#it's not something he would /like/ or be happy about

[kenntolog]

an: heh it was very cute to write i hope you like it!! read more here!!

cool boyfriend sukuna buys his loser girlfriend a rich berry red lipstick <33

you don't even understand where that came from, looking at the small package with a confused face before you look up at sukuna for answers.

"i thought it'd suit you so I bought it." he says with a small smirk, gazing down at you with a fondness in his eyes. "put it on, c'mon."

as you carefully apply the lipstick, you can't help but think about how thoughtful sukuna must've been when choosing because it suits you very well. the smile hiding in the quivering corners of your lips just proves that it makes you feel flattered and very happy to be considered by your boyfriend.

he's very impatient though, rushing you and hanging over your head as he watches you glide the lipstick over the plushness of your lips like a kid would watch a cartoon with zero understanding of what is happening on the screen. you finish and put away your phone you used as a mirror, turning to face him with a shy, nervous look.

sukuna stares at you blankly for a few seconds before his hands gently tug off his your hoodie, leaving you only in a small top with thin straps. after that, he threads his fingers through your hair and tousles it around before stopping at a side-part. finally, one of his palms cups your cheek and his thumb wipes off some excess lipstick from your bottom lip, smudging it unintentionally.

his eyes are very appreciative after that, you observe as you wait for him to say something with a baited breath. his fingers get lost in his own hair aas he pulls at it slightly, his expression softening momentarily as his smirk stretches further.

"look at you, loser," sukuna tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before grabbing you jaw and shaking your head from side to side as you whine, "aren't you just the prettiest girl, hm?"

you cover your face with your hands, falling backwards on the bed as you try to suppress the wide smile spreading on your lips. no matter how many times he tells you that you are the most beautiful girl in the whole world you will always have your cheeks hurting afterwards from the happiest smile with shyness rooted in it and your heartbeat spiking up to abnormal speed.

he crawls to hang on top of you, hands on both sides of your head as he smirks down at you.

"now kiss me."

"huh?"

"here," he points to his collarbone.

you look at him unsurely, "it'll leave a stain tho, 'kuna~"

"'s the point. go on."

you lean in and plant a smooch on the spot, right above the neckline of his tee. something inside of you ignites at the sight of it; you know that no one will see him in this state and it makes you feel whole, how you can have him all to yourself. the fire inside of you must reflect in your eyes because sukuna can sense the way you feel too easily as he points at his neck now.

"here too."

you happily oblige, going as far as covering most of his neck with stains. it even gets to the point where sukuna clumsily reapplies your lipstick for you, shushing down your giggles and cursing you for getting in the way of his work with your sweet smile. you kiss his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his temples, his forehead, between his brows, his chin — anywhere, but his lips, which prompts him to cup your jaw and seal your lips together.

you can never get used to his kisses; always so passionate because sukuna puts his everything into making your mind go blank, and it's never easy to match the pace he sets although you're always eager to try. so sweet, so full of love and lust, it's one of the best feelings for you: his devilish mouth excited to explore each and every cavern of yours.

"you missed here, baby," he mumbles into your mouth and you pull away, both of you panting heatedly.

"sorry, 'kuna."

"you can make it up to me, don't worry."

[assassinsblade]

Lonesome

When you can't seem to find a place to belong, a tense exchange with Azriel has you shutting down.

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: Death (side character), grief, loneliness, angst

a/n: If you would like notifications for my writing, you can turn on notifications for the blog @assassinslibrary where I reblog all my fics!

The night had gone . . . okay.

A night with the inner circle. A night with games, drinks, friends, and fun.

Except you didn't have fun exactly. You weren't miserable, but you also hadn't enjoyed yourself. You were just there. In the background, observing and chuckling at the merriment around you.

While you had attempted to chime in every once in awhile, it seemed as though this family wasn't used to hearing you. Or maybe they were just preoccupied. Whatever reason, you kept to the shadows most of the night.

Unfortunately, the shadows were not where the shadowsinger had occupied.

Instead, he had found himself sat next to the middle Archeron sister, grinning at whatever she was quietly describing to him. You watched as his lips quirked, his dark eyelashes fanning over his sharp cheekbones. The spark in his eye as he watched her, the blush on her cheeks.

They had been flirting. All night.

Normally, this wouldn't have bothered you so much. It would have bothered you some, sure, seeing that you had been in love with Azriel for months now. But on a night like tonight, when you needed company and no one was paying attention to you, it hurt just a little bit more.

You had a patient pass earlier in the day--one you were close with, who you had been working on for months. She was young, close to your own age, and it twisted something inside of your soul losing her. It made you feel like a failure, like you had let her down, like you were at fault.

There was a hope inside of your chest when you had opened your bedroom door earlier to make your way to the living area. You had hoped that your friends could help wash away the guilt, self-hatred, and grief. Instead, you sat by yourself, watching as everyone else basked in their own happiness and relationships.

Except they weren't all those kind of relationships. Yet, at least. Nesta did have Cassian, and Feyre did have Rhysand, but Elain and Azriel weren't together currently. She was mated to Lucien despite her protests of the fact. You had tried to keep that in mind as you watched Azriel brush a piece of hair behind Elain's ear.

You, however, never had anyone really. You had grown up in an orphanage in Velaris with no siblings. It had always been difficult for you to make friends, and you thought you had made a friend of this boy named Mika, but he had ended up being controlling and aggressive. After being hurt one too many times, both physically and emotionally, you had tried to just keep to yourself to limit the damage.

And due to the physical damage you had taken in that relationship, you had found an interest in the medical field.

That was how Rhysand found you after you had opened a medical office in the center of Velaris for underprivileged citizens.

That had been a year ago and you still found yourself on the outside of everything. You had watched Azriel over those twelve months, observed the way he kept his family safe, the way he moved softly, rarely raised his voice, and always kept his touch gentle and smooth.

It seemed he never noticed anything about you, though, despite observation being the very thing that made him a shadowsinger.

Maybe it was something about yourself that made you nearly invisible. Invisible or unlikeable.

These thoughts continued to run through your mind as you sipped on your tea, knees curled into your chest on the couch. Everyone else had left about an hour ago, but you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep with everything that had happened today.

You could still see the moment her eyes went blank, the last breath leaving her lungs. It had scarred something deep within you, from both losing a friend due to your own incompetence and from the reminder that you would die alone one day.

A shuffle from the opening of the room broke you from your thoughts. You slowly moved the teacup away from your lips, watching hesitantly as the male crossing your mind walked past the threshold.

He spotted you sitting there and gave you a polite smile before continuing on his way, feet moving swiftly toward the balcony.

You debated whether or not to let him go or if you could try to get him to keep you company. After all, you really needed someone right now. And his calm demeanor and reassuring presence was just what you were looking for.

Azriel had just been about to take off when you stepped out onto the balcony.

"Hey, Azriel."

The male turned at the sound of his voice, eyebrows raised in slight surprise. The action made you second guess yourself. Shouldn't he have heard you coming? Wouldn't his shadows have told him?

"Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah, I-uh, was just wondering if you wanted to talk some. I have some more tea brewing. We haven't been able to get to know each other much yet, so--"

"Sorry, I'm meeting Elain. She wanted to go flying tonight."

Right. Of course.

You nodded. "Sure. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess."

He went to take a step toward the ledge again when you spoke up again. You didn't know what led you to saying these exact words; maybe it was the rough day, the heavy emotions in your chest, or your anger at everyone's disregard for you. But before you could stop it, you were taking a step forward in haste and the words were out of your mouth.

"Actually, do you really think that's a good idea?"

Azriel tensed, head turning slightly to look over his shoulder at you. "I'm sorry?"

You swallowed. He had stopped. That's what you wanted. "She's mated, isn't she? I saw you two tonight, and I don't think--"

"You don't think," Azriel laughed humorlessly. The sound was so odd coming from such a quiet and gentle male, it nearly made you flinch. But you stood strong. Clenching your fists at your sides and taking a deep breath, you spoke what you truly believed.

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt. Lucien is a good male."

"I think we're old enough to make decisions for ourselves." His voice was taking on a cold edge, like a blade smooth enough to cut with little noise but heavy damage. Like the famous dagger sheathed at his side.

"Those decisions could start a war, Azriel."

Despite your voice being soft and patient, he titled his head back with a sigh and a muttered curse, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Listen. I don't need to defend myself to anyone, let alone you."

Let alone you. You ignored the sting in your chest at the words. Shaking off how small and invaluable they made you feel.

"That's not what I'm saying Azriel. I just think you should take a step back--"

"Just because you're alone doesn't mean I have to be too."

The words hit you like a blow to the chest, the air leaving your lungs in a whoosh of emotion.

Alone. Lonely.

Unwanted.

You were alone. He could see it. He knew it. And he had done nothing about it.

He didn't care.

You must have been staring at him like a fool. A pathetic girl unable to stand up for herself, unable to move away from the male in front of her, because then she would truly be what he said she was: alone.

You swallowed harshly, trying to push the lump in your throat back down along with the tears that threatened to collect in your eyes. But it was difficult with your chest throbbing in pain, your stomach twisting and bottoming out with embarrassment and shame.

Azriel must have noticed your lack of composure, your hurt. Because suddenly he was sighing, a hand coming up to run through his wavy black hair.

"I didn't mean that."

His low voice cut through the silent night like a knife. You still couldn't meet his eyes.

Hiding your shaking fingers in two fists at your sides, you nodded, taking a step back toward the door of the House of Wind. If you were nodding as a show of forgiveness or in agreement with his words, you didn't know. You could feel his eyes following you. But you didn't want them on you anymore. For once, you didn't want him near you.

"I'm sorry."

You nodded again, moving to wrap your arms around yourself. The motion in itself made you even more embarrassed. The lonely girl with no one to comfort her but herself.

That dreadful feeling in your chest burned.

You didn't wait for him to speak another word before turning on your heel and walking back into the House of Wind.

Feeling his eyes on you, you didn't linger in the main room, instead turning the corner and concealing yourself in the hallway as you made your way to your room.

Azriel had never been so harsh with you, had never spoken to you in that tone or said something so humiliating and cruel. Although he had never spoken to you much at all.

Alone. Lonely. You, and no one else.

You should have never said anything. Should have let Azriel pursue Elain, minded your own business, loved everyone from afar. Instead, you had made yourself visible, opened your mouth, demanded to be seen and heard. All it had resulted in was a reminder that you didn't belong out in the open. You would always be shoved back into your solitude.

Maybe you could learn to like being alone. You wouldn't have to face the rejection of others, the forgetfulness, the feeling of unimportance.

Taking a deep breath, you surveyed your room. The space was equally as cold as the rest of the House. There was no comfort in the room, nothing that meant a lot to you. No presents, no memories, nothing you. Only furniture, blankets, and clothing. Generic paintings that were in here before you had even moved in.

Then you remembered when Elain and Nesta had arrived. The presents they had been given. The daggers, gloves, trinkets . . .

The things you had given others: jewelry, weapons, books, artwork, and yet your room was empty. You were empty. You had been giving and giving and watching everyone else receive.

You thought back to that moment during the war, the feeling you had felt when you had looked up after victory was declared. Cassian and Azriel had embraced before the two Archeron sisters met at their sides. Feyre and Rhysand were inseparable, and Mor was making sure Amren was okay. No one had even glanced at you.

And what Azriel had said . . .

You weren't meaning to drag him down with you, to demand his attention when they all had what they needed without you. You were trying to help. And you wanted him to see you.

But you didn't even see yourself. Not in this room, and not among the others.

So maybe it was pointless--trying so hard to get others to like you. Maybe being quiet and a wallflower, keeping the peace and admiring from afar only resulted in wasted energy.

Since nothing seemed to get others to like you or want to talk to you, maybe you shouldn't try anymore.

After all, Azriel already didn't seem to like you.

And your one friend who did had died today. In your arms. Because of you.

Just the thought of not caring lifted an invisible weight off your shoulders. You shook off the pain of Azriel's words, the weight of your feelings, and the burden of loneliness. And then you felt nothing.

No crush. No embarrassment. No hurt. No grief.

Just a numbness building in your bones.

And it was glorious.

[faetreides]

🎾 - #LOVE ON THE FLOOR !!

cw: unrealistic public sex on a tennis court 💀 (it’s nighttime and no one else is there), college era, afab reader, gross friends to lovers, strip tennis, soft dom!art x inexperienced!reader, vaginal fingering + titfucking + brief analingus (afab reader receiving), implied (soft) obsession & toxicity like art would marry you tomorrow, teasing (towards reader), nipple sucking (m receiving), art putting in overtime to hit on oblivious!reader, reader is so comically unaware pls just roll with it and suspend your disbelief, mandatory Patrick™️ mention, 3.5k of pure need, art’s so horny in this like 😔 (+subtle implications of him either being a manwhore or a porn addict, as a little treat), lowkey canon typical mind games, unedited

this was requested by a bot looking blog that i had to block but the idea still slapped! combined with an ask for inexperienced reader

Art Donaldson sees your instagram story that’s only a repost of a Ethel Cain song and tries not to click his heels together. It’s not like he’s happy you’re clearly going through something, but if the story is a result of what he thinks it’s a result of… then he’ll comfort you through it however he can. With his words, his tongue, babying you in the bath and washing your hair, etc. Just getting to be intimate with you at all is an opportunity he’d never turn down.

Suddenly you’re bursting into Art’s dorm like a bat out of hell, tears dotting your waterline and lower lip wobbling. His heart lurches and leaps in equal measures, his backwards cap feels like it constricts around his head as he resists the urge to fidget with it.

“He… he didn’t show up!”

Art shoots up and gets off his bed, rushing to you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He gives you a lingering hug and passes you some of your favorite fast food that he always keeps in the little fridge in his dorm. Somehow knowing that it’d be just what the doctor ordered, you’re so lucky to have such a caring friend. You two haven’t left each other’s side since you bumped him on the first day of class, bringing a clice to life by spilling your coffee all over his polo. Sometimes you still lie awake at night and cringe at yourself, trying to assure yourself that he’s stuck around your awkward ass for a reason.

You’re hiccuping through your story while munching on your chicken sandwich, “Mark acted so exicted yesterday, and now he’s stood me up. I waited in front of the café for an hour, people were staring…”

Art eyes you from his position on the bed, crowding against you due to the size and having half of his torso glued to your back. He doesn’t giggle at the adorable way you get frustrated when the pickle in your sandwich always slides out in between your teeth during a bite, but he thought about it! He reaches up and brushes his fingers against your hair, wanting to just touch it more than move it.

“I don’t know what to tell you, he’s an idiot and you’ll move on. It’s not like he’s the only person in the world.” He grumbles, not quite pouting as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay now you’re just grumpy because I beat you at uno.” You tease, gesturing to the scattered pile of brightly colored cards on the bed.

He’s definitely made you feel better though, he always does. You both finish your food and Art stands up from the bed to grab his tennis bag. He pulls you up too and winks, saying that you can’t beat him at everything. You ask what he’s doing and he only grins, telling you to come with him. You nervously glance around as you’re pulled to race through the halls to the court. There’s a simmering feeling weaving in and out of your tightly intertwined fingers.

divider

Art lets go of your hand to drop his bag on the ground, leaving your palm feeling strangely cold without his warmth.

You’re still not sure you should even be out here, you know that you’re definitely not allowed but Art seems to sense your hesitation because he rushes towards you and cups your hands in his.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, y’know that?” He chuckles, gently knocking the tip of his nose against yours. “Look up for me, the moon’s really pretty tonight.”

You follow his lead and tilt your head back to gaze up at the goregous crescent moon high in the oil colored sky. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you instead, that he doesn’t say that the moon reminds him of you but he feels like the one orbiting around you instead of the other way around. Luckily there’s not a cloud in sight, just a floating city of stars with a glowing center. Art lightly pulls on your wrists, clearly wanting your attention back on him, so you comply.

You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t miss the odd glint in his eyes as he narrows them slightly.

His eyelids crinkle as he smiles charmingly, “Don’t you trust me?”

You answer with your heart, “Yes, of course I do.”

He beams at you and explains the rule of the game he dragged you all the way out here to play. It’s just like a regular game of tennis so you really shouldn’t sweat it, he says. His expression shifts when he makes a show out of being unable to look you in the eye when he tells you the special rules, knowing full well you can see him try to tamper down a self satisfied laugh. Whoever scores gets to pick whatever piece of clothing the other takes off, and the loser of the game has to get completely naked if they aren’t already.

Your cheeks warm and you gawk at him, “Isn’t it weird that you’ll see me… like that?”

“So you already know you’re gonna lose, huh? And it’s not like i haven’t seen most of it before.” Art laughs, not bothering to hide the blush on his face. “You’ve seen all of me, anyway.”

It’s true, you usually laze around in nothing but your underwear and that’s been the norm for you two. Art’s no different, he’ll change in front of you and will literally walk around butt naked around your dorm. More often than not, he’ll answer the door in only a towel around his waist and sitting on his hip bones, no matter if it’s one of your other friends or a project partner. You're constantly having to text the other because you forgot that you left your toothbrush behind. You’ve never had a chance to be embarrassed by it. It’s been like that for the longest time and anytime you’ll tell Art that your friends keep asking if he’s your boyfriend, he’ll just reassure you that you guys are just really close. And isn’t that a good thing?

“Besides, I think this’ll help get you out of your shell.”

You’re embarrassed at the reminder of how inexperienced you are. Sure, you shouldn’t have a whole thing about it or whatever, but it just is kind of alienating from other people your age to not be able to say you’ve done what they’ve done. And you would’ve been able to have some stories of your own if you could manage to hold down a date. But tonight isn’t supposed to be about you wallowing, you’re supposed to be having fun. Even if the sight of your best friend in tight fitting sporty clothes makes your pussy throb.

divider

You giggle nervously when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you from side to side before moving his grip up to your arms.

“Relax, i’m just checking your form. Being close to you is just a bonus.” He winks and presses his stomach up against your back.

It’s so cheesy, the situation and the pose. But you lean into his touch and pretend to care about how he’s showing you the right way to hold a racket and all that, he doesn’t even really care if he’s being honest. It’s romantic though, and he can’t resist the opportunity to get a taste of what it’d be like to pin your body down with his weight. He guides you through a few “practice” swings and then throws a two finger salute at you as he jogs around the net to his side of the court.

It’s your serve, and despite you being very much a beginner, you get the first point.

Art stands there expectantly, cocking his head to the side and bouncing on his heels in anticipation. You honestly didn’t consider that you’d actually be telling your best friend to take off his clothes for you, but you’re new thing is taking shit in stride, you guess.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” He shouts and hovers his fingers around the collar of his polo, ready for you to say the word.

You take the coward’s way out, “Your shoes.”

Art frowns but obeys the rules, swiftly unlacing his sneakers and tossing them to the side. The court’s not so rough that it’d be hell on his feet, but he’d do it for you even if it was all a bunch of jagged rocks cobbled together. The game goes on with Art scoring the next point, and then the one after that. He has you discard your necklace, one of those cheesy half heart ones that matches with one he has, and your shoes as well. He doesn’t wanna scare you off, but he knows what he wants to have you take off for him.

You score the next time, down goes his pants. Without them, few things are left to the imagination. Every time he’d walk around you naked you’d always keep your face firmly glued to your phone or something. But being faced with the very… detailed outline of his bulge through his underwear, that’s another thing entirely. It looks so long against his thigh it might as well be a third leg. There’s already a little wet spot where the tip must be.

You must’ve been taking too long to ogle him, because Art yells at you to “Focus on the game, yeah?”

You’re lucky it’s not a cold night when he gets the next point and has you take off your pants, which are really just glorified shorts. You unfasten them and shimmy them down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles and kicking them away from you. You haven’t shaved today, but you know that Art doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s made sure to tell you as much many times when you complain about how much your back hurts after you get done with it.

Art takes his sweet time dragging his gaze down your legs, already imagining bringing them around his waist or over his shoulders. Your panties are so cute too, cupping your pussy so closely that he can see the shapes of your puffy lips from all the way on the other side of the court, a “camel toe” or whatever you call it. He thinks it’s so hot, but you’re shy about it, asking him to see how you look in jeans that are a size too small. He always does a thorough inspection.

Whoever scores next wins the game, and you’re too busy trying not to fall on your ass to put any effort into it. It’s not a real game away, and besides, it’s not like anything has to happen when the loser completely undresses. Out of the corner of your eye you see Art’s dick twitch in his briefs and you get so distracted that you freeze and miss the neon yellow-green ball hurtling past you. Art whoops and cheers as you process the fact that you lost.

“You know what that means.” Art grins from ear to ear. “Make a show out of it for me.”

divider

You don’t even mind the staring, it’s such a common thing that you’d be more pissed off if he wasn’t looking at you at all. The way his eyes devour every inch of bare skin and drop of sweat that you earned during the game. You pull your tank top up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your bra isn’t a frilly thing, you wear it mainly for support, but Art can’t seem to tear himself away from the view of your pushed up tits rising and falling as you breathe.

You…. don’t know what to do now, the big appeal of the game is over, you awkwardly laugh it off and bend over to pick up your clothes. Art shakes his head to snap himself out of his horny fever dream and races over to you, latching onto your wrist and stopping you from getting dressed again.

“You’re supposed to take it all off, remember?”

You drop your clothes, noticing that he still doesn’t let you go.

Heats fills your cheeks as he steps closer, delicately sliding his fingertips up the inside of your arm and around your back. He plays with the hook of your bra, gazing down at you with a look full to brim with unknown intent and purpose. He doesn’t do something as bold as unlatching it right out the gate, no, he just stares into your soul.

“I remember.” Your eyes drop down to his lips, and that’s when you know it’s over. “Can’t exactly do it myself if you’ve already got one foot in the door.”

You’ve gotta know when to fold ‘em, and all that.

Art softly smiles and loops his fingers under your bra strap. You have to remind yourself to breathe, but you don’t really get much of a chance to. Before you can stop yourself and think with your head, you’re canting up to press your lips to his. Art immediately kisses you back, chuckling into the kiss when you gasp as he expertly unhooks your bra with one hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’re flat on your back on the court, Art having hastily thrown his shirt under you while you were tangling your tongues together. He presses an array of wet open mouthed kisses down your body, paying extra special attention to the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your mound.

“Smells so good, ‘s cute, too. It figures you’d have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He coos, dragging a lone finger down your slit before gently pushing it inside.

You gasp, wrenching your eyes shut tight at the intrusion. He takes good care of you, slowly sinking his finger in to the knuckle and sliding it in and out of you. He gradually adds more fingers as the minutes pass. Your walls throb around him, and if Art were a weaker man (like the guy you almost went out with) he would’ve said fuck it and plunged his dick into your cunt in one smooth stroke. But you deserve the best first time possible, and all the distractions he’s used have helped him be patient enough to refrain from humping you like a dog.

“You’re okay, you can take it. It’s nothing compared to what this pussy’s going to be taking later anyway, baby.” He hums and nuzzles his nose into where your inner thigh meets your mound.

As he’s languidly thrusting his fingers into your puffy pussy, Art strains his neck to lap at your ass. He holds one of your fat cheeks in his free hand and spreads you open, diving in to suck on the puckered hole between them. He sharpens his tongue and jabs it into your ass, his cock throbs when you let out the sweetest little squeals at the squelching and throaty noises he’s making. He can feel your hole unfurling with every slurp and suck, something that only makes him increase the speed of his long fingers in your pussy, maintaining a breathtaking steady rhythm.

Eventually his poor leaking cock can’t take anymore grinding into the ground, so Art crooks his fingers and (albeit a bit cruelly) jams them into your sweet spot. The velvet grip of your pussy strangles his digits like a dream, you’d take dick so beautifully. Your eyes fly open and your throat spasms around a mangled moan. He pulls his fingers out of your soaking wet pussy, smirking up at you as he sucks them try like a professionally trained whore. Your clit receives a loving kitten lick as an apology for neglecting it, and with that Art hovers over you at an even eye to eye level again.

“Holy shit…” You pant and flick his pebbled nipples, absentmindedly rolling them around with your thumb. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah, we are.” Art sighs, his head falls back as you duck down to suck his nipples into your mouth, the saliva you lathered them with dripping down your chin. He grabs the back of your head and pushes your face into his chest, arching his back.

“Relax, I bribed security and told them to fuck off for the night.”

That doesn’t concern you as much as it should, you’re too transfixed on Art wrenching your mouth off of his pecs and moving to straddle your chest.

“Can you push them together for me?” He breathes hard and grinds his weeping cock against your tits, mesmerized by how his precum makes your skin glisten.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you do, making quick use out of the delicious new friction the little pocket provides. “Thanks, honey.”

You keep staring at the tip of his dick, loving the little peek you get of it as he fucks your tits and it pokes your chin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it but you let your mouth hang open, angling your head down so his cockhead pecks your tongue at the end of every thrust. You make sure to lick every drop of pre cum away as it oozes out of him, looking so nice against the flushed pink skin of his tip. Art groans when he finally summons the strength to watch you do it, the sight hurtling him over the edge before he has the time or vocal ability to warn you.

His thick load jets out to land all over your tits, half of it on the lower half of your face. You’re almost sad it didn’t get high enough to clump your lashes together, it would’ve made for the perfect contact picture. Oh well, maybe next time. It’s amazing, the switch you’ve made from the shy friend to the writhing slut underneath him. You blame it on the honest to God sweet taste of his milky white cum, surprisingly making you think of the pineapples he always snatches from your plate when you eat at school together.

(Another painstaking effort made just for you, love)

It’s a miracle you get back to his dorm, some of your clothes are swapped and put on incorrectly and you both didn’t clean up at all. As soon as you reach the door, Art practically shoves you inside and onto the bed. He gets so frustrated with having to get your clothes off again that he just rips them right off of you, promising to take you to the mall tomorrow (or whenever he lets you leave the bed) to buy replacements. You literally couldn't care less if he shackles you to the wall, you need him to rearrange your guts so badly, you’d kill for it. Should you be having deep conversations about your feelings and what the future will look like? Absolutely, but your clit is clouding your sense of rationality and you don’t mind that right now.

“Do you even know how much i’ve wanted this? To fuck you so hard that we end up attached at the hip?” He bites, breaking away from your lips to suck bruises down the column of your throat. “We can have a baby- please have my baby, fuck!”

There’s something so weirdly romantic about the leftover scent of the court combined with the twinkling stars outside. Art’s moans and hands scrambling to pin you down so all you have to do is take it, you’re doing things all out of order, but this was always going to happen sooner or later. Art is a clumsy manipulator but he’s so handsome… you find yourself agreeing to every frantic declaration flying out of his mouth as he spears his long cock into your sopping wet pussy. You claw red lines into his shoulders and back, and Art nearly creams on the spot. The sting and the fact that you’re so out of it, you’re marking him up, are crossing the wires in his brain. His taut thighs burn with the effort of fucking you so far into the mattress.

You’ll get to cum four more times than he does, and by the end of it you’ll wish you never came at all. Your soul’s goikg to be so far away from your ruined mess of limbs that you won’t notice the sacred promises being muttered into your sweaty hair or pay attention to your phone being out on Do Not Disturb. You’ll be right where you should be, inevitably molded around the shape of his dick and branded by all the love bites that litter your body. You’ll think you passed out during most of them, but you’ll give him a loopy smile, hook your pinky around his, and let yourself melt away.

It feels as if your walls are still clenching around a dick that’s no longer buried to the hilt in them.

“I love you”’s are for early mornings with coffee and pancakes. Gloating to Patrick will be for hours before then, Art blocking him when you’re deep asleep and unable to mend the growing rift between them.

[hyuny-bunny]

skz + s/o with long nails

can't sleep and i need to get this thought out before it makes my head explode

MDNI (18+) suggestive ideas, mutual masterbation, oral, nail markings

skz x gn!reader

chan: at first he's indifferent. it makes no difference to him, you might've kept short or no nails to start with while dating him. it isn't till you try out a new spot that leaves you with the best set you've ever had, that he starts to take more notice. especially when his back scratches take a whole new level. he's twitching his leg like a dog when you go too light on him finding it ticklish, he's begging you to scratch him harder. his mind starts to run wild at the thought how it would feel to have your nails clawing at his back during sex as he pounds into you.

minho: he loves your nails. he finds them so cute on you, especially when their pointed like a cat claw. he's not one to comment his thoughts on what you should do but he loves the way your hands look with baby pinks or milk white shades. his cats seem to enjoy them as much as you do when they surround you begging to be scratched next. he really finds out how much he loves them when you're going down on him as his thank you for paying for the new set, when you're clawing down on his thighs. he can't help admire how pretty they look while you sit perched between his thighs as stroke him into your mouth.

changbin: he loves everything about you but the nails he just doesn't quite get. how are you supposed to lift weights when you can't even close your hand into a fist :( ? nevertheless he pampers his partner!! so of course he's putting his card down for you to pay for your new set or sending you the money to pay for them (then some more incase it's a long session and you need to grab food). he's a changed man when he sees the new set. your nail tech found a cute way to put his intials on the ring fingers of your nails. he's posting and sending everyone a photo of your nail set with your hands wrapped around his bicep. he knows that all you need is a ring to complete it.

hyunjin: love love love LOVES your nails. everytime there's an appointment coming up soon, he's already asking what you're getting. he'll send you some ideas, a lot of it might be douyin style but he loves anything you decide on. aside from loving the way they look, he also loves the way they feel. his insta photos might be filled with your hands in shot with coffee or selfies he's taken while's you held his face or gave his cheeks a squish. either way he knows that you know when he plops down into your lap or chest, he's demanding head and back scratches. he's purring like a cat in your lap with every movement but will immediately whine if you stop too soon.

jisung: don't care as long you're dedicating an hour or two to play with his hair after a fresh set. colors make no difference to him but he gets weak in the knees when you come home with red nails. his mind taking him to filth places of having your hand stroking him, how pretty your hands look in with his cum painting your nails. he's always offering to pay for your nails, on the condition that you always do red which you're typically happy to oblige anyways.

felix: there has to be something based in fact for me to confidently say he also more than happy to have you scratch his head, back, anywhere that you possibly feel he might enjoy because he is actually a cat. a very cuddly one that's purring with every scratch across his skin. he loves the set ideas you come up with but especially loves when you incorporate hints of blue in your nails because you know it's his signature color. makes him feel like it's proof that you belong to him in a way that only he needs to know. his only thing to pick at is you can't be as handsy with baking with him when you have longer nails :/ buts that's okay when you make it up by playing with his hair, putting it in pretty braids and giving him neck & chin scratches.

seungmin: also someone who seems in different. he might get annoyed every time you accidentally poke him too hard from a new set. he'd tease you for the way your nails sound while you type but it's all in good fun. another one who's twitching his leg like a puppy every time you scratch his back or head. oh how he could lay like that forever. another one to soft launch you on his insta with shot of your hand on his knee at a baseball game or intertwined while having a romantic dinner. he once again doesn't mind and even learns to appreciate the way your nails rake through his hair. how they feel when your trying pry him out from between your thighs tugging on his hair for dear life.

jeongin: he loves your long nails, he loves it even more when you take him with you to get your nails done together. he's not passing on opportunity to get matching manicures. he loves to see you venture off with colors. when you opt to get a forrest green french tip set, he's right there asking for his pinky nails to be painted in the same green polish. he's posting a picture of your intertwined hands with your matching polish. he's down bad for you and everyone knows it. you can't blame him when you're the same for him. it's all he thinks about when you're both laid next to each other in bed with his hand in your underwear and your hand wrapped around him stroking him so prettily, toying with one another and matching polish adorning your hands.

[dmitriene]

just thinking about retired!price meeting reader in the supermarket; her trying to reach the top shelf of marmalades and him catching a vase before it shatters and causes a mess.

several outdated pick-up lines and nervous scratches and tugs on the back of his boonie hat later, and barely contained chuckles from you, he asks you on a date. and it ends up being the best you've had in ages.

idk i just feel price hasn't flirted with anyone IN AGES, so he's reaallly out of practice, but the flush you try to hide with the back of your hand proves he's moving in the right direction. soon, he'll have your knees touching your chest or smth.

author's note: hi baby @feralforfrank!! your idea is so wonderful and i'm so happy to provide it to you in writing, except it's ended up being a one shot instead of drabble, i still hope i did it good!

you didn't think that your best date and at the same time acquaintance in life would be tied to such an embarrassing, funny situation, which maybe could become your ticket to the hospital, if not the charming man you met.

the week was nearing the end, and it was that time to which the need for a trip to the grocery shop was added to fill the fridge, which stood dullly and empty at home in the kitchen, so with an almost fully filled basket of groceries, you were currently reaching for the highest shelf with sweets in the shop.

an easy task, it would seem, if you didn't have to reach on tiptoes to a small pack of marmalades, bordering with the shelf on which household goods began, and there was a small vase that hurried to fall down when you accidentally hooked it with your elbow, immediately turning to freeze in place, looking how it was falling on you.

— “bloody hell, that' was almost' a goal to the hospital, yau alright' ther', darling?„ a rumbling, smoky voice, whose owner pulled you out of your little fright, making you blink quickly, lifting your head further to focus on the tall, bulky man carefully holding the vase that almost shattered on your head in his thick hands, the look in his vivid blue eyes worried, thick brown brows furrowed.

you nod stupidly, silent like a mouse, while your hand automatically takes the package of marmalades that you grabbed and press to your chest, the gears begin to work in your head with a creak, noticing how timely and quickly the man was near you and lend a helping hand, worthy of gratitude.

— “y.. yeah, thank you, sir, you were here at the right time„ you say a little meekly, a little shyly by what happened, but you notice how your words make him smile, making his eyes to crinkle, his mutton chops stretching along the corners of his lips, chest puffing behind a halfly zipped jacket with hoarse chuckle.

— “military instincts, i suppos'„ he answers briefly, turns away to put the vase back on the shelf, wide biceps flexing before he turns back to you, the same warm smile on his lips, but this time he reaches out a wide palm in your direction and adjusts the silly beige boonie hat on his head — “glad to know yau're fin' darling, call me john„

you accept the outstretched hand and smile charmingly, radiantly, uttering your name in response fleetingly, not noticing how his thumb fleetingly strokes your fragile hand and how he looks at you with a slight tilt of his head, when you purr even more shyly — “thank you for your service, sir — john..„ fluttering your eyelashes, john's smile becoming even wider.

— “no longuh, retired, but' i'll tak' that' to heart', luv'„ he murmurs warmly, and only now all the affectionate nicknames he was calling you past minutes catch up to you, burning flush creeping up your cheeks when you just nod, gazing at the way his cerulean eyes churn with something fiery, john's neck flushing fleetingly as he notices how long he's holding your hand in his, before letting go, yet not with another word in.

— “think i can manag' to invit' yau somewher' this evening?„ he asks so simply that you feel your palms start sweating and your face burns, stomach twisting slightly, what are considered as butterflies, and what makes you bite your lip, looking at him now only from under your fluttering eyelashes before agreeing hushedly, still more than shy — “yes, yes i do„

and you do pretty much, because when you practically flutter out of the store with his phone number in yours, there's only one picture that repeats in your head, how uncertainly john scratches the back of his head and says in half fascinated, half surprised deep voice — “hop' yau will be frei, then, sei ya, darling„

you don't remember how it all ended with current events, but you remember how it all began — a meeting in a small evening pub with good alcohol and john's company, dressed almost the same as in the morning in the shop, but this time without a boonie hat and with his jacket folded next to him, every bulging muscle and a bit of a fat hugged tightly by black shirt.

you remember the way john talked, low timbre of his hoarse voice that was accompanied by small chuckles, rumbling everytime he told you some situations from life, watching how you covered your giggles behind the palm of your hand, carefully listening to each special, exciting story from his service as a captain in the task force.

you watched as he touched you fleetingly, small brushes against your knuckles with the pads of his calloused fingers, leaving a burning feeling, something coiling in your stomach — with john's touches becoming bolder, and drinks more bitter, but there's a stroking motion against your knee that soothes and also makes you fidget.

by the time he moved closer, closing the distance between the table and sharing one leather sofa with you, all the cocktails you tried were boiling in your blood, your lips tingled from close contact with john's, as he purred something in your ear, stroking your supple thigh, to which you just nodded with barely contained giggles, catching only the edge of his words — “let' me show yau a good tim', doll„

that's how you ended up stuck beneath him, the unfamiliar bed smelled hardly of musk and light echoes of tobacco, the once clean sheets clung to your soaked back, just as wet as your squelching pussy, the one that is currently being pumped full of john's fat cock, your supple legs pressed against your chest, and you don't even feel them.

the only thing you feel is his harsh thrusts, rearranging your gooey insides as he molds your gummy walls in the shape of his thick cock, his one hand alone is enough to keep your legs pressed to your chest, while the free one is busy with cupping your cheek, watching the way your eyes threaten to roll back in your empty skull.

— “fuck, such a pretty fucking girl, knew i — it when i saw yau„ john almost growls, his voice a dull ring in your ears when his wide hips snap forward rapidly, muscular thighs slapping against your rounded ass that jiggles with each time his cock plunges deeper inside your slimy cunt, leaking tip presses against your spongy spot, and you howl.

yet, not uttering a word, tongue heavy inside your gradually drying mouth, the one john licks inside his own with fervor, you barely have time to respond to his movements, your nails digging into his back, inflicting fresh scratches on top of old scars, while you moan and practically wheeze with pleasure under him, pussy pulsing with gushing slick.

your brain screams that it's too much, but your lips part with slurred pleas of — “more, s — so close, harder, hmnn, p — please„ and john hushed you, cooes something warm and soothing against your ear, beard tickling somewhere against your thudding pulse where he sucks and bites constellations of marks, and you don't even register how you snap.

don't remember in which exactly moment your pulsing cunt clenched around his weeping cock, squeezing him for every drop his fat tip splashed against your walls, painting them with thick milky cum, his body still moving to drill you further into the mattress, into the wet sheets, when all you do is tremble, cumming uncontrollably with sobs and gurgles of moans.

that's the moment when everything cuts, and the next time your eyes flutter open, despite the ache and soreness in your body, john sits on the edge of the bed with a cup of tea in his hands, carefully stretched out in your direction as you lift yourself up, letting the dim morning sun illuminate your naked body in all it's glory, a pleased murmur is what greets you — “good morning, sweitheart'„

and it's is, a best morning in your entire life.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[claypgeons]

the golf cart

paring: max verstappen x reader, oscar piastri x reader, charles leclerc x reader.

warning: scrapped knees, stealing a golf cart, fluff, kinda short.

summary: you ‘steal’ a golf cart, it goes as well as anyone could expect.

part of living the life ! series

notes: request for this series are open! please send them! i need ideas :)) reblogs comments and likes are all always greatly appreciated <33

“Are you just going to leave the keys there?” You looked by at the intern from where you were sitting in the Red Bull garage, he had just driven a golf cart- used to travel drivers- into the Red Bull garage. Max was somewhere, doing something, and you didn’t have to do anything important, for atleast two hours.

“Yeah?” the intern drew out, “Should I take them with me?” he panicked slightly, he was obviously new at his job, and you only felt slightly guilty about what you were going to do.

“No, no,” you reassured him, standing up, and wiping the dust off your butt. The intern nodded slightly, looking hesitant before walking away. You beamed at the opportunity, you looked around, making sure nobody was looking at you. Thankfully, they were all focused on placing the final touches on Max’s car. 

Quickly, and as quietly, you hopped into the golf cart, turning it on. Shutting your eyes tightly, looking around making sure nobody had heard. 

Smiling, you slowly drove out onto the track, laughing loudly once you were officially out on the track, “Hell yeah…” you whispered.

You sped up, driven further and further away from the Red Bull garage. The stands of people got louder, it seemed like some had already recognized you. 

“Hey! What the fuck!” you heard a loud yell behind you, seems like Red Bull employees had also noticed you. 

“Sorry!” you yelled back, although the big smile on your face, made your apology seem really fake. 

The fans in the stand got louder, all cheering and taking videos. You waved your hand as a princess would do, smile getting bigger. 

“Hello!” you beamed, although you knew they wouldn’t hear you. 

“YN!” you heard a voice in the cart, eyebrows furrowed you looked around, confused, “Oh,” you laughed, realizing it was the radio, “Y/N can you hear me?” 

Picking up the microphone, the ones police officers use, you held down the side button, still waving at fans, “Yes I can! Hello!” 

“Y/N..” the man sounded exhausted, you could only imagine he was rubbing his forehead in despair, “Please turn the cart around.” 

“I’ll only do one lap I swear!” and with that, you placed the microphone down, that was, until you heard the grumpy voice of your manager, Mark Webber, “Y/N pick up the damn mic.” 

You shook your head vigorously as if he could see you, well he probably could, with the amount of cameras you had on yourself. “You’re not in trouble.” he sighed, “I promise.” 

Huffing, you picked up the mic, now halfway through the track, “Yes?” 

“Why would you steal a cart?” he got straight to it, “Just..why?”

“I was…” you coughed awkwardly, speeding up as fast as it could go, which seems to be 20 mph, “Bored.” 

“Bored? You were BORED?” Mark yelled into the mic, “DON’T YELL AT M!E!” you yelled back, eyebrows furrowed in anger. 

Mark sighed, you could hear Landos laugh in the background, and you wondered what Oscar was doing. “Okay! Okay, I’m sorry. But you need to come back.” 

“I’m almost back.” You said as you went on the last turn, it was sharp, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to fully make it, and of course, you were right, because just a second later, the golf cart was on its side, with you in it. 

You heard the crowd go silent. A complete 360 to how happy they were a second ago. You laughed, standing up with bleeding knees, of course, today was the day you decided to wear shorts, “I’m okay!’ you announced loudly, thankfully the silence made it so at least some people could hear you, and with some of the crowd cheering, the rest soon followed, even if some of them didnt know what they were cheering for. 

Turning, you saw a huge group of people running toward you, Mark Webber included. Uh oh. 

… 

“It’s just scrapped knees,” you mumbled, looking up at Oscar who was passing up and down, in the family and friends area, you now had bandages on both of your knees and were waiting for the on-site doctor to clear you for racing. 

“I just don’t.” Oscar sighed, sitting next to you, “I don’t understand why you would do that.” 

You smiled, but before you could respond, you heard a strong dutch accent coming from your left, “She’s done worse.” Max smiled, coming over to you, Charles not far behind. 

He leaned in for a quick kiss, not caring if anyone around saw, after almost three years of being together, you could say he was the most tired of hiding your relationship. He sat on your right, opposite Oscar, while Charles, laughed standing in front of you, “Yeah, she has.”

“Do they hurt bad?” Max looked down at your knees, “Not much.” you mumbled, snapping your head up to the sound of people walking over to you, it was the doctor, Mark, and Lando. 

“You are clear to race.” The doctor started, you beamed, sitting up straighter, “But you should change your bandage right before and after the race.” he told you, before walking away with Mark. 

“Told you it was going to be fine.” You placed a comforting hand on Oscar’s knees, Lando stood by Charles, looking down at you with a frown,” How are we going to party later?” Ah yes, you and Lando were quite the party animals.

“I can take shots sitting down.” 

…

“So, Y/N,” the interviewer started, smiling at you. It was now hours later, the race had finished, with Lando - unexpectedly- winning his first race, and you coming in fourth. Oscar had helped you rebandage your knees before you went off to do interviews. “I think we all saw the golf cart incident.” she laughed, and you nodded, “Would you like to explain that…?” 

“I mean..” you thought, “I don’t think there’s much to explain, I took a golf cart and went on a joy ride, it was quite fun.”

— y/n had posted new pictures!

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen, mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 883,288 others !

yntheracer: scrapped knees, lando winning, taking shots sitting down. i’d say it was a successful day!

view more comments below!

landonorris: SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

yntheracer: LANDO NORRIS THE RACE WINNER !!!!!!

user: lando and yns relationship is something i hold very dear to me

user: it was a very adventurous day for y/n

yntheracer: indeed it was !!!

oscarpiastri: please enever steal a golf cart again 😓

yntheracer: no promises :D

user: lando and y/n siting in a tree…

[in-another-april]

I just saw your sharing clothes with Spence post, and it made me think of spending the first night with him? Like awkward shy Spence early in the relationship wanting you to stay over with him :p

(just sfw cuddles, not smut please!)

i know ive written like 10 sleepy spencer posts but. come on. how can i not?? also im sorry i am physically unable to be concise.

Spencer was so so nervous to have you sleep over for the first time!! But, luckily, his overwhelming desire to be with you outweighs his fear of messing things up. Besides, he warms up as soon as you get there, laughing and talking and watching old movies. He feels silly for thinking he had anything to worry about in the first place.

It gets later and later and you get sleepier and sleepier; he mumbles a shy "you wanna head to bed?" against the top of your head, pressing a kiss or two onto it.

You've never agreed to anything faster.

Getting ready next to you awakens something so sickengly sweetly domestic in him. You’re cramped in his tiny bathroom together, bumping elbows as you try to brush your teeth and giggling every time you catch a glimpse of the other’s silly expression in the mirror. He’d never get tired of seeing you like this, he could stay like this forever.

When you both get into bed, though, his nerves return. He wants to cuddle with you so so badly but he is so awkward. He tenatively reaches out for you in bed, pulling you closer to him.

You happily curl into his arms, humming a little happy sleepy noise as you nuzzle into him. And Oh god, you're actually going to be the death of him. (and he would die a very happy man)

In the morning, he spends a good 10 minutes admiring you and your face before attempting to make you breakfast in bed. It’s a little burnt, and he woke you up with all of the commotion coming from the kitchen, but you still share it with him and cuddle as you eat. And it’s still so lovely and perfect (he’s so lovely and perfect.) And yeah. Forever sounds nice.

masterlist | inbox

taglist - @lover-of-books-and-tea @maskysluvr @aurorsworld @wisteriaspencer @radioactiveinvisible @mandarinmoons @spencereidapologist @lyd14k4y @luvkatryna (send an ask or message to be added/removed!)

[anothermansjeans]

surprise, surprise

s.r x fem!reader

cw: fluff, bau has nooooo idea about reader, food mention

wc: 831

summary: spencer comes home from a case on his birthday and has a surprise waiting for him at the office... turns out it's a surprise for the bau too

a/n: this was a request from @formula1-motogpfan i hope i hit all of the marks with this! let me know what you think!!

masterlist

++

Walking into the BAU after another long case meant so much to the team. It meant they would get their mandatory three day break. It meant they could go home and sleep in their own beds. It meant Spencer got to spend his birthday with Y/N. The team had wished him a happy birthday earlier in the day, asking him if he would like to do something once they got back. Of course, he said no. He didn't tell them his exact plans, but they knew it involved going straight home.

He texted her the moment they touched down; a habit formed after Spencer stayed extra late to finish paperwork, which caused her to worry a lot.

Spencer: I’m back, love. I’ll be leaving as soon as possible.

The team was gathering their stuff to head back to the FBI, and when there was still no response from her as they pulled into the parking garage, he began to worry. She normally responded within five minutes of him sending the text, no matter what time of day it was. Because of dread and anxiety running through him, he wanted to get in and out of the building as fast as humanly possible without the team becoming suspicious of his actions.

As a group, they walked in, and Hotch slowed his pace, causing the rest of them to look over at him. There was a woman standing near Spencer’s desk. “Ma’am, can I help–”

Hotch didn't get to finish his question because when she turned around, Spencer pushed past the rest of the team and quickly walked over to her. A word or two was exchanged and the team watched as they latched their lips together, completely in shock.

“I didn't think he took that ‘kissing has less germs’ fact so seriously,” Emily said, staring at the scene in front of her.

“He doesn't,” Derek started, but whatever he was going to say next was cut off by Penelope.

“I’m so glad you're back safely- Oh!”

Now everyone was standing there, watching Spencer and this strange woman share a kiss and hug. Derek cleared his throat, obviously stunned but not too stunned to speak. “Okay, Pretty Boy, you mind introducing us?”

The two (apparent) lovers split apart, Spencer turning to his team with pink dusted cheeks and bruised lips. He didn't say anything for a good minute, only moving to speak when a soft, “babe,” was heard from beside him.

“Oh! Uh, this is– this is my girlfriend. Y/N.”

She waved to the group with a shy smile.

“Girlfriend!?” Penelope practically shrieked, causing the floor to quiet down for a moment. “Sorry, girlfriend? For how long?”

“One year, eight months, three weeks, and twenty-three days.”

Everyone from Rossi and Hotch to JJ and Penelope was shocked. Emily was the only one who could seem to speak. “You've had a secret girlfriend for over a year– almost two years?”

“Not a secret!” His head whipped over to his girlfriend, “you were never a secret.”

“I know, baby,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, soothingly rubbing it up and down.

“This is insane,” Penelope said as her shocked expression turned into a smile, “like, insanely amazing! Our boy genius found love!”

“Alright,” Hotch cut in, him and Rossi moving from the group, “it’s getting late. Paperwork can wait until we get back into the office. Reid, happy birthday again, and I’m happy for you.” A nod was shared between the two as Hotch went into his office, and Rossi squeezed Spencer’s shoulder as he passed him.

“So what made you show up here suddenly?” JJ’s question caused the attention to go back on Y/N and Spencer.

Y/N cleared her throat and laced her hands down with one of Spencer’s. “Well, I wanted to surprise him for his birthday and I made a cake. I thought everyone here could enjoy it with him.” She moved towards the side to show the box she brought placed on Spencer’s desk. “I could get out of your way if you want to celebrate.”

“Stay!” Penelope again, practically shrieked in the common area, “let’s move it into the conference room. Spencer, you, Emily, JJ, and my chocolate thunder go ahead. Y/N and I will grab some plates and napkins!”

She quickly went up to Y/N and linked their arms together, pulling her away from Spencer and into the kitchen. Y/N looked over her shoulder a couple of seconds after walking away, sending him a smile.

“We’re really happy for you, Spence,” JJ said, walking up to him next to Emily as they started towards the conference room.

“She's pretty. And we can tell she makes you happy,” Emily followed.

When it was just Derek and Spencer, Spencer looked over at the other man as he picked up the cake and ushered them both towards the round table. “You're lucky, Reid.”

“I know.” And he did know. He was really lucky.

[teddynottss]

• - FUCK ME IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER • -

PAIRING(S): theodore not x fem. reader

WARNING(S): smutt

SUMMARY: after winning his quidditch, you realize that your bf wasnt as happy as he usually is, and when you ask him about it, his jealousy is to be revealed

A/N: sorry this is a bit short im a bit unmotivated rn!

——————————————————

You were at your bf’s quidditch game, watching as theodore leads his team to victory, him being captain. Throughout the game, your eyes never leave your bf, you loved watching him play, he looked so good.

Then, you notice your boyfriend clench his jaw as Cormac, flies around where you’re standing. He manages to push the Gryffindor boy hence making him fall to the floor. The game ends with slytherin winning and so the team decides to celebrate the night with champagne in the common room.

Later that night, you get to the common room, ready to meet him since you haven’t talked since the game. He was sat on the couch with a cigarette in his hand, an expression on his face you could read, he’s pissed.

Astoria who also just arrived meets her partner Mattheo and sits on his lap beside Blaise and Enzo. On another couch Regulus and Tom were sat next to the fireplace whispering something inaudible.

You get on your bf’s lap and greet him with a kiss on his cheek. He kisses your forehead sliding his hand down your hair to play with it. “You did so good today baby” you speak. He replies with a quick hmm, his jaw clenched. He was lost in thought, although, you weren’t sure what it is that he’s thinking about.

“Is something wrong teddy?” you hesitate. He looks at you, then says, “Cormac, he was looking at you and flying around you the whole time today, and i got jealous so i pushed him off and hurt him.. bad. And now i’m kicked out of the team for the rest of the season.”

A big wave of guilt hit you as you shuffled on his lap, “theo i am so sorry.. i promise i wasn’t looking anywhere near Cormac, i mean why would i? you were perfect baby, you looked so handsome playing and you were so good at it.”

Theo smiled at you, kissing your temple. “Dont blame yourself for this, i know you would never even glance at him i trust you, but i got so mad and.. yeah.” “what can i do to help you?” you question. “Let me fuck you real hard please” he says, gulping.

“uhh.. theo are you sure-“ “yes yes” he nodded. “okay then fuck me if it makes you feel better”. At your mark, theo removes you carefully off him and stands up before taking your hand in his and leading the both of you to his dorm.

“Please no loud sounds, im tryna sleep soon” Blaise joked. Once you got to his dorm, he began kissing you hungrily and desperately while removing your clothes. Remaining in your matching set of lingerie, he pushed you to the bed and got on top of you. Still kissing you, you helped him get out of his clothes, shirt, pants, then boxers.

He then began leaving trails of kisses down your stomach, his finger-trip trailing the curves of your body until it reached your panties. He slid your panties down, flipping you over so that you’re on top. He removed your bra and then used his hands to slowly lower you on top of him.

You moaned as he entered you, adjusting to his size before you began riding him. Your hands on his stomach, you ride him increasing your pace a bit every now and then. Your hair wrapped around his fingers, as whimpers leave his mouth. He grabs your neck, lowering you to him so he kisses you. He bites your lip making you feel your orgasm near.

Then, he flips you over, making the position deeper, and starts thrusting in an out of you. His pace quick, he kisses you, your tongues intertwining, he then moves to your neck and starts biting on your skin.

Thats sends you releasing your cum without a warning instead a scream which makes theo throw his head back “come inside me” you ask him to which he does. You both come down from your highs as he slumps next to you on the bed.

“If i get to fuck you like this i might as well never play on the team again” he joked. “oh shut up theo,” you slapped his arm. he chuckled picking you up bridal style “come lets get you cleaned up principessa”.

[cupcakeslushie]

Sorry, I'm sure you've had an influx of questions about this AU but for Kendratello: how does Donnie see Kendra anyway? And how does she see him? Bc it seems like she's amused by it but like does she see him as like a pet dog or something? And if Donnie is loyal to Kendra specifically does he ever pay attention when Jeremy or Jace tell him what to do?

She’s going at this from a very smart angle. She knows Donatello has an ego. One that she’s fractured severely. So, she’s careful to give him the validation he (thinks) he never got from his family. He’s way more sensitive to criticism and rejection, and very desperate for positive feedback. Any little sign of rejection from Kendra would send him spiraling. And sometimes Kendra will actually be harsh, just to keep that old ego from re-emerging and growing into something she can’t manipulate anymore.

On Kendra’s end, it’s not like Donnie is abhorrent to look at, and he’s so smart. She’s actually shocked at how easy it is to play nice with him, especially now that she’s tweaked his personality to something more convenient for her. She is amused by him, but it’s not AS bad as viewing him as a pet. She does toy with him at first. But when she sees just how fragile his is, she handles him more gently.

Jace and Jeremy are not dumb enough to try and order Donnie around without getting the okay from Kendra first. Usually if they have to watch Donnie in Kendra’s place, she’ll tell Donnie to listen to them before she leaves. Mostly, they’re just happy to ignore him.

[evnndiaz]

the first time after they have sex buck tries not to be too clingy. holds onto the following moments post orgasm where tommy's still on top of him, inside of him, and they trade slow, soft kisses, panting into each others mouths. lets himself run his hands across tommy's skin, down his back, over his sides, memorising. but bites back his whine when tommy finally pulls away. he hums softly when tommy kisses his cheek and murmurs, "i'll be right back," and ignores the urge to grab his hand and beg him to stay. lets him leave the bed and tries to focus on something else other than the way his skin immediately feels cold. tries not to feel disappointed. reminds himself that everybody has different needs, it's not all about him. instead, tries to summon the energy to get his own legs working again so he can get up, too.

and then tommy's back. there's a cloth, damp with warm water, swiping gently across his stomach, down his thighs, cleaning him. he can't help the sound that escapes him this time when tommy wipes over his hole, still sensitive, even with as careful as tommy is. tommy runs a hand along his thigh, soothing, apologetic, says, "sorry, kid. you'll regret it in about five minutes if we don't clean up now though, trust me," his voice is raspy, still sounding as thoroughly fucked as when he was in the process of actually fucking buck. buck tries not to preen.

and then tommy's throwing the cloth across the room and buck hears the gentle thump of it landing in the laundry basket. thinks, stupidly, 'score'. and then there's a kiss being placed on buck's inner thigh, and then his stomach, and then tommy's making his way back up buck's body, kissing his mouth. buck sighs, melts into the kiss. doesn't grab onto tommy's shoulder, the back of his head, like he so desperately wants to. lets tommy pull away again, though he doesn't go far this time, hovering over buck.

"s'okay. you- you didn't have to do that, though. i- i would've-" and tommy shuts him up with another kiss. he's smiling oh so softly when he pulls away, has his 'evan' expression on his face, as everyone else has deemed it. flicks his eyes over buck's face, searching, says, "evan. i wanted to, okay? i like looking after you. makes my hindbrain happy."

buck laughs, feels warm in the way he's come accustomed to feeling when he's with tommy, and tommy's smile widens, like he's accomplished exactly what he wanted to and then he's flopping down next to buck, close, so close that their shoulders, arms, thighs are touching, pressed lightly against each other, but he doesn't move to do anything else. a minute ticks by and buck wants to shuffle closer, curl his body around his boyfriends and have tommy's arms wrap around him, engulf him in that way that always makes him feel safe, loved. knows if he asked, tommy would absolutely oblige because he's so good, so amazing like that. doesn't ask. doesn't want to put tommy out. stays where he is, settles for the points of contact they're already sharing despite the ways his skin screams-

"evan," buck startles, doesn't think it's the first time tommy's said his name. rolls his head on his pillow and finds tommy already looking at him, eyes crinkled in amusement. wants to reach out and run his fingers along the lines, ingrain them into his memory. doesn't, but tommy does. reaches out with both hands, pulls at him, gently but firmly, "come on, get over here, i wanna cuddle," he manhandles and rearranges buck how he wants him, until buck's lying half on top of him. head tucked under his chin, one of his thighs thrown across his legs and buck has to remind his dick that they've just had sex and to calm the fuck down because fuck- that's hot, but now's really not the time. one of tommy's arms falls across his waist, tugging buck impossibly closer, like he'd tuck buck inside his skin if he could. buck wouldn't stop him. tommy's other hand comes to rest against buck's head, fingers occasionally moving to pet at his mess of curls.

and buck tucks his face further into tommy's neck, takes a breathe, and another, surrounds his senses with his boyfriend. clings, because he thinks it's okay this time. tommy's clinging, too. lips press to the top of his head, dropping a kiss there. hears tommy's soft, "you okay?"

"yeah. yeah, i'm okay. just- this- this is nice. i- i really like being close to you."

"yeah? good. i really like being close to you, too, evan."

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.

(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone

It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation. 

The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been. 

The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.

“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.

Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.

He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.

When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.

Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs. 

You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.

You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.

His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.

He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.

He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.

He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it. 

But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely. 

Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.

“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”

He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.

“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.” 

Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them. 

“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”

I love you.

He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.

You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.

“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”

He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.

“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”

Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.

He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?” 

He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.

He does.

“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”

Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.

“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.

Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.

“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”

Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.

He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.

You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty. 

“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”

Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.

“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”

You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.

He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours. 

Then you ask: 

“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”

Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches. 

Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.

He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.

“Yes.”

“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.

Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.

You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.

You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”

He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.

“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yes.”

Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”

He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state. 

He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.

You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.

“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?” 

Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.

As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.

“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”

“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”

Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”

“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.

“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”

His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.

“You did,” you confirm.

Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.

“Truth,” he murmurs.

You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”

“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette. 

He voices his first lie, “No.”

You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.

He refrains, if only barely.

You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.

“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”

“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”

Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”

If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.

The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”

He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”

The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.

He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.

He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.

Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.

But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”

Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?

Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.

Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?

He knows his next question.

“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”

He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.

You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.

“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”

He halts.

His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.

Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.

So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”

He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?” 

You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”

“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”

“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.

“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”

“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”

Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.

“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?” 

Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.

He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.

“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”

He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.

“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”

He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.

“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”

His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?” 

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”

Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”

Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.

“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.

Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya. 

Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.

After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills. 

For better or for worse, you’re not most people.

In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”

Dazai snorts.

“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”

“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”

“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”

Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

 “No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”

“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”

Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”

“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”

You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die. 

“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”

“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”

“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.

“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”

Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.

He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.

He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.

After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.

“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?” 

He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”

You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.

So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.

But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?

“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.

There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.

He forces it out anyway.

“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.

A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…

Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”

“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”

Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”

“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.

There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”

Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”

Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.

So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.

No.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.

You don’t.

The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.

God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.

His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.

There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it. 

All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.

He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.

Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall. 

His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”

Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.

Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven. 

You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”

He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.

Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him. 

“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?” 

You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.

“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”

“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar. 

“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?” 

“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.

He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.

He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.

He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking… 

Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.

It was a very lonely four years without you.

“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.

“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.

This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.

“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.

You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”

His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand. 

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”

“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”

“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.

Dazai gags.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.” 

“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”

You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.

“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”

“How-”

“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”

Okay. 

Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”

It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”

Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.

“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.

He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.

The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”

Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.

It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.

No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.

His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.

But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.

But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.

He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”

He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you. 

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”

“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”

“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.

“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.

Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous. 

You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-

And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening. 

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you. 

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s. 

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. 

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Hwang Hyunjin x F!Reader TW : reader is pregnant ; Hyunjin is stressed ; small argument ; reader breaks up with Hyunjin ; Hyunjin regret ; it's mainly angst ; no happy ending ; Word Count : 7.4k A/N : I'm back! Gonna try to write as much as I can before my new job starts!! Request : Anonny : Can you do an angsty Hyunjin Drabble we’re Hyunjin snaps at her because he’s stressed and she’s pregnant but she thinks he snapped because he knows about her pregnancy so she leaves him and he regrets everything and grovels a lot

“Hey baby…” Hyunjin murmured as he walked through the front door, the dark circles under his eyes evident in the bright fluorescent light that hung above the landing. His schedule was grueling nowadays and the jet lag that he experienced had him in so many different time zones you didn’t know how his body was able to handle it. He didn’t even have time to adjust to different sleep schedules before he was being whisked away once again. “Gonna go wash up…” He trudged to the bathroom, the sound of water rushing through the pipes filled the otherwise empty house. 

It was always like this, you barely even talked to him anymore other than the short greeting when he walked through the front door. You knew he loved you though, he just didn’t have the energy to really act on the feeling anymore like he used to. You still loved him too, and you’d be there for him no matter what. There was one small… well… Small right now problem… Well, not actually a problem, but it was something that had you slightly on edge. 

You had found out you were pregnant, and it’s not like you didn’t want to tell Hyunjin, it just felt like there was never a right time to tell him. He was always gone, and when he came home you didn’t want to bother him with something this big when he already had so much to worry about. It had only been 2 weeks since you took the test, and while you weren’t a fan of hiding things like this, you were still in that timeframe where anything could happen… So it would be unnecessary to even tell him right now when anything could go wrong. 

The more you thought about it, it became very evident to you that the trashcan in the bathroom hadn’t needed to be cleared since you took the test. He had been gone for so long, you hadn’t even thought to hide the evidence. It completely slipped your mind, and now you were thinking way too hard, you were panicking. You couldn’t just run in there and take the trash out, he’d question what you were doing. What if he had already seen it? What if he had seen the boxes? What if he looked in the trashcan and saw the positive tests? 

Everything might have been quiet in the house, but your thoughts were so loud, and when the water finally shut off and the shower curtain slid open you had barely heard it. It wasn’t until his damp feet padded across the hardwood floors that you lifted your head and saw him coming closer, a towel hanging around his neck to catch the droplets of water that fell from the ends of his hair. 

He moved right past the couch that you were sitting on and dropped down into the chair on the other side of the room. It’s not like there wasn’t any room right next to you though… It’s like he didn’t want to sit next to you. Did he find out? Was he mad? He seemed alright when he came through the front door, sure, maybe a bit tired, but that wouldn’t make him want to sit on the complete opposite side of the room… right? 

“How was your-” You started, but he let out a loud groan, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Was he annoyed? Was it because you hadn’t told him? He had to have found out, that’s the only reason you could think of. Your top teeth came down into your bottom lip, a sharp breath shooting in between your teeth as you stared at him. 

“I’m not ready.” He muttered, and while you didn’t let on outwardly, those three words had your stomach twisting into the tightest knots. Your mouth opened, not even to speak, just to breathe, but his eyes rolled and your lips quickly snapped shut. “Just, don’t talk please. I’m not ready. There’s just too much going on.” 

Your head nodded slowly until you were looking straight down at your lap, your fingers twirling around themselves as nervousness and panic completely took over. He found out, he knew, and he didn’t want to know anything about it… He didn’t want anything to do with you or the life growing inside of you right now. He was too busy. “Sorry…” You mumbled, holding your breath to keep yourself from crying right then and there. 

“Maybe I should just stay with the guys tonight…” He proposed, and it’s not like you were going to tell him not to. It’s not like you even had time to try to talk him out of it if you wanted to, he was getting up already, tossing his towel into the hamper next to the washer and then going back to the front door, grabbing his keys off the hook and walking out. Not a goodbye, not an “I love you”... nothing. He just… left. 

///

“It’s just overwhelming being home after so long…” Hyunjin explained to Chan as he fell onto the couch, his hands running over his face as he let out a loud sigh. “And I know she misses me, and I miss her too… I just can’t sleep, I’m not hungry yet and my schedule is so messed up, I don’t want to bother her with all of that.” 

Chans head nodded slowly in agreement, but then he stopped, his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows lowered to cast shadows over his already darkened eyes. “You… did tell her that… right? You told her all of that… Right?” He questioned, and Hyunjins head fell as he let out a dejected sigh. Of course he didn’t tell you that. If he did, you’d just give up more of your time to try to help him. “So you just left… For no reason? And you think that when you return home, everything will be fine?” 

“I’m not stupid, hyung. I know that things won’t be fine.” Hyunjin muttered, letting out an even heavier sigh which turned to a yawn. “But I have another out of country promotion thing coming up, so I’m thinking that I’ll just stay here until I leave for that, and then I’ll have a break when I get back to talk to her. It’ll give me time to get back on a schedule that lines up with hers and I’ll be able to actually be with her.” 

He could read on Chans face that he wasn’t on board with the plan at all, but he didn’t speak a word about it, instead just shaking his head as he pushed himself up off the couch. “If that’s what you think will work, fine. I won’t interfere with your relationship, you know her best. I’m just hoping that you make the right decision, for your sake, and for hers.” There wasn’t much else to say anyway, deep down Hyunjin knew that his decision making was flawed in some way or another, it’s just that he didn’t know what else to do. 

Leaving the way he did left no room for error, the way he left was an error in itself. He might not let on that he knows it was a mistake, but it was, he knew it was. There would undoubtedly be an argument once he did come home, and the time that he was giving the both of you between then and now was mainly to prepare himself for that argument. He hated fighting with you, but being as busy as he always was had him constantly on edge. It’s not like he meant to take it out on you either, he really tried not to, that’s why he left as well. He was just so damn tired. He hoped that you’d understand. 

///

“So you’re… pregnant… and you left? You just walked out?” Your friend asked as you sat in her living room, your eyes burning from the tears that you had cried earlier whilst explaining everything to her. “You’re sure that he knows? Like, 100% sure? This seems like… And I’m not disregarding your feelings at all… But, your hormones are most likely surging and, I don’t want you to make this kind of decision based on a whim… You know?” 

You knew where she was coming from, she always thought more logically than most, and that’s why you had gone to her specifically to talk to her about what was going on. “Why else would he say that? Why else would he just walk out the way that he did? He didn’t even tell me that he loved me… It’s like… Like he realized he doesn’t love me now that he found out I’m having his kid.” And you crumbled once again, a blubbering mess curled up into yourself on her couch, and no amount of back rubs or consolations were going to make you feel any better. “I mean… I know that we never really talked about having children… And he’s been so busy lately… I just didn’t think he’d react like this…” 

She let out a slow breath, she was clearly thinking, but she also knew that right now, you didn’t need realistic thoughts or “what ifs”, you just needed her to be there for you, and that’s what she’d be. “Everything will be okay… I’ll help you no matter what you decide to do.” You fell against her shoulder, letting yourself cry to the point of your eyes feeling so heavy that you could barely keep them open, and you eventually fell asleep. At least in your dreams, this hadn’t happened. Your subconscious mind hadn’t fully come to terms with the events of the day, and in your mind, you and Hyunjin were still happy, and your vivid imagination played out a reality where he and you raised your child together, in a loving home, one where he wasn’t so busy, one where he was actually excited to be a father. 

Upon awakening, you immediately checked your phone. A thin sliver of hope that maybe he had messaged you, maybe he’d want to talk about what had happened and why he reacted the way he did. Maybe he’d apologize, maybe he’d explain things… but there was nothing. There were no calls or texts, hell, you even checked your email just in case… It’s like he walked out and completely forgot that you existed. 

“Sleep well?” Your friend asked as she turned the corner from the kitchen, her head tilted as she watched you look through your phone, and the cheerful smile she had been wearing just a millisecond before faded to a frown as she walked to sit beside you. “Let’s not worry about that, yeah? We can order in tonight, watch some movies, really get your mind off of things?” 

You nodded in agreement, mainly because she was trying so hard, you weren’t going to shoot down her attempts at trying to cheer you up. She was doing the best she could as your friend, and she couldn’t just bring Hyunjin to you or force him to explain… That was something he had to decide to do on his own. 

There was nothing though, nothing that could be done to actually get your mind off of what was happening. You couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you’d most likely be a single mother, that Hyunjin wanted nothing to do with you or his child. He wasn’t ready, he didn’t have the time to be around for things like that. He was responsible for so many other things, he had so much on his shoulders, how was he possibly supposed to juggle everything that he was already dealing with and being a father on top of that? 

“You pick the movie and I’ll order the food, okay?” She patted your knee after passing you the remote, giving you a smile, but it felt more apologetic. She felt sorry for you. Everyone would pity you… Or maybe they’d pity him. They wouldn’t listen to your side of the story, especially the fans. They’d take his side regardless of what you say. He was perfect, and you had essentially stolen him from them in the first place. They hated you from the beginning, they would find any reason to break you down further. 

Or, maybe they’d be happy that you made this decision. They could go back to their delusional thoughts, their dreams that they’d actually have a chance with him now that you were out of the picture. You didn’t want to deal with all of that though. You didn’t want any of this to be made public, you wanted to disappear. That’s exactly what you’d do… You didn’t need him to message you, you didn’t need an explanation…. It would be better for you and your child to be free of him. Maybe… Hopefully, he’d avoid you long enough and just forget about you, forget about the baby, forget about everything. 

///

“She hasn’t texted you back yet?” Felix asked Hyunjin who was doubled over the kitchen counter, visibly shaking from crying, yet no sound was coming out, not anymore. “Look, I’m sure there’s a reason… What was the last thing you said to her?” Felix, who hadn’t been told of everything that had happened prior to Hyunjins return for his promotions, was just trying to help as much as he could. 

“Nothing… I didn’t say anything to her…” Hyunjin gasped out, finally lifting his head to reveal his eyes that were puffy and red, but underneath the redness was a darker purple from lack of sleep. “She took… Everything. All of her stuff is gone. She left.” And with that reflection came another round of tears. “Chan hyung was right… I know he thought I was stupid… my plan was stupid…” 

Felix was baffled to say the least, and on top of that, quite disappointed in his friend who had spent the last 3 years gushing over how much he loved you and how he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you. How could Hyunjin have fumbled so badly? “Let me get this straight… You haven’t talked to her at all? What happened?” Now, Felix was no expert on relationships, but he was sure that he could help in some way. There had to be something he could do to help Hyunjin get you back. Things couldn’t be so bad that there was no hope. 

“I left… I walked out… And and… It wasn’t her fault… But I did it wrong. I didn’t say goodbye and I didn’t tell her I loved her…” There was still hope though, it’s not like Hyunjin would have ghosted you while he was gone… It was almost a whole month of traveling. He couldn’t go that long without talking to you. Hell, he couldn’t even go that long without talking about you. “I knew I messed up, and I thought… Maybe a little bit of time would make things better. I thought I’d be able to talk to her when I got back because now I have a break… But she’s gone.” 

“So you just… Nothing? No communication at all…?” Felixs teeth gritted together, all thoughts of being able to help had been thrown out the window as Hyunjin shamefully nodded his head. “So this… this might be fixable still… you know… with a lot of work. A lot of communication and explanations… This could still work.” But even Hyunjin knew that Felix was just trying to take away some of the sting, give him just a bit of false hope so he could at least sleep easier tonight, but none of it would work. Hyunjin knew the mistakes he had made had cost him an entire 3 year relationship. He fucked up, and there was no coming back from it. 

“I’m not stupid, Felix…” The words came out as an exasperated sigh, he didn’t need false hope, he needed you back, and that was the one thing he wasn’t going to get. “I’ve tried to call her, it goes straight to voicemail. My texts won’t even go through. She blocked me. She wants nothing to do with me. I can’t fix things, I don’t even know where she’s at.” He ran his hands rather roughly through his hair, strands getting stuck and yanked out between his fingers, only worrying Felix more. Hyunjin was beyond stressed at this point, he was stressed and depressed, and those two are a very bad combination. 

“How about you just not think about it for a bit. Just… Focus on literally anything else.” At this point Felix was pleading. Seeing Hyunjin like this, although it was solely Hyunjins fault, was devastating and beyond worrisome. He didn’t know what Hyunjin would do, he didn’t know how bad Hyunjin could get, he didn’t even know if this was the worst of it. He didn’t like seeing his best friend like this. 

Hyunjin scoffed, an unamused smirk stretching across his face. “Oh? Focus on something else, like I’ve been doing? That’s the reason I lost her in the first place. I’m tired of having to focus on so much other shit that I can’t even focus on my own girlfriend!” His voice continued to rise in volume and pitch, and now Felix was downright scared. “I lost the love of my life because I put everything else in front of her! I made everything else my priority! You see where that gets me!” 

Felix stumbled back, scared to even attempt to make eye contact at this point. “Look, I get that you’re mad at yourself right now, and that’s fair… But you need to calm down…” Hyunjin wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, he was sure of that, but his hands instinctively moved out in front of him to keep some space between himself and Hyunjin, just in case his words upset Hyunjin even more. “Maybe she needs some time… Maybe she’ll come back to you. You can't just… You can’t be going off like this…”

A laugh, almost maniacal, escaped Hyunjins lips, his head falling back as the sound seemed to vibrate the whole room. “Calm down… Calm down?! How?! How am I supposed to calm down!? Would you stay calm during a situation like this?! If you ruined your entire relationship would you just be calm!?” He continued shouting, and Felix knew that at this point there was no use. He would either descend completely into madness, or he’d come to his senses and realize that he’s acting absolutely crazy right now. “I need to go out, I need a drink or something.” Hyunjin mumbled, and while Felix knew that a drink was the last thing that Hyunjin needed, there was no use trying to stop him, there was no use trying to talk to him, there was no use trying to do anything to help right now. 

///

“You’re in a good mood today. What’s got you so happy?” Your friend asked, noticing that you were smiling at your phone for the last 15 minutes at least. “Did you get a new boyfriend or something?” You whipped your head up long enough to scowl at her, and she laughed lightly as she leaned back against the couch. “Okay, no boyfriend… So, what is it?” 

You turned your phone in her direction and waved it back and forth as you exclaimed. “I got the apartment that I’ve been looking at. It’s affordable and big enough for myself and the baby.” You dropped your hand down to your lap, clicking off your phone and letting out a soft sigh. “I’ll miss staying with you though… You’ll have to visit me a lot.” 

She snorted loudly, leaning forward and reaching over to grab your hand. “I know that you felt like you needed to do this, but I wouldn’t have minded you staying here. The company was nice…” The corners of your mouth pulled down into a frown at the sentiment, it was too late to go back now that you had already agreed and the landlord was in the process of getting the leasing papers. “Hey, no pouting. I’ll be over your place so much that it’ll be like I live there.” 

Maybe it was the hormones that had tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, or maybe it was just the fact that you had become so comfortable staying at your friend's apartment that you know how you’d actually do this on your own. Now you wouldn’t have anyone, not Hyunjin, and not even her. “Promise?” You whimpered, and a sympathetic smile spread across her face as she dabbed at your tears with the sleeve of her hoodie. 

“I promise. I’m gonna be like the second mom that the baby never asked for.” You laughed weakly at the joke before finally taking a deep breath and getting up, your friend moving right alongside you. “So when is the next appointment? I wanna know what our baby is gonna be, hmm!” You rolled your eyes, but it felt nice to hear someone, anyone, call the baby ours and not just yours… 

“Next week…” You murmured as you walked into the kitchen to grab a drink and she followed right behind you. “Is it okay to be scared? I mean… Once I find out… that makes it more real. I still feel alone… And I know that you’re here and I’m so happy that you are… I don’t know what I would have done without you here… But he’s… I still have dreams about him… What it would be like to have him as a part of the baby’s life.” 

“That’s normal…” She reassured you, stepping around the counter to rub your back in soothing circles. “Just because you got rid of him doesn’t mean that your heart or your mind can or will get rid of him. He’s the father of that baby, regardless of whether he wants to act the part or not, and you won’t forget that.” And once again you were sniffling, your head falling against her shoulder as she consoled you. She put up with a lot for you, and for that you felt awful, even if she said she didn’t mind. You truly didn’t know what you’d do without her. 

///

Hyunjin had slowly begun to get back to his normal routine, although he still missed you, at least during the day he was able to act like he was okay. The same couldn’t be said about nighttime though, he’d lay in bed scrolling through his pictures of you and just cry. 6 months was a long time to be away from someone, and most people would think that it was enough time to get over someone… But it was hard to get over a person if that person was the one that you were in love with. 

Daylight hours though, he was the Hyunjin that everyone knew and loved. The only thing that was different was that he didn’t talk about you anymore, and it’s not that he didn’t try to, it’s just that the guys would stop him before he could even get a word out. 

It had been weeks now since he had last tried to even bring you up, and all of the guys really thought they were beginning to get somewhere. Sure, they’d still hear him crying at night, but they were really hoping that soon he’d be able to move on, maybe not to another girl, but move on from his mistakes, use them as a lesson in the future for what not to do. 

“We should go to the cafe since we’ve got a break, yeah?” Felix suggested as he sat against the mirrored wall beside Hyunjin in the practice room. “I think we deserve to reward ourselves after all of our practice. Plus, I know your ass would never turn down an iced americano, so let’s go.” Hyunjin chuckled as he and Felix both got up off the floor, heading to the door. 

“We should go to my favorite place, they’ve got the best pastries and I’m so hungry.” Felix nodded along to the suggestion, anything to make Hyunjin happy and keep him happy. What both of the guys didn’t know though, was that Hyunjins favorite cafe had become your favorite cafe as well. It’s not like you could help the cravings that seemed to come almost overnight the further along you got in your pregnancy. 

The walk was short, it was within a block of the building, and maybe that’s why Hyunjin had come to like it so much. It wasn’t just the taste of the beverages and the treats, it was the convenience of it as well. Not just that, but there were memories there, memories that he tried to keep at the back of his mind, but just the sight of the familiar storefront sign had the memories flooding in. He couldn’t help but think back on all the days that he’d meet you there during your lunch breaks, holding hands with you across the table as you both talked about your days. Where did it all go wrong? 

“Oh look!” Felix announced, breaking the silence of the otherwise quiet walk. “It must be the anniversary of the cafe opening or something. They’ve got balloons all out front.” Hyunjins eyes were drawn to the pink and white orbs that floated in the front of the shop. Over the five years that he had been going there, he had never seen them do anything like that before for anniversaries, but maybe this one was important. 

“That’s cute… Maybe they’ll have some specials or something.” Hyunjin joked, his pace picking up slightly at the thought of a discounted treat. Things were starting to get a little weird now though as he and Felix got closer. There had never been so many cars parked out front of the cafe at once, and as he glanced through the window, he could see pink and white streamers hanging from the ceiling. “Is someone having a party?” He questioned, and Felix peaked in as well, but ultimately shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’m sure they’re not using the whole cafe, come on. We can probably still get a seat.” Felix pushed through the door, the chime above the door ringing out and letting the employees and everyone else in the cafe know they were there. “Looks like a baby shower… I’ve never known of people having baby showers at cafes… That’s new.” He mused, pointing to the banner that hung above the counter. 

“Is it just me… or did it get like… really awkward in here…” Hyunjin whispered, noticing the way the entire cafe seemed to go silent upon their entrance. He couldn’t help but feel antsy under the gazes of so many people. “Maybe we should just go back after we order…” 

“Or it could just be because we’re famous… Come on… Don’t make me walk back yet. My feet are tired.” Felix playfully whined, and Hyunjin relented. He was sure that Felix was right, sometimes it was easy to forget that he was an idol, especially when he was out doing normal things like getting coffee with his best friend. “Maybe if the parents know of us, they’ll ask us to take pictures. I wouldn’t mind doing that. That would be so cool actually.” Felix continued to think out loud after ordering the drinks and the pastries, Hyunjin following along as they walked to a table closer to the back. 

By that time, it seemed like the people that had already been there for the baby shower were talking amongst themselves, quieter now, and Hyunjin was trying so hard not to be pessimistic, he was trying to truly believe what Felix had said, but there was just this feeling in his stomach that these people weren’t shocked or in awe at the fact that the two of them had shown up. They were angry. Then, the chime above the door rang out, and a unified chorus of “surprise” was cheered. That’s when Felix almost choked on his drink, his eyes widening as he set his eyes upon the new “customer”. 

“There is no fucking way…” Felix muttered, and it’s not like he’d be able to keep Hyunjin from looking, it’s not like they wouldn’t pass by the party anyway on the way out. If something were to happen, it was bound to happen, regardless of how much Felix tried to keep it from happening, so he decided not to try at all. All he could do was hold his breath as he watched Hyunjin turn around in his seat and then completely freeze when his eyes landed on you. 

It wasn’t just you though, there was someone else… Although they weren’t visible right now, they weren’t standing beside you… They were growing inside of you. You had to be 6… maybe 7 months pregnant by now… And it was all starting to make sense to Hyunjin now… At least in his head. That’s why you left. You had gotten pregnant by someone else while he was away, that had to be the reason. What other reason was there for you to just leave the way you did without saying a single word. This whole time he had thought that it had been his fault… But you had cheated on him. You cheated and you didn’t even have the common decency to tell him before you left. 

“Wow! Congratulations!” Hyunjin cheered snarkily as he loudly pushed his chair back and got up, clapping his hands together so hard that it almost echoed off the walls. “Crazy that of all places I finally get to see you again, it’s at your baby shower! Is that why you left, huh? You just couldn’t stay faithful while I was away and you managed to get knocked up! Where’s the father? Where is he, hmm!? I just wanna talk to him!” His voice started rising in pitch and getting louder and louder, something that Felix had seen before, and even though he was upset as well, he didn’t want Hyunjin to do something that he might end up regretting. 

“What are you talking about?” You managed to say through tears and sobs, your arms seeming to instinctively wrap around your stomach to protect it from Hyunjins anger. “Stop trying to act so innocent just because you’re out in public! Or did you not even tell Felix?! Or maybe you just conveniently forgot that you’re the one that walked out on me because you found out I was pregnant and you didn’t want to deal with it!” 

“WHAT?!” Both Hyunjin and Felix said the word at the same time, both of their expressions mirrored right beside each other as they stared at you, their mouths agape and their eyes so wide it looked like they might fall out. “Wait… Just.. Hold on a second!” Hyunjin stammered, his arms going up in defense as everyone in the room started to get more angry. “You’re… You’re saying… The baby is mine?!” 

You let out a sigh of disbelief, your hand running shakily through your hair, but Hyunjin couldn’t seem to take his eyes off your stomach that was rounded out, like a volleyball was placed under your shirt. It’s not like he had never seen a pregnant woman before, but to see the woman that he was head over heels in love with, pregnant… it was something that he couldn’t wrap his mind around, especially now that he knew the baby was his. “I just want to go… I want to go home…” You whimpered to your best friend who had her arm wrapped protectively around your waist. 

“No! No wait!” Hyunjin practically screamed when you started to turn around, his hand reaching out to grab your upper arm and keep you from moving any further. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why would you just walk out? Were you just going to… hide it… from me?” His voice got softer, wavering a little as his eyes glassed over, finally looking at you, and the prominent frown on your face had his heart aching even more. 

“Stop pretending… Stop… Hyunjin, you already knew.” The words came out as a single breath, exhausted already from the back and forth of it all. “You didn’t have to tell me… I knew why you left. You saw the test in the bin… You didn’t even want to talk about it. You left… You didn’t tell me you loved me, and it doesn’t matter how long it’s been… It still hurts…” You never turned around to face him, but he didn’t need to see your face to know that you were holding your breath, your cheeks slightly puffed out, something that he always found to be adorable, but now that it was because of him, he was devastated. You didn’t want him to see you cry, you didn’t want him to hear that you were choked up, but he knew… 

It wasn’t making sense though. “Y/N…” He whispered your name, stepping closer, feeling the glares of everyone around him, but it didn’t stop him. He wouldn’t hesitate. Even if you didn’t want to get back with him, even if nothing was fixed by this conversation… “I would never leave… Not because of this. If I knew… I would have sat down and talked to you about it… I would have… I would have done things differently. I was stupid, but not because I found out you were pregnant. I was stupid because I was stressed, I was so tired from work and… I thought that I had made a mistake before… But now I can see how big that mistake was. I didn’t just lose you… I lost you and… and my baby…” He needed you to know that everything, every thought that had been filling your head about what you thought had happened, that it was wrong. 

Even still, you didn’t turn around, but your shoulders slumped and he could see the deep breath that you took when they raised back up. “You didn’t even call me… I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. You don’t know the hell that I went through… To try to get over you… And I still haven’t. I don’t think I ever will because… I’ll always have her as a constant reminder of you… And I hate that, but I’d never hate her for being born by a father who couldn’t have cared less.” 

Those words hurt, they hurt more than anything else you had said, because you truly thought that low of him. “You think I don’t care?” He questioned, and you finally turned around, your mascara running down your cheeks with every tear that spilled over, and you simply nodded. “You’re wrong… I care more than you know. I can’t sleep at night… Because I fucked up so bad… And now I have… I have a daughter…” His voice broke, his head falling back and his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, trying to remove the lump from his throat. “Now that I know… I don’t… What am I supposed to do? I’m not just going to… Move on and… And act like I don’t have a child… Like I’m not still in love with you…” 

“Hyunjin stop…” You muttered, your head shaking as your eyes dropped to the ground. “What do you think saying all this is going to do, huh? If it wasn’t for Chae… I don’t know what I would have done. I would have had to do all this by myself… Because… Because fine, you didn’t know I was pregnant… But you still walked out on me. You put your job before me, above me… You always have…” 

“I know…” Hyunjins head solemnly nodded, you were right, it had been one of the constant arguments that the two of you would have been he still had you, but he had been too blind to see that it would be his biggest downfall. “I know I did, and I regret it, and I’ll regret it even more now. I’ve changed though… And I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know what I want to happen. I want to be a part of her life… Whether what I want happens or not… Can I at least have that…?” 

///

“So… You’re still single… I’m still single… I don’t know what you’re holding off for…” Hyunjin teased as he helped you hang the banner across the wall. “We’re great at coparenting… I mean, can you imagine what it would be like if we were one unit? We’d be unstoppable. We’d be the coolest parents ever! Not to mention, the hottest parents at school pickup when she’s older.” 

You rolled your eyes. He always managed to find a way to have some sort of variation of the same conversation every single time he came over. He was relentless. “Mm… Don’t fix what’s not broken, haven’t you heard that saying before?” You chimed, stretching up on your toes to try to even out the banner that he seemed to put just high enough for you not to reach on purpose. He stepped behind you, his breath hitting your neck and sending shivers down your spine as he grabbed your end and hung it for you. “You’re such a dork…” You mumbled as you turned around, your breath catching in your throat when you realized just how close his face was to yours. 

“And I’m once again asking if I could be your dork… again…” He smiled hopefully, his head tilted to the side, and although you had admitted to yourself multiple times already that you still loved him, that he was the only man that you’d ever be able to love, that you wanted nothing more than to get back with him… There was always going to be that part of you that worried about him going back to the way he used to be. Going through it once was enough, and you had come to terms that yeah, maybe part of it was your fault for jumping to conclusions and leaving the way you had, but he had been in the wrong as well, and you refused to go through that again, especially now that you had a child to protect as well. 

“But you are my dork…” His eyes lit up momentarily, and you giggled lightly, taking the momentary lapse of attention as a way to slip away. “I still have to put up with your antics almost daily, and you’re over my apartment every day.” He was following you around now as you straightened the decorations that had already been resituated a million times today. “Did you get the cake?” You turned to look at him, his pursed lips and the already guilty look on his face had you groaning loudly. 

“Calm down, baby.” He cooed, and you hated how much you missed hearing him call you that. “I already got it, it’s in the fridge. Have more faith in me… I’m not an absolute pabo.” Your lips pulled into a straight line as you stared at him, but when he remained silent you snorted loudly. “What? What?! Would a pabo make such a beautiful, intelligent, silly, baby girl? Hmm? Would he?” 

“Yes, yes he would.” You retorted with a giggle. “Because the pabo is very handsome, and very silly. She got her smarts from me though.” His lips pulled down into an overly dramatic pout and you playfully pushed against his chest as you shook your head. “Let me take credit for her intelligence, she’s only pretty and silly because you’re her dad. Luckily she looks a lot like you. Although we’re gonna have our work cut out for ourselves when she gets to school.” 

You went to step around him, but his hands landed on your hips, stopping you from any further as he looked you in your eyes, his gaze becoming more serious. “You’re beautiful…” Everything that came out of his mouth before this could have been taken as a joke, and maybe it was all meant to be taken as a joke, but the light tone that he had been carrying the whole afternoon was gone now. “You’re so beautiful, so smart, so perfect and… and every single day I wonder if it’s going to be the last chance I have to even try to get you back… but until that day comes, I’m going to keep trying because if I’m not with you, I don’t want to be with anyone.” He took a deep breath, his arms dropping to his sides as he took a step back. “But if you ever do find someone else… Can you give me a heads up, just so I can prepare myself for the heartbreak of seeing the love of my life with some other man… Please.” 

“You’re so dramatic…” You muttered, taking a step to close the space that he made between the two of you. “You don’t have to worry about that ever happening… There’s no one that can ever make me feel the way you did…” Hesitantly, you reached out to grab his hands, your thumbs brushing along his knuckles. “I’ll never want anyone but you.” Was it really smart to be admitting these things to him? Probably not. Who knew what would happen now that he knew, and you still weren’t ready for anything with him, at least not anything where it felt like your entire life was on the line. “You’re everything to me… and-“ 

His hands pulled away from yours, and for the split second where you couldn’t feel his touch, you panicked. Was he mad at you? No… His hands moved to cup your cheeks as he placed the softest, sweetest, most bittersweet kiss to your lips. It was everything, the sparks once again unleashed in the pits of your stomach just like the first kiss all over again. “You don’t have to explain… I know that you’re not ready… I’m just happy to hear that there’s no one else. And I’ll wait, I’ll keep waiting until you think that I’m deserving enough to be with you again.” His thumbs brushed your cheek before his hand slipped to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as his forehead rested against yours. “I love you though, only you, it’ll only ever be you…” 

“The birthday girl has arrived!” Changbin announced as him and the rest of the guys walked through the front door, your daughter waddling in infront of them all, her tiny feet carrying her fast over to where you and Hyunjin stood, her tiny hands grabbing at the air in front of her until she reached the both of you. “Are we… interrupting?” Changbin questioned, eyeing you and Hyunjin suspiciously, but you both shook your heads, and you quickly wiped the few tears that had fallen before giving the guys a smile. 

“Nope, you’re just in time!” You clapped your hands together, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves and looking around. Everything was perfect. “Thanks for watching her while we decorated. Was she good?” The guys all nodded, but they still looked between you and Hyunjin, the assumptions and suspicions that they had were obvious. You were just glad that at the end of the day, Hyunjin would be the one faced with the questions, not you. 

“Ah! Look at my big girl! Dada missed you bunches!” Hyunjin squealed as he scooped up his daughter, spinning around with her as he peppered kisses across her face, eliciting a chorus of giggles to pour out. “Do you like? Is it pretty?” He asked as he pointed at all the decorations, walking over to all the places she pointed to and letting her grab at the balloons and the streamers. 

Your heart swelled whenever you watched him with your daughter. He was a great father, he was a wonderful boyfriend when he wanted to be, and you wished that you could get rid of all the doubt and fears and hesitations that you had about him. He truly was perfect, he’s everything that you wanted. He said that he’d wait, but was it fair to keep him waiting? You didn’t even know how long it would take… Maybe someday… Someday soon… You’d be able to give him the answer he wanted, the answer that you want… But for now… For now you both could be happy like this, and for today, you’d let yourselves forget about everything and focus on your daughter and celebrate her 2nd birthday together, as parents, as a family, surrounded by all the people she loves and all the people that love her. 

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[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

8: SURPRISE!

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Bucky's surprise birthday party provides more surprises than you had hoped.

Word count 3.2k

Warnings: Birthday boy behaving badly, Priya is the warning here!

Erik’s sexual intervention had released you of the tension you felt whenever you were around Bucky and you realized that his birthday was quickly approaching. You made it your mission to start working on Bucky’s birthday party. The previous year he had flat out refused to let you throw him any festive gathering and you had only accepted that on one condition: he would get one this year. You had no intention of letting him wheedle his way out of it this year. He had begrudgingly agreed but only if it was something small and intimate with his friends only. 

You had given Bucky a withering look. "Trust me! I know you well enough. You’re going to like it. I promise!"

You felt like a kid in a candy store, who had been given the keys to Willy Wonka’s entire kingdom. Glee was written across your features, you wanted everything to be perfect for your best friend. Steve was your trusty accomplice and you had invited Priya into the fold as a way to make up for your misdemeanors. She had suggested that you order food from Sticks and Stones because he loved the food there and even convinced Victor to help with the catering.

A week before the auspicious day, you had pulled Steve aside to ask him if he would accompany you to pick up Bucky’s birthday gift.

"Did you find it?" Steve asked you.

"The Glenn Miller vinyl?" 

Steve nodded.

"Yeah, I found it! It’s in a vintage records store in SoHo." You smiled.

"Bucky’s going to love it. His family would play them all the time, he was such a natural dancer. It would be nice for him to do that again."

"I’m glad it’s got Captain America’s seal of approval!" you quipped cheekily.

Steve rolled his eyes, feeling relaxed and happy for once. "Do you want to go and pick it up now? I’ll drive. I can pick up my gift at the same time!"

"Oh that would be great, Steve! What did you get him?"

"You know that picture you took, the one of Bucky, you, me, Nat and Sam?"

"Yeah, I know the one."

"I painted it. There is a guy who said he would frame it and he texted me this morning saying it was ready to collect.

"Steve! I can’t wait to see it!" you squealed with excitement. "Let’s go!"

Both of you set off, climbing the stairs that led to the parking garage.

"Oh, Priya, hey! Didn't see you there!" you smiled at her as you noticed her presence at the top of the staircase. 

Priya smiled back at you tersely. 

"Everything okay?" Steve asked.

"Fine."

"Do you need a lift home?"

"No, I'm spending the night with Bucky."

"Ahh," Steve blushed at the implication of sex.

You rolled your eyes and tugged on Steve's sleeve. "Come on, punk. See you later Priya!"

*

March tenth came around quicker than expected. You waited impatiently for Bucky to arrive as his 'surprise’ party. Even though Priya was distracting him, Bucky knew about the events that had been planned. You knew he didn't like loud noises or jump scares, but he had promised to act suitably surprised.

Everything for the party went off without a hitch. The room was filled with dozens and dozens of black and gold balloons. Swing music was playing on the gramophone that Tony had purchased for the occasion. Sam cheekily had a cardboard cut out of Bucky made with his vibranium arm cut off so you could play ‘Pin the arm on Bucky’. You groaned but secretly you wanted to beat everyone.

Thor had made an appearance and was already half way through the bucketful of Asgardian ale, which he claimed to have brought for the birthday boy. Even Ayo, who you'd invited, had graced you with her presence. When she arrived, you flung your arms around the reserved Wakandan warrior. The Dora Milaje did not engage in public displays of emotion, but for you she offered a hug in return.

Things seemed to be going well. Bucky arrived with Priya and was greeted with yells and streamers. Bucky's surprise was convincing… possibly a little too dramatic, making Priya laugh and you groan exasperatedly. You stood on the side of the room watching everyone mingle, enjoying how Bucky's attention was demanded from everyone in the room. His friends were kind enough not to crowd him, or overwhelm him, but also make him feel special all at the same time.

It warmed your heart to see the light in his eyes, the enjoyment on his face. Priya was glued to his side, stroking his hair, whispering in his ear. His arm was constantly around her waist. She was the only thing that marred your perfect vision of the event.

"I am surprised that James chose that woman," Ayo appeared beside you, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Jesus, Ayo. We've talked about you sneaking around. Don't make me tie a bell around your ankles!"

Ayo smiled. "Why isn't that you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you told James how you feel?" Ayo doesn't wait for your reply. "It could be you dancing with him rather than standing here looking like a wallflower."

"Maybe you could dance with me."

"I think not, Y/N." Ayo never used your nickname.

"Way to let a girl down gently, Ayo."

Ayo just rolled her eyes at you and ventured over to Thor who was challenging everyone to a drinking contest, one which no one was engaging in. Steve was beside him, sipping the liquor carefully enjoying the buzz he rarely got to experience. Wanda and Vision were lovingly embraced in each other's arms in a corner, dancing like the rest of the world didn't exist. Nat was behind the bar serving her own special cocktails and flirting with a blushing Bruce. Clint and Laura were laughing with Pepper, while Tony, Sam and Rhodey were playing cards and making the most outrageous noise. 

You loved your little found family, even though you missed the one that brought you up. Coulson's S.H.I.E.L.D. team had inducted you into the world of violence and espionage and aliens and time travel. It was with them that you'd learnt to control your powers and become worthy to call yourself an Avenger.

Agent Melinda May was the only member of the team you saw regularly anymore since she worked close by in the new S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy HQ. She had been your S.O. for many years and held a special place in your heart, despite her prickly exterior. She often joked that you would make an excellent addition to her staff at the Academy and to ensure that you lived long enough to accept the position when retiring from ‘that Avenger gig’. 

You were brought out of your reverie about the past by Priya, who was standing on a chair shouting about it being time for presents.

Everyone cheered and you were grinning like a lunatic now. You felt excited to give Bucky your gift. The first edition Glenn Miller record was safely wrapped in a solid casing. In the Mood was the last song that Bucky and his family had danced to while he had been on leave from the War. His last happy memory of them before he had fallen from the life he had known, before he had been thrust into a world of ice and torture.

About a year ago, you had caught Bucky using your Spotify to listen to music from his childhood and had offhandedly mentioned this piece of information about his past. You kept hold of this precious tidbit for the right occasion.

Bucky had already started ripping open wrapping paper when you ventured over. Wanda had knitted him a black scarf with golden threads to match his arm, which had made him smile. Next Sam handed him a small black box which Bucky opened to find a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs.

"Thought you could use some props, spice life up a little," he winked at Bucky. Sam had a way of pushing Bucky's buttons, but you could see the mild blush on Bucky's cheeks which deepened when Priya interjected. 

"Thank you very much, Samuel, but James and I don't need such tawdry things in the bedroom."

Bucky shrugged apologetically at Sam and you wondered if he was thinking about your recent conversation.

Sam was pushed aside by Thor, who deposited a large vat of ale into Bucky's arms. "Many happy returns, metal man." He patted Bucky on the back so hard that Bucky almost dropped his gift.

Bucky was depositing the alcohol on the gift table when he was approached by Ayo. "Happy Birthday, James."

"Thank you for coming, it means a lot that you took the time."

"You look like you are doing well for yourself."

"Yeah, it’s good," Bucky smiled.

"This is for you." She handed him a simple box with padding on the inside. Bucky opened it to find a pair of ornately decorated blades made from vibranium. Everyone gasped at how beautiful they looked in the dim lights. They collapsed in on themselves and were discrete and easy to conceal. Ayo pointed out a small device which acted like a homing beacon so Bucky would be able to locate them if he lost sight of them.

"These are incredible! Thank you."

Tony didn't have many words but he did hand Bucky a beautifully ornate envelope which Bucky opened tentatively. Inside was an invitation to a magnificent moonlit dinner on a yacht on the Hudson. Bucky held the gift reverently in his hands, his vibranium fingers barely gripping, as though their strength might make the gift crumble. His eyes glistened in the party lights, a thin film of unshed tears. There had been a time where they were ready to kill each other, and even now they never spent any time alone together. You knew that this gift meant a lot to Bucky.

"Dinner on a boat? I think we'll have to pass on that, I get sea sick." Priya commented, gazing at the gift certificate around Bucky's arm.

A flicker of irritation crossed Tony's face, before he grinned mischievously. "Not a problem, it's not person specific. Manchurian Candidate here can take anyone he likes. Capsicle might not be a fan of the food, but I think Cricket would really enjoy the cuisine."

He turned to wink at you, making you blush. You couldn’t help but notice the scowl on Priya’s face, no matter how short lived it was and you knew you were about to meet your comeuppance when the glowering look she was shooting in your direction turned into a beaming smile.

"Jamie! It’s my turn, baby. I have a very special gift for you!" She hands him a thin square shaped gift wrapped in shiny golden wrapping paper. "Here!"

You felt a sudden weight on your chest, a feeling of dread washing over you. It felt like things were moving in slow motion, watching Bucky unwrap the gift. You didn’t know what you had been expecting when he pulled out a shiny record cover. It was as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over you, except you were paralyzed. The color drained from your face as you realized what the album was.

‘The Very Best of Glenn Miller.’

Bucky’s eyes shone brightly as he dropped the wrapping paper and ran his flesh fingers over the cover reverently. "Priya," he gasped in a whisper. "I- it's perfect." Bucky wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his chest and giving her a long, passionate kiss. "I love it! I love you!"

You barely noticed Steve sideling up to you, you couldn't hear him asking if you were okay. That was your gift. It was yours! If you didn’t have the vinyl you’d bought and so lovingly wrapped in your hand, you’d think she had stolen it from you. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, every attempt you made felt futile, like the air around you had left the room. He had shared the same things with her, you thought he trusted you with his past, but you weren't as special as you thought you were. 

Eventually you looked up when Steve put a gentle hand on your shoulder. He whispered, almost as though his words he was about to use were criminal. "Do you remember when we were talking last week? Before we went to pick up our gifts? You don’t think she overheard us… do you? And…"

In the end, it didn’t really matter. You knew in the moment that you’d lost Bucky forever. Everything felt far away, the room was suffocating, why were there so many people? Tears burned in your orbital sockets, drowning you from the inside out. You couldn’t face them anymore, seeing the happiness on Bucky’s face, knowing that someone else was responsible for that smile, that light inside him, was heartbreaking. Ultimately, you wanted him to be happy but you wanted to share that joy with him, you wanted to be the one to give it to him and watching that mantle being taken from you and bequeathed to another person was soul crushing. Gripping your present tightly, you slipped out of the room, Steve watching your retreating footsteps with sympathy, but knowing not to follow.

A few tears escaped as you found refuge in the kitchen, but you had no desire to explain red eyes and a blotchy nose to any of the other team members or party goers, so you wiped them away angrily, taking a few calming breaths before pouring yourself a strong drink. You sank onto a bar stool, shoving the record onto the chair to your right, you had no use for it anymore. There had barely been time for you to take 2-3 sips from your drink before Bucky popped his head into the room.

"Cricket? There you are!"

"Hey Buck! Having a good time?" You plastered a smile on your face, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Deception in this case was a futile attempt, Bucky was well versed in the movements of your face. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you lied. "Just getting a drink."

"There are plenty of drinks back there."

He looked searchingly into your eyes and the facade you had erected was crumbling. You looked away, dropping your head to try and hide your face with your hair.

"It was just a bit much, everyone there… I don’t know, I feel a little… overwhelmed."

Too much drain of the social battery, Bucky was familiar with that. He pulled out the chair on your left, almost giving you a heart attack because you had momentarily forgotten which chair you’d left the present on.

"If you want to give me my gift here, we can do it privately. Everyone else is done," Bucky suggested, leaning towards you.

The smell of his cologne was intoxicating. Suddenly you felt angry that he was there, why couldn’t he give you a moment to grieve? Constantly invading your space, reminding you of what you couldn’t have, dangling the carrot but keeping it just out of reach. "Well you already have the perfect gift from your girlfriend, what more do you need?" You couldn’t keep the bitterness out of your tone.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. But the damage was done. There was a deathly silence between you where you were afraid to look at your best friend. 

"You know, I thought I would have you both in my life; my best friend and my girlfriend. I feel like you’re making me choose you over her and it’s not fair, Cricket! I’ve tried, I really have but you’re making it impossible! So you know what, I’m going to have to choose Priya. At least she bothered to put some effort into getting me a birthday gift. I can have a future with her."

The worst thing about his words were the disappointment and finality in his tone. And with that he left you alone with only your thoughts for company. A storm raged inside you, a maelstrom of emotions; anger, betrayal, abandonment, rejection, loss, just outright pain. How could he? How could he choose her over you? After everything you had been through together, the bond you had forged, the absolute faith and trust you had put in each other. Did it mean nothing to him? Did you mean nothing to him?

Trudging back to your room, you sought comfort in your giant bed, hoping it would envelope you completely. Wrapping the duvet around your body and over your head, you buried your face in a pillow and allowed the tears to fall. Once the gates had opened, the trickle of tears became a flood as you sobbed into your pillow to muffle the sound.

Why did he have to choose? Why didn’t he choose you? The pain in your chest was unbearable, a physical ache that matched the emotional turmoil inside you. You had tried so hard to make things work, to give him a balance of your friendship with his relationship with Priya, but now it seemed like all your efforts had been in vain. He had made his choice, and it wasn’t with you.

As you lay there in your bed, the tears continued to flow, a never-ending stream of sadness and heartbreak. You felt like a piece of you had been ripped away, leaving a raw, gaping wound in its place. How could you move on from this? How could you ever trust anyone again, knowing that they could just choose someone else over you?

You sighed, you knew now that you would never be good enough for him. Everything you’d tried to hold on to, had done nothing but push him away. You remembered when you had first understood your feelings, you’d considered pulling away to protect yourself. But Bucky had reeled you back in, constantly asking if he had done something to hurt you. So you’d given in, telling yourself you didn’t want to hurt him. But in reality, it had been selfish, you had indulged in a fantasy and ended up hurting the man you loved and getting hurt in the process.

You startled as a door slammed shut nearby. It was Bucky’s bedroom door, you could hear Priya giggling and Bucky’s deep voice through the wall. Your body froze with shock, the last thing you needed right now was to listen to your best friend having sex with his girlfriend. You shoved your airpods into your ears and turned up one of your lo-fi playlists and closed your eyes.

The decision you should have made then, was far more clear to you now. Your friend and old superior officer from your S.H.I.E.L.D. team had repeatedly offered you the chance to teach with her at the newly formed Coulson Academy. She had taught you everything you knew and believed in your ability to impart the knowledge you’d gained to potential agents. It was time for you to take her up on this offer.

As you wiped away your tears and made a decision to move forward, you knew that it was time to focus on yourself and your own happiness. Bucky had made his choice, and now it was time for you to make yours. You couldn’t continue to dwell on what would never be, on the pain of rejection and heartbreak.

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[rafeandonlyrafe]

finding freedom

words: 4.2k

warnings: emotion abuse (not from rafe), potential physical abuse (again not from rafe), friends to lovers, brief violence, brief mention of fatphobia/readers body size, soft!rafe (but he still punches someone bc rafe is gonna rafe)

“can we please just not do this today?” you sigh, smoothing your hand down your freshly straightened hair, needing every strand to be set in place for midsummers tonight.

“i’m not doing anything, can you not be a bitch?” scott groans, fixing his tie in the mirror.

you sigh just quietly enough for scott not to hear. the start of your relationship was perfect. he never called you names or hurt you’re feelings, but that changed quickly, and now you’re numb to his insults. you love has faded into nothing, feeling like you’re more of a glorified maid than an actual girlfriend.

“i just don’t want any problems at midsummers tonight.” you say. “the whole town will be there.” at least everyone in the town whose approval you care about.

“i won’t start any problems if you don’t.” scott says, walking out of your shared bedroom. you never should have agreed to move in with him so quickly, but you were getting tired of your parents overbearing nature, only for them to leave for florida permanently a month after you moved out, giving you no other option on where to live.

you check your teeth for lipstick in the mirror once more before following him out.

you ride to the country club in silence, scott staring at the road ahead while you gaze out the window, eyes turning glassy as you slip out of focus like you have more and more lately.

you arrive at the celebration, knowing scott won’t open the door for you. he hasn’t in weeks. you step out, adjusting your dress that had ridden up from being sat down in scotts sports car.

you walk side by side with scott, instead of hand in hand. you wonder if people even know that you’re a couple. if they would ever suspect it when you certainly don’t act like it.

“what do you want to drink?” scott asks, already eyeing the bar.

“i don’t want anything.” you say, hoping that will stop scott from drinking too early as well, but instead he walks away, leaving you alone.

“hey.” a familiar voice purrs out as you turn around quickly.

“rafe!” a smile spreads across your face as you see one of your oldest friends. he quickly wraps you in a tight but still appropriate hug.

“no scott?” rafe asks, looking around hopefully.

“he’s um… already at the bar.” you laugh gently, feeling the awkward tension rise already. scott loves to have you all to himself, which caused you to lose touch with a lot of your friends, even rafe who you used to see at least every other day.

“already.” rafe hums out, words stinging.

“yeah, i should probably catch up with him…” you trail off, walking away leaving rafe looking at you with evident disappointment. 

you find scott amongst the crowd, but don’t bother making your way towards him as you spy kelce and his sister sat at a table in the corner.

“hey!” you smile and take the open seat.

“girl, its been so long! where have you been?” kelces little sister asks. 

“uh-” you’re about to make something up, when thankfully kelce saves you.

“oh shit, i love this song!” he hops up from his seat, chair clattering against the sun bleached hardwood. “dance with me, y/n?”

“yeah, sure.” you take kelces hand, happy that you seem to have slipped back into your natural rhythm as you dance, his hand high up on your waist to avoid any cries of indecency by the other attendees.

you dance with kelce through a couple songs before being passed off to one of his friends you don’t know very well, but you’re happy all the say, laughing as the crowd of younger folk grows as the songs shift more modern.

“y/n, can i have your next dance?” rafe asks, scooping you away from your current partner with ease.

“of course.” you feel your cheeks blushing unwillingly from the way he holds you close to his chest.

“babe, lets go home.” scott suddenly appears next to you.

you take an obvious step away from rafe, putting distance between your bodies for both of your sakes. “i’m not ready yet.” you say, attempting to keep your voice soft.

“well i am. so come on.” scott grabs your forearm, pulling you away.

you manage to look back at rafe as you get dragged towards the door. “sorry.” you mouth, hoping he doesn’t rush after you and cause a scene, even though you can see the anger on his features.

scott finally lets go when you’re out the door as you follow him across the parking lot towards his obnoxious bright yellow sportscar.

“give me the keys.” you say.

“i can drive.” scott says, waving you off.

“you are drunk!” “i said i can drive, woman!” scott shouts at you, ripping open the drivers side door and depositing himself in front of the wheel.

“then im not going with you!” you yell.

“fine, stay here for all i care!” scott slams the door shut and doesn’t even glance back at you as he backs out of the spot, wheels squealing as he leaves the parking lot.

“fuck.” you curse, heading back towards the country club. you make it to the front step before you even realize that you’re crying, tears escaping down your face. you quickly brush them away, hoping kelce or maybe topper or sarah can give you a ride home.

you take a minute to calm yourself before stepping back in, the atmosphere so different to how you feel inside.

you see rafe stood in front of the window to your right, clearly watching everything that went down in the parking lot.

“rafe-”

“are you okay?” he questions, head tipping forward, staring at you with intense eyes.

“i-” you clear your throat, holding back the tears as you force a smile on your face. “of course im okay.”

“i see the way he treats you. its wrong.” 

“we’re fine.” you shake your head, voice as loud as you can make it without cracking, yet still a whisper.

“do you want to spend the night at tanneyhill? the guest bedroom is open for you always.”

“i-i guess that would be fine.” you shrug. “just cause hes drunk. he… he isn’t drunk often.” its a bold faced lie, yet you still tell it, covering for your boyfriend and dampening the anger still sketched across rafes brow.

“mhm.” rafe leads you back outside. he doesn’t talk to you for the ride back to tanneyhill, but it doesn’t feel the same as the oppressive silence that fills the car whenever you’re with scott.

“thank you. i’ll leave in the morning.” 

rafe just nods.

--

you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at scott. “well?” “well what?” he questions, throwing his hands in the air.

“you really don’t know what today is?” 

“no, and you won’t tell me!”

“forget it.” you push yourself off the bed. “i’m taking the jeep.” you call out, not bothering to tell him where you’re going.

you’re not even sure at first as you drive around before you ultimately decide to drive towards the tennis courts. you have none of your equipment, but you can at least sit in the stands and watch others play as a way to pass the time.

“what are you doing here on your birthday?” 

you let out a squeal in shock, almost closing the door on yourself. “rafe! you scared the shit out of me!” “sorry.” he holds his hands up, wide smile on his face. “but seriously, you’re playing tennis on your birthday?”

“scott forgot.” you blurt out. “so… i was just kinda driving around aimlessly.” you shrug.

“well, let me take you out then birthday girl. lunch?” you realize after rafes suggestion how hungry you are and nod quickly.

rafe takes you out to your favorite restaurant, immediately telling the waitress it’s your birthday and you’ll be having dessert first, making you giggle and roll your eyes as an ice cream sundae is brought out for you to share.

“hey.” rafe says, bringing you back to the tennis courts to pick up your car now that the sun has set, having spent the entire day together. “i got you a present.”

“really?” you gasp. “rafe, you didn’t have to!” 

“you’re my friend, its no problem.” he shrugs, reaching into the backseat and handing you a thin wrapped box.

“oh my god, thank you.” you reach across the center console, pulling him into a hug before ripping into the colorful paper, eyes widening when you realize what you were just gifted.

“absolutely not, its too much!” you lift up the beautiful gold bracelet, stone embellishments inlaid into the pattern.

“come on, you deserve something beautiful today. let me help you put it on.” rafe doesn’t give you any time to argue, taking the bracelet and slipping it around your wrist, fingers gently touching your skin as he clips it.

“i-i seriously can’t thank you enough.”

“all i want in return is for you to be happy.” rafe says, looping your fingers together. 

you squeeze them back, holding back your tears as you mutter a goodbye, promising to call rafe soon before heading back home to scott. any time you feel upset on the ride back, you just look at your gift and think of rafe.

“you still don’t know?” you call as you enter the house.

“it’s your birthday.” scott appears from the living room, handing you a gift bag.

“are you serious?” you follow him deeper into the house as he flops back onto the couch, eyes on the television.

“i got you a gift, what more do you want?” scott groans.

you can’t help but laugh, a mean, bitter laugh as you look into the bag. “you’ve got to be kidding me.” it’s an eyeshadow palette with a $2.99 sticker on it. you don’t care about the cost of gifts, but this is clearly something he just picked up from the dollar store with zero thought.

“its makeup. you like girly shit.” scott shrugs.

“yeah, thanks.” you say sarcastically, throwing the bag onto the coffee table as you stomp away. you hear scott following you, and you almost make it into your room before his hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back towards him.

“what the fuck is your problem?” he shouts.

you want to yell back, want to scream in his face and let go of all your rage, but as his hold tightens on your wrist, you don’t dare to speak up.

“i tried to get you something you liked.” he reasons.

“i know.” by some sick standards, he did.

“i can give you something else you like.” scott guides your hand to his crotch, placing it there before you snatch your hand back.

“i’ve got a headache.”

“of course you do.” scott rolls his eyes, walking back down the stairs without another word.

--

“you could have at least asked me before you agreed to dinner.” scott says, changing out of his sweatpants into an old pair of jeans.

“you don’t have to come.” you shrug, adding the bracelet rafe gifted you last, your favorite accessory to every outfit, no matter how casual. “its just gonna be rafe, topper and kelce.”

“of course im coming. you think im going to let you go out to eat with three men without your boyfriend?” “do you not trust me?” you raise an eyebrow.

scott just shrugs, and leaves his answer at that, grabbing his car keys as you follow behind.

you’re the last one to arrive, a small apologetic smile on your face as the boys see scott following right behind.

the waitress comes to get everyones drink orders now that the party is complete. you order a lemonade, with scott getting himself a beer, as usual. you notice rafe gets just a cold glass of water, his eyes meeting yours from his spot across the table.

“alright, what can i get yall to eat?” the waitress pulls out a notepad and pen.

everyone orders for themselves until it gets to scott. “ill have the stake, medium well. she will have a side salad.”

you furrow your brow, you never talked about wanting a salad beforehand. “um, actually i’ll have the chicken parm.”

the waitress glances between the two of you before nodding and scurrying away.

“god, you’re getting so fat.” scott says under his breath, yet you still clearly hear.

you wait a few minutes, attempting to listen to whatever sport kelce and topper are going on and on about, when the urge to cry becomes too overwhelming and you have to excuse yourself, walking towards the bathroom before slipping outside.

you are leaned up against the exterior of the building, chest rising and falling as you attempt to control all the feelings you have building inside of you.

“why don’t you say anything to him?” 

“god, rafe.” you place your hand on your chest. “you’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

“i heard what he says. i see the way he treats you, and i can’t just sit back and watch that happen.”

“what am i supposed to do?” you look up at rafe in desperation.

“break up with him.” he says simply.

“we live together. i-i have no place to go. this is a small island, and we have mutual friends. i can’t just walk away and never see him again.

“so how long are you going to put up with it? because i am seconds away from smashing his face in.” rafes fist clenches in anger, like hes visualizing punching scott this very moment.

“i… i’ll do it today. at home so i can get my stuff then i’ll go to a hotel-”

“tanneyhill. you’ll come to tanneyhill. i told you, the guest bedroom is always open for you.”

“thank you, rafe.” you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, allowing the minutes to stretch by as he holds you.

“lets get you inside, yeah?” 

you nod, allowing rafe to lead you back into the restaurant. scott has a suspicious look in his eye but stays silent.

--

“we need to talk when we get home.” you say, scotts foot pushed down on the accelerator as he speeds home.

“what is there to talk about?” he questions.

“just some things i want to get off my chest.” you leave it at that, returning to the silence you’ve come to know well.

you can barely wait until you’re through the door before the words spurt out. “i want to break up.”

scott stands there with a blank expression, causing you to doubt whether you actually verbally said anything. 

“i want to break up.” you repeat.

“no.” scott says, face flushing with anger.

“what do you mean no?” you question.

“is this because i called you fat? well, im sorry for that. i just think you could lose a little weight.” scott throws his hands up in the air like he’s the victim.

“i just can’t take this anymore. i’m not happy. you’re not happy. why are we torturing ourselves?” “you’re not leaving.” scott takes a step closer to you. “i won’t allow you to fucking leave.”

“scott, please.” you shake your head.

“you’re mine!” he yells, bursting forward to grab your shoulders, pushing you against the wall as you let out a shriek.

your eyes closed, accepting that this is the time. this is when you will be hit. you just hope it doesn’t break anything as you wait for your fate, but it never comes.

your eyes open to see rafe burst through the door, immediately accessing the situation and shoving scott away from you.

“what the fuck!” he shouts, charging towards rafe, but it's no use as rafes fist rises and meets his nose, knocking him onto the ground and out cold.

“are you okay?” rafe wraps you in his arms as your body crumbles, holding you up like your weight is nothing as you sob.

“i-thank you.”

“i’ve got you. come on, lets go get your stuff. im taking you to tanneyhill.”

you nod, in a haze as you gather up your belongings, leaving behind anything that can be left as you get just the essentials, rafe helping you carry them out, even as you step around scotts still body, lying on the floor. you check to make sure his chest is rising and falling, and then don’t look at him again.

--

“ive never seen you so happy.” sarah laughs as you flit around the kitchen, making the biggest breakfast you can for the entire cameron family. eggs prepared in every way, toast, waffles, pancakes, anything and everything. it’s really all for rafe, your savior.

“what is there to be upset about?” you shrug. “i’m single!”

“and youre spending lots of time with rafe again.” she eyes you up and down as your hand shakes slightly pouring a glass of orange juice for wheezie.

“shut up.” you whisper, but the smile doesn’t drop from your face, especially as rafe enters the room. you transformed in the night, the shackles of scotts emotional abuse finally falling away, allowing your true self to reappear.

“im taking you out to dinner tonight, y/n.” rafe says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“you haven’t even had breakfast yet and you’re already thinking about dinner?” you laugh, shoving a plate full of his favorites into his hands.

“to celebrate.” he shrugs. “maybe i’ll convince top to throw a party.”

“ugh, i really don’t want to be around drunk people.” you admit. you want to celebrate, but preferably without alcohol at least for a month. rafe just nods, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before taking a seat at the island next to sarah.

“after you’re done eating, you can help me look for an apartment or a condo.” you tell rafe. “maybe i could ask ward about-”

“you know you don’t need to be in a rush to leave, right?” rafe interrupts you.

“yeah, but i don’t want to take advantage.” you shrug.

“you’re not.” rafe says, that serious, intense look back in his eye.

“okay.” you nod, soft smile on your face as he takes a bite of his waffle. you turn back to the stove as the timer goes off.

“oh, and maybe we could look for some place to move in together.” you glance back at rafe as he speaks, not caring that your bacon is getting crispier and crispier. “probably time for me to leave the nest anyways… and there’s no one i’d rather live with than you.”

--

“gosh, y/n, you can talk about something else.” rafe laughs as you launch into another discussion about what kind of house or condo you could move into together, what features you’re looking for and renovations you want to avoid.

“i’m excited!” you whine, taking another bite of your food.

“its cute.” rafe says, making you almost choke as you take a quick sip of your water.

“i just really can’t wait to live together. it’ll be so refreshing after…” you don’t need to say his name, not so soon after. 

“of course.” he nods. “do you want dessert?” rafe asks, seeing the waitress walking over.

“maybe we could split a hot fudge cake?” 

“here’s another water, sir.” she winks at rafe, handing him another glass even though his is not even half empty. “and can i get you anything for dessert?” she leans down, feigning to be reaching into her apron for her notepad, but is clearly just showing off her chest.

“one hot fudge cake, two spoons.” rafe barely pays attention to her as she scribbles it down and walks away disappointed.

“well, she’s bold.” you huff, glaring at her back until she rounds a corner.

“jealous?” rafe smirks, making your eyes widen.

“i never said that!”

“mhm.” rafe takes a sip of his new water. “don’t worry, you’re cute when you’re jealous too.”

--

“really, thanks for this topper.” you smile, accepting his hand as you step onto his family yacht, taking you and a couple friends, of course including rafe, out for a day on the water.

“just happy to have my friend back.” he says. you feel so lucky to have such amazing people surrounding you, supporting you after your breakup and not holding the way you treated them while in your relationship against you.

you take a seat next to rafe as topper begins to pull the boat away from the dock, allowing your eyes to close and head to rest against rafes shoulder as you feel the sun warm your skin.

you lay like that until topper navigates the yacht into deeper waters for everyone to jump off and swim. you hang back for a moment, watching everyone throw in floating pads or inner tubes as you smile, feeling more relaxed than you have in months.

“ready?” rafe asks.

“oh, yeah.” you pull off your coverup and jump into the water, laughing when you come up as rafe cannonballs right next to you.

you spend the next couple of hours in the water, only getting out to dive right back in. you swim around with rafe, but manage to break away from his attention to talk to your other friends for a bit as well.

your stomach rumbles as topper calls for lunch, having packed sandwiches into the fridge in the yachts kitchen before you left. you sit on your towel on the deck, rafe bringing you back a sandwich and bag of chips as everyone begins to talk.

you watch happily, content to sit back and just be in the moment. you tense up slightly when topper brings out a cooler of drinks, relaxing only slightly when you realize it’s only enough for everyone to have one or two beers or white claws and no one will be getting plastered.

“wanna head back in the water?” rafe asks when you're finished.

“actually…” you look at one of your friends screaming as kelce scoops her up and jumps into the water with her in his arms. “wanna go lay on the sundeck?” “yeah.” rafe follows you away from the crowd until you reach the large white cushions and spread yourself over them, arching your back and stretching.

rafe sprawls out next to you, but turns himself to the side so he can look at you.

“i like you, y/n.” he says.

“i-” its so sudden, so forward, yet so rafe.

“you don’t have to say anything back. but you should know, especially if we are buying a place together.” you nod slowly, taking in his words. “i like you. and i want to kiss you.”

you just nod, a smile spreading across your cheeks as rafe moves closer, placing his hand on your cheek as he leans down, lips pressing against yours.

you’re elated for a moment, until your nose catches the smell of alcohol and you freeze, realizing there’s still the sticky sweet taste on his lips as you’re suddenly transported back to feeling what it’s like kissing scott.

you pull away suddenly.

“i’m… shit. i’m sorry.” rafe stands quickly before you can even process.

“wait!” you call out, legs feeling like jelly yet you force them to work, standing as you rush after rafe, but by the time you reach the main deck, hes taken off on one of toppers jetskis, heading towards home.

“what happened?” topper asks, seeing the tears in your eyes.

“we-we kissed and-” you let out a sob. “i got a flashback of scott because of the beer smell and i pulled away and-” another sob racks through your body. “he thought i was rejecting him but… i love him topper! i need to go and find him and tell him and-” “calm down, okay? you can’t do anything in this state.” topper places his hands on your shoulders, moving you to sit in a chair.

“everyone back on the boat!” he yells, his tone unusually authoritative as everyone scrambles to get the floaties back into the boat.

the yacht moves faster than you thought possible as topper races back, knowing how important this is to you, and to rafe. he’s not going to let his friends miss out on true love just because of a misunderstood trauma response.

thanks to the slow jetski, you reach the dock only a minute after rafe. you’re off the boat and running after him before the lines are even secured.

“wait!” your feet slap against the wood until you reach rafe, grasping his wrist and pulling him to face you.

“just-” rafe sighs. “let me go, y/n. you can stay at tanneyhill of course just… i don’t need you to reject me again.” “let me explain!” you shout, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i wanted to kiss you, i swear. i just smelled the beer on you, and i got a flashback to scott. i got freaked out, it had nothing to do with you. im just… still recovering.”

“shit.” rafe groans, head tipping back at he stares at the sky for a moment, collecting his anger. “i’m so fucking stupid. of course you need more time, you just left him a couple days ago.” “no im… i like you too rafe. i know i need to heal, but i want to do that with you. i love you.”

rafes face turns briefly to one of confusion before a smile takes over. “im going inside to go use toppers mouthwash real quick then im coming back to kiss you. don’t move.”

sfw taglist: @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight @ladyinbl00d