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osarina · 28 days

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ᡣ𐭩 MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE NEVER BEFORE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your patience is thinning. despite having a conversation with dazai and being led to believe everything is okay, he's suddenly avoiding you again. luckily, or maybe unluckily, his hand is forced when he realizes that you're not waiting for him this time. whether he likes it or not, this confrontation is happening—except you slowly realize as it goes on that dazai's definition of intimacy is dreadfully different from yours.

{wordcount: 10.4k; ņsfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i wouldn't say this is angst but it does deal with some references to heavy topics; jealous!dazai, depictions of dissociation (dazai), dazai's on the brink of a mental breakdown for a bit in the beginning, references to abuse (dazai. no actual depictions), references to dubcon (dazai. no actual depictions), dazai is wildly intelligent but not so much when it comes to sex & other forms of intimacy (he is quite uneducated in fact), slight oral (male rec), unprotected sex, sub!dazai, dazai and reader argue for a bit (he calls her a whore - doesn't mean it but still says it)}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 😒i hope you guys know im sitting here glaring at my computer because i did not want to post this fic. it's been sitting in my google drive for like AGES and im literally having to physically force myself into formatting this post because i wanted to keep it hoarded forever. anyway, read the warnings for this one pretty pls, this fic is a bit loaded—not exactly angst, but it references some heavy topics. let me know if any warnings are missing as always!

“I’m so sick and tired of him.”

You listen as Chuuya lets out another heavy sigh next to you, pointedly taking a sip of his wine, but you don’t even bother to glance at him as you glare down at your phone. Left on read, again, Dazai ignores your message asking him to meet you and Chuuya at the bar. You slam your phone down on the dark wood of the bar top before reaching for your own glass, taking a large gulp of it before opening your mouth to continue complaining, much to Chuuya’s displeasure.

“I thought things would be different after we talked. He moved back into my apartment but he’s still avoiding me like the fucking plague. I mean Christ, I broke up with my boyfriend, came crawling back to him because I knew he was pissed even though he’d rather kill himself—literally—than admit he likes me. Why the fuck can’t he even given an inch? Meet me halfway?”

“Because he’s Dazai,” Chuuya says dryly. “What did you expect from him, honestly? … And we all know you weren’t going to stick with that civilian.”

“Oh, shut up,” you tell him bitterly. “That’s not the point. The point is I did, and I went right to him, and we talked, and he acted like everything was fine, and now he’s pulling this shit. How is he going to live in my fucking apartment and avoid me at every corner? And whenever I do manage to catch him, he makes up some bullshit excuse about a mission I know he doesn’t have and disappears.”

You lean back in your chair, brows furrowed and fingers curled around your glass. By now, all of the people that had been sitting near the two of you at the bar have dispersed to the dancefloor—if your arrival with Chuuya hadn’t been enough to send them scattering, your foul mood was more than enough to make them give you a wide berth.

“I’m frustrated,” you finally hiss. “I’m just frustrated, am I allowed to be frustrated, Chuuya?”

Chuuya side-eyes you. “Stop fuckin’ complaining to me about it and do something about it, jeez,” he says, hand sliding into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, holding it between his lips as he fumbles for a lighter to light it.

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” you ask, becoming increasingly more irritated as you pull out your own lighter to light it for him. “I tried talking to him, now he’s ignoring me.”

Chuuya has the audacity to roll his eyes, looking at you with an unimpressed expression that makes you want to pluck his cigarette out of his mouth and put it out on his skin. As if he can hear your thoughts, he leans back, giving you a suspicious look.

“I’m not talking about that shithead,” Chuuya drawls. “If you’re so frustrated, go find some sorry bastard to fuck it out of you. We both know that’s all it takes to get you to settle down.”

“Fuck you,” you say instantly, not appreciating how he acts like you’re a nympho. But already, your gaze is carding across the room, trying to see if someone catches your eye. When you find yourself disappointed, you look back at him and ask, “You offering yourself up?”

Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Fuck no,” he tells you instantly. “No way. Don’t even say that shit to me.”

You’re almost offended, squinting at him and leaning back in your seat. “Why not? Like old times. You know what I like, I know what you like, we can make a good night out of it,” you propose as you lean your elbow on the bartop and observe him.

“Because shitty Dazai will never let me hear the end of it if he finds out,” Chuuya says pointedly, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Bastard is annoying as is, if he finds out I’ve slept with you? It’d be the end of the world.”

“You have slept with me though, Chuuya,” you taunt. “Who’s to say I won’t tell him anyway?”

You won’t, but you like the way Chuuya’s lip curls up in irritation around his cigarette.

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll tell him all about that time in Osaka.”

You gasp, scandalized. “Chuuya,” you hiss. “You would not. You swore.”

“Try me,” Chuuya says, raising his eyebrows at you, looking all too smug as you flounder for a response.

Humbled, and a bit mortified, you return to looking around the club, lowering your standards this time. You spot a blonde standing in the corner of the club, eyes flitting around curiously as he observes the people on the dancefloor, and a redhead laughing wildly as she spins with a drink in hand, teetering off to the edge of the floor. You purse your lips.

“No one is catching my attention,” you complain, sinking back down in your seat.

You decidedly don’t like the smirk that edges onto his lips as he looks at you, and it’s for good reason, because the next words out of his mouth have your eye twitching: “You’re that down bad for him already? Jesus.”

“I am not,” you spit out, glaring at him before pointedly returning to your hunt, looking around more intensely this time.

But even as you do that, you start to wonder if that’s why no one is standing out to you tonight. How the fuck is anyone supposed to compare to Dazai Osamu? The thought is ridiculous—you don’t want to tug at blonde hair to pull someone down into a kiss, you don’t want a head of tousled red locks buried between your thighs, there’s only one person you actually want in your bed and he’s been avoiding you since you talked things out with him.

You let out a heavy sigh, considering just admitting defeat, but then your eyes drift to a tall, dark haired man entering the club, making his way over to the bar; his hair is a bit too long and a bit too straight, and his eyes aren’t the right shade, but they’re sharp enough and you’re tipsy enough to willfully confuse them for the familiar brown you desire.

“Nevermind,” you breathe out. Chuuya doesn’t even spare you a goodbye as you slip from your seat to make your way over to the man, lifting his hand in a lazy wave. “I found someone.”

Chuuya was right.

You think maybe you should stop doubting him as much as you do. This is not the first time that you’ve fought him tooth and nail about something only for him to be proven right in the end. But you’re not going to tell him that because he has a big enough ego and you’re not going to feed into it.

Dealing with Dazai’s fickleness the past two weeks has been much easier now that you’re fucking out your frustrations with strangers as soon as he’s gone for the night on whatever mission Mori assigns him. You take his aloofness in stride, ignoring the way he blows you off and avoids you in your own home. You think it’s bothering him, actually, because now when you walk past him without a second glance, you can see the way he hesitates from the corner of your eye, an indecipherable expression crossing over his face.

Good, you think. You hope he feels like shit.

You let out a soft breath as you tilt your head to the side, giving the man you’re with better access. From the corner of your eye, with the tousled brown hair, you can almost pretend it’s him, but you know it’s not. His hair isn’t as soft as Dazai’s, who all but hijacked your expensive shampoos and conditioners, and you can’t feel the bandages that should be tucked beneath the tufts of hair. Your mind starts to drift, comparing how you think Dazai’s touch would be to this man’s. When you first kissed him, he was unsure and hesitant, would he still be now? Or has he grown more confident? You think he must’ve, you’ve seen him with people during events, lips tilted up in a sensual smile, lashes fluttering as he leads them into one of the backrooms.

Sick and unfair, you think to yourself bitterly.

You let out a heavy, disappointed sigh.

“You good?” the man asks—you don’t remember his name, you don’t even know if you cared to ask. His voice is distinctly different from Dazai’s low hum whenever he teases you, a total immersion-break from your desired reality.

You roll your eyes, irritated. “Don’t speak.”

The man lets out a noise of agreement, fingers biting a bit harder into your waist as he continues kissing down your neck. You don’t really mind, the sting is nice, just enough force to draw your mind away from Dazai. The sigh you let out is more pleased now, eyes slipping shut as his hands slide up your body, kisses trailing down your neck to your collarbone. His lips are too soft; Dazai’s are horribly chapped no matter how much chapstick you force on him.

Dazai is out on another “mission”. You don’t even know if it’s a real mission or if he’s just claiming it’s a mission so he doesn’t have to stick around the apartment while you’re there, lowering the chances of running into you. For all you know, he’s just going back to that shitty shipping container he spent a year in and hanging out there until you leave for one of your own missions or a meeting. He looked particularly sullen as he left earlier, casting looks back to where you’d disappeared into the kitchen, not realizing you could still see him before he finally left your apartment.

He’s such a pain in the ass, you think, getting irate again as he drifts back into your thoughts. He makes everything so difficult, things would be so much easier he just admitted that he wanted to be with you. You really don’t know how much more of this back and forth, wishy-washy shit you can take from him. You care about Dazai. You do. Probably more than anyone else in your life and you’re sick of him taking it for granted.

You hum in approval when the man lifts his hands to your button-up, hesitating as he waits for your consent, and your gaze flicks up to the ceiling as he continues kissing down the revealed skin; from the crook of your neck to your collarbone, between your breasts, he unbuttons all the way to your navel.

You find yourself a bit bored, counting the specks on the ceiling, taking note of the crack that you’re sure is somehow Dazai’s fault. You think there must only be two more buttons left for him to undo before you can slide the shirt off of your shoulders but you start to feel uncomfortable under his touch, you feel prickly and his lips trailing down your body makes your skin crawl.

“Off,” you finally say, voice sharp. You press your hand against his shoulder to push him off of you, sitting up straight to sit properly on the couch. You scowl as you fumble through your pants pockets to find a cigarette.

This is Dazai’s fault somehow.

“Did I do something wrong?” the man asks hesitantly, trying to shift closer to you again. “I-”

“No,” you say bluntly, lighting the cigarette and lifting it to your lips. “Get out of my apartment.”

The man hesitates, you can feel his eyes lingering on you and you’re becoming increasingly more irritated, shooting him a glare from the corner of your eye until he finally rises to his feet, buttoning his shirt as he makes his way over to the elevator. You slump back against the couch, sighing as you look up at the ceiling and take a long drag from your cigarette.

Dazai’s fault. As soon as he crossed your mind, your whole demeanor had changed and you try to convince yourself that it’s because you just don’t know what his issue is. You don’t know why he’s avoiding you, you don’t know what changed after you met with him at the bar; you thought things would be good between the two of you. You thought you’d be able to be with him now that nothing’s left in your way but evidently there still is something preventing the two of you from being together and it’s something that Dazai is not sharing with you.

Bastard, you think bitterly, about to pull out your phone to send Chuuya a very irritated and very foul message about Dazai but before you can, the elevator leading up to your floor bings and you look up to watch the man you’d invited over leave.

Except as the doors slide open, you realize that someone is already standing in there.

You sit up straight when you see Dazai standing in the elevator, black gaze trained right on the man leaving your apartment. His movements are almost robotic as he steps out of the elevator, his head twisting to follow the man as he steps in the elevator. He looks distinctly unnerved as Dazai’s soulless gaze tracking him until the elevator doors slide back shut.

It’s only then that Dazai only turns to look at you. His face is eerily void of emotion as he looks at you, gaze dipping down to your unbuttoned shirt and the light bruises blooming on your neck and collarbone. You tilt your head to the side as you observe him, wondering if he’s going to say something, but he only stands there staring at you.

“I thought you had a mission,” you finally say, leaning forward to put your cigarette out on the ashtray on the coffee table to button up your shirt half way so you’re not nearly undressed. When you finish, you pick up your glass of wine and take a sip. “You’re back early.”

“I finished early,” Dazai replies, monotonic.

He doesn’t budge from where he’s standing, limbs stiff and face blank. You glance down, noticing that he’s holding something in his right hand—a bag, takeout, maybe? Looks like it’s from that place in Hodogaya-ku that you like.

“What’s that?” you ask, nodding toward the bag. Dazai follows your gaze down to it, staring at it as if he doesn’t even know what it is. You frown, becoming a bit concerned as you rise to your feet. “Dazai, you good?”

Dazai’s gaze doesn’t leave the bag for a second; after what feels like an eternity, he finally looks back up at you but he doesn’t even seem to be looking at you, rather it feels like he’s looking through you like you’re not even there.

“I got food,” he says blankly.

Your eyes widen a bit, wondering if this is meant to be his apology for being an asshole the past few weeks. Dazai never apologizes—he disappears until he can act like nothing happened or he does something to make up for what he did, but he doesn’t ever acknowledge what he did. It’s frustrating, but you’ve gotten used to his quirks over the years. You’d been wondering why he seemed so melancholic before he left.

You nod at the spot next to you on the couch, accepting the apology and sitting back down. “I’ll put on a movie.”

Dazai looks at the spot like it’s been poisoned, expression finally twisting from the emptiness into one of disgust.

“What?” you demand, offended.

Dazai doesn’t even respond to you; you can only stare in disbelief as he turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the kitchen. You don’t budge for a second, staring in shock to where he disappeared to, but after a few moments, you force yourself up to your feet and follow after him.

Your mind races as you make your way down the short hall into the kitchen, standing in the door frame as you watch him put the bag of takeout on the kitchen counter, pulling the different containers out of the bag and then opening the fridge. His movements are stiff and abrupt, almost robotic, and your irritation slips away when you see the expression on his face.

Closed-off. Withdrawn. Very reminiscent of the look on his face from that time he came back to your apartment after a mission that went wrong post-Dragon’s head Conflict, right before he had his first breakdown in front of you. He’d been trying to hold it all back, desperate to not lose control in front of you, but it was to no avail because it only made it worse.

“Dazai, what’s wrong?” you ask carefully as he stuffs another container into the fridge, so roughly that the plastic almost snaps. “Dazai-”

“Nothing,” Dazai responds sharply, voice cold and cutting but the way he takes in a sharp, shaky breath betrays him. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing.”

“Okay, that’s a lie,” you say flatly, sighing to yourself. “Can you just-”

“You’re the liar,” Dazai cuts you off, voice shrill and defensive in a way you’ve never heard from him before. Something crosses his face: a weird mixture of panic, anger and distress, like he knows he’s losing control of his emotions but he can’t stop himself. You don’t usually have such a hard time reading Dazai—it’s difficult, yes, but not as impossible as it currently is. It’s stressing you out because you don’t know what’s wrong and he’s clearly working himself up more over it. “You’re the liar. You’re the liar.”

Your eye twitches. Three breaths in and three breaths out. Now’s really not the time for you to lose your temper on him considering he’s on the brink of a mental breakdown for whatever reason. But you’re pissed, you don’t know why he’s calling you a liar and you don’t know what is going on, and you don’t want to deal with this especially after he just spent weeks ignoring and avoiding you.

“What did I lie about, Dazai?” you ask tightly, nails digging into your palms as you wait for a response. “Please, enlighten me.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tightening as he resumes tossing the food into the fridge.

“Dazai, stop,” you tell him, taking a step forward when he finally gets to the bottom of the takeout bag and slams the fridge shut so hard that it rattles. He grabs the empty bag and is about to storm over to the garbage can but before he can, you reach forward and grab his wrist, stopping him. “Will you fucking talk to me?”

“Let go,” Dazai hisses, trying to rip his arm from your hold but your fingers are too tight around his wrist, his bandages rough against the pads of your fingers—you don’t know why he’s still using those old scratchy ones when you stocked up with the softer ones but it only serves to irritate you more because why are you going out of your way to do nice things for him if he’s just going to toss it to the side? “Let go of me.”

“Tell me what your issue is,” you demand. “I’m done playing games with you, Dazai. Grow the fuck up and communicate.”

Dazai’s eye is wide and wild, looking far too much like a cornered animal as he bares his teeth at you and tries to yank out of your hold on him again. “My issue is that you’re a whore,” he spits out. “Let go of me. Now.”

You let go of him.

Instantly, the anger in Dazai’s face fizzles away. His eye is just as wide but his expression is lax, lips parted as if he’s only now just registering what he said. And you know he regrets it, you know that Dazai lashes out when he feels cornered; he becomes cruel and vicious, desperate in his attempts to protect himself when he feels vulnerable and since Dazai is Dazai, he knows how to hurt people. Knows exactly where the chinks in your armor are, drives the dagger in deep and twists it.

But even knowing this, it still hurts hearing that from him of all people.

“Okay.”

Your voice is quiet, you don’t even waste a second before turning on your heel and leaving the kitchen.

“Wait,” Dazai calls after you, voice wavering. “Wait, I didn’t…”

He can’t even finish the sentence because Dazai is Dazai and he doesn’t apologize and he doesn’t admit his wrongs. Doesn’t admit that he lost control and said something he didn’t mean to say. Would rather preserve his false visage of control than do anything like that.

“Where are you going?” Dazai asks and you can hear him trailing after you, words drawn long and shaky. “Hey, wait-”

You don’t know where you’re going. Leaving your apartment, you think, considering your feet are moving right to the elevator, but once you leave the building? You’re not sure. Maybe you’ll head over to Chuuya’s and crash at his apartment for the night, maybe you’ll go get shit-faced at a bar. You don’t really care, you just don’t want to be anywhere near Dazai right now. He’s put you through enough the past few weeks for you to stand here and take this shit from him.

“I don’t know, Dazai,” you say, voice cold and sharp. “Maybe I’ll go find that guy I kicked out and finish the job if I’m such a whore.”

Dazai inhales sharply from behind you. “What?” he breathes out. “No. No. I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?” you scoff, not even looking back at him. “Didn’t mean it? You can’t even bring yourself to say it, Dazai. Clearly you did.”

That’s not true, you know it’s only Dazai’s pride that prevents him from forcing those words out, but you know it makes him flinch and you know it makes him hesitate. You also know how to target chinks in armor.

“No,” Dazai tries again, more insistent this time. You can hear him speeding up behind you when he realizes you’re going for the elevator. “No, you don’t need to do that. I don’t-I don’t get you. I don’t get this. I don’t get any of this.”

He sounds confused, borderline distressed—you don’t even know what he’s talking about, what he’s so confused and distressed about. How could you? He never explains anything to you, never communicates.

“You don’t get what?” you demand, reaching out for the button of the elevator but Dazai lunges forward to grab your wrist before you can. You finally turn to look at him, catching the way his jaw is tight and the strange emotion swimming in his eye. “You don’t get what, Dazai? Spit it out.”

“Why are you still sleeping with other people?” he asks, voice hitching. “You have me. You don’t need anyone else.”

You can’t help yourself—you laugh in Dazai’s face.

“No way,” you say immediately.

You don’t mean it in the way it comes out. You know it comes out as if you’re saying you’d never sleep with him, but you’re more so saying no way because you can’t believe he has the audacity to say this to you after he just spent weeks avoiding and ignoring you.

Is this what his issue is? He doesn’t know how to cope with emotions so he evades and lashes out and just expects you to stick around waiting until he grows up? Fuck him. You deserve better than that, you waited long enough, you thought you were done with these games with him.

You don’t miss the way Dazai’s expression crumbles at your words, the way he stares at you, lips parted in disbelief. You don’t correct yourself, a part of you is happy that you can get your own knife in even if you do know you’ll regret it later.

“What do you mean no?” Dazai’s voice wobbles a bit before he takes half a step back. His fingers are weak around your wrist but he doesn’t let go, feels a lot like a child clinging to their parent’s shirt. “What-I-I’m here. You want it, you were just going to-”

Not that that’s even the issue anymore, but you’re definitely not in the mood now. Honestly, you just want to go to bed. Your head hurts and Dazai is stressing you out and pissing you off all at the same time, plus you have no interest in fucking him when he seems like he’s on the verge of a mental break anyway.

“No, I don’t. I changed my mind,” you say, frustrated. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai replies, voice pitched and tinged with something too close to desperation. “No. You want me and I’m here, so you should-”

God, what the fuck is your life? You’re so frustrated that you want to pull your hair out and scream at him.

“Enough, Dazai.” You raise your voice at him. “Enough. I don’t want you. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai insists and your eyes widen when you feel his grip tighten on your wrist.

“Daz-” You start to say but you can’t even finish his name, cut off by his other hand finding its way to your hip, pressing you back against the closed doors of the elevator as he dips his head down to capture your lips with his own, swallowing your protest before you can even get it out.

You think absently that you were right earlier when you were letting your thoughts wander to what kissing Dazai would be like. He’s no longer unsure and hesitant with his touches, his lips slide against yours with the expertise of someone who’s spent a lifetime kissing. The hand on your hip slides up your body so that he can hold your jaw, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. And you shouldn’t be indulging this, you know that—Dazai pissed you off, he has some nerve calling you a whore and then whoring himself out to you—but his lips are intoxicating, you can hardly think straight with them pressed against yours.

He has your right hand pinned to the metal behind you, fingers curled tight around your wrist as he holds you in place. The way he kisses you is familiar, almost, and your brows furrow as you try to figure out why until feel his fingers brush through your hair, slow and lingering, dizzying, right before his tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip—a pattern of actions that you usually take to make your partners more malleable.

Did he teach himself this just by observing the way you act with people at events?

You don’t fall for your own tricks though, so instead, your free hand drops to his waist, fingers slipping through his belt loops as you press into him, pushing off the elevator to walk him backwards down the hall to his bedroom. He lets out a surprised noise in the back of his throat, letting you walk him back; his fingers fall from where they’d been around your wrist and you take the opportunity to hook yours around his other belt loop, keeping his body flush to yours until you have his back pressed against his bedroom door.

You notice, a bit absently, that Dazai is a lot more pliant now with you in control. His hands are loose at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them—much like when you shared his first kiss with him—and he still kisses you back, lips moving slowly against yours, but it’s not with the intensity he had when you were pinned to the elevator door.

Strange.

You think kissing Dazai is a lot like a drug, one that you got your first hit of two years ago when you offered to be his first kiss but then never had another chance to get another taste of. You were bitter when he first started following in yours and Chuuya’s footsteps in taking people to bed to unwittingly ease information out of them—you’d find yourself watching him like a hawk as he drew people into secluded corners, as he pressed his lips against theirs and let their hands explore his body. You’d hardly be able to draw your eyes away once, not until he eventually led them out of the area to a bedroom.

You hated it. Truly. You like to tell yourself that you’re not jealous but you know it’s a blatant lie. As much as people would sell their souls to spend a night with you, they’d be just as desperate for one with Dazai because Dazai is Dazai. He’s untouchable. The Demon Prodigy. The Port Mafia’s Black Wraith. The youngest executive in history. He can be smooth and charming, yes, and he’s undoubtedly handsome. But more than that, he’s dark and unfathomable in a way that piques peoples’ interest in a sick and perverted fashion—they want to know what he’s like behind closed doors, they’re terrified of him but they want him, be it because of morbid curiosity or sheer lust.

And you hated that other people got to be with him in ways you couldn’t. Your only consolation seems to be that he had his eyes on you as much as you had yours on him, seeing how he’s pretty much perfectly mimicking the way you kiss and touch people, but you don’t know if that’s just because he was trying to learn through observing you—as he does with everyone—or if he hated watching you with other people just as much-

Oh.

Oh, you’re so stupid.

“You were jealous,” you realize, understanding what had triggered Dazai’s meltdown with the takeout food and insults toward you. Dazai stiffens against the door and you take the opportunity to trail your lips from his down to his jaw. “You were jealous over the guy I had over.”

“No-”

“You were.” You don’t even let him finish the protest, nipping at the spot beneath his ear gently and watching how he shudders. “How cute.”

“It’s not cute.” Dazai bristles. “You-you weren’t supposed-you’re not supposed to keep seeing people. I thought you were done with that. I thought we were-”

“We were what?” you ask coolly. “You avoided me for weeks after we talked, Dazai. Whatever we may or may not have been after we talked at the bar, it’s nothing when you start actively ignoring me for weeks after that.”

“But-”

You’re getting irritated again. “Dazai, you ignored me for weeks. I was pissed off and frustrated. And when I’m pissed off and frustrated, if I don’t have some way to relieve my stress, I do something stupid. Something stupid like putting a bullet in you the next time you stepped into my apartment after actively going out of your way to avoid me.”

“I was going out to get food,” Dazai says sullenly as if you were supposed to know that. “So we could watch a movie.”

“Last I recall, telepathy isn’t exactly part of my ability, Dazai,” you say dryly, calming yourself down by leaning in to brush your lips against his again.

A drug, you think again as the anger melts away when you feel his breath hitch against your lips. You reach behind him to open his bedroom door, guiding him in as you kiss him slowly. He’s fumbling again, unsure what to do with his fingers, clumsily moving his lips against yours until the back of his knees hits the bed, and he goes flopping down back on it.

You snort at the surprised look on his face, joining him on the bed as you straddle his hips. You hover over him for a second before leaning down to give him another chaste kiss, enjoying the way he tries to chase your lips when you pull away.

“Tell me why you were avoiding me,” you say quietly as you lift a hand to cup his cheek.

A foul move, you know. Dazai is always weak to gentle touches as much as he tries to pretend otherwise. You’ve noticed it when you watch movies with him and when he curls into bed with you on nights he can’t sleep. Just as you expect, he leans into your touch, lashes fluttering.

“Dazai,” you urge, “tell me why. What did I do?”

You didn’t do anything, you think bitterly, but you figure taking responsibility will be the easiest way to get him talking. You’ll fight about it later.

Dazai, to your surprise, turns his face away from you and your touch, a faraway look in his eye as he stares at the wall.

“You didn’t do anything,” he says. “I just didn’t-”

He cuts himself as if he can’t even bring himself to say it, and you know you have to do something because he seems to be withdrawing even more into his own head, eyes growing more distant with each passing second. You turn his head so that he’s facing you again and you lean down to press your lips briefly against his.

“You didn’t what?” you ask him.

Dazai still looks like he doesn’t want to answer, conflict spreading across his face as he stares up at you before he sighs and averts his gaze. “I don’t understand any of this. I didn’t want to disappoint,” he says so quietly that you barely hear him.

Your brows furrow.

“Disappoint?” you question, a bit baffled. Dazai has a complex about failure. You know that too, have known it since you were sixteen. He can’t handle it, nothing makes him spiral quite like the idea of failure—you and he are quite similar in that regard—but you don’t understand what he means in this context. “Disappoint with what?”

Dazai doesn’t answer, doesn’t meet your eyes either, and your mind races to figure out what he might be referring to. You recall how he became hesitant and unsure when you finally took control, fingers twitching at his sides, body pliant as you moved him around, almost like a doll for you to maneuver as you pleased.

“Disappoint with this?” you finally realize, watching as he grimaces, confirming your suspicions. Your chest drops. “You avoided me because… you didn’t want to have sex?”

That makes you feel a bit sick to your stomach because what does he think of you if he went to this length to avoid you just because… Dazai’s entire body jolts at your words as if realizing how they came across.

“No,” he pushes out instantly. His hands dart out to cling to your shirt as if he’s worried you’re going to leave. “No, no. I want to. I do. Not just this… just in general. Everything. Me… This is just one part of it… the easiest to make mistakes with. I don’t like making mistakes.”

It’s only mildly reassuring.

“Dazai…” You start to say, pulling away, but his hands dart up to grab your waist so he can hold you in place on top of him. You think maybe the two of you need to talk. Again. “I just, I don’t understand.”

“I want this,” he repeats again, hands sliding down from your waist to curl his fingers around the hem of your shirt. He sees that you’re not convinced by his words so he pushes out a “Please” that nearly stops you in your tracks because you don’t think Dazai Osamu has ever begged for anything in his life.

You lean down to press your lips against his again. You set the pace this time, lifting your hand to cup his cheek—you pull the same move that he tried with you, nails gently scraping his scalp as you brush your fingers through his hair. Dazai melts into it in a way that you didn’t, lashes fluttering and lips parting instinctively, letting you deepen the kiss. Dazai’s breath catches as you push your tongue into his mouth, shivering when you trace the back of his teeth.

Too pliant. All of the confidence he had earlier when he had you pinned to the elevator is gone. His breath wavers against your lips, and his fingers tremble as he grips at the hem of your button-up. Not a firm grip like you’d have anticipated, with his fingers digging into the plush skin of your hips as he grinds you down on his cock; instead, his fingers are clinging to the fabric as if he’s too overwhelmed to even think of grabbing your body.

“Tell me what you like,” you say quietly, fingers still absently carding through his dark locks as you kiss down his neck. Your other hand slips beneath his dress shirt, smoothing out over the bandages wrapped around his torso. “I want to know, wanna make you feel good.”

Dazai’s lips part to respond to you, but the only thing that escapes them is a pitched gasp—high and cracking in desperation, grip on your shirt so tight that you think he might rip it. He’s already hard, can feel his cock straining against his black pants, pressed against your thigh.

“I don’t-” Dazai’s voice is ragged; he sounds overwhelmed, almost confused. “I don’t know.”

“Hm?” you prod, nipping his neck and relishing in the way his whole body shudders at the feeling. “C’mon, Dazai, you’ve done this before. Tell me what you like.”

His gasp is choked when your hand tightens on his slim waist, lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back. More pliant and more sensitive, you note curiously, kissing back up his neck to tug at his earlobe with your teeth, a shiver running down your spine at the broken moan Dazai lets out into your ear. He jolts, eyes widening and face flushing—he looks as if he’s startled himself by the noise that escaped his lips, and you start to become a bit suspicious.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, sounding confused and frustrated. “I don’t know. It’s never felt like this before. How are you doing that?”

You pause.

You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, pulling your face back from his ear to look at him carefully because why is he acting like he’s never done this before? You know he’s slept around a lot. He picked it up over half a year ago when he got tired of hearing you and Chuuya brag about how easy it is to get things out of people like this. Made a point of making sure you knew about it when you had your boyfriend.

It’s never felt like this before.

Your chest swirls, and you feel a bit disconcerted as his words finally process. It’s never felt like what? Dazai doesn’t know why you’ve stopped, you can feel him tugging at your shirt, hazy eyes trying to focus on you. You wonder if the gears in his head are turning, realizing something might be wrong but unable to pinpoint what.

You kiss him to distract him, deeper this time. You press his head back against the soft pillow, one hand sliding to cradle the back of it as you try to break all of the quick-moving cogs in his brain so you can think in peace, cursing the fact that his mind has always been quicker and sharper than yours.

Dazai is Dazai. He’s smooth, charming—when he wants to, he could seduce anyone into his bed. You’ve watched him do it at events, sidling up close and leaning in to speak to people, dark eye lidded and voice low, a slow smirk curling at his lip as he brushes his finger lightly against the target’s lower back before guiding them out of the room. Christ, he’s nearly flustered you on more than one account. You want to say that he’s not the same kid who was nervous to kiss you two years ago, but he clearly is with how he’s reacting to your kisses and touches right now. But he shouldn’t be—maybe it’s because it’s you he’s with, maybe he’s just nervous because it’s you and not some random person he’s seducing for information.

But that doesn't explain the comment. Doesn’t explain it’s never felt like this before.

“Never felt like what?” you ask as you kiss the corner of his lips and down his jaw again, all the way to the line of bandages peeking out from his dress shirt. You undo the first few buttons, watching the way his chest rapidly rises and falls under your touch as you smooth your hands over his chest. “Hm?”

“I-I don’t know,” Dazai says, voice cracking and another breathy sound spilling from his lips as you kiss the underside of his jaw. “It’s just-it’s usually just-it’s not this.”

That doesn’t help you at all, you think. You’re about to press, but your lips on his skin have evidently made Dazai’s lips looser than they typically are because you don’t even have to voice a clarifying question to get him talking again.

“The way you’re touching me. Kissing me. It’s not like this, doesn’t feel so good,” he continues and you can hear the whine building in the back of his throat as he speaks. “It’s just sex.”

You slide his button-up off of his shoulders, revealing his bandaged body to you. You don’t make any move to remove them, but now you stare down at him, a bit perplexed. “This is sex,” you say, voice a bit stunted because you didn’t expect him to say that.

“No,” Dazai says, seemingly equally perplexed by your words, drawn out of the haze of pleasure into a more confused state. “Sex is sex. It’s penetrative.”

“... Sex isn’t just penetrative, Dazai,” you say, baffled. “This is sex. It’s foreplay.”

Dazai stares at you like he doesn’t even know what that word means.

Oh, you realize, heart sinking as you realize why Dazai is so thrown off by all of this. How has he had sex without foreplay? Sex without foreplay is… it’s boring, not enjoyable at all. More animalistic than anything, borderline painful half of the time. Is that what he’s been doing with all of the people he seduces for information? The thought is a bit jarring, but the more you think about it, the more you think it might make sense.

Dazai is prodigious when he’s given something that he can study and mimic; can execute flawless imitations of the behaviors he’s trying to learn. He learned the art of leadership from observing Mori. The art of war from observing the Colonel’s operations before his death. Adaptability from observing Kouyou during missions. Business from observing Ace’s meetings and transactions. Seduction from observing you interacting with people during events. Dazai is as terrifying as he is because he’s a perfect amalgamation of the entire upper echelon’s best skill sets. He’s adopted Mori’s mannerisms, the Colonel's strategic capability, Kouyou’s ability to adapt to any situation, Ace’s shrewdness with yen, and your charisma.

If there’s something he can observe, he can mirror it to near perfection.

So, is it really that surprising to you that the front he puts up during events is just an imitation of how you act with people? That it doesn’t translate behind closed doors? That he had nothing to study and nothing to mimic once seduction progressed to the bedroom, so he let whoever he was with take the lead to try to learn from them in the moment?

That maybe someone would use his ignorance on the subject against him?

Dazai is Dazai, you think, for the fifth time tonight. He doesn’t watch porn, he doesn’t ask people for help, and this isn’t something Mori would have ever taught him—you know that better than anyone. Mori sheltered Dazai from everything, even tried to keep you away from him; he didn’t want anything or anyone to taint the control he had over his precious Demon Prodigy. While you and Chuuya have had the chance to live, experiencing life and the outside world, Dazai’s been stuck under the watchful eye of the boss, hardly ever out of arm’s reach, caged like a circus animal to be put on display whenever Mori sees fit.

Of course, Dazai would only see it as another way to get the job done, disregarding his own comfort and pleasure—because when does Dazai Osamu ever care for his own comfort and pleasure? He lived in a fucking shipping container until you dragged him out of it. It’s not a thought that casually crosses his mind, and he wouldn’t think twice once he thinks he has an idea of what’s going on. He doesn’t see things the way you do, was never given the opportunity to understand, taught by Mori to see things as tools and means to an end, even himself.

Dazai can see your mind racing. You know he’s going to put together that something is wrong soon if you don’t move on from this. But it’s hard—it’s a bit fucking jarring to realize that Dazai’s so overwhelmed by your touch because every other time he’s had sex, he’s probably been uncomfortable or even in pain.

You lean down to kiss him again, halting his thoughts. You place two chaste kisses on his lips, sucking his bottom lip gently before kissing his cheek down to his jaw.

“What all have you done with people?” you ask him, sitting back on his thighs, lacing your fingers with his as you look down at him.

Instantly, his face is on fire. “What does it matter?” he demands, but you can feel his fingers tightening around yours.

You roll your eyes at his obstinateness. “Humor me,” you say dryly. “Are you usually the one leading, or is your partner? Are you the one penetrating or-”

Dazai’s grip on your hands becomes almost painful, so you quiet down, giving him an amused look. Maybe it's an awkward subject, but you want to have a vague idea of what he’s been doing before you do anything.

“... partner is,” he finally tells you, hardly looking you in the eye. It’s kind of cute. “... and only when it’s a woman, but she still takes the lead.”

“Do you want to take the lead tonight?” you ask him, running your thumb over his knuckles to try to get him to loosen his grip.

He does, but only barely.

“Not tonight,” he says after a few moments.

“Not tonight,” you agree. “Did you prefer topping or bottoming?”

Dazai thinks for a moment and then says, “Topping. Bottoming was…”

You force yourself not to wince, suspicions confirmed by the way he trails off.

You hum, sliding your hands up and down his bandaged sides soothingly, enjoying the way he slowly relaxes beneath your touch. “That can feel good, too,” you tell him. “I can show you that one day if you’d like.”

Dazai’s brows furrow, pointedly looking down at your clothed lower half as if trying to see through them. Your lips quirk up as he says, “But you don’t have a-”

“There are ways to work around that,” you snort, hands finally resting at his hips, drawing circles over his protruding hip bones.

“… Not tonight,” he finally repeats.

“Not tonight,” you agree again.

You lift your hands back to his cheeks, holding his face between them as you kiss him again. You kiss him deeper this time, rolling your hips against his to make his breath hitch. You drag the tip of your tongue against the roof of his mouth—he tastes like cigarettes and faintly of whiskey. Tastes familiar. Like home.

You think you could kiss Dazai forever and never find yourself sick of it. Kissing him is like a drug, you think again. Kissing him gives you butterflies in a way that you’ve only ever experienced with him when you were sixteen, and giving him his first kiss.

Kissing him is like coming home after being away for years.

He kisses you back clumsily, all of the finesse he had earlier in the night long gone. His teeth nearly knock against yours, it’s a bit too wet and a bit too messy, but you think it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had. You smile against his lips before pulling away to kiss the corner of his lips, nipping his skin when he lets out a shaky breath against your ear.

Your hands slide down his body to the waistband of his pants, fingers slipping beneath before you look up at him questioningly. “Can I?” you ask him, tilting your head to the side.

“How else are we going to do this?” Dazai counters petulantly.

Brat, you think to yourself, a bit fondly. Thoughts race through your mind but you push them away—maybe another night. You don’t respond to him, raising your eyebrows and waiting for a verbal response.

His cheeks dust pink as he says, “Yes.”

You work quickly to unbutton his pants, patting his thigh so he lifts his hips. You trail kisses down his bandaged chest as you slide off his pants. He’s very responsive to your touch, each kiss makes his breath stutter, you can feel it in the way his chest rises and falls and it only makes you want to watch him fall apart more.

“Are the bandages okay?” Dazai asks after a few moments when you kiss down to his navel. You look up at him, brows furrowed, catching the hesitant expression on his face, dark eye trained on you. “Do you want them off?”

“Do you want them off?” you throw back at him, squinting up at him.

Dazai stares at you for a moment before he shakes his head, a strange expression on his face—you wonder if he was worried you’d ask him to take them off, wonder if his other partners made comments about it, pushed him to remove them.

You wonder if it’s part of the reason why he avoided you for so long: he wasn’t ready for you to see him without them but thought you would ask him to take them off.

You leave it at that though, returning to kissing down to his hip bone, nipping the skin there and watching how his body jerks a bit in surprise. You let out a puff of laughter against his skin before you ease his briefs off, freeing his cock from where it was straining against the cloth—the soft ones you’d bought him when you’d found his rough, tattered ones in your washing machine a few months after he first moved into your apartment.

You don’t usually find cocks pretty—they all mostly look the same—but Dazai’s is. Long, not too thick, his tip is flushed a pretty pink color and a vein runs along the underside. He’s leaky too, precum drips down from his tip, right along that vein and you want to taste him, so you do.

You lean in to press your lips against his length, sucking gently on the vein before kissing up to his tip. A bit too salty for your taste, probably because of his shitty diet, but you don’t mind because the pitched moan that tumbles from his lips makes up for the taste entirely. You peek up, breath catching at the sight of his head tossed back against the pillow, swollen lips parted in a pretty moan and long lashes fluttering. He looks stunning, you wish you could take a picture—maybe another night.

You think all of his previous partners have severely missed out.

“Ah,” he gasps. “Shit, shit-”

Even with just your lips wrapped around his tip, you can feel Dazai’s cock twitching in your mouth—you wonder if he’s already on the edge. You can see the way his abdomen is spasming beneath the bandages, how his fingers are curling around the soft sheets beneath him. You don’t want him to finish yet, you want him inside you when he cums, so you only spare a few chaste kisses trailing up and down his length before sitting up straight again.

Immediately, he tosses you an accusing look. Bottom lip pushed out, cheeks flushed the same pretty pink as his tip. “Why-”

You silence him by pressing your lips against his. This kiss is lewder than your last, you push the bit of precum you’d gathered on your tongue into his mouth as you unbutton your own slacks. He makes a noise into your mouth but you don’t pull away until you feel him swallow. You smile against his lips before you pull back to slip off your own pants, watching his face twist.

“Yuck,” he says, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Tastes bad.”

“Have been telling you to start eating more fruits and vegetables,” you tell him, flicking his thigh as you shimmy out of your slacks and toss them to the side. “You don’t listen.”

The smile he tosses up at you is familiar, a welcome change from the distress and confusion that’s been plaguing him most of the night. “You’ve been thinking about what my cum tastes like for that long? Pervert.”

“More like I’ve been thinking about how high your cholesterol must be with how much canned crab and buttered bread you eat,” you say dryly, returning to where you’d been straddling his waist.

You lift your hands up, beckoning him to take them. He does, reaching up to lace his fingers with yours. A smile curves at your lips as you lean over him, pinning his hands to the mattress on either side of his head as you kiss him again.

Your chest feels light in a way that it hardly ever does when you’re fucking someone, fluttering in the same way it was when you first kissed him two years ago. Usually when you’re sleeping with someone, it’s all about keeping up appearances. Flirty, sensual, seductive, you’re always more focused on the task at hand than you are enjoying yourself, this is… different. You mean, it always feels good—you know how to make sure it feels good for you while getting the job done—but this…

Feels like home, you think again. Being with Dazai feels like home and it scares you a bit because he’s so flighty and unpredictable but you push away the fear to kiss him harder. You have him now, that’s what matters.

“I like canned crab and buttered bread.” Dazai pouts as he mumbles against your lips.

“Shut up,” you tell him.

You feel him smile and you know you’re not going to like what he’s about to say so you cut him off by reaching down to position his cock at your entrance. Instantly, he chokes over a moan and your lashes flutter, feeling him slide between your folds.

Shit, you hadn’t even realized how wet you were, too caught up in trying to make sure Dazai was feeling good, but now with the feeling of the tip of his cock pressed against your clit and his length firm against your core, your abdomen feels all hot and tight, head fuzzy.

You keep your forehead pressed to his, noses nudging, sharing the same sliver of air as you roll your hips, letting out a soft moan against his lips when his tip presses against your hole. Each breath he lets out hitches into a soft whine at the end, a glassy look to his eye. You don’t sink down on him yet, feeling how his grip on your hands tightens, how his breath becomes shuddered and his gaze becomes lidded.

You wonder maybe if he can cum just from the feeling of his tip pushing inside you—maybe another night.

“Please,” he breathes out for the second time tonight and who are you to deny him?

You don’t kiss him as you sink down on his cock, eyes fluttering shut when you feel how his cock stretches your walls—you want to hear him, hear the way he gasps, the way his breath catches, you want to hear his moans and whimpers. He tries to chase your lips but you keep them just out of reach until he gives up, fingers tightening around yours and hips jerking up.

“‘s so tight,” Dazai gasps as you rock your hips slowly against his. “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” you press, breathless.

You distract yourself from the rapidly spreading heat by kissing his neck, letting go of one of his hands to bring it to his cheek, watching as he instinctively leans into your touch, hardly able to hold his eye open. He presses a sloppy kiss to your palm, hand coming up to hold yours to his face.

“Yeah,” he says shakily, lashes drooping and lips parting in another silent moan. “Feels…”

“Feels what?” you ask him, kissing the other side of his neck before trailing wet kisses up to his opposite cheek, feeling him shudder as you tug his earlobe.

“Right,” Dazai tells you, dark eye glazed over as he looks at you, lips wet and swollen and so entirely kissable that you can’t help yourself from leaning down to steal another from him. “Feels right.”

You wonder if Dazai feels just as at home with you as you do with him and that thought is enough to make you rock your hips.

The noise that Dazai lets out is obscene and pornographic, pitched and breathy. You can hardly appreciate the lewd expression on his face—his hair matted to his forehead, eyes half-rolled back and lips parted in a pretty ‘o’—because the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls nearly has you tumbling over the edge.

Shit, you think to yourself, desperately trying to rein in the rapidly building pleasure. Shit, what the fuck?

You never cum this quickly—usually you have to slip your hand between the sweat slicked bodies of you and your partner to rub circles around your clit so you can bring yourself over the edge at the same time as him. You don’t think you’ve ever come from penetration alone—but the stretch of Dazai’s cock, the feeling of his tip bullying deep into your cunt, the sound of skin on skin and his pretty moans, it all goes right to your head and to your pussy, the telltale signs of your thighs tensing and your abdomen tightening warning you that you’re close already.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, voice shaky. “You’re so…”

You don’t even know what you're trying to say, mind becoming increasingly more empty of thought as you rock your hips again, setting a steady pace. Dazai chokes over air beneath you, the hand still intertwined with yours squeezing hard while the other one drops from the hand you have on his face to claw the bed sheets.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, the way his moans are becoming louder and lewder, the way his head falls to the side, face half pressed into the pillow, eyes knocked back, body arched. Dazai’s already so gone that you think any second he’ll cum deep inside of you and that thought alone makes your body shudder.

You grab the hand clawing at the bed sheets, guiding it between your bodies as you bounce on his cock. You can feel his hazy gaze trying to figure out what you’re doing but you’re more focused on guiding his finger to rub circles around your clit.

As soon as the pressure is placed on the sensitive nub, your hips are stuttering and a gasp is tearing from your lips. Dazai’s choking when he feels your walls spasm around him, hips thrusting up erratically to meet each of your rocks, but he’s just barely coherent enough to keep his finger rubbing circles on your clit.

Your breath becomes heavy and shaky, the pace of your hips quickening, fire spreads through you so rapidly that it’s impossible to control.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp when you feel yourself tipping over the edge, eyes trying to focus on Dazai’s face and the sight you’re met with is enough to push you over the edge.

Dazai’s jaw is slack, drool pooling at the corner of his lips, the white of his eye just barely visible, cheeks flushed a deep red. He's babbling out incoherent words: you can just barely make out your name, s’good, too tight, too much, and I’m gonna-

And then you’re choking over your own moan when you feel Dazai finish inside of you, cum warm and heavy as he fucks it deep in your cunt. His lithe body trembles beneath you, tense and arched, holding your hand so tight that you think he might break it, and your vision goes white as you cum on his cock, mind blank when the taut cord snaps within you, nails digging into Dazai’s skin.

Dazai’s cock is still twitching inside of you when you slump onto his chest, tremors still spreading through his body. You tilt your head up to ghost your lips against his jaw before sliding off of him, laying on the bed next to him. You feel empty without him inside you but you distract yourself by lifting your hand to his cheek again, tilting it to the side and forcing him to look at you.

More emotion swims in Dazai’s eye than you’ve seen him express in the entire two years you’ve known him, he looks at you so reverently that you can almost imagine three words spilling from his lips, breathy and adoring. You know he won’t say them, but it’s a nice thought, you think. You lean in to ghost your lips against his briefly, the tips of your fingers carding through his dark curls. You want to say something but you don’t know what.

Well. You do know what but you can’t say it.

“You wanted me soooooo bad,” Dazai finally says, a bit more clarity returning to his eye as his lips curl up. “I knew it, you wanted me so bad.”

“You’re so annoying,” you tell him but your voice is fond and you can’t help yourself from shifting forward to press your lips against his. You feel him smile against your lips and that warm, fluttery feeling returns.

Home.

“You love it,” Dazai sings, nipping your cheek.

A bit longingly, you think, I do.

Instead, you roll on top of him to straddle his hips, pressing your lips against his again.

“You wish.”

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

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zepskies · 7 months

Text

Love, By Any Other Name

Pairing: Castiel x F. Reader

Summary: You want him. Castiel can’t help but crave you. Dean sees both of you and wishes you’d stop being idiots.

AN: This is my first ever commission! Written for @girlsforpjm, who requested "mutual pining" with Castiel. Here you go, lovely! I sincerely hope you enjoy it. 💜

**Also, this is set during season 12.

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, angst, blood and injury, (contains events from 12.12), fluff, some spice, implied smut.

“Achooo!!”

Sam grimaces while he watches you wipe your nose against your bare wrist. You shake your head and frown at the dusty tomes piled high beside you. You and Sam have been organizing the library for two hours now.

“That’s it, I can’t do this anymore,” you lament. “I need a break. My sinuses need a break.”

Sam’s lips twitch at a smile. “It’s okay. I got the rest of these.”

You aim a lazy salute at your friend and continue to sniffle as you leave the library. You circle this labyrinth of a bunker for a while, but you can’t seem to find the trench coat-wearing angel that’s supposed to live here too.

You end up in the garage, where Dean is tuning up his Baby. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he’s got a grease stain across his cheek.

“Hey, you seen Cas?” you ask.

Dean barely perks up from under Baby’s hood to answer you. “He went out this morning. Haven’t seen him since.”

You pout at that, leaning against the side of the car near where Dean is tinkering.

“Is it too much to ask for him to leave a note or something?” you mutter.

Dean finally glances over at you. His lips edge at a smirk.

“What, miss your little boyfriend?” he teases.

The insinuation manages to take you by surprise. Your face starts to warm in embarrassment, but you cover it with a scoff.

“You should know. He was your boyfriend first,” you volley back. Dean’s expression flattens in annoyance.

“Don’t you have anything better to do right now?” he snarks.

“Nope,” you reply, popping the “P.” But you have mercy on him.

Instead of pestering him further, you just tip over the screwdriver he had balanced on the car’s frame. He makes a sound of protest as it falls somewhere between the gears inside his precious car.

He barks your name, and his angry voice echoes on the walls to magnify his frustration, but you’re already hastening back into the hall and down to the kitchen, trying to stifle your laughter.

You’ve slipped into the kitchen to escape. Yet that’s where you find the bunker’s resident angel, washing his hands of what looks like breadcrumbs in the sink.

“Hey,” you greet him jovially. He treats you with a small smile. “Where were you?”

“Oh, nowhere really. Just stepped out for a bit,” he replies. You get the sense that he’s hiding something. You smile and step closer to him, leaning a hand on the counter.

“Oh, yeah? Where?” you ask. Your eyes gleam with amusement. “Another ‘mission on high?’”

He sends you a droll look. “No.”

You tug on his sleeve. “Come on. Tell me.”

He smiles in return, and he gives you his own version of teasing.

“Childishness doesn’t become you,” he says.

“I’m just curious. You’ve been gone all day,” you reply, tilting your head. Your stare is unyielding, and familiar; Cas knows how stubborn you can be when you want something—especially information. Sometimes he finds it annoying, but in moments like these, it’s tempered by your playful, endearing smile.

“I was on a walk,” he finally admits.

You raise your brows. “A walk? Cas, it’s winter. Like 20 degrees outside.”

“I enjoy nature,” he shrugs. “The cold doesn’t bother me much anyway.”

…Well, he is an angel. You suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t feel the frigid weather like a human would. Your brow quirks with another curious thought.

“So you were washing your hands because…?” you ask.

Castiel’s face becomes a little more bashful. “I was feeding the birds some bread.”

At that, your smile grows. Here he is: Castiel, warrior angel of the Lord, Feeder of Pigeons.

“Well, if you ever want a walking companion, I’d be happy to join you,” you offer.

Castiel gives you a certain look, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

Your lips purse. “What?”

He sinks his hands into his pockets as he leans his slightly hunched form back on his heels.

“Nothing,” he claims. “It’s only, I seem to remember you forcing Dean to kill a spider in your room. You claimed, and I quote, bastard things that crawl don’t belong indoors.”

You cross your arms and stare back at him narrowly, even though you try to stifle a smile.

“What’s your point? Everyone’s afraid of spiders,” you reason.

He raises a brow. “You also claim to have a vendetta against birds.”

“Pigeons, Castiel. They’re rats with wings.” Even Dean would agree with you on that one.

Castiel gives you a dubious look, however.

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your supposed love of nature,” he says drolly.

You want to argue more, but Sam enters the room with Dean on his heels. Both men seem to sense they’ve interrupted something. You clear your throat and turn to them.

“What’s up?” you ask, more nonchalant than you feel whenever you’re near the angel beside you. Castiel glances at you, before he too silently addresses Sam and Dean.

“Uh, we’ve caught a case,” Sam says. “It’s not far. Three dead, all with their hearts, and most of their internal organs ripped out.”

“Ech,” you reply with a grimace. “Sounds kind of like a ghoul. Maybe a werewolf on steroids?”

“Well, they were fresh kills, and it’s a full moon. So more than likely we’re looking at werewolves,” he replies.

You smile thinly. “Great.”

You hate werewolves.

Correction: you really hate werewolves.

The thought hits you yet again as you lay on the floor of a dusty old hunting cabin.

The irony.

Dean hefts you in his arms, after slicing his silver blade through the heart of the yellow-eyed bastard that tore you open with his claws.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” you ask, hating how your voice trembles. Dean doesn’t answer you at first. He holds his hand to the oozing gash in your side.

“Nah, you’ll be okay. Just hang in there,” he says. Blood quickly covers his palm. He curses inside his mind.

“Cas!” he calls out roughly.

The angel had been fighting in the other the room with Sam, but after he burns out the eyes of the last werewolf and its body falls to the ground, he hears the undercurrent of alarm in Dean’s shouting. With Sam on his heels, he returns to the living room to find you and Dean.

Castiel’s steps halt in the doorway when he sees you. His face slackens for a moment, but then he hardens. He moves forward swiftly.

“Move,” he says to Dean in order to come to your side. Dean’s eyes widen, but he does as he’s told after laying you down to the floor.

Castiel stares down at your face, offering you comfort with his eyes. You stare up at him in pain, but also with hope, and trust. You’re able to curl your fingers around the edge of his trench coat.

Then he presses his hand to your cheek. He closes his eyes in concentration while he heals you.

Though he expels more power than he should to heal you completely. He knows it when his body sways a little after he’s done. Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him steady.

“You good?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods; he’s more focused on the way you’re catching your breath. You marvel at how your wounds, your pain, and even your blood is gone—completely washed away. He helps you sit up with an arm wrapping around your shoulders. Then he gathers you tight against him, so he can help you stand as well. He wavers again on his feet, just a little, but you’re too perceptive not to catch it. You realize he did too much to save you.

You still chide at him with a frown. “You didn’t have to use up so much of your energy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Think nothing of it.”

Those are useless words, but you don’t bother arguing with him anymore. You just sigh and hold onto his strong arms while regaining your balance. You know for a fact that you’re blushing when you glance up at him.

Biting your lip, you soon turn away to grab the knife you’d dropped in the fight.

Without you or Cas noticing, Sam and Dean share a knowing glance. It’s subtle, in the way the brothers have perfected. Dean barely curbs a smile as he leads the way back to the car.

You settle next to Cas in the backseat and try not to glance at him too often. You don’t know that he’s trying not to do the same to you.

Dean glances back at you two in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head.

Idiots.

Mary Winchester has been a welcome return to the family…when she’s here. Ever since Amara brought her back, she’s been distant with her sons. You don’t understand it all that well, but it’s not your place to say anything, you don’t think.

You do think Mary is a badass hunter. You just don’t know her that well.

About a week after the werewolf hunt, Mary drops in with Wally, a fellow hunter in need of assistance with a demon problem. You, Sam, Dean, and Castiel are all game. While you haven’t had to deal with demons too much in the past, you know that they’re…something of a specialty for the Winchesters.

But of course, it quickly goes to shit.

The demon lives alone, in some shack by a river where he likes to fish. The group of you wait until he’s stepped out of the house before you go inside and case the place, looking for a good spot to spray a Devil’s Trap or two and try to trap him.

When the demon returns, he’s far stronger than any of you anticipated. The Devil’s Trap breaks with little effort (the demon’s just laughing). Then he flashes yellow eyes. You and Castiel share a look of widening shock. Mary takes a preemptive step back.

And when the kitchen door is about to close on the three of you, the angel pushes you into the next room before you can turn and fight. Sam helps you back onto your feet, though you stare at the door in horror. He and Dean try to break the door down, but it’s no use. It’s supernaturally sealed.

You felt useless standing there. You wrack your brain for a solution, and you glance out one of the windows. Maybe there’s another way into the kitchen!

“Guys! What if we go around?” you suggest.

With that idea taking root in each of you, Sam and Dean follow you outside. Before you guys can even make it around the house, Wally flags you down.

“We’ve got incoming!” he says. And you realize what he means. A group of black-eyed demons are bounding toward the house.

Aw, shit. You’re grateful to have Sam and Dean beside you, because the demons nearly overtake all of you. You manage to hold your own, along with the brothers. Wally isn’t so fortunate. His body hits the floor after his own blade sinks into his chest.

A pit begins to form in your stomach as you scramble toward the Impala. The plan is to catch up with Mary; thanks to Cas, she’d been able to flee the demon strong enough to snap a Devil’s Trap like a cheap trick. But she’d then taken Cas with her to safety.

Now, Dean drives the Impala down the road at breakneck speed.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks his mother through the phone. The car is silent enough for you to hear Mary’s reply.

“…No.”

When you step into the barn, the first thing you have to focus on is Cas covered in his own blood. He’s been stabbed by one of the demon’s strange and powerful weapons, and he lies on an old, dingy couch. You hurry to Cas’s side and take in, your face filled with horror, though you try and fail to mask it.

You reach out a hand, but you hesitate to touch him. Suffering is written across his face. He tries to stifle sounds of pain out of habit.

Tears are fresh in your eyes as you look down at him in dismay. You chance laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you heal yourself?” you ask.

“No,” he answers eventually. “I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I think I’m…”

No, your lower lip trembles as you shake your head.

“No,” you repeat aloud. “You just need time.”

You turn to Dean, who’s approached from behind you. But you quickly turn back to Cas, as if you’ll miss out on precious few moments. Castiel’s furrowed gaze tells you he’d rather not have you see him like this, but you don’t care. There’s no way you’re leaving his side.

The weapon that was able to do this to him was the Lance of Michael, you all discover, when Crowley suddenly appears. He also informs you all that this is no ordinary demon. It’s Ramiel, Prince of Hell. You don’t give a shit about the specifics of how Crowley is wrapped up in this.

All you care about is if there’s a cure to Cas’s wounds. Crowley’s only words of wisdom are to leave the angel behind and run as fast as you can.

He disappears before you can spit at him.

“Cas, how bad is it?” Dean asks, after the King of Hell predictably makes a run for it.

Castiel opened up his shirt collar to reveal a spiderweb of black crackling across his clammy skin, slowly breaking down his vessel.

“Crowley’s right. You should go.”

Your hand tightens on his shoulder. “Cas—”

“No, listen to me,” he says, staring into your eyes. He continues with difficulty. “Look…thank you. Thank you. Knowing you all, it’s been the best part of my life. The things we’ve shared together, they have changed me… You’re my family, and I love you.”

His gaze had fallen on you, making your breath hitch. But his dark blue eyes travel to Sam and Dean next, and even Mary.

“I love all of you.” The angel is the closest to tears and heartbreak that you’ve ever seen him. He struggles to hold himself together, in more ways than one. “Just, please, please don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run, and save yourselves, and I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes the sentence. Tears pour down your cheeks in silent streams, but you still hold him down when he tries to force his body to sit up. He doesn’t have the strength to resist you encouraging him to lie back down.

Dean voices what you’re all thinking.

No. None of you would cut and run and leave him to die, no matter what Cas says.

“Like you said, we’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Ramiel comes for all of you, specifically for his stolen weapon. Killing the rest of you would just be an added bonus.

But while the four of you manage to pin down the demon with holy fire and a good fight, it’s Sam who manages to stab the Prince of Hell with Michael’s Lance, killing him in flash of brilliant light and rendering his body to ash.

Of course, that’s when Crowley arrives once again, late holding his proverbial Starbucks. In this case, what would’ve been a mocha frappe is actually the Lance—and Crowley breaks it in half. It somehow reverses the curse of the blade, and therefore frees Castiel.

He’s able to heal himself back to a full recovery.

But also, rather predictably, Crowley disappears again before you all can recover yourselves.

Sam and Dean help the angel back onto his feet. His clothes are still covered in blood, but his skin is clear and no longer clammy, his eyes no longer bloodshot. He’s shocked to still be alive, and you can barely contain yourself. Tears stream down your face as you surprise him with a hug.

Cas releases an oof, his body wavering just slightly before he plants his feet and wraps his arms around you. His hold tightens around your smaller frame, and he chances resting his chin on the top of your head.

“So…you’re good?” Mary asks incredulously.

Castiel raises his gaze to answer her. “I guess I am.”

You’re quiet for the rest of the drive home. Mary had taken her own car for the hunt, so it leaves you once again in the backseat with Castiel.

He finds your silence perturbing, though he doesn’t have the courage to ask you what’s wrong. Despite his full recovery, you still seem upset somehow.

Part of him wants to reach out to you…but he stops himself. He also reminds himself not to stare at you. Instead, he turns his head back out the window. You felt his gaze on your profile, but you resolve to keep yours stubbornly out of your own window.

The only one who notices the exchange, yet again through the rearview mirror, is Dean. His lips firm into a thoughtful frown.

Home, sweet home, you think wryly when you enter the bunker.

You give into the urge to beeline straight for your room without even turning your head.

Sam and Mary follow suit, which leaves Castiel hesitating in the hall. Dean takes pity on him and claps his shoulder.

“You okay, man?” he asks. Cas is staring after you like a man who’s lost his way.

“She’s…upset,” he replies, both confused and bothered by that fact.

Dean’s lips twitch humorlessly. “Yeah, well, you almost died.”

“Yes,” Cas gives a wry nod. “But she seems upset at me.”

Dean has to smile for real. It’s plain as day what’s on his friend’s mind, and why. Just like it’s obvious as hell (at least to him) why you’re probably “upset.” As always, Dean takes up the role of wingman.

“Why don’t you just go talk to her then?” he suggests.

Castiel hesitates. He’s not sure if he’d be intruding on you. The emotions of human women are foreign to him. They always have been, even when he was human, not so long ago. But he trusts Dean’s advice on these things.

So, he eventually nods. He means to follow you, but Dean stops him for a moment with a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe after you, uh, wash your clothes. Take a shower. Maybe shave a little,” he says, brushing his fingers over his own chin. “But uh, keep a little scruff. Some chicks dig that.”

“Shave my facial hair, but…keep my facial hair?” Cas tries to clarify.

Dean blinks at his friend. Christ.

“Okay, look, just clean yourself up,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

With one last clap on the back, Dean disappears down the hall to his room. It leaves Castiel feeling somewhat unbalanced, but he treks the other way.

Normally he would restore his clothes with his powers, but he’d used up his reserves just to heal himself. There was a time when his connection to heaven was enough to do more than heal his own injuries. Now, however, both he and heaven itself are in a lesser state.

Shaking his head, he goes down to the laundry room. He still remembers how to wash his own clothing.

He unintentionally finds you there in the laundry room. You’ve peeled away your jacket that had been stained with his blood, and you’re tossing it into the machine. It leaves you in a thin shirt and jeans.

Castiel finds himself admiring your form; the familiar curve of your face, the shade of your hair, the outline of your bra through your shirt (which he tries not to notice), and the other curves that he has to often felt guilty for tracing with his eyes…and imagining with his hands.

You look up when he enters the room.

He knocks himself out of his thoughts and freezes, a bit uncertain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers.

You just shake your head. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes roam over him then, from head to toe. It makes his face feel a bit warm.

“You want me to throw that coat in with mine?” you ask, pointing over to him. Cas examines his bloody trench coat.

“I’m not sure there’s any saving it, but we can try,” he says. He peels off the coat and allows you to throw it into the watching machine along with your bloody clothing.

“Your shirt’s white, so you should wash that separately,” you advise.

“I know,” he says, with a faint smile. “I, uh, I remember.”

You begin to regain some of your normal self, glancing at him with more warmth in your eyes.

“Do you ever miss being human?” you ask. Cas draws closer to you. He rests a hand near yours, where you lean on the dryer.

“There were some enjoyable aspects. Food, in particular,” he admits. “Now if I try to take a bite of a sandwich, it’s just…molecules, really.”

You wince in sympathy. “God, I don’t know how I could go through life without being able to enjoy another Snickers bar.”

He nods in agreement. He remembers chocolate well.

“But it wasn’t just the taste. It was the feeling of satiety. Sometimes, being uncomfortably full was quite satisfying,” he says. That makes you smile.

But it soon drops when you take in the disgusting state of his shirt. Unbidden, it reminds you of every horrific thing that happened tonight. You really can’t bear it.

“Okay, give me that,” you gesture at the shirt.

You start to unbutton it before he’s really ready for you, but he tries to get over his embarrassment by removing his tie. Meanwhile, you undo the buttons of his shirt while trying not to think too hard about what you’re really doing as you start to see flashes of his skin, from chest to sternum.

He takes a peek at your face.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

Your brows are furrowed, but this time more in confusion when you look up at him.

“No. Why?”

Cas’s brows furrow. “It feels like you’re angry…at me.”

The hasty motions of your hands calm at that. You consider him with a frown. Maybe you are a little upset at him. It’s not really fair, you know, but it’s how you feel. You blow out a sigh.

“I just… After everything we’ve been through, everything you’ve done for us, how could you think for one second that we would leave you there alone? Alone to die?” you ask. It renders Castiel a bit stunned into silence.

Your grip tightens on the now open edges of his shirt.

“Look, that situation was bad enough. But if you ever try to push me away like that again…”

You’re unable to finish that thought. You become waylaid by your own tears as emotion clogs your throat and threatens to choke you.

Castiel raises a hand to touch your face, tentatively at first, then more comforting. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, catching the tears there.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he confesses. “I was trying to save you…because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, even as I lay dying.”

You hold onto his hand. Biting your lower lip, you find enough courage to meet his eyes. They’ve lowered to your lips, you realize, though maybe Cas doesn’t. He seems a bit surprised when you lean up towards him.

You go more slowly. Your hand falls on his warm chest. For God’s sake, do something, you tell yourself.

You don’t know if he can pick up on your thoughts as well with your bodies touching this close, but he seems to have an internal battle of his own. You each make a decision at the same time.

It has you leaning up the rest of the way, and Castiel bending down to meet your kiss.

He gathers you closer; one hand finds its way into your tangled hair, while the other grasps your hip and brings you flush against him. Your hands move up his chest and wind around his neck. He holds you tightly against him as his lips claim yours, over and over with increasing urgency.

He turns you in his arms and hefts you up onto the dryer machine. There he gets even more leverage to kiss you the way he has secretly imagined, to touch you the way he’s too often craved, with his hands warming up and down your thighs.

You utter a moan of longing as you hold his face. You like the scrape of his stubble against your palms. You can almost imagine that delightful tingling against otherplaces down your body. Places you’d like him to explore when you have more privacy…

Or maybe here is privacy enough.

You alternatively tangle and tug your fingers through his hair. And it’s his turn to moan when you take his lower lip between your teeth, scraping just hard enough to be both painful and delightful.

He squeezes your thighs in retaliation. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer. Your dirty boots cross behind his back.

But soon, his touch gentles, more tender than demanding as he slows the kiss. His lips veer from yours and burn a path across your jawline, down the smooth column of your neck.

It allows you to catch your breath, but the feeling of his gentle lips and rough cheek just turns you on even more. You card your fingers through his hair and close your eyes.

“Cas,” you breathe in content.

He hesitates, with his lips on your neck. “Yes?”

You blink for a moment, but then you have to giggle. You twine your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“Nothing,” you reply. Your smile says it all though. Cas sees it when he pulls away a bit, turning his gaze back to you. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t think feelings such as this…desires like this, would affect me after I became an angel again.”

Your smile brightens, even as you blush. “Does that make me special?”

“Yes,” he replies, with a soft smile. “But for many more, and far better reasons than that.”

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. You bite the edge of your lower lip, but Cas’s thumb swiping across encourages you to release it.

“When you said that you loved me,” you say, a little shakily, “did you just mean…in the family sense?”

Castiel meets your eyes, and there he finds his courage.

“Yes,” he says. “And no.”

With another one of those smiles he’s come to love, you bring him back in for a kiss. All too soon, it becomes hungrier, rougher, born of passion and secret desires finally spilling free.

“Wait,” you pant against his lips, taking his hands in yours. “Come with me.”

Anywhere, his heart says.

But after you jump down from the dryer, you tug him by the hand out of the laundry room. After a quick scan of the hallway, you give him a playful little smile and lead him down to your room.

Castiel can’t help but smile in return. He follows your lead in more ways than one when the door to your bedroom shuts behind you both.

You help him shrug off his tattered shirt, and he helps you out of yours next, followed swiftly by the belt buckle on his slacks.

In that moment, and many moments after, you’re grateful for door locks. You just hope the Winchesters aren’t dumb enough to interrupt what you have planned next for your angel…

Because it might just take all night.

AN: I haven't written for Castiel in a long time, but I had fun with this. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think. 😘

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#love by any other name #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x female reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #mutual pining #angst #spn #supernatural #comission #reader request #castiel fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #misha collins #supernatural x reader #zepskies writes

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writingwithfolklore · 3 months

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Descriptions: Feeling Vs. Seeing

This is an interesting thing I’ve noticed recently that’s largely intuitive, but still important to make a note of. If you’re in first person or third person limited, your POV character can see certain things on other people, and may notice those same visual symptoms on themselves, but they can only feel things on themselves.

Okay, for example, if your POV character is making a subconscious expression, they wouldn’t know to describe it to themselves as the voice of the narrator. For example, “She woke up with bags under her eyes.” Sounds very strange, because when you wake up, you don’t know necessarily how you look until you get to a mirror. Versus, “She woke up, crossing the room to her mirror and noticed deep bags hanging under her eyes.”

Similarly, “Her heart galloped behind her ribs, warmth filling her chest, her eyes bright.” The detail about her eyes stands out, as how would she know something so visual she couldn’t see? Maybe instead, I’d write, “her eyes wide.” Because that’s something that conveys the visual of bright eyes, but put in language that you could actually feel.

Similarly, your character can see some symptoms of emotions on other people, but they can’t feel the emotions of other characters (unless of course there’s some sort of magic or specialness important to your plot that allows them to do this). So, “She watched a frown burrow itself between his brows,” makes total sense, but, “she watched as anger lit up deep in his chest” sounds a bit less sensical—we can only really guess how other people are feeling based on their expressions. To make the second sentence work, I would write, “She watched a frown burrow itself between his brows, frustration clear across his tight face.”

Let’s go back to my Symptoms vs Afflictions post, but instead I’ll divide the symptoms based on things you can see and notice, versus stuff you can only feel:

This isn’t to say that the blue column is just for describing other people, and the orange column is just for describing the POV character, just that you should pay attention to your visual details for your POV characters. Is the thing they’re describing something they could notice on themselves, or is it something someone else would have to point out to them?

And are they describing how other people are feeling? Or trying their best to interpret their expression and body language?

Ideally, your descriptions would include a little bit from both columns.

What are your thoughts?

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers #screenwriting #writing inspiration #books #film #filmmaking #writing advice #show don't tell #feeling vs. seeing #writing description #writing emotion

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princessbrunette · 7 months

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imagine rafe trying to teach you a little bit of self defense but you just get turned on by him manhandling you and he’s just tsking at you underneath him with your hands pinned above your head lowly whispering “you gotta pay attention kid, there’s bad men out there… gotta know how’t stop em from from thinking they can do whatever they want” and she’d get all blushy and squirming just looking at him all doe eyed like “You can do what ever you want 🥺🥺🩷” He loves how submissive you are !!!!

i love this idea sm but when i started writing it kinda turned into something else ??? kinda dubcon but that’s just how he plays sometimes. reader is clearly wanting it !

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

rafe was in one of his moods. the odd moods he gets in where he’s suddenly motivated to fix things, handle business, be ‘proactive’ as he puts it. there was no business to handle that day, so he turned his attention to you — deciding now of all times was the time to teach you how to defend yourself.

the idea had sprung to him when he walked into the room and stared you down, coming to the harrowing realisation that you hadn’t even noticed his presence, too engrossed in the book in your grasp. he creeps closer, and you don’t even blink. he edges behind you, and notes the way he could grab you into a headlock if he wanted, or cover your mouth, hell — he could snap your neck. you’d never see it coming.

of course, he didn’t want to ever hurt you — which is why he decided to stage an impromptu lesson. that gets you to where you end up, pinned to the ground beneath him.

“ow, rafe.” you frown wiggling your wrist from his grip until he lets it free with a shake of his head. you weren’t too happy about him stealing you away from your time of relaxation with your book — but you would never give up the opportunity to have your boyfriends hands on you. you thought things would have played out a little more… fun.

“see, you — you did it again. if i put my hand here, what are you gonna do, huh? what’d i tell you?” he raises his eyebrows, prompting a response.

“uhh, bite it?” you giggle, making him sit up on his knees, jaw ticking in frustration.

“you know i’m tryna save your life here, kid. someone comes up to you and grabs you, you’re screwed, ‘cos you don’t know how to protect yourself. i’m not always gonna be around to fight people off okay?”

“why not?” you whine, pressing a socked foot against his chest from where you lay. he wraps a hand gently around your ankle and brings it down, expression displaying his frustration.

“because i am not with you 24 hours a day, alright? m’not playing around here. you gonna listen?” he nudges your thigh with his own and you huff, head moving with a noncommittal nod. “okay.” he brings his body down onto yours, pinning you down with it. he had to be doing this on purpose. “alright, flip me on my back. go.”

you can’t help yourself, you wrap your legs around his waist and bring his crotch flush against yours with a little giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. he presses his lips together, staring at you blankly from his incredibly close proximity and stays silent until your childish laughs die down. you think he’s going to remove himself, lecture you and walk off for a little while— but he continues to stare, even when you wriggle beneath him, legs split around his body — mound of your cunt pressing up against his bulge.

“you think this is some kinda joke huh?” he asks quietly, and the smile starts to melt off your face. “like — like i’m just doin’ this shit for fun.” he glares, and now your hearts pounding because you only wanted to be close to him!

“no…” you mewl, brows knitted but it’s too late. he pushes himself up on his knees again, looking down on you.

“you know i’m real nice to you. there’s bad men out there that’ll really rough you up. maybe… maybe i should give you a taste of that, huh? show you what i’m protecting you from.”

you go to argue, tell him you’ll listen — but he slides a leg under yours and in one movement flips you so you’re suddenly laying on your front, ass a little raised. he leans over you, collecting your wrists with one hand and pins them down. “nah, go ahead. try and fight me off baby. see if you can.” he speaks eerily calmly and you wriggle, realising you’re totally pinned beneath his weight with no escape. “yeah, that shits scary huh? can’t get out.” he nods and you let out a little cry.

“okay, rafe c’mon!”

“nah, you think this is a game so i’m gonna show you just how fuckin’ real this is a’ight?” he tucks his free hand into your pyjama shorts and begins to yank them down. you hate how your heart feels like it’s in your throat and yet your cunt throbs and your back arches from muscle memory. “better wise up, sweetheart— ‘cos i don’t think you’re getting out of this.” he gives your ass cheek a firm smack, watching the fat of it recoil beneath the touch and you whine.

“teach me! rafe you can teach me, please!” you pout, craning round to look at him. his lip is curled into a malicious smirk, head shaking in disapproval.

“yeah, you know you’re just too late. gonna have to learn your lesson now, alright? remember this shit.”

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

#anon #rafe cameron prompt

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weirdkpopgirl · 4 months

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A Little Help | Jaemin Imagine #14

Title: A Little Help

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: mentions of kissing -- light makeout session, suggestive dialogue (but nothing crazy)

Word Count: ~1k

Author's Note: This imagine was an idea I had for a very long time, but I just never got to writing it. For awhile, I went back and forth as to which member to give this story to. Ultimately, I'm weak for Na Jaemin, so I chose him. I know you guys like this sort of stuff too, so I hope you enjoy it (not too much though lol). Please look forward to my future works as well. Thank you for reading ^ ^

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Jaemin made his way into your cozy living room with a steaming mug of lemon tea in hand. His eyes quickly found you seated on the floor near the coffee table. Despite the dim lighting in the room, your face was illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop in front of you. Jaemin started to smile, observing how focused you were on writing the story you’d been working on for months. However, his smile froze when he noticed you nibbling your lower lip and sighing in frustration.

Quietly, he shuffled over to sit beside you on the carpet and carefully set down the drink on the table. You picked up on his presence immediately and glanced up at him with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said, curling your fingers around the handle of the mug before taking a long sip of the warm beverage.

He instinctively reached a hand to tenderly brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Everything okay?” he asked in the calm, low-toned voice he typically used during late-night conversations with you.

You hummed in response, holding back from sighing again. “Yeah. I’m just stuck on this certain part of my story.”

“What’s it supposed to be?” Jaemin tilted his head, his dark brown eyes filled with a blend of curiosity and concern. His innocent question unintentionally made you hesitate, your eyes flickering back to the screen before meeting his gaze once more.

“Well, this is when my main characters are supposed to have their first kiss,” you explained, already feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks. “And for some reason, I’m struggling with the technicalities of it. It’s just frustrating because usually I don’t have much of a problem with these scenes.”

Although you felt silly admitting this to your boyfriend (of all people), your frustration outweighed your embarrassment. Jaemin was the type of person who never seemed fazed by anything, but you still expected him to tease you.

Instead, Jaemin wore a thoughtful expression, arms crossed over his knees. “Why don’t you try acting out the kiss with me? It might help you get a better feel for it.”

Eyes widening in surprise at his suggestion, you began to protest. “I-I don’t know, Nana. I mean, that’s a bit…” you trailed off, shyness instinctively taking over.

But then you paused, considering his idea for a moment. It wasn’t actually that bad and might help you with this little dilemma. After all, he was your boyfriend, so being close to each other wasn’t out of the norm. Certainly when you were dating Na Jaemin, possibly the most affectionate man you knew.

“Hm, I guess it can’t hurt to try,” you conceded, moving your hands away from your laptop.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to face Jaemin properly and he scooted closer with a warm smile. “You said it’s their first kiss, right?” he asked, recalling the brief context you gave him earlier.

You nodded. “Yeah…um. It’s supposed to start off slow and hesitant. But it becomes more passionate since the characters have been pining for each other practically forever.”

“Okay. Show me what you’re thinking, princess,” he said. Both the pet name and his soothing voice sent a shiver down your spine.

At first, you hesitated, before tentatively reaching out to take his hand, bringing it to your cheek. “Maybe it could start with him cupping her face like this,” you spoke in almost a whisper. “And then her hands could just be on his shoulders?”

Your initial unease wore off fairly quickly, and Jaemin felt his heart skip a beat as you continued to test different hand placements with him. He couldn’t help but find how your brows furrowed in concentration and the way you quietly mumbled to yourself, incredibly endearing.

“Then when things start to get more intense, his hands should go here,” you murmured, guiding his other hand to your waist. He suppressed a laugh, noticing how you were too focused to be flustered by the intimacy of the gesture.

Yet, as minutes passed without your lips coming in contact with his, Jaemin’s frustration simmered. He couldn’t stop his eyes from being drawn to your soft, pink lips. Though your touches remained innocent, they only made the temptation increasingly difficult to resist. Growing tired of waiting, he gave into the impulse and leaned into capture your lips with his own.

Immediately caught off guard, a soft gasp escaped you from the sudden kiss. You felt his hand on your back, pressing possessively, while his lips moved hungrily against yours. Midway into the kiss, you realize how unintentionally teasing you must have been when you were trying to work out the characters’ kiss in your mind. But before you could fully process what was happening, he pulled away. Seeing the light shade of red painted across your cheeks, Jaemin smiled in satisfaction.

“You need to know how the kiss feels so you can describe it in your story,” he reasoned, his voice teasing but earnest.

Despite being a blushy mess, you understood what he meant and smiled back. “You’re right. But I think we should do it again…you know, so I can be more prepared this time.”

Your words made his grin widen as your arms wrapped around his neck. His lips met yours in a passionate dance, the story temporarily forgotten. Jaemin pulled you closer, his fingers delicately tracing your jawline. He could taste a hint of lemon tea on your lips, and a smile formed as you lightly tugged at his hair. It took all his self-control not to get too carried away, savoring the moment while keeping his desire in check.

Even though Jaemin has kissed you dozens of times, each one reminded you of how insanely in love you were with one another. And in that moment, the characters and their story faded into the background, leaving only the warmth and connection between you two.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

previous masterlist -> current masterlist

#nct dream #nctzen #kpop #czennie #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #jaemin #nct dream fluff #jaemin x reader #na jaemin #jaemin scenarios #nct #jaemin imagines #jaemin fluff

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sinnabum45 · 5 months

Text

⚠Trigger Warning! Graphic depictions of suicide attempt, suicide ideation, and spiraling thoughts⚠

[Image description: black and white with gray tones, digital drawing of a comic about characters from the Ace Attorney series. Page one: First three panels are of Miles Edgeworth sitting at his desk, which is covered with papers, tired with eye bags and feeling frustrated with himself. His left hand is on his face and it moves back down. He thinks to himself, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I even do something as simple as this?” A flashback to Phoenix Wright glaring at Edgeworth, then saying, “It’d been better if you never came back from the dead, Edgeworth!” Pearl Fey is standing next to him with a shocked and worried expression. Page one end. Page two: Miles is shocked and his desk is now covered with sleeping pills and an open pill bottle. An embodiment of Manfred von Karma appears behind Miles and reaches for Miles’s face. Manfred says, “How selfish can you be? Can’t even do me the favor of simply dying. ” The embodiment turns into Miles when he attempted suicide. Messy hair, bloodshot eyes, dried tears, dark circles under his eyes, and pills pouring from his mouth. He is squeezing the real Miles’s face and says, “Why don’t you try it again?” Page two end. Page three: Miles shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his fists while shouting, “No!! I don’t need you anymore!”. He opens his teary eyes when he hears Phoenix say, “Edgeworth.” Miles remembers Phoenix telling him, “Please call me anytime. I want to be there for you this time, okay?”. In the flashback, it is bright, Phoenix is facing forward, smiling with a worried expression, and holding his phone. The present Miles looks forward and calmed down a little. He’s still shaken up a bit. Page three end. Page four: Throughout the three panels, Miles is reaching for his smart phone on the desk, pulls away, then grabs his phone. Quotes from various characters: Phoenix, Gant, Manfred, and Franziska are scattered throughout the page. First panel, “I never wanted to see you again! To think that your motivation for prosecuting trials was so selfish…” by Phoenix. “I can feel it. You and me… we’re the same.” by Gant. Second panel, “You can let what happened kill the prosecutor inside you, or you can let it help you grow. I’ll be waiting for you in court…” by Phoenix. “Our battle… begins now… so you had better prepare yourself, Miles Edgeworth!” by Franziska. Third panel, “You have fallen so far. All these years I guided you, raised you as my own. You and your father are my curse!” by Manfred. “A von Karma is someone who is destined to be perfect! You are no longer worthy of being a von Karma! And neither am I!” by Franziska. Page four end. Page five: Miles is calling Phoenix. It rings throughout the page. The embodiment of Miles yells, “Stop! He will just hate you more than he already does!”. He is crying as he says, “ Then… I’ll truly be alone.” He has both hands raised to around his collarbone level and ink is smudged on his right hand. Miles reaches for his face and it startles his embodiment. The last panel is brighter. Miles, with closed eyes and somber expression, is holding his own face and reassuring himself by saying, “Don’t worry… I trust him.” Miles’s chair is squeaking as he rocks back and forth while leaning on his desk. Page five end. Page six: It is single light page with the phone ringing and getting picked up. Then Phoenix answers, “ Hello? Edgeworth?”. Comic end. End description]

Links to help Palestine and other resources! 🇵🇸

[Plain text: Links to help Palestine and other resources! (palestine flag). End plain text.]

Some extra thoughts below! These are just my personal interpretations of what I watched. I'll try to make sense of what I'm saying LOL 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

Again, trigger warning for suicide attempt+ ideation!

Something I noticed while skimming through Farewell, My Turnabout is the similarities between Miles and Adrian Andrews. They directly connected Franziska and Adrian at the end, but they kinda just "hinted" at Miles being similar to Adrian. The main thing that stood out to me is when Miles starts explaining how Adrian is putting up a façade by acting strong. The background fades to black (TWICE), which is something that mostly happens when it's something important, putting focus onto Miles while he talks about how Adrian "lost her will to live" after losing Inpax. Inpax was Adrian's "pillar of strength" and when Inpax comitted suicide, Adrian completely fell apart. She then started to act just like Inpax to cope with losing herself and her mentor. That sounds like the relationship between Miles (and Franziska) and Manfred.

Miles's and Franziska's whole life with Manfred was them depending on him to validate/approve of them. When Manfred left their lives, they started to fall apart trying to gain approval of a man who isn't there anymore. Franziska's confidence was chipped away throughout every case because she kept losing against Phoenix. Miles fell apart a lot quicker (cuz Franziska wasn't created until after--).

Throughout Rise from the Ashes, multiple characters point out how Miles was not doing well and it progressively gets worse. This honestly confused me because Phoenix did notice that Miles wasn't doing okay. He even told Miles that he needs to choose between killing the prosecutor within him or let it help him grow. This interaction is at the very end of the case. Idk if "killing the prosecutor within" was ever brought up before that, but that was interesting cuz I kept seeing people say that Miles wrote that in his note out of nowhere.

With everything that Miles went through in just 2 MONTHS- it makes sense to me if he was not okay. His whole life was uprooted again after 15 years, he was betrayed by almost everyone he trusted, his adoptive dad killed his biological dad and tried to blame it on him, he was brought out on a boat in the middle of the night and shot at, Gant+ Lana used his knife to stab a person's body and made him unknowingly transport it in his own car, Gant saying that he's just like him, etc. Like DAMN bro, what the heck 😭

Also, the thing that made me want to make this comic was when Phoenix told Miles that "everyone would be better off if he stayed dead". Imo, I think it's understandable why Phoenix is angry at Miles. He felt betrayed and couldn't face the fact that Miles isn't who he was when he was 9. There was a post talking about it in more detail, but I mostly agree with what they had to say about it. Phoenix put an unfair standard onto Miles and got hurt when Miles couldn't meet that expectation. He wanted to "save" Miles by solving the DL-6 case and then thought that Miles would go back to how he was when they were kids. When he realized that it doesn't work like that, at least not right away, he felt betrayed. I love that they wrote Phoenix, the protagonist, with these traits tbh. I think it's very interesting! I just wished that they added a scene where Phoenix apologized for saying that Miles should stay dead tho cuz that's never okay to say to anyone, let alone someone you care about and apparently "know better than anyone else" 👁👁

Another thing I noticed is how different the characters treat Adrian vs Miles with the topic of "death". For some reason they're very sympathetic and delicate with Adrian, but then tell Miles to die. Phoenix tells Miles that everyone would be better off if he stayed dead, but then calls Miles cold for telling Adrian that if she decides to "choose death", then it is of no concern to him. Which goes right into my next point.

Miles seemed like he really didn't want to bring up Adrian's suicide attempt and her mental illness. It seemed like they tried everything to get her to talk, but because Franziska told her not to testify, Adrian kept trying to stay quiet. Even the judge was trying to get her to testify by saying at this point, it's looking like she's guilty. In any other situation, what Miles said to her would be uncalled for, but this was literally life or death for Adrian. Also, with context, Miles said that regardless of what she decided to do after the trial, she needed to talk now. She was asking for someone to help her, but only she can accept that help. He could've definitely put it in a way better way tho like damn. I think he's projecting how he talks to himself onto Adrian tbh 👀 It's honestly just a really shitty situation for Adrian to be in cuz no matter the reason, she was forced to face her worst fear. If anyone is to blame for all this bs, it's definitely Matt Engarde and Juan Corrida imo-- 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ Her illness was something Adrian would have to face sooner or later, it just sucks that it had to be like this 😢 Another thing I noticed is when Adrian said that if the truth of her illness were to come out she couldn't finish her sentence. Then Miles finished it for her by asking if she would "choose death". That's a more obvious clue that maybe Miles's note was a suicide note, since it was used in the context of committing suicide.

This guy is always on my mind-- All of them are always on my mind tbh 😭 I just wanted to draw Miles struggling (just the usual on this account) SKMSDKLML I also wanted to show that healing isn't linear and there are a LOT of times where it's just hard. I also wanted to show that Phoenix (and literally everyone else OvO) does want to be there for him despite everything, Miles just has to be brave and accept his support. I just want them to be happy DAMN 😭😭

I feel like I have so much more to talk about, but I can't think of anything else rn. I hope all of this makes sense- I'd love to read your thoughts on this or if you have any questions! Just keep it respectful, please 🥺

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deerlino · 2 months

Note

Hey!

I don't know if you write things like that,but could you maybe write a member x fem reader oneshot/drabble inspired by the song afraid by the neighbourhood? Like make it angstyyyy,jst like the song.Been feeling like this song lately.I know you write incredibly good,and i trust you with thatttt.

Ofc it's totally okay if you don't want to write this <33

I hope you have a great day and never forget to drink water and take care of yourself!❤️❤️

i’m still afraid ( lmh. )

lee minho | fem!reader

“i wake up, i’m afraid somebody else might take my place.”

synopsis. you and minho confront his deep-seated doubts and fears, grappling with the complexities of love and acceptance in your relationship. (857 words)

content. angst, based on the song “afraid” by the neighborhood, established relationship, anxiety, self-worth issues, relationship struggles, communication issues, insecurities, hurt/comfort, ambiguous ending (?)

warnings. physical violence (minho slams his fist into a wall once), emotional distress (self-doubt, anxiety, and feelings of worthlessness), verbal conflict (heated arguments and shouting between characters), depression, anxiety and fear

authors notes. long time no chat! sorry for disappearing—i've been on vacation in italy, so writing took a backseat. >_< but i managed to squeeze in this request on the bus. hope you enjoy it, anon! <3 i tried to stick to the song as much as possible, but i did go off track a bit while writing—hope that's okay. T_T love serving up some delicious angst for you guys, haha. enjoy! (ps: thanks for the sweet words, anon. really appreciate it, my love!) <3 <3

The room feels suffocatingly small as you and Minho stand on opposite sides, the silence between you filled with the echoes of your harsh words. It’s another night where his self-doubt and anxiety have spiraled into a fight that neither of you can control.

“Why do you always have to push me away?” you shout, frustration boiling over. “Why can’t you see that I’m here because I love you?!”

Minho’s eyes are wild with emotion, his voice trembling as he retorts, “You don’t get it! You never will! I’m nothing but a burden to you.”

“Stop saying that!” you scream, tears streaming down your face. “You’re not a burden. You’re everything to me, but you keep trying to convince me otherwise.”

He turns away, his shoulders shaking. “Maybe you should listen to me for once. Maybe you’d be better off without me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you struggle to breathe. “Do you really want me to leave? Is that what you want?”

He slams his fist into the wall, leaving a dent. “No! But I can’t stand the thought of you wasting your time on someone like me.”

You step closer, your voice softer now but no less intense. “Minho, look at me. Please.”

He reluctantly turns, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with despair. “Why can’t you see it? I’m broken. I’m scared all the time that you’ll see what a mess I am and leave.”

You reach out, your hand trembling, and cup his face. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, even when you’re a mess. Especially when you’re a mess.”

He pulls away, his voice breaking. “But why? Why would you stay? Everyone else left when they saw the real me.”

Your heart breaks at his words, the raw pain in his voice cutting deep. “Because I’m not them. I’m not going to leave you just because things get tough. I want to be here for you, Minho. I want to help you.”

He laughs bitterly, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand. “You can’t fix me. No one can.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you whisper, stepping closer again. “I just want to love you. Is that so hard to accept?”

He looks at you, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Yes, it is. Because I don’t feel worthy of your love.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “But you are. You’re worth everything to me.”

He collapses onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. “I wish I could believe that.”

You sit beside him, placing a hand on his back. “We can work through this together. We can find a way.”

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with hopelessness. “What if we can’t? What if I drag you down with me?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” you say firmly. “But I’m not giving up on you, Minho. Not now, not ever.”

- - -

One night, you find him sitting on the balcony, staring out into the darkness. You join him, the cool night air doing little to soothe the tension between you.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t look at you, his voice barely above a whisper. “How easy it would be for you to leave.”

You feel a pang of hurt but try to keep your voice calm. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve told you that.”

He finally turns to you, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “But what if one day you wake up and realize I’m not worth it? That all this pain and struggle isn’t worth it?”

You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Minho, I won’t lie to you. It’s hard sometimes. But I love you, and that makes it worth it. We’ll get through this.”

He shakes his head, pulling his hand away. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” you insist, your voice breaking. “You deserve to be loved and cared for. You deserve happiness.”

He stands up abruptly, pacing back and forth. “No, I don’t. I’m a mess. I’m scared all the time. I push you away because I can’t stand the thought of you realizing I’m not worth it and leaving.”

You stand up too, blocking his path. “Minho, stop. Just stop. You’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I want to be here. Please, let me help you.”

He looks at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “How? How can you help me when I can’t even help myself?”

“We can get through this together,” you say desperately. “We can find help, talk to someone. We can do whatever it takes, but you have to let me in.”

He collapses back onto the chair, his head in his hands. “I’m so scared,” he whispers.

You kneel beside him, wrapping your arms around him. “I know. But you don’t have to be scared alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

It won’t be easy, but with love and patience, you know you can help Minho heal. And maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll believe that he’s worth it too.

© deerlino (est. 130724) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

#lee know x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids angst #skz angst #lee know angst #minho angst #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #lee know x you #stray kids x you #lee know imagines #lee know fanfic #lee know scenarios #*writing

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l4ndonorizz · 14 days

Text

NO ESCAPE - lando norris x gn!reader

pairing: lando norris x gn!reader

warnings: cursing, kissing, alcohol, maybe low self esteem, complicated relationships, english is not my first language

song: no escape by health and the neighbourhood

summary: you and lando finally get your feelings straight

wc: 1k

The party was in full swing, laughter and music filling the air. You and Lando were inseparable, as usual, navigating through the crowd and enjoying the evening. There was an unspoken tension between you, both of you aware of the feelings simmering below the surface, but neither willing to confront them directly.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere shifted when one of your friends, having had a bit too much to drink, made a comment that cut through the lively chatter.“Yo, you really should hook up with someone. I mean, you’re not getting any younger. Why not just get some action?”

You laughed it off. “Nah, I’m good. No need to rush into anything.”

“Are you sure about that?” the friend pushed. “I mean, what about Lando? You two are always together. Ever thought of him like that?”

Mentioning Lando made you turn red. You stammered, “W-what? No way. Lando’s just a friend.”

The friend wasn’t buying it. “Come on. It’s obvious there’s something between you two. Don’t even try to tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

The comment hung in the air, and you saw Lando’s face darken. He’d overheard and was clearly pissed. His expression went from confused to seriously angry.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lando’s voice was strained, his eyes locking onto yours. “Am I really so awful that even a little interest is out of the question?”

You tried to explain, but the booze was messing with your head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just... it’s complicated, okay? It’s not that simple.”

“Complicated?” Lando’s frustration was clear. “So, you think I’m just some charity case you keep around ‘cause you’ve got family issues and need a filler?”

The sting of his words hit hard. “No, that’s not it. It’s just... I can’t explain it. It’s not about you being a problem. It’s just... complicated.”

Lando’s eyes were blazing with anger. “Complicated? So, I’m just a burden to you? Am I really that pathetic? Maybe you think I’m just a distraction from your messed-up family drama. Or maybe you’re too scared to admit you don’t actually want me, ‘cause that means dealing with your own issues!”

“No, you’re not a burden!” you shot back, but your words were a mess. “It’s just... I can’t... I’m not saying you’re a problem. It’s just...”

Lando’s face was hard, his voice laced with bitterness. “You know what? Maybe you’re just too selfish and scared to admit what you really want. Maybe you’re using me to avoid facing your own fears. Or maybe you’re just too cowardly to admit you don’t actually care about me!”

His harsh words hit you like a slap. You felt a wave of hurt and frustration. “What the fuck did you just say? I can’t believe you.”

The argument left both of you reeling, your emotions raw and on edge. Without another word, you turned and stormed out of the party. The cool night air hit you as you walked away, tears of frustration stinging your eyes. You found a quiet spot, away from the noise, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

Lando followed at a distance, his face set in a grim expression. He didn’t say anything, his anger and regret mingling in his silence. After a few hours, he finally approached you, his tone softer but still tinged with frustration.

“It’s time to go,” Lando said quietly.

You didn’t reply, simply nodding and turning to follow him. The drive was marked by a heavy silence, the tension between you palpable. You both sat in the car, the music turned on but you only listened to the hum of the engine.

Slowly, your eyes began to close, and instead of the engine's hum, you found yourself absorbed in the lyrics of the song playing softly in the background.

Same thing happens every day, I try to run, but they want me to stay, a year's fast, but the days are slow, life's hard when you're young, and it's worse as you grow, All the plans we had have come to nothing All the water under the bridge is drowning us.

You replayed the fight in your mind, each harsh word and hurtful comment. But then the chorus cut through your thoughts:

Hard enough to trust someone Hard enough to lower the gun Hard enough to trust someone Hard enough to lower the gun.

"Stop," you whispered, perhaps more to yourself than to Lando. But he heard you anyway.

"What?" Lando asked quietly.

"I said stop!" Your voice was louder now, and Lando immediately pulled over to the side of the road. You didn't fully grasp what you were doing, but you found yourself unbuckling your seatbelt.

"Get out of the car," you instructed as you clumsily stepped out, your movements unsteady from the drinks earlier. Lando complied, stepping out and walking around the car to your side. He stood there, waiting, his expression a mix of confusion and concern, just as you were waiting to see what would happen next.

"I'm sorry," you began, your voice tinged with emotion as you met Lando’s gaze.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"I'm sorry for not being able to express myself properly. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear."

Before Lando could respond, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against his. The kiss was hesitant at first, awkward and unsure. You had almost forgotten what it felt like, and Lando was momentarily taken aback. But as the seconds ticked by, his surprise melted away. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, while your fingers tangled in his hair.

Slowly, the kiss grew more confident, filled with the unspoken feelings and regrets from the night. You both smiled into the kiss, a quiet acknowledgment of the emotions you’d been struggling to articulate. The argument seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a shared understanding that words alone couldn’t fully convey.

As you pulled away, the only thing you said was quiet “I love you,” as you stepped back to the car.

Almost immediately he appeared in the driver's seat with a smile on his face. "I love you too."

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #lando norris one shot

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kissitbttr · 5 months

Note

Okay so like hear me out for Frat!Miguel ideas. Movie night at the frat house, very lowkey setting a few drinks maybe some people had an edible… But muñeca and Gloria being all cuddly, as best friends are. The two of the just in their own worlds watching the movie while cuddling and Miguel and Beck are in the corner just sad and jealous from lack of attention.

i am so happy at the fact that you are realizing that gloria and muñeca are basically each other’s soulmates, they do love each other more than their bfs🤍🤍🤍🤍

—

“I hear that strawberries are better fruits for your digestive systems”

“No shit, really?! I thought papayas were good!”

“That’s what i thought! But nopes, it’s all the berries babes!”

Miguel and Beck are sitting by the kitchen counter. wearing the same expression of disbelief as they stare at two of their girlfriends cuddled up in the sofa gossiping about —fruits? While others are busy with their own chatters and rolling blunts.

The girls aren’t even paying attention to the two boys who keep on staring at them. It’s like they’re just living in their own little world. Just simply talking about God knows what, fiddling with each other hands and laughing while they get high on edibles,

It’s like watching two women flirting with each other.

“no me gusta esto” Miguel grumbles, arms crossing over his chest as he slumps against the back cushion. Watching how his girl gets all lovey dovey and giggly with Gloria. “This is not how it’s supposed to go”

“Can’t believe that we are right here, yet they chose to get busy with each other!” Beck remarks in disbelief, shaking his head, “how many edibles did they take anyway?”

“Not counting but a lot” Miguel scoffs, eyes burning holes on Gloria’s side profile who’s staring at Muñeca with a hazy look on her eyes,

Beck notices, nudging him on the side. “Are you planning to kill my girl?”

“No. But i will continue to glare at her if she doesn’t take her eyes off my girl!”

“She’s basically doing the same thing! We’re victims here!”

“Holy fuck, you’re right” Miguel exhales a deep breath, leg bobbing up and down out of frustration. “Jesus—Are they eye fucking each other?!”

“Oh god please don’t make me imagine that. I can’t lose Gloria yet”

“So am i! I got fucking boys from class that i had to get off her back and i got to compete with girls too?!”

Never been so frustrated in his life before. Miguel throws a hard glare at the two of them, and it irks him just a little bit more when he sees muñeca running her fingers through Gloria’s hair. Pair of her eyes staring intently into hers,

“I had this huge crush on Kevin Levin on Ben 10, he’s like really hot—Had a shrine of him when i was twelve” she mentions, playing with the ends of Gloria’s dark hair

“Oh god, baby me too!” Gloria gasps excitedly, hands clutching onto muñeca’s as her eyes grow wide. “What about Danny Phantom?!” Muñeca simply squeals at the mention of his name, continuing to be bashful about her second childhood crush,

Beck and Miguel simply could not believe it! Are they actually ignoring their own boyfriends? To talk about weird cartoon crushes they had when they were young?!

Unacceptable!

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Miguel mutters harshly, hands going through his hair and groan. “Kingsley! You go in there and get your girl! I need my time alone with mine!”

“I did try! She didn’t want me to! Told me to piss off without even looking at me! How about you get your girl?!”

“And make her mad?! No thanks” Miguel refuses, his scowl only increases when he sees Gloria kisses muñeca’s cheek. Leaving a sheer mark of her lipgloss making both girls giggle. “Oh my god—you know what?!”

And before even Miguel finishes, he marches over the two of them with a pout and an upset frown. Trying his best to not look like a jealous man,

“Miggy! Hi, baby!” Muñeca’s eyes lighting up when she sees her boyfriend standing close, the delt of his muscles flexes a bit when he put his hands on hips. “Me and Gloria were just talking about making pot brownies! Well—she did. I, for one prefer strawberry blondies”

“Nooo, chocolates are better! Tell her, O’hara!” Gloria giggles, poking the dimple on Muñeca’s cheek,

Miguel rolls his eyes, not seeing any humor what’s sitting in front of him. “Not telling her shit—now quit hogging my girlfriend and go to your man”

“What? Jealous?” Gloria wiggles her eyebrows, laughing a little as muñeca snorts. “You have her everyday! I want to cuddle with my baby too”

“She’s not your baby. She’s my baby” Miguel corrects, staring down at Gloria who’s pouting. “You had her for an hour, it’s my turn!”

“Miggy, you can just cuddle with Beck!” His girlfriend suggests with a grin, as if its the most obvious thing. “That way, the girlfriends and boyfriends could be close with each other as well! Am i right?” Muñeca snuggles against Gloria’s neck,

“You’re crazy! I am not cuddling with Beck!” Miguel’s eyes hold a shocking expression, “Why are you suddenly not interested in your own boyfriend?!”

“Because you just want to cuddle with me so you can play with my boobies” Muñeca pouts, face looking like she’s actually heartbroken,

“Of course i do! i love your boobies! Obsessed even! Who doesn’t love your boobies?! Wait—don’t answer that” Miguel backtracks, “Beck doesn’t have boobies. They’re not as comfy as yours!”

“Jeez! Opposed to my chest that much, O’Hara?” Beck chimes in from behind with a smirk

“Cállate, Kingsley!”

#i ship muñeca and gloria!!#frat!miguel

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delirium1217 · 5 months

Text

Gold Rush, Red Flush

720 word count Regulus tells James what he thought about him during their school years. [Post war AU/established relationship]

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“Do you think,” James busies himself, worrying the blue fabric of Regulus’ sweater. They’re sprawled out on the living room couch, it’s late afternoon. They had nowhere else to be. “Do you think in another universe, we could’ve realized this earlier?” “What, like when we were kids?” Regulus frowns. He’s looking down at James’ fingers, like they’re something worth staring at. “Well, yeah, I suppose.” “I-uhm, well.” Regulus turns his head away towards the window. The light catches the crown of his hair - unruly waves grown too long. “What, is it that difficult to imagine?” “No. Quite the opposite.”

That makes James pause. “Reg, did you- is this something you thought about before?” He stays silent. James is subsequently intrigued. He laughs. “You have! You have! Don’t tell me - on the quidditch pitch?” James is entertained by that little scenario for a little bit more than what is appropriate. Regulus glances back at him. The intensity of his stare. This wasn’t- it was real. “Oh.” James simply says. “Yeah.” Regulus replies, soft. He’s close. So close. Did James know how fragile this was? “What, since…the beginning?” “No, I’m not that pathetic.” Regulus almost smirks, but no, his expression was still twisted. “When, then?” James swallows. His heart in his throat. “Probably when I was fifteen.” His face is resting on his right hand. His eyes search James’ face - what was he looking for? “God, I despised you for the longest time. I thought you were the driving force behind everything wrong in my life.” “Strong start,” He laughs lightly. James is afraid of this conversation. This is - it’s heavy. He could feel it settling on his chest. Drowning him. “Yeah, well, you weren’t. I wish it was that simple.” Regulus whispered. He was floating again. “All that hate fizzled into something that pestered me every day till I got myself to look at it.” “So, what did you find?” he finds himself whispering too. “You.” They both pause, startled brown meeting grey. James thinks could live in this moment. Burrow himself deeper and deeper till the stale air of a lazy Saturday is what sustains him. Fragile. “I-it’s- I think I-um,“ “Oh god, I’ve broken you.” “No, no. It’s just. I never thought about you like th- I mean, you were my best friend’s-“ “James, it’s fine. I know I was being delusional,” “Hey, I didn’t say that.” He paused, he needed to get this right. “Did I notice you? Of course I did, you were gorgeous- are, I mean. I just, you always looked like you were two seconds away from killing me,” He groaned. This was a disaster. “I was, for the longest time,” Regulus’ voice has dropped down to a whisper again. His hands touch James’ hair. Barely there. “Then I realized I just wanted to touch you,” He does, lowering his hand and eyes to his lips. His fingers just grazing them. James’ breath hitches. This was impossible. “So, where do we meet?” “What?” “In that universe. I bet you’ve given this some thought,” he can’t help doing this, he slips into this role so easily- as easy as breathing. “I am not entertaining this, James.” He’s smiling, a small little thing. “Okay, then I will. I think, we meet every Sunday after Quidditch practice.” He looks into Regulus’ face. He really could see it, disheveled and sweaty and frustrated after practice. Crashing into James in ways neither of them understood. “The locker rooms are usually abandoned. Everyone would assume we were each doing individual drills, or something. Maybe fifth year - Merlin, I was so frustrated at you. For so many things, the least of which had to with Gryffindor lagging behind.” He’s saying too much, this was too much. “I- that year, I thought so many times about walking up to you. I always wondered.” Regulus says. It rests between them, uneasy. The what if-s. The space between love and hate. The emotion that spills out of him catches him off guard. Regulus is still close. His eyes look more alive than ever. Alight with all that could’ve been. “And then what?” James whispers. “And then we wreck it all to pieces.” Regulus whispers back. James almost gasps. “Is that what we’re always meant to do?” “Maybe.” “How about this universe?” “I’m still deciding.”

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originally published on Ao3. Part of a larger work but I thought it worked quite well on its own!

#james potter #regulus black #jegulus #sunseeker #starchaser #james x regulus #regulus x james #jegulus microfic #marauders microfic #jegulus fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #delirium writes

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foxaftershocks · 5 months

Text

A Chance Encounter (Lars Pinfield x f!Reader)

Synopsis: A run in with an ex was not something you wanted.

Words: 2.5k

This is kind of an extension of my other fic Ghost Boy. It uses the same reader character with Lars.

“I don’t see why I have to do this.”

Lars grumbling wasn’t new, but it was making you need to hide your smile. Your fingers tightened around his, pressing your face into his shoulder, letting him lead you through the street.

“It’s just drinks with some of the others,” you said, “we can’t live in the lab.”

“We could go home,” he muttered.

You laughed then, muffled in the material of his jacket. You knew Lars wasn’t the most social person, but the offence he’d taken at the thought of grabbing a drink with some of the people from the lab was a step too far. You loved your nerd, even when he made it clear he didn’t see the need to talk to other people.

“One drink,” you said, “you can manage that, right?”

“I guess,” he replied.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

He looked down at you, perking up enough for more giggles to tumble over your lips. His expression softened and he pulled his hand out of yours, sliding his arm around your shoulders. Whenever he showed you affection you melted, just a little bit, enough to fold yourself against him.

“I’ll get a reward?” he asked, bending towards you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Only if you behave, ghost boy” you shot back.

His lips pressed to your temple, a soft rumble in his chest reminding you how much you revelled in his joy. Your arm curled around his waist, finding its way under his coat, seeking out his warmth.

The bar was loud when you arrived and you knew Lars would be complaining about it. You took his hand again, tugging him through the crowd. His hand tightened in yours and you looked back over your shoulder at him. It wasn’t frustration on his face, but a level of anxiety you weren’t used to with him. You paused, ignoring the complaint from the person behind the two of you.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Fine,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Lars.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you, “talk to me.”

“Not a big fan of crowds,” he said, eyes darting around the bar.

“You should have said something. We don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” you said.

“It’s only one drink, right?” he asked, finally looking at you.

“We don’t have to,” you replied.

“One drink should be alright,” he said.

You reached up onto your tip toes to press your lips to his. His arm slid around your waist automatically, the way it always did when you were close enough.

“Why don’t you find the others and I’ll get us that drink,” you suggested, pushing back from him.

It was easy to track his movement through the crowd with his height as you moved in the opposite direction towards the bar. You shuffled through the crowd, squeezing through what gaps you could find. Pushing your way to the front, you caught the eye of the bartender. He held up a finger, finishing one transaction before sauntering over to you.

“Hey, could get a glass of the shiraz and a rum and coke?” you wrested, raising your voice to be heard over the noise.

He flashed you a charming grin and a nod. You lent against the bar, one elbow resting on the slightly sticky surface, eyes scanning over the crowd to find where Lars had ended up. Tucked away in one corner, you could see him, blond head bowed as an uproarious laugh went through the group from work.

“Well fancy seeing you here.”

Your head snapped around, a face swooping into view. A startlingly familiar face. You found yourself rearing back, not enjoying the surprise.

“Liam,” you breathed.

His stupid smiling face was blocking your view of Lars and the begins of panic fluttered in your stomach. The years you’d spent getting this man out of your life came flashing through your mind. He wasn’t awful, he could just be kind go a dick, and so wrapped up in a lot of your social circles. You’d even ended on amicable terms. But then you’d moved to New York to untangle yourself from him. And now he was here.

“I was going to tell you I was in town but then I thought surprising you would be so much more fun,” he said, leaning on the bar in front of you.

Yeah, he hadn’t quite gotten the memo that you guys weren’t friends anymore. Over a year without talking and now he thought he could surprise you.

“How’d you… how’d you know where to find me?” you asked, pressing a hand to your stomach, hoping something would begin to make sense again.

“I didn’t. This was a surprise. I was going to go find the Ghostbusters tomorrow and ask them to help,” he said, “I’ve been watching your videos. They’re really good.”

“Thanks,” you replied faintly.

“Are you here with them now?” he asked, still smiling at you like you’d just made all his dreams come true by existing.

“No, not the Ghostbusters. Just some people from the lab,” you said.

“Cool, cool. Hey, come join me. We can catch up. How’ve you been? We all miss you back home. No one’s really heard from you in ages,” he said all in one breath, making your head spin.

“I wish I could but I’m here with people,” you said.

“Just tell them you want to catch up with an old friend.” His eyes swept over your body, “you look great.”

You did your best to suppress the disgust the feeling his appreciative gaze made you feel. Your whole body rejected it and you found it hard to believe you’d ever once enjoyed it. Biting back a scathing response, you looked away, trying to catch the eye of the bartender.

“So what have you been up to?” he asked, stealing back your attention.

“Oh, you know,” you said, “working. Enjoying the city. Going to bars.”

“So are you seeing anyone?” he asked, eyes sweeping over your body again.

Two glasses were placed down in front of you, your order finally arriving. You flashed a smile at the bartender, tapping your phone to pay for it.

“Well, it was nice running into you,” you said, picking up both glasses, “but I have to get back to my friends.”

“Stay for one drink,” he pleaded.

“I really can’t. I’m here with people,” you said.

“I’ve missed you.”

The guilt. He was always so good at wielding guilt to get what he wanted. You paused, the familiar feelings making you falter. His puppy dog eyes only made it worse.

“Everything okay?”

You blinked, reminded of where you were and what you were doing. A soft hand landed on your waist, pulling you back against a body that made you feel electric. You lent into Lars, glad for his steadying force.

“Hi,” Liam said, the surprise evident on his face. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions. Not from you.

“Who’s this, love?” he asked.

“Oh uh.” You never could have prepared for this moment, “Lars, this is Liam. Liam, this is my boyfriend, Lars.”

You turned, passing the glass of wine over to Lars, looking up into his face. He was staring at the other man, expression hardening. It wasn’t often he looked like that, that expression usually reserved for Gary when he was messing about in the lab.

Or you when you asked him to film a video with you.

“We’re just catching up,” Liam said, “we’re old friends. She’s probably told you all about me.”

“I can’t say that she has,” your boyfriend replied.

His hand slipped down until it was resting on your hip, almost possessive as he held you. Liam’s eyes slipped down to it, disappointment and hurt flashing over his face before he tried to school his features. And yet those damned puppy dog eyes remained.

“So she never told you we used to date?” he asked.

“I did tell you about him,” you said, snatching Lars’ attention, “he’s that ex from my college days. Remember? Caused a lot of fights?”

“Oh, he’s that one,” he said.

His fingers tightened on your hip and you had to wonder what was going through his mind. Glancing to the side, Liam had taken a step towards you, fingers clenched at his side. The look on his face was confusion and heartbreak mingled together and you weren’t sure you had the energy to deal with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Liam, we haven’t spoken in over a year. I didn’t think I had to tell you anything about my life. We don’t talk,” you said.

His shoulders slumped under your words and guilt was claiming its way up your throat and the need to apologise was growing and the pressure was building and-

Lars’ lips pressed to your temple, breaking you out of the spiral you were finding yourself in. You blinked, turning away from him, into the safety offered by your boyfriend’s arms.

“Can we talk?” Liam asked, his hand landing on your shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lars said, his voice hard.

“Please?” That soft voice always used to be your undoing.

You squeezed your eyes shut before you turned back to him.

“We have nothing to talk about, Liam. We’re not friends. We don’t have a place in each others lives. It’s better if you just leave it be,” you said to him, vocalising how you’d been feeling for so long.

“But I still care about you,” he said, sounding lost.

“And I’m sorry for that. But someone who cares for me wouldn’t hurt the people I care about the way you did. They wouldn’t lie to me the way you did. They wouldn’t treat me with the disrespect you did.” It all came out of you in a rush, “you liked the idea of me than the reality. You liked that I made you look so good. You liked using me as free therapy.”

The expression on his face was like you’d slapped him.

“You’re my best friend,” he said, “I thought… I thought there was still a chance for us.”

“And I think you have your answer,” Lars snapped.

Liam finally looked away from you, something ugly marring his face when he saw Lars. His arm slid around your body, holding you close, glaring at the other man. If you weren’t careful it would turn into a tug of war with you playing the part of the rope.

“I’ve moved on,” you said, before a proper fight broke out, “you should too. Find someone else to be your best friend because I quit.”

You turned, one hand on Lars chest pushing him back, feeling proud of yourself. You didn’t always stand up for yourself so when you did, it felt like a big deal.

“Yeah? Well everyone back home only ever says what a bitch you are,” he called to your retreating back, “I was the only one who ever stood up for you. Guess I can stop doing that now since you’ve proven you’re exactly what they all say. A stuck up back stabbing bitch.”

Lars shoved past you, pushing the glass of wine into your hand. You blinked and his fist was up, slamming into the side of Liam’s face. You gasped before dropping the glasses back onto the bar and forcing your way between the two men. Both hands on Lars’ chest, you shoved him back.

“Lars,” you said, not sure if you were angry or proud of him.

“Don’t you talk about her like that,” he snarled, pointing at the man over your shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Liam demanded.

“We should get out of here,” you said to Lars.

“Please do,” the bartender said.

“Come on, ghost boy, let’s just go home.”

You were so aware of the people watching, phones turned in your direction. He pulled his glare away from Liam, looking down at you. His jaw was clenched and you knew his anger was simmering, so close to popping.

“Alright.”

He slung his arm around your shoulders and you led him out of the bar, not even bothering to spare a glance back at your ex and his bruised ego.

You let him stew in his anger for a few blocks. The way he was muttering under his breath was familiar and yet usually he didn’t resort to punching people. Eventually, you had to break the silence.

“So much for one drink,” you said.

“I can’t believe you dated that guy,” he said.

“I know. I made some bad choices in my youth,” you replied.

“How dare he say those things about you?” he growled.

“I know, ghost boy, but you can’t go round punching people who say shit about me. Otherwise you’re going to have to track down a lot of commenters from our social media,” you said, “plus, you tried to get me fires so…”

“I think I’ve more than made up for that,” he said.

You stopped him in the street, forcing him to look at you. His jaw was working and you could feel how the anger was still coursing through him. You shoved him against the wall of the closest building, hands resting on his chest keeping him there.

“Thank you for sticking up for my honour. Honestly, ghost boy, no one’s ever done that for me before. But I can’t have you getting arrested for assault. Assholes like that aren’t worth it,” you said.

“He thought he still had a chance with you,” was all he said.

“And he was wrong,” you said.

“He better be,” he muttered.

You shoved him again. His hands settled on your hip, pulling you closer to keep you from doing it again.

“That was such a stupid thing to do, ghost boy,” you said, head falling forward until it rested against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lips brushing your temple.

“But also kind of hot,” you admitted.

A surprised laugh fell from his lips and you looked up at him, squinting in the face of your own hypocrisy.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” you said, “but also you are so getting your reward.”

“That sends a very confusing message,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

Pushing up onto tiptoes, you pressed your lips to his, sinking into his warmth. The hands on your hips tightened, hauling you against his body. Your tongue licked into his mouth and you kissed him deeper until the wolf whistling started.

“Home?” you murmured against his lips.

“I want my reward,” he replied.

“C’mon then, ghost boy.”

Threading your fingers through his, you tugged him in the direction of your home, ready to give him the reward he definitely deserved.

#lars pinfield x reader #lars pinfield imagine #lars pinfield

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muiitoloko · 18 days

Note

Hi, could you write David’s shy partner taking care of him after he’s been hurt during his service and he’s grumpy and a bit embarrassed but also very please to have someone who really care for him ?

Title: Tender Resilience

Summary: David’s pride is bruised as much as his ankle, but your patient care teaches him the value of leaning on someone else, even when it goes against his instinct to remain self-reliant.

Pairing: David Friedman × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: I actually whipped up a little something short for David recently, mostly because I’m running low on ideas for him at the moment. But hey, maybe this will spark some inspiration! Stay tuned, and I hope you enjoy it!