The others all returned looking weary but otherwise okay, so you just assumed Usopp was too, and you didn't think to ask why Brook and Sanji looked so suspicious, passing something between them behind their backs. That is, of course, until you heard the unmistakable sound of an infant crying.

"What was that?" You looked at them, raising an eyebrow.

"What was what?" Sanji asked, laughing nervously.

The infant cried again, and you stalked over and pushed them aside to reveal your boyfriend...only smaller. Baby Usopp stared up at you with wide, terrified eyes, tears streaming down his adorably chubby cheeks.

"What the-How did this happen??"

You looked up, but everyone avoided your gaze and made excuses to leave. So you just sighed and picked the baby up, wiping his tears away and gently rocking him to calm him down. He did eventually, but the terror never left his eyes as he got hold of your shirt collar and never let go.

"Hey, hey," you cooed softly. "It's okay, I'm here."

When he calmed down, you realised he had been so scared that he'd messed himself, so you changed him. Poor Usopp was already so nervous and frightened as a grown up, that as a baby he was almost always shaking. But you put him at ease, and whenever he was in your arms he was calm, relaxed and very playful. He liked your hair, liked to play with it and also, apparently, eat it.

"Usopp no!" You laughed as you once again had to pull your hair out of his tiny mouth. His bottom lip trembled, and you quickly amended it by kissing his cheeks and giving him something else to play with.

He liked to tinker even as a baby. You gave him the safest things he could play with, and he would try to arrange it in a certain way that wasn't just a jumbled mess. You were very impressed when he managed to stack all the gold coins you'd given him to play with - under Nami's strict supervision, of course.

However, he was naughty when it came to being fed. It wasn't that he was a fussy eater, he just liked to play with his food. And he had incredible aim, so every bunch of food he threw landed on its intended target. Which was you. Sanji had tried to feed him, but the stress of wasted food got to him and you had to replace him before he yelled at poor baby Usopp.

Putting him to sleep is relatively easier than putting anyone else on this list to sleep. As soon as you noticed his eyes drooping while you told him a story - one of his own made-up adventures - you picked him up and placed him on his bed, and he was out.

When he woke up in the morning, all grown up, he groaned.

"That was the scariest experience of my life."

A/N: I'm so sorry if this seems rushed or isn't as good as you expected, it's been a busy few weeks and i'm so mentally exhausted but i really wanted to get this out for you! Again, requests that were in my inbox before i closed them will be posted as soon as possible! Please just be patient with me, 2024 is turning out to be a weird year for me.

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