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babbymochiiii · 15 days

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⊹₊ ⋆ᯓ★ street racer mark lee

❤︎ ໋𓈒 street racer!mark x afab!reader; you can ride me...or you can ride with me.

ʚ warnings: not proof read, ngl i'm pretty lazy with the smut here...so bare with me cause i was losing the creative juice for it 💀, some boob loving, oral/fingering (f), p in v, unprotected sex (pls...use a condom), mark is drunk on pussy 🤷🏽, creampie x2, possessive mark, dub con, backseat sex, johnny being an asshole of not respecting your space, screaming match between mark and reader, and lots of curse words being thrown around one another. won't lie the second smut scene might make some of my readers uncomfortable due to the content it has and how mark just handles the situation, so i will be putting a little warning sign between the dialogue so if you wish to skip it you can, i don't think you need to have full context of what happens as i feel like the dialogue that comes after explains itself.

ʚ to hear that songs that lowkey had some inspiration to this fic, here is the link to the spotify playlist i made; click here for street racer! mark playlist!

ʚ author’s note: yes this is me adding more about street racer mark from my first ever post here…but with a bit more fun >:) enjoy! originally, i did want to get this out before mark’s b-day, but my bf was in town from school and we’ll all writing plans went out the window and i had to take advantage of my time with him 😩🫶🏼 other than that note, i have been writing here and there for this post as much as i could or really come up with on the spot cause my brain is in a little :P mood for a while now so… ✨motivation is fast and furious ✨

ʚ word count: 7.4k words

❤︎ ໋𓈒 if you haven't read the past parts to this series, here is the series m.list!

street racer!mark who loves the adrenaline rush he gets every time he races.

street racer! mark who is honestly pretty cold and straight forward with people but is a honestly a golden retriever with his tight circle. (He’s a Doberman basically)

street racer! mark from the first moment he saw you, he knew you were his.

street racer! mark who was ready to bash his opponents head into his steering wheel for even looking at you the way he did when you were set up as their flag girl (though he knew he couldn’t but that wouldn’t stop him)

street racer! mark who honestly catches johnny off guard when he acts all sweet and nice to you after you helped start the race he just finished (and won)

street racer! mark who realized he lowkey made a fool of himself when he asked you to be his sugar mama, but couldn’t help but feel his soul sore when he heard you laugh at his rambling

street racer! mark who knew the moment that you agreed to hanging out with him after his two races, you were meant to be his

street racer! mark who honestly cornered your friend into a corner and convinced her to give him your number after not seeing you for a month (he’s quite convincing without doing much)

street racer! mark who feels like a hormonal teenage boy feeling extremely nervous when texting you due to the fact that he wasn’t sure how your relationship with him stood

street racer! mark who the moments he sends the first text he throws his phone onto his bed before shoving his face between his hands because he knows that you have him whipped after one interaction

street racer! mark who jumps at the sound of his phone signaling that he had a new text message, and with a racing heart, grabs his phone and instantly felt his face heat up in ecstasy and a small laugh of embarrassment for not explaining that it was him in the first place when you asked who was texting you

street racer! mark who invites you out to the races tonight, shooting a blank bullet knowing it was hit or miss if you came out tonight or not; but to his delight you ended up saying yes causing him to jump up and let out a “HELL YEAH!” in the process while gaining a weird look from haechan as he walked passed his door

street racer! mark who watches your interaction with johnny from afar, his jaw set as he tries not to storm over. but the moment he sees johnny reach towards your hair and pull it out of the make-shift low bun you had something within him set ablaze and he started to make his way towards you.

“y/n! there you are!” he called out as he was close enough to be in your ear shot. “mark, hey!” you said as you turned and looked at him with a wide smile. “so I was thinking, do you possibly want to get in the car with me for my next race?” he asked you as he looked at you with a look that he knew you couldn’t refuse his offer. you have a look of hesitance. “i mean is that allowed? like dude, I’m not trying to break any rules that says I’m not supposed to do this so like—“ you rambled as you looked between mark and johnny for reassurance (it bothered him you looked at johnny with that look on your face and not just him…) “nah bro, you good. besides it’s sort of really freaking rare if someone sat in the passenger seat with the driver unless that person is on their team.” he made sure to reassure you as he placed his arm around your shoulders and bringing you to his side. you looked up at mark and gave him a wide smile of excitement, that to him, makes your eyes sparkle with said emotion. “then, yeah I’ll go ride with you.”

street racer! mark who can’t stop laughing at the way you scream his name out as he speeds down the roads. several squeals leave your lips as you also laughed out as he could tell was your adrenaline causing you to react in that way.

street racer! mark who can’t help but feel the pride swell in his chest as you cheer him on for winning the race.

street racer! mark who can’t help but hold in his laugh knowing that he caught you off guard with his slight flirt comment.

“all thanks to you.” “dude, you’re flirting.” you said as mark watched your jaw drop slightly in shock. with the small silence that falls between the two of you, makes you both laugh out over the moment.

street racer! mark who doesn’t think twice about leaning in (nor did he care) as he watched you lean in as well with hooded eyes.

street racer!mark who was ready to end johnny’s life as he knew he purposely slammed the car’s hood and squeezed in between the two of you for conversation.

street racer! mark who was trying his best to keep his cool in front of you as he continued the conversation.

“you should’ve heard how she was screaming at the top of her lungs.” mark said as he laughs about your reaction. “yeah i bet she was pretty loud.” johnny said with a cocky smirk while looking down at you.

street racer! mark who was picturing 1,000 ways of his killing his so called friend after the comment he made, but of course that didn’t stop for either of their slip up in front of you as they glared at one another with a knowing look.

street racer! mark who despite the fact he said goodbye to you with glee, he turned around back towards johnny, who he too was turning towards mark, losing the smile on his face as an intense silence falls before them.

"what are you getting at Suh?" mark said getting straight to the point. "don't know what you mean, Lee." johnny said with a smirk as the situation wasn't obvious. "you know i'm going after her." mark said as he felt his anger starting to take over him. johnny scoffs. "it's not like you laid a claim on her just yet mark. she's free game."

street racer! mark who knew with the way johnny smiled at him meant nothing good, and knew that if he wanted you to be his and only his, he had to find ways (and he always found a way)

street racer! mark who coincidentally bumped into you on college campus and somehow convinced you to hang out with him outside of the car meet (anything to get the upper hand)

street racer! mark who couldn't stop staring at you when he took you to a diner that is a couple miles out of town; you were scared of course, but mark reassured you that everything was going to be okay with him beside you (and dude has a gun with him so really yall are fine-)

street racer! mark who somehow convinced you to go with him to a tattoo/piercing shop with him.

"you're getting your eyebrow pierced?" you asked with an intrigued tone lacing around your question. "yeah, i mean, why not? been wanting to get one honestly." mark said as he gave you a quick glance as he continued to drive down the road towards the shop. "i think you'll look good with it." you said softly as you felt yourself blush at the thought of mark having an eyebrow piercing. suddenly, the thought was more than just innocent thought. mark is a very good looking man, you couldn't deny it as you felt yourself attracted, but for some reason the thought of mark having an eyebrow piercing....it makes you squeeze your thighs together. you tried to be discreet about it, as said man you're fantasizing about it right next to you.

street racer! mark who doesn't miss the way you clench your thighs together as you continue savoring the thought of mark having an eyebrow piercing. his free hand runs along the bottom of his bottom lip as a smirk stretches on his face at the thought of you getting turned on. the hand on steering wheel tightens slightly at the thought of you in such a way for him to the point that his knuckles turn white, before he let's go of his grip to calm himself down as you both have arrived to the shop.

"ready?" you asked mark as you both walked towards the front door of said shop. "ready than never, baby." mark said lowly in such a sultry tone, that it visible made chills run down your spine and for a slight blush dust on your face and neck, as you tried to look away from him, but he could read your body language by now and it only made him chuckle to himself.

street racer! mark who sits down on the chair the body piercer has in their room as they prep everything for the procedure.

when mark look's toward you he swears you're more nervous for him that he is for himself. "you okay, baby?" he asked as he couldn't help but smirk at you, but still took hold of your hand in his in a gentle hold. "y-yeah, just...you know. it's a big needle." you mumbled as you look down to where his thumb was rubbing gentle circles on your knuckles to distract you from your own nerves. "i'll be okay, don't worry too much for me baby." mark said as he gave you a small squeeze of reassurance.

street racer! mark who couldn’t help but feel his ego swell due to the fact that you couldn’t stop looking at him with his new piercing.

“you okay baby?” mark asked as he gave you a quick glance in the car before looking back towards the road. “huh? oh— uh yeah, i’m fine!” you squeaked out embarrassed as you looked at your hands resting at your lap. your nails are looking really interesting right now. mark smirked at your reaction before he continued to drive to your dorm complex.

street racer! mark who makes sure that everyone knows that you are his. does not give a flying fuck honestly at how people react when you’re with him, he knows has to stop it and doesn’t care how he’s gotta get them to shut up. but of course, there is johnny…who doesn’t know what isn’t yours, you shouldn’t touch.

street racer! mark who is fed up with johnny’s bs of blatantly flirting with you in front of him. to which he takes measures into his own hand and asks you out on an official date with him tomorrow night.

“on—on a date?” you asked him as he saw the way your face and neck started to flush in a delicate red shade. “yes, thought i’d make it official.” mark said as he leaned in slightly and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “i— yeah i would love to.” you mumbled softly to him as he let his hand linger softly on your cheek, causing you to flush deeper. “great i’ll pick you up, baby.” mark said as he placed a quick, tender kiss on your forehead. when mark stood straight, he looked behind you and saw the way johnny was sending him glares towards him, that mark couldn’t help but smirk at him before he took your hand and brought you to his car.

street racer! mark who goes all out for your first date with him. he was honestly a nervous wreck, but was pulling though seeing how brightly you were smiling at him, and just how your eyes caught the light just right...it made his heart go into overdrive at the sight before him.

street racer! mark who is such a gentleman throughout the whole date that you honestly can't help but make the first move on him when he dropped you off at your dorm room's door.

"i had a good night tonight." you said softly as you looked up towards mark with a small smile on your face and with a knowing blush resting on your face. "i'm glad you enjoyed it baby. anything for you." mark said as he looked down at you with a boyish smile playing on his face. something about the way mark looked in front of you had you in a daze. his black hair in a messy slicked back hairstyle with some strands of hair falling in his face. the classic leather black jacket he wore, this time with a white shirt underneath the jacket, black belt wrapped around blue jeans, as he wore black boots with his whole outfit. your mouth was honestly watering at the sight in front of you. "do you want to go on a da—" mark started but was cut off with the feeling of you taking hold of his shirt in your hand and pulling him down to your level. "—date?" "shut up and kiss me mark." you commanded softly as you eyed the way he licked his lips. without saying a word, mark leaned in and delivered one hell of a bruising kiss. nothing about the kiss was delicate like he was treating you all night. the kiss was straight passion that was breaking through the restraints that held around mark as all he's been wanting to do was devour you whole. there was some teeth clash, but neither of you cared as all you both wanted was to get closer to the other as you tried to fight for dominance in the kiss. you instantly gave up in trying to win for dominance when mark's tongue grazed along yours, causing you to whimper in the kiss as you felt yourself melting at the taste and feeling of him.

street racer! mark who was trying to be a complete and utter gentleman when it came to wanting to take things further with you, but didn't want to push things further if you weren't willing to push at the boundaries as well.

"baby." mark mumbled in the kiss before pulling himself apart, as much to both of yours protest. "i don't want to do anything you don't want to do." mark said as he felt your hands wrap themselves around his neck and find the length of his hair and pull at it, causing for a groan to escape his lips. mark felt himself twitch in his jeans as tugged again at his roots, causing him to bite his bottom lip and look down at you. "mark please...i need you" you muttered your plea as you looked up at him with such doe eyes and a small pout that mark knew that he was completely at your mercy.

street racer! mark who the moment you opened your door and walked inside, he had you pinned against the closed door.

"are you sure you want to do this?" mark said as he looked down at you where you were caged between his arms. "yes." you breathlessly moaned out as you arched your back where your chest grazed his, just to show him how willing you are. "fuck..." mark mumbled before he placed his had at the back of your neck and pulled you into another throb-inducing-kiss. clothes started to come off between the two of you as you walked towards your bed, where mark wanted everything to be comfortable, mostly for you. you were only left in your underwear as you laid so pretty under the dim lighting of your bedroom. mark swore under his breath as he watched the way your chest rises and falls in quick breathes. his eyes travel over the expense of your exposed skin. it didn't take long for mark to find himself between your thighs. he captured your lips into a gentle kiss, completely different from before. inviting as the kiss was, it quickly turned harsh and hot when you bit mark's bottom lip. mark led his kisses down your neck in open mouth kisses, leaving blossoming bruises on the juncture that was between your neck and shoulder. as mark's lips traveled down your sternum, you started to release more breathy moans as the ticklish sensations over your flushed skin. mark took hold of your plumped breasts into each of his hand and gave them a slight squeeze, earning a delicious moan from you. encouraged, he takes one of your hard nipples into his mouth and suck on them lightly while tracing the tip of his tongue over it. you started to mumble curses as mark began to stimulate your neglected nipple between his pointer finger and thumb. he pulled on the nipple as he simultaneously bit down softly and tug on the nipple in his mouth causing for you to arch your back off of your bed and moan out loudly. with a lewd pop, mark started to kiss down your navel leaving slight nips in his path. once he reached down your clothed cunt, he started to place small, quick pecks where your clit lays. seeing the way you reacted. without wanting to wait to devour you any longer, mark rips your underwear in half with a rasped promise; "i'll buy you a new one baby, don't worry." was the last you heard before a moan rips through you as he placed a hard press of his tongue between your wet folds. mark starts to eat you out in a rhythm-ed pace that his tongue and fingers followed as they went inside of you, curling the front of the digits against your gummy walls. as mark continued, he felt you clench around his fingers and tongue. with one last push and curl, he had you arching your back off of your bed with a loud moan as you came. mark helped you ride out your orgasm with slow thrusts of his fingers. as you came calmed down from the intensity of the orgasm, you failed to notice mark pulling down his pants freeing his hard, aching length from it's death trap. mark gave himself a few pumps before he leaned above you. he lined himself up to your gaping entrance, but wanted to distract you due to the fact he feels like he didn't stretch you out enough with his fingers.

mark placed his lips on yours in a searing kiss, that made you fully pull your focus into the kiss. as he continued to kiss you, mark pushed himself into your first ring of resistance. you whimpered at the sensation of the stretch, while mark moaned at how tight you felt around him. mark slowly pumped himself in and out, slowly, resting the waters a bit to see how you would react to his movements. as mark started to pick up his pace, you both completely lose yourselves to the sensation you were feeling. mark was completely weak in the knees as he felt the way your gummy walls milked him with each stroke. not realizing how lost he was in the feeling, mark speed up to such a delicious pace it had you rolling your eyes back and curling your toes. you could hear mark mumbling incoherent sentences, but you were able to catch some of the words that slipped out of his mouth; “so fucking tight.”; “she’s sucking me in so good— fuck.” ; “that’s it baby, take me just like that…”;“listen to her, she’s fucking talking to me.” with each sentence that you could catch beyond your moans and his grunts, caused you to clench around him uncontrollably, that only causes mark to keep losing the little resolve he had left. "baby, if you keep clenching me like that...i'm not going to last long." mark said as he felt himself just continuing his brutal pace that had him grazing against your cervix in such a delicious way, that you swore you would give this man whatever he wanted if it meant that he could keep making you feel the way you do right now. "mark, please...please i'm so close! i—" you choked out a moan as he started to go in such a much faster pace than he was before (that was surprising you in all honestly) that your legs were practically on his shoulders at this point for the way he kept leaning against you to kiss between the valley of your breasts, along the juncture of your neck and jaw. you could feel the long, burning tell-tale of your orgasm fast approaching, especially if mark kept up with the fast pace that his hips where sending against yours. making your entire body jump up against his thrusts. "fuck, baby you're so beautiful taking me the way you are and how you're looking at me." mark grunted out as he whipped a strand of hair that was clinging to your sweaty forehead. "so beautiful — shit — and all mine." mark said, and in that moment it was as if something officially snapped within his mind because if he was going fast now, he was going in faster (that you swore wasn't humanly possible but he was proving you wrong.) "say it." he said as his hand went down your navel, and pressed his thumb down hard onto your throbbing clit, causing you to arch your back at the sensation mixing in with his ruthless thrusts. "say it for me baby, please i need to hear it." mark moaned out, that sounded like an a whimper by the end. you knew then and there that he was close to his orgasm as much as you are as he wanted that one finally push and his hips started to stutter. "m-mark, i'm all yours!" you squealed out as mark started to rub his fingers in a messy side-to-side matter against your clit that without warning you came loud and hard. mark swore he was in heaven the moment he felt you clench his cock in such a vice grip that it was almost impossible to continue thrusting himself into you. but along with you, mark groaned as he let out his load inside of you (not really thinking of the consequences it could bring of course.) mark rode out his orgasm, while helping you through yours.

street racer! mark who watches you with such tender expression that it hurts his heart knowing how quickly you came into his world and took him off of the course he was on. (he's in love with you)

street racer! mark who slowly removes himself from inside of you with a groan, before quietly leaving your side to go to your bathroom to grab a soft towel to clean you up with.

you felt something gently graze over your sensitive entrance that caused you to let out a small whimper at the sensation. "hey...sorry i don't mean to hurt you baby. just trying to clean you up so we can go shower and sleep for the night." mark said gently as he lifted himself up and started to place sweet, gentle kisses on your face as he watched you slowly lift up your hooded eyelids that were heavy with sleep. "okay..." you said softly as you gave mark a small smile. you and mark looked at one another with such tenderness that you honestly felt like you were gonna go into some sort of cardiac arrest at the way your heart was beating out of it's normal pace. "hi." you said shyly as you didn't know what to say to him. mark chuckled as he saw the shy blush carry itself across your face and chest. "hi, baby." he said softly as he placed a kiss onto your forehead. "come on, lemme help you into the shower." he said as he placed his arms around your neck and the back of your knees.

street racer! mark who was absolutely incredible at aftercare that honestly made you want to cry due to the fact he paid such attention on your needs, that you just felt so loved.

street racer! mark who after your shower, gives you a shirt he found in your closet and brings you to bed. makes sure you drink your water, and that you get all the cuddles in as you both get some much needed sleep.

street racer! mark who hasn't seen you in a while due to you become busy with schoolwork as it became one of the busiest week of the school year.

street racer! mark who is excited when he steps out of his car in front of your school campus as he goes to the other side of his car to lean against it, to surprise you with a pick up ride from him, when the smile he had on his face falls as he sees you walking out with some guy at your side.

street racer! mark who can see the way you're smiling at him and tilted your head back in laughter, by the way your shoulders shook up and down, from what he said. whatever he could've said, couldn't be that funny.

street racer! mark who watches the way your eyes lit up at the exact moment that you looked forward again, that he couldn't help but feel reassured in himself when you left with a quick goodbye to the guy behind you and made a full sprint towards mark.

"mark!" you squealed out in happiness as you opened your arms open as you jumped into mark's waiting arms for you. mark spun the two of you around quickly as he held you in a tight hug that he wasn't quite ready to let go of you. "hey baby." he greeted you before he placed a kiss onto your lips. "what are you doing here?" you said as you looked up at him with such an infectious smile that he couldn't help the way his smile grew wider. "wanted to surprise you baby." he said as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "ooh! a surprise, are we going somewhere?" you asked as you bit your bottom lip in excitement. "you could say something like that." mark teased you as he opened your door for you.

street racer! mark who lowkey disassociates as he drives on your way to your shared dorm room. he couldn't help but think about what he saw when he picked you up. something possessive paced within his chest, that honestly was slightly unsettling to him but he couldn't help but let the feeling grow and manifest inside of him.

street racer! mark who takes a detour from the original route that he usually takes to your place. he tried not to pay attention to the look you gave him from his peripheral vision.

⚠️CAN SKIP SCENE IF YOU WISH⚠️

"mark? why are we going this way?" you questioned quietly as you looked around the trees that were starting to surround you and the car. you were met with silence as you looked at the far out expression on his face. the silence felt so loud for you as you waited for mark to react to your question. as you opened your mouth to say something, mark suddenly breaks his car in the middle of the off-the-beaten road. silence once again takes over the two of you, creating a suffocating atmosphere in the car. you were about to speak up, but mark beat you to it. "surprise." he said in a mono toned voice. you felt a shiver run up your spine at the way he spoke to you. you've never heard him use this tone to you nor around you. it felt like a completely different person beside you. "surprise?" you questioned, afraid to add more to your question not knowing how his response is. "this is the surprise i have for you baby." mark said in a tone that was too overly sweet and it was starting to make you feel uneasy. "mark..." "who was that guy baby?" mark asked you as he tilted his head to the side, trying to seem innocent and curious. you studied mark's expression as much as you can as you tried to find some slip up on his end. seeing that he was being consistent with the front he is having, you sighed. "he's in a class of mine." mark hummed out as he looked past your shoulder with a small nod. "a guy from your class..." he mumbled out, still having that far out look on his face. when mark looked back at you, the look in his eyes almost made you flinch if he didn't reach over to you grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you forward. "why were you all smiles with him? don't you know you're mine? i don't get it." mark said as he looked down briefly before looking back at you. "why were you smiling at him?" he asked as he pouted at you. you honestly felt like you were gonna get whiplash. "i was being polite?" you questioned yourself at this point cause you didn't know how to approach it. mark just stared at you as the grip on the back of your neck tightened slightly as he adjusted his fingers. he reaches over with his free hand and grabs hold of you face, squishing your cheeks together to create an embarrassing pout on your lips. "get in the back seat." mark said with a side gesture of his head. you looked towards the small section of mark's car that he called his backseat. you didn't know what to make head or tail of. one part of you wanted to go cry about this cause you weren't sure where to put your emotions in, but the other part of you...she couldn't help but feel turned on by the situation you were in with mark. the way he let his possessive side show in such a raw way, made something primal rise within you. seeing that you weren't moving fast enough for him, mark repeated his command. "get in the back seat, baby." with a small gulp of uncertainty and of anticipation, you started to head towards the backseat. once situated in the backseat, you couldn't help but feel the tension rise as you saw the way mark was looking at you. a predator looking at it's prey. mark looked at you with such a predatory look in his eyes, pupils completely darken over with lust, it made you shudder and clamp your thighs together. he soon hoped over to the back seat with you and without missing a beat, he took hold of your ankle and yanked you down the seat to where he was above of you. a gasp leaves your lips as you looked up towards mark with wide eyes. without saying anything to you, mark takes holds of your hips and turns you around; ass up and face down. “mark can we please talk properly!?” you cried out as you tried to push his hands away from your hips as they tried to hook around the waist band of your skirt. "shh s'okay baby, i'm going to make you forget completely about your classmate." "mark! please..." you moaned out as you started to feel him play with your sensitive nub. "we're talking baby." mark said as he preoccupied himself with taking his half harden length out of the confines of his jeans.

“this isn’t how it’s supposed to be mark!” you cried out as you felt him push your panties to the side and start to rub himself against your slightly glistening folds. "i'd say this talk to going the way it's supposed to baby." was all he said as he continued to rub himself against your folds to the point where it was fully hard and dying to get inside of you. "besides you want me just as much as i want you. can't you feel how wet you are for me baby?" mark questions as he starts to tease your entrance with his swollen tip. you were completely torn. you didn't know what to do considering mark was not going to have an actual conversation regarding the situation the two of you are in. he just wanted to fuck this whole argument out of your system to get it over with and it just isn't supposed to be like that...you know this. but why was he making you feel so good about it. mentally you knew this whole ordeal was wrong but...physically you wanted him. you wanted to cry as you felt such intense and confused emotions, you just didn't know what to place what to what anymore. you truly couldn't find your voice in this situation, and it frustrated you to no end that you felt tears starting to sting your eyes. "please mark..." you whimpered out as you felt yourself starting to dissociate. "fuck baby, anything for you." mark said as he started to insert his length inside of you. as mark fully inserted himself inside of you he let out a pleasured moan, while you let out a whimpered cry. nothing that was happening to you felt real. absolutely nothing. mark continued pleasuring himself and you were completely disconnected. you weren't even sure if you actually came or you just faked it so it could be all over with. all you knew is that mark came inside of you, pulled out and covered you once again with your panties. letting his come ooze out of you and fall onto your panties, creating an uncomfortable feeling. "you're so good for me baby." mark whispered into your ear as he pushed your hair behind your ear and placed a chaste kiss on your temple. tears fell from your eyes as utter disgust consumed your entire being.

street racer! mark who has been noticing things have been rocky between the two of you since he picked you up from your class two weeks ago. but still has high hopes for the two of you as he sees that you are still reaching out to him in the best way you can.

street racer! mark who brings you to the car meets after the two weeks of rocky tension, to which he is completely happy and his "normal self" around you while he goes and does his races. and completely misses the way johnny watches your every move so he can have a chance to talk to you.

you were standing off to the side of the crowd in your own world as you waited for mark to finish his set races today. you were in your own world for so long, that you didn't notice that johnny has approached you until he waves his hand in your face. "oh..." you said softly as you blinked your eyes before looking up at johnny with a awkward smile. "hi, johnny." "hey sweetheart, you alright? i'm seeing you all alone and wanted to see how you're doing?" johnny says as he looked at you with a concerned look on his face. "oh i'm fine. just a bit tired from school and all." you said softly trying to shrug johnny off of you. "and mark's got you out here late? he should've just let you rest at your apartment." johnny said as he frowned his eyebrows. "yeah he wanted me to stay home and get some rest but i wanted to come out and support him since i know he has quite of few races set out for him tonight." you lied through your teeth as you gave johnny a smile. "you know..." johnny trials off as he rubs his hand on his chin before his gaze turned up on you. "...if you were my girl this wouldn't be happening to you." "excuse me?" you questioned as you felt a scoff leaves your lips as you looked at him in disbelief of what he just said to you. "i could be a better boyfriend than mark can be to you sweetheart." he said a he went to go and graze his hand on your face. you gently swatted johnny's hand away from your face before it made contact. "mark's not my boyfriend johnny." "oh really? he never made it official. this whole time i thought he has for the way he acts around you." johnny says as he rolls his eyes at the mere thought that mark has been with you for two months and hasn't grown the balls to make it official with you yet. "well...i'm not rushing him for making it official, johnny." you said as you took a step so you could create a space between yourself and johnny. "why are you even waiting when he's clearly comfortable in the position you guys are in." johnny says as he takes a step towards you, closing the space between the two of you. you rolled your eyes at him as you took a step backwards still trying to keep a good distant between him. not liking the fact that you keep distancing yourself from him, johnny takes hold of your wrist. "i could be a better boyfriend than him, angel." he whispers into your ear. "let me go!"

street racer! mark who finishes the first half of his races and looks for you the moment he parked his car. as he looked for you amongst the crowd, finally landed his eyes onto your figure. but what he saw was making him see red.

street racer! mark who sees the way you and johnny are both cozy against the other, as johnny holds you close to his form. even though he fails to see the obvious discomfort on your face, mark comes up with 1 to 1 million ways that this is you moving on from him and he just couldn't have it that way what's so ever.

street racer! mark who races towards the two of you. pushes johnny off of you and taking hold of your wrist in his hand and dragging you behind him to his car. damn the rest of the races he had planned out for the rest of the night...he wanted to deal with you.

"mark! slow down!" you cried out behind him as you stumbled on your steps as he was moving too fast for you to catch up to him. you were met with silence from him as he continued to drag you behind him. the only response you got from him was the hold on your wrist tightening to the point where it started to pinch your skin in between his fingers. the sensation causes you to wince. mark slightly faltered at the sound of your pained grunt, but continued pushing through the crowd towards his car. one you both made it to his car, mark opened the passenger's door and pushed you inside before he slammed the door shut. this causes you to flinch at the sound and the sudden jerked motion the car had due to the force of the car door slamming shut in your face. you honestly didn't know what was going to happen to you right now. you've never seen mark this mad before. yes...there was the instance with your classmate but this...this was a different mark. this wasn't the mark that you got to know. mark got into his side of the car with slam of his car door as well. without saying anything to you, he starts the car and has the car moving faster before you could get something into the tense air between the two of you. "mark—" "why do you do this!?" mark yells out as he starts to speed down the dirt road that leads out of the car meet. "do what mark!? what did i do?" you cried out as you felt tears sting the corner of your eyes as you felt yourself get frustrated as you knew where this was going to go now. "why the fuck were you so close to johnny? of all fucking people, him! you know how he makes me feel!" mark yells out as he slams one hand on the steering wheel. "mark...johnny was trying his usual shit on me yes! i was trying to get out of the situation but he wasn't letting me!" you said as tears started to fall down your face. "i don't fucking believe you." mark said with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. you felt your heart sink at the declaration he made about you. "are—" you cut yourself off as you felt a laugh bubble in your throat, letting yourself know that you are starting to fall into some sort of shock. "—are you fucking serious right now mark lee? do you FUCKING HEAR YOURSELF!?" you screamed out as more tears started to fall down your face in pure blistering anger. "i wouldn't be surprised if you've thrown yourself at him. i've seen the way you look at that motherfucker." mark says as he presses down on the gas peddle causing the car to jerk faster down the road. you looked towards the car's speedometer and was met with '100 mph' in bold, bright lettering. "mark slow down." you said as you stared at the speedometer and towards the outside of your window to see the dark sky and trees in a complete blur of speed. "mark slow down!" you cried out again. "just SHUT UP!" mark screamed out as he looked towards you with such intense anger in his eyes that you swore this man hates you from the way he is just treating you. you opened your mouth to say something but the next thing that you remember hearing was the sound of shattering glass and a gasp leave your lips, before your world goes completely black.

street racer! mark who groggily wakes up to intense bright lighting in his eyes, and he thinks that he simply left the lights on of his room again, until he starts to hear the slow beeping sounds around him.

street racer! mark who fully opens his eyes and takes in his surrounding to see that he is laying in a hospital bed, and his right arm is in a cast and a sling. he starts to wonder what happened, but all he can remember was the argument in the car with you and then everything went blank from there.

street racer! mark who gasps finally realizing that you were in the accident too and started to feel himself panic seeing that you weren't near him nor in the same room as him.

"you're finally awake." mark heard a voice say at the foot of his bed. mark looked towards the standing figure of his bed and recognized your best friend. he noticed the blood shot and puffy eyes she adored and couldn't help but assume the worst. "is she...is she—" "she's fine and thankfully very much alive, no thanks to you." she snaps as she gave him a look of pure disgust. mark rolls his eyes at her tone, but continues the conversation as if she never even spoke. "i want to go see her." he said as he tried to sit up but winces due to the sharp pain at his side. "you have bruised ribs, so i would lay down if i were you." she muttered as she sent daggers towards mark. "besides, i'm not letting you seeing her." she said as she crossed her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow towards him as if daring him to challenge her. "the fuck? i can see her if i want. you don't get a say in that!" mark said as he started to feel his anger get the best of him. "you are the reason she is in a hospital bed right now! you are the reason she has a fucking coma!" your best friend yelled out as she pointed an accusing finger towards him as she tried to hold back the tears that are stinging her eyes due to the pure anger she was feeling. "a c-coma?" mark said as he looked at her with wide eyes. "yeah, a coma. the doctors don't know when she will wake up...the chances are low."

street racer! mark who felt his entire self being shatter at the thought of you not remembering anything that has happened.

"a coma..." mark muttered to himself as he felt himself start to zone out due to the shock the news brought him.

ʚ a/n: to be completely honest with you, i wasn't really expecting to take it this way but i honestly like how it turned out because it adds a bit of drama to this fic and truly shows the persona i created for mark in this au. just wanted yall to go through what the reader goes through in seeing his true persona! lemme know your thoughts!!

⭑𓂃taglist: @hyuckshinee @yesohhsehun @sfsrm-blog @rockstarhaechan

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osarina · 5 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

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

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

Something isn’t right.

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

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

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

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

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

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

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

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

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

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

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

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

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

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

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

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

Dostoevsky is going after you.

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

This is it.

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

This is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

He thinks he might throw up.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai is about to lose you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. He’s going to throw up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

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

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

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

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He won’t let it happen. Not again.

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

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu smut #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

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nanamis-bigtie · 4 months

Text

Round 4: It's Nice to Meet You

about, rules & navigation | previous round

You made a big step today - you're moving from dating app to an irl meeting! You planned a perfect outfit and packed all the necessities - and now you're on your way to the arranged spot. You simply can't wait to see how your chosen men will act around you when seeing you in person.

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Higuruma Hiromi

Meeting with a Tinder date in a place where lots of people can see you is a reasonable strategy but when you finally arrive at the small harbor, you start to worry you might actually miss your date amidst the crowd. You have his photos, a detailed description of his outfit for today and determination to climb a tree or something if needed to see him better—yet you worry it might not be enough. Not when you're running a little late and boarding has already started.

You keep stubbornly tiptoeing and straining your neck until the river of people pushes you closer to the cruise ship and forces you to accept your fate. Well, they won't let you in without a ticket anyway, so you may as well wait for him by the control point.

"Here!" A warm hand grabs your elbow and pulls you out of the stream, close to the barrier separating the pathway from the sea. "You're Y/N, right? I'm sorry, the crowd pushed me out of my spot."

He's shorter than you thought, on the rather average side if not shorter. Despite being a little overdressed for a vacation cruise and sweating in the full sun, he's beaming with a friendly smile, not bothered by the inconveniences. The same warm hand soon squeezes yours, firmly, with a little shake that has more in common with business meetings than with a date.

"I'm Hiromi. It's such a pleasure to finally see you in person."

As you exchange greetings and niceties, you join the queue and finally make your way to the deck. Much to your pleasant surprise, you're directed to the VIP section, with more comfortable seats, a separate bar and way less people around you two. He definitely didn't scrimp on his date plans.

"If you ever have enough of the noise and heat, we can move under the deck," he follows you to your chosen seat and takes one in front of you—close but keeping a respectful distance. "The VIP section is glazed. Ah, and there's another bar, too. Speaking of, would you like something to drink? Everything is on the ticket."

"You're well-versed," you point out once he's back with your drink of choice and a glass of orange juice for himself. "Not your first time here?"

"I like their cruises, I was on a few." Hiromi says with a blank face before he breaks into a smile again—and then into laughter. It might be a stress response, to resort to humor, but you like it on him. When he does so, he relaxes and his words come out more natural, finally shaking off the impression of a smooth but possibly not-so-honest talker. "And... Well, I won't lie, I had a date here already. In similar circumstances, even."

"How did it end?"

The answer is obvious and you're a little angry at yourself for slipping like this right at the beginning—but he takes it calmly, doesn't even try to hide his expression with glass when he takes a hearty sip, "I guess I didn't meet her expectations. But still had a good day. Both of us, I hope."

Nanami Kento

You decide to take the route right by the sea, barefoot on the wet strap of the sand, waves lazily licking your soles. Google maps lied a little about the distance towards the beach bar, but you don't mind—it's a very pleasant walk, with breathtaking views of the sun nearing the horizon and filling the sky and the sea with gold. You can barely tell the difference between them, even the sand under your feet blends into the whole scene, making you feel as if you were treading through the fields of glitter.

It's magical.

You haven't exchanged any guides regarding your meeting, but something tells you he won't be waiting inside. Being so drawn to the sea, he's bound to appear closer to your route—and indeed soon you recognize him in front of you, crouching by the sea and staring into the distance with peaceful expression. He's wearing long pants, folded a little under his knees and wet at the edges. At least his blue shirt has short sleeves, but it's barely unbuttoned under the stiff collar.

You don't want to interrupt his quiet moment with a sudden greeting, your steps slow down the more you approach as you unwittingly start to sneak. But he tells your presence with ease.

"I suppose you're the person I'm meeting tonight." He says as he gets up and straightens his back, his voice oh so deep yet, what you've already expected from him, dry and formal. "I'm Kento Nanami. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He wipes his hands dry with a handkerchief before he offers you one. The handshake is short, as if he was hesitant to touch you at this phase of the date. With a different person it would probably bother you but after the time you already spent together chatting it would weird you out far more if he suddenly acted less formal. You let him be; intuition whispers to you that trying to force him out of the shell will only irreversibly ruin the mood.

The bar—you've named it his favorite in your thoughts—is on the less busy side, small and cozy, and directed to the tourists who put pretty views and peace of mind over partying. You don't have to put shoes on to stay inside but you still choose one of the tables on the sand. There are more people around, but the music is calmer and melting just right with the hum of waves.

Kento compliments your choice, and you can pinpoint a shade of relief in his voice. He really wanted to stay on the beach but didn't want to go against your wishes, it seems.

After the waiter takes your orders—your date insists on paying and encourages you to order whatever you like—you finally have an opportunity to get a closer look at him. His face, neck and forearms are sprinkled with bland, sun-kissed freckles and his glasses left a little paler strip at the bridge of his nose. You expected his eyes to be blue but upon closer inspection you're not sure anymore what their color is.

"I got you something," he fishes a little bundle out of a pocket and offers it to you on open palm. "I— Hope this is not too forward? I haven't been on a Tinder date before. Please excuse me, if I'm doing something inappropriate."

Ryomen Sukuna

You've known he's huge from the very beginning. But you would have never expected he's THAT huge.

Your date towers over the crowd, the tallest of passing people reaching a little over his shoulders. He attracts attention without even meaning to; well, it would be hard for a man of such monstrous posture to blend in, especially with his pink-dyed hair and tattoos reaching as far as his face, but it's not his body that attracts most of the attention. Witnessing this charismatic, magnetic energy in real life has an even bigger impression on you than the glimpse of it you witnessed through Tinder.

You can't help but let it swallow you. You approach closer like a moth drawn by a light.

He's dressed simple—in jeans and white shirt—and it gives you a little confidence boost. You weren't sure if you had anything appropriate for an art gallery and felt your best choice still had you underdressed a little. Who could have known you would be invited to a photo exhibition? But if the originator of the whole adventure imposes a casual style, your outfit is more than fitting.

"Hi!" You announce your presence a few steps away from him. You tried to not get too close but you still have to strain your neck to look straight at his face.

Sukuna peels his eyes from his phone, puts it into the back pocket of his jeans, takes his sunglasses off and hangs them at the edge of his shirt, right at the casually open top button, "Y/N. Finally in person."

He takes a good look at you, from heads to toes. It's a fast flick of eyes, not lingering anywhere long enough to feel inappropriate, but you still can't shake the feeling of being scanned off. He must have been curious of you with the same intensity as you were about him...or so you hope. You're not entirely sure if his reactions are positive or not.

"I don't have a compliment that wouldn't be a shameless copy of what I already told you," he finally says with a smile. It's not a smile you would call pretty but it suits his features. It carries a hungry, almost dangerous, vibe to it—and it has you a little weak in the knees. "So, let me just say that the reality has greatly exceeded my expectations."

You want to return the favor with a compliment on your own but he doesn't let you, becoming you closer and herding you towards the door of the gallery.

"Unless you would prefer a lunch beforehand?" He asks, opening the door for you. There's some gallantry behind it but from his decisive moves and posture you guess it has less in common with being nice and more with a casual dominance. Sukuna is used to calling the shots, he's the leader of the pack, a man who doesn't hear a "no" often. Proposing you an alternative is a mere courtesy, not an option he really reckons with.

"Interaction with art works up an appetite." You decide to follow and see where it is going to lead you.

As you pass by him, he leans down and close, his face close to your ear now, "I promise you won't be bored with me."

Kusakabe Atsuya

You haven't visited the old part of the town yet, so you've been really looking forward to this meeting. Unfortunately, the weather had different plans for you and your little Tinder date. By the time you finally make it to the appointed spot—by a historic fountain on the western corner of the main plaza—the "concerning but not dangerous" clouds lingering over the horizon turn into a storm.

In panic and trying to find a safe spot between equally startled tourists, you struggle to send him an update. You just know he's one of those guys who would wait in the spot even if an apocalypse unrolled around. The last thing you want is to get him both wet and disappointed or worse. But you also can't stop and type in peace, unless you want to be run over or soaking wet yourself.

Finally, you manage to push past the crowd into an ice cream parlor and pounce at a free table for two. You send him your localization and pray he's not one of those middle aged guys who are technology-phobic.

He appears shortly after, wet and miserable. His shirt, undeniably elegant in its intended state, is almost transparent and clinging to every crevice of his hairy torso. Oh. That pool photo definitely wasn't photoshopped. From close and in motion he looks even more ripped.

Luckily, you, just in case, took a towel with you. You offer it to him and, reflexively, throw it on his head to do the drying yourself. He tenses under your hands but doesn't protest, eventually even leaning for it. You hear him exhale a little louder as you make your way through his hair and his shoulders tremble when you brush the towel at the back of his head.

But when you slide it down his neck, he gently takes it out of your hands and dabs the excess of water from his arms and torso on his own.

"I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to go like that. Lemme at least—" Atsuya's face tenses in panic as he reaches for his wallet, soon to be replaced by an overwhelming relief at the sight of his money somehow surviving the deluge. "Lemme treat you for this inconvenience."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault. Not more than mine, I could have checked the forecast too."

"I insist. Maybe at least a small coffee?"

After a few backs and forths you settle on something more than a coffee. After the show he gave you through the chat you haven't expected him to be quite smooth-tongued; in no time he backs you into a corner and keeps pressing until you agree to accept one of the more expensive positions from the menu to go with said coffee.

When your fancy ice cream desserts finally arrive and you reach for your spoons, you notice his hand trembles in a very characteristic way, one you would rather associate with an addict than a man hungry for a sweet treat.

He notices your curious stare but slips a hearty spoonful into his mouth before treating your curiosity, "I've quit smoking recently. When I need a cigarette, I go for sugar instead. Usually, I have lollipops on me but... I guess it doesn't suit dates, won't you agree?"

Ino Takuma

There aren't many people around, but the area is still noisy and buzzing. Apparently, the spot is popular with the local youth. At the first glance you're ready to bet there's not a single person older than mid-twenties within the range of your sight. Everyone is in swimsuits, predominately of the sports kind, and heading towards the cliffs. Some take a turn and make their way down, towards the wild beach nearby, some climb straight to the top.

You have a swimsuit on too, just hidden under the outfit you chose for the date. You stand out and it has you a little antsy, even if no one is staring. Maybe you have overdressed a little, but you really wanted to make a good impression on your companion.

Takuma, of course, is in swimming clothes only, too. He spots you from a distance, waves his greetings and comes running, beaming with an excited smile. He has longer hair than on photos from his profile; his selfies showed mostly his body, so you haven't really paid attention to anything above the neck level.

"It suits you," you let the thought slip aloud then point at the frivolous strands falling over his eyebrows.

"You think so?" He coils one on his finger. "They keep telling me I should finally get it cut. 'Cause I don't see what I'm doing. Even if I do."

"It would be a disservice."

"Then I'll keep it longer." He brushes the fringe out of his eyes, quite contrary to his statement about being able to see just fine. "For you."

You two join the group heading down to the sea. It's a lot of stairs to beat and you can't help but be a little anxious about climbing them back. It's hot and humid and, even if with your date's help, you'll definitely be spent after swimming. From what you've already assessed, there's quite a distance to make from the beach to the base of the cliffs.

Takuma notices your worried expression, "We don't have to swim right under the cliffs. To be honest... I don't think we can even. It could be dangerous."

"Usually it is safe!" He quickly adds, seeing the mixed feelings in your eyes. "But today we have cliff divers. We gotta stay at a distance."

Explains why some people head towards the top instead of the beach.

Chatting casually and savoring your stamina, you make it to the bottom of the stairs as the last ones from the group. Your date stays really close, and you have a feeling he's waiting for an opportunity for some casual physical contact, supporting you on a steeper stair, holding your hand or the like. You don't give it to him, curious if he's going to push his way unprompted, but he's patient, way more patient than you'd assume from his age and attitude.

"Have you ever tried it?" You point at the commotion in the distance and silhouette of a person jumping off the cliff.

"A few times, yeah." He protects his eyes from the sun with a hand, to see better. "But I prefer safer stuff. Don't want to get killed for an adrenaline kick. How would I then bathe in the sea with pretty people?"

Choso

Free ticket for a night-long concert is not a temptation you would be able to resist. Especially when it comes to this place. Since you were invited, you did a lot of research about this place and your excitement was only growing with each passing hour.

And when you found out there's going to be an unplanned change of the opening band—and that it's HIS band that's going to perform—you became simply ecstatic. You're going to have a rare chance of seeing this shy, rather insular man in his waters. You're insanely curious how is he going to behave on the stage, how is his voice going to sound from the speakers, how is he going to look in a scenic makeup and outfit.

He keeps apologizing through the whole day, though, for this sudden change of plans. You can't convince him that for you it's not an inconvenience or that you can go for another date if enjoying the concert from the audience together is what he really wants. He's stubborn in his panic and you start to worry he might actually call the whole deal off but eventually you get a dry "I hope you will like our performance" and you take it as his final decision.

You're welcomed and encouraged—and you're on your way to enjoy every single bit of this night.

The club is not particularly crowded but there's enough people to make for a decent audience. You order yourself a drink and settle on observing the scene from a safe distance. Now it's only him that matters to you. Dancing and partying and experiencing the concert to its fullest can wait.

Despite the different appearance you recognize him immediately. Visual kei style really suits him; it brings the best out of his naturally handsome face and adds him loads of confidence. You can't say you know him for real—you've chatted only on Tinder, after all—but he still feels like a completely different person when performing. His shyness and awkwardness is nowhere to be found, there's only his deep, velvet and full of expression voice and sultriness of his body and expressions. He doesn't move around much but he puts so much energy and passion into his presence that he somehow fills the scene, leaving the rest of the band behind himself.

You're so disappointed they played only two songs before they're called off and another band takes their place.

You send him a quick text, describing where you're sitting, and take a selfie with a barely touched drink in your hand. You were so lost in the performance that you forgot about it.

More or less in the middle of the new band's performance a man from security approaches you with an invitation to the backroom. You're almost shaking with excitement: the night just keeps getting better and better. Sneaking in like a groupie, about to see the lead voice of The Band in person!

From close, Choso looks tad tired and miserable—but it only adds to the charm. He's visibly nervous and does a little jump when he spots you at the door, then stutters when he's trying to greet and compliment you. Finally, he settles on just walking you to a more private area; you sit together on a fatigued sofa, bottles of cold soda in your hands.

"I'm sorry for the change of plans. I hope you had fun despite that?"

Geto Suguru

He's running late.

He warned you he had an unexpected event this morning and it threw the whole day for him upside down so you're not really angry - just a little bored when stuck alone in a cafe that's indeed perfect for audio sensation, providing you have a conversation partner to utilize that feature. On its own, the place is almost too silent, suiting more a library than a place to enjoy coffee and lunch. Majority of guests are busy with their laptops and books, the muffled hum of unvarying jazz music is interrupted only by the typical coffee bar commotion - and even that is less noisy than what you've seen around. As if the whole place was designed

You're not sure if you actually vibe with it - or quite contrary.

For the tenth time within the last twenty minutes, you check Tinder for updates. The last message from him came two hours ago, promising he will definitely make it, begging for your patience and promising to pay for everything you order today. You don't want to overuse his generosity, so you ordered yourself only a single coffee, from the bottom side of price range

The sound of the door opening should be a loud stimuli but in this weird place even this is not louder than a regular whisper. You don't pay it much more attention than simply noticing it happened, all of your focus plastered to the empty chat. Should you prompt him to hurry? He's not online though and as far as you're aware, he's driving, so he won't check anything until he's arrived anyway.

Maybe you will kill some time with checking other Tinder profiles... You had some new interested men, after all.

Out of sudden a big someone puts their big, warm hand over your eyes. It's not pressed tight to your face, but your vision is blocked by its palm and your senses full of the herbal scent of hand cream.

"Guess who?" Soft, elegant voice whispers right into your ear, so close you feel the warmth beaming from his breath. You heard it only a few times, modified by the speaker of your phone, but you have no problem pinpointing it to the right face.

"You scared me!" You don't intend to pretend otherwise. Before you connected the dots, your heart already started fluttering in your chest like a startled bird. Though, you're not sure whether the reason is solely fear - or the sudden, unexpected closeness too.

"I'm sorry." Suguru takes a seat in front of you, hangs his bag at the back of his chair. "For the prank and delay. I was stuck in traffic. What a horrible day."

He quickly studies the menu, then takes a look at your lonely glass, "Only a single coffee? I told you to spoil yourself. It's my treat."

You tease him, claiming you were afraid of being wimped out, but he doesn't follow the bait, answering as calmly and carelessly as possible without making the situation unintentionally tense. Together you decide on lunch, a new coffee for you and a green tea with honey for him.

"I chose this place for you to listen to my voice better, but I can't help but be selfish instead." Once back from the bar, Suguru leans in your direction, chin resting in his palm. "Your voice is mesmerizing. I'm glad I got to listen to it."

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #bas writes #jjk #resort romance

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firefly--bright · 2 months

Text

witness marks.

jean kirstein x reader, modern au

summary ; witness marks are usually used for antique clocks, to tell the functioning of the insides so it would be easier for them to be repaired, usually indicated by little scratches or wear-and-tear, and it's clockwork how you love jean. its a choice against your will, but neither of you would have it any other way.

warnings ; reader likes the rain (again), mild depictions of an accident

a/n ; the story for this Actually Happened when I was small btw :') also marco number one grammar police and pushes his glasses up his nose and used to unironically say "I'm actually.." in high school. also the title for this was because of that one scene in haunting of the hill house (new favourite show I love it so much by GOD don't get me to talk about it I won't shut up) uh anyway enjoy!

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes - taglist is open!

✿ masterlist is in pinned post ! ✿ enter my taglist ✿ song recs for this fic (don't mind the name of the playlist pls) ✿

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Its raining again.

For the sixth time this week, it’s raining. Perpetual, gloomy shadows with unsparing clouds in the sky, its raining. From your view, the window is littered with usually bright leaves sparkling, almost ironically, under the water that showers them. They dance as happily as you’d want them to, the breeze waving them without synchrony but togetherness still. Whatever thoughts you might’ve had come to a slow stop, and despite being in the common, affectionate company of your friends, you look at the window, reminding yourself to not close it at night even if it may be hazardous.

You don’t care. The starless night could be forgiven under the heaviness of the clouds that disrupted it.

Connie calls your name. “your turn!” he says, slinking an arm around your shoulders. You’re reminded where you are, suddenly, and heat fills up your usually cold body despite the shivers that line your shoulders. Playing a game of two truths and a lie after lazing around all weekend, the Monday afternoon was decided, almost like every other day. Your friends would come over to you and sasha’s shared apartment, and whatever sweets you’d had the time to bake would be hidden in the back corners of the pantry before sasha would wake. She’d ask you what that smell was, and you would shrug, and she would complain about her mouth watering and how it would distract her in class, but you withheld the information well. After your classes; boring and long-drawn and so drowsy, your friends would be back in your apartment before you, seemingly having never left. Connie would be in the middle of “helping” sasha, if you could even call it that, find the treats you had concealed. Marco would be reprimanding them with a soft smile, his back turned to them while making coffee for everyone, and jean would be sorting through the menu of an inexpensive take-out place, asking questions of preferences that would all go ignored.

It was easy. Simple, predictable clockwork that filled up your weeks. Every Monday evenings, despite literally rain or shine, the same scene would greet you, and just like clockwork, your body would chime in the acknowledgment of this routine. with years and years of working with the same gears and metal and pangs and hurts of your unfamiliar body – the Monday evening bell of your being sounds out as you enter the apartment because you know the exact events, the exact tick-tick-tick, and enjoy it all the more. Every week. Every Monday.

And you’d enter, your hands filled with treats from the gas station on your way home, and you’d smile after knowing, for sure, that this is what you would call home. Without so much thinking about any other place to go to, not your childhood walls with demeaning darkness and not your first dorm with its drawn curtains and coldness, none of those. None of the places could call out to you with their monsters and gleaming teeth while you were here.

And then jean would turn to you, like clockwork that’s forgotten that it rings out every hour, every Monday at six p.m., he’d get up and say, “finally!” and take the bags from your hands, peck your mouth before anyone could see and groan for you to get a room. And just like the same clockwork with the same inner workings, you tell him what you think everyone would like to eat. sasha would like the ham and cheese- yes, you know this because she’s been craving intensely savoury things this week – and connie, just to piss her off but also because you’ve learnt how he’s made it a point to force himself to like it, would have the Hawaiian one. And then marco says he’d be okay with anything, and you know that this means he’d love for there to be olives and bell peppers. So that’s what you go with.

And just like clockwork, the same routine plays itself, over and over again, excited to commit something new as if it’s forgotten that it had been doing the same since it was made – you’re courageously but cautiously near him, peering into the same screen as him as he scrolls.

“oh, garlic bread,” you remark, whispering. Jean doesn’t spare you a glance while still scrolling, nodding to your scarce voice. You can see his eyelashes fluttering as you watch him closely, not getting sick of the view even if you had been spun around blindly, dizzily. And then jean puts the phone up to his ear and rattles off the order. At the end, after everyone is done and you’ve moved away from him to rummage through the pantry in search for the goodies you had hidden, jean tells them to add an order of garlic bread with cheese with the sudden ten-fold of affection laced in his tone in your remembrance, that the person on the other line would’ve questioned if it hadn’t been their job not to.

And then, Monday evening at seven p.m., the five of you sit on the floor of your cramped living room, around the old, second-hand coffee table with enough stains for it to never be sold again, with boxes of pizza and some song playing in the background that none of you really knew the name of and didn’t care enough to ask, the music getting lost under the ongoing conversation. Today, this Monday at seven twelve p.m, it seemed to be a game of two truths and a lie that your mind had been immersed into before it had started to rain.

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat, taking another garlic bread in your hand, jean’s eyes trailing the predictable, comforting movements of your eyes as you spoke. “this isn’t fair, you guys know me already-“

“that’s the point!” sasha exclaims.

“is it, really?” jean argues with a roll of his eyes. Connies arms shake your shoulders when you try to take another bite. Marco tells him to not accidentally choke you, but connie’s voice is loud enough to drown him out, “just make shit up!”

“yeah, but its so obvious.” A pause in his movements allows you to think. Think. Think about how all the decisions you’ve made have led you here. the warmth that held you now fully grasps your frame, making you smile widely, swallowing the piece of bread. “okay, so,”

Its obvious. Clockwork, how all of your friends lean in close as if kids around a bonfire. Jean’s eyes – not as if they’d ever left you – now unabashedly stare at you expectantly, sasha leaning in closer while taking a bite, connie’s arm pressed up against yours and marco leaning on the table directly opposite you. “I had a hamster that I accidentally killed that my mom screamed at me for-“ the obvious lie. Jean’s eyebrows lift, a small smile playing at his lips at your attempt. “-I would lie to everyone and tell them I was born out of my country-“ jean nods. “- I slipped off of a bike that my brother was riding and didn’t let go.” Jean tilts his head. This story, he hadn’t heard.

Theres a beat of silence, again, and sasha hums in consideration. Connie immediately has an answer “the second one is the lie!”

Marco scoots closer to the table, “no, wait, that would mean that the first one is the truth.”

“oh my god, you killed a hamster?”

You shrug, a smile spreading your lips. Jean leaned back, having already figured it out. “so you slipped off a bike?” he baits.

You take it unknowingly. “yeah. We were kids-“ with the way you’re describing it, jean thinks, he’s already won. Nobody would decorate a lie like this, and his heart beats into his ears as you continue, his eyes impossibly catch all of your movements. They’re ungraceful, clumsy, there are crumbs of crusty bread on the corner of your mouth and your hair has frizzed up a bit with the weather and jean cant help but to think about you the way he always has. Everything you do is inexplicably you, without any room for anything else – like clockwork. The same excitement that has always been there unknowingly chimes itself in his heart, but it doesn’t feel precise and calculated because it’s always been there, all the ups and downs of your voice have been cultivated through the years of living and jean hates how even that small fact makes him want to spend the rest of his life with your cultivated mannerisms.

“- and he had just learned how to ride a bike without training wheels-“

“wait he’s bigger than you?”

“elder,” marco corrects. Jean groans. Sasha calls him a grammar police. Connie sounds the alarms with his mouth. You continue, the smile on your face unaffected at the intrusion. “yep. He’s elder to me. Five years. Yeah, so, we were at my cousin’s place, right, and he had this old-ass rusty bike and my brother told me to get onto the passenger seat – which, by the way, wasn’t a passenger seat, it was like the end of the cycle where you can pinch your bag onto it and stuff.”

“oh, the rat trap!” connie says. You nod. “yes. Exactly. I was like, five, and I sat on it with my front facing his back-“ you held up your now free hands in front of each other, the palm of your right hand facing the back of your left one. Jean’s heart swells with adoring eyes watching, uncalculating, unaware. “- and obviously, it was uncomfortable. And my brother was laughing and driving really fast, and I was laughing too, and all my cousins were there. Which is six of us. And they were all watching us, him, driving, and then-“ jean thinks he’s in love with you. “-I fucking slip.” You drop the bomb with a laugh that sounds more like a hiccup. Jeans heart flutters, finally able to catch its breath after running after one, trying to catch yours.

“slip?” marco inquires, sasha squeaks, connie gasps. Jean breathes in, you say “yeah, and I was so stupid- “ he breathes out as you continue, his head tilting, listening, controlling, choosing to listen to you. “-because I didn’t let go of the.. mouse trap thingie, and so-“ sasha gasps now, too, “-I was gripping the back of the cycle, and my chest was like, being drilled into by the back wheel. And my brain shuts off and I don’t let go for some fucking reason, and my brother cant hear me because of the wind, and my cousin has to run into him, essentially, to stop him.”

Sashas mouth falls open and marco looks at you wide-eyed, connie grasping his own chest as if the accident had happened to him. Jean mutters, “so that’s one truth.” And all hell breaks loose. Well, almost. Connie crawls towards you, sasha jumps into a million questions and marco turns to jean.

Its like a secret he knows. Leaning in, he says, “youre not being subtle, y’know.”

Jean’s face turns red. “I don’t know what you-“

Marco rolls his eyes with a cheeky smile, “sure. You cant lie for shit,” he says, turning back to you three. Youre telling connie in vivid detail about the injury you took, the smile never leaving your face, and marco calls out to you.

“what happened after?” he asks. you shrug, “I don’t know. I don’t think he got in trouble for it though, it wasn’t his fault. But also because he’s my mom’s favourite.” You say, leaning forward and snatching the last garlic bread, splitting it in a messy half. The lack of a plate under your hands creates more mess on your sweatshirt, but you don’t care. Not when it’s like this, with everyone around you, and you think about how, despite all the truths and stories that you haven’t said out loud but have indignantly shaped you with stubborn hands – all of them led to this. no amount of crumbs or stains would deter you from the affection that blooms in your chest, as sasha and connie judge if the story you just spelled out was a lie or not. Jean argues, adamantly, that it couldn’t have been a lie with your elaborations – that’s the reason he uses. Not because he knows that the first one is obviously false, no, its only because he knows how you get when you’re telling a true story. He knows the exact differences between your demeanour. If it’s a professional setting or if its one of those casual days that jean brings you ice cream and you have no choice but to spill the contents of your life into his mind, unknowing of how it takes root in jeans head, the remnants of it growing into his heart. He knows the difference between how you’d deliver a fact or something your passionate about or the easy lies that you tell as an excuse of your absence because the truth is heavier than you’d like it to be – the difference between the truth and the lie is that the truth wouldn’t make you shudder as much as a lie would.

The truth of being in love with you however, made jean shudder. He was raised on honesty. You were raised on the veils, on the deceit of adults, seeking out the honesty rather than wanting to shy away from him. Jean wanted the opposite. He wanted his feelings to be a lie just so he could look at you, your face, your eyes, and deny all feelings he held towards you.

But he still held them with force. With choice. With deliberation.

You glance back at the window. Marco got up, towering over everyone as he declared, almost comically, pointing at you. “the first one’s a lie.”

Your brows raise up with challenge. You look around, waiting for anyone to argue. You concede with your hands lifted and your head bowed. “you got me.”

Connie scoffed. “I was right.”

“you were literally the furthest away from winning,” jean says. The other, uneaten half of your garlic bread lies still in your fingers, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Connie rolls his eyes. “you’re afraid of me. Whatever, my turn!”

“im not afraid of you!”

“I once ate ink-“ connie continues. You turn to jean, finding the opportune moment striking as his eyes trail yours, then reach down to your hand that offers him the other half of your bread. You whisper – god, you’re leaning so close, and jean doesn’t glance at you because in truth he didn’t know what would happen if he did, “thanks for the bread.” You tell him and he hears the gentle warmth in your tone. He grasps it from you. it’s a secret. It’s a choice. Its deliberation. Its clockwork.

You turn back. So does jean. He’s scooted close to you now, and marco has to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he sees what transpired before him.

An obvious lie – it wasn’t raining. There weren’t the clouds you so adored lining up the sky, reprimanding humanity for having forgotten their beauty. And then there’s a less obvious but more present truth – you love jean as naturally as clockwork, the rain pelts harder and you observe two raindrops racing each other, your eyes focusing back to the reflection of yourself in the game, pointing out to connie’s obvious lies.

And the other truth – there’s certainty in jean’s voice as he calls connie out on his bullshit, and then he looks at you and he’s swimming in the force of loving you and even if he’s safe inside, he feels rain on him as he sits with the fact that your warmth isn’t going anywhere and that it’s a choice. Deliberation. Its force.

It’s clockwork. He wouldn’t change it for anything.

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #aot #jean kirstein x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #jean kirschtein #marco bodt #connie springer #sasha braus #fluff #modern au

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aishangotome · 3 months

Text

Alfons Sylvatica: [Mad Love] Chapter 21 His POV

Chapter 21

♡———♡

(Ugh... I've got myself into a pickle by surviving.)

I was honestly at a loss when I woke up, as I had been 90% sure I was going to die.

(I was supposed to head to enemy territory to end the charade... I guess I messed up.)

As I slowly lifted my heavy body, I noticed a suspicious-looking tube, called an IV, attached to my arm.

(Could it be that I survived because of that unnecessarily skilled former doctor? Or maybe––)

**flashback**

Alfons: ...It seems I love you quite a bit, after all.

Kate: Wh-what?

Alfons: To the extent that I want to utter these words on my deathbed and leave an unforgettable mark on your life.

Alfons: Life is quite... unpredictable, isn't it?

Kate: ...More.

Kate: I'll make you leave more behind...! I won't let you die here...

**end of flashback**

(Maybe it's my fault that I started to think that maybe I could live a little longer...)

Glancing over, I noticed a fresh flower, out of place in the dimly lit basement, on the bedside table.

One could tell that someone had been changing the water and tending to it diligently every day.

There was only one person I could think of who would do such a delicate thing in this castle and place it by my bedside.

(Oh, dear... I wish we hadn't made that bet.)

She would probably rush over to me with joy if she found me awake in bed.

(A heartwarming reunion. And then they lived happily ever after... the end.)

A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined such an overly clichéd happy ending.

Even if she was happy about it, I don't know how I could face her in that scene.

(Because... she thinks it's happiness to be in love with me.)

(I still don't think I should let her feel that way.)

I'm not even sure if I can pull off the act of being in love with someone properly.

And even if we were in love, what awaits her is a precarious happiness that could crumble at any moment.

Alfons: If I could just wake up in a way that would make you think "Maybe that bet was a mistake,"

Alfons: Would that be enough for you?

Pulling out the IV needle and placing it on the medical desk, I make the bed as neatly as I always do when I leave my room.

As if no one had slept there.

As I was about to leave the room, I heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

(Even so, she didn't notice me at all...)

It was easy to hide from Kate in the cluttered basement, and she rushed out of the basement after staring blankly at the bed without noticing me lurking in the shadows.

(She's in a hurry, poor thing.)

I follow her a little behind, watching her desperate footsteps and pale profile as she searches for me.

(Oh... what is this feeling?)

(Is it guilt? It doesn't feel like that...)

(No, it's not bad. It's a good feeling.)

Kate: No way, it's a lie, but... such a thing...

Kate: Um, do you really not know!? Where is Alfons...?

Ellis: Hmm...

Kate, who had entered the dining hall, was cornering Roger and Ellis.

(Oh, too bad. It's about time to come out of hiding, I guess.)

With that man's hearing, he must already know that I'm near her.

It's time to reveal myself.

Kate: Alfons, you know...!

Kate: The guy who loves going out at night and tells ten lies for every question you ask, the chatterbox!

Kate: The irresponsible and unethical one...!

(Oh, that's harsh.)

Roger: That "Alfons" you're talking about... is standing behind you.

Kate: ...?

Alfons: Hey, don't spoil the surprise.

Alfons: I wanted to see you freak out a little more.

Kate: Wh-wh-...?

She turned around like a bullet and our eyes met squarely.

Kate: Could you be a ghost?

Alfons: Haha! Look closely. I have legs, don't I?

Kate was speechless, her eyes wide enough to fall out.

(… Not a good reaction.)

Sensing a "heartwarming reunion" coming on, I try to cover it up with some random acting.

Alfons: What a fool.

Alfons: You couldn't even notice me hiding and holding my breath? You're not worth the effort to fool.

But Kate's eyes kept reflecting me, and they started to glow with heat.

(Oh, yeah... that's right.)

(You're too straightforward to fall for a random cover-up, aren't you?)

As I watched her search for me from behind, the strange feeling I had been feeling finally made sense when I saw myself reflected in her eyes.

(She seems happy to see me.)

(Even though I was thinking about how I didn't know how to act in a heartwarming reunion.)

(Just the fact that you get so excited about me...)

(I can't just brush her off with superficiality.)

Her eyes are forcing the truth out of me.

Alfons: Hey, don't just stand there. Check if I'm really your beloved Alfons.

Alfons: You have to make sure of every detail, don't you?

I lift her hand and guide it to my chest.

I can feel the heat and the rhythm of my heartbeat through her fingertips.

As if to imprint those things into her as my memories.

Kate: -!

Kate, who must have had a dozen or more complaints to make,

Kate: Alfons...!

She called my name only once and hugged me tightly.

Alfons: Whoa...

My body, still weak from days of sleep, swayed and hit the wall behind me.

Normally, she would say something like "I'm sorry" and try to get away in a hurry, but Kate buried her face in my chest and never let go.

Alfons: Hehe... I'm still recovering from my illness, so could you please go a little easier on me?

Kate: I won't!

Kate: You need to learn your lesson by feeling a little pain!

I tightened my grip on her.

Alfons: Ow...

(Actually, it doesn't hurt that much.)

I find her determination to confirm my existence endearing and play along.

Kate: ... You remember our "bet", right?

Alfons: Bet?

Kate: You said that if you survived, we would love each other properly...

Alistea looks up from where she is buried in my chest and,

Kate: ... I won the bet.

With tears in her eyes, she smiles softly and happily.

(… Oh, I know already.)

(I'm the loser. I was the loser from the moment I brought up that bet.)

(But I'm not as straightforward as you are to tell you that.)

Alfons: Did I say something about a bet?

Kate: .................

Alfons: Ow, ow, I'm serious, it really hurts.

Silently poking at the wound through the bandage in protest, Kate pouted her lips.

(That face of yours is unfair.)

I was about to let the topic of the bet go by the wayside.

I couldn't promise to love her properly.

But I was compelled to tell her the truth.

Alfons: It's not a lie, I remember it very well.

Alfons: I also remember your adorable face when you clung to me and cried out.

Kate: You can forget about that...

I put my hand on her chin - close enough to see each other's reflection in our eyes - and locked my gaze with hers.

Alfons: But I don't know what it means to love properly.

Alfons: Can you teach me, Kate?

(This is my sincere and honest feeling, Kate.)

(Please accept it, okay?)

Kate: ... Of course.

Kate: First of all... you shouldn't tease the people who care about you.

Alfons: Haha! You're serious.

As expected, Kate took my honesty head-on and whispered sweet words, her lips still slightly pursed.

Mad Love Chapter 22

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

#ikemen series #cybird #ikemen villains #alfons sylvatica translation #alfons sylvatica #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #alfons sylvatica mad love translation #alfons sylvatica his pov translated

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macbethisms · 13 days

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For the fic ask game: flip flop + whatever scene from "like everybody else does" + Lady Ki? 👀

hm yknow if that fic was written from lady ki's perspective the title song would be my love mine all mine

The other night, your brother took you out for drinks — to catch up, he said, but really it was because he thinks you've ruined your life for no conceivable reason and thought you'd talk more about it if you were drunk. He was never as smart as you. It was why he was always your favorite. Afterward you smoked on the curb outside like coworkers, watching your breath mingle in the air between you. The Goyang heat slides right off your shoulders; you didn't miss it, the humid weight of every summer. You didn't miss anything about this place. But you ran here, is the truth, fled home to your mother like a child because you had nowhere else to go.

"But you're still working?" your brother clarified.

"I'm taking meetings," you said. When you blinked, the neon glow of the city shone through your eyelids as if they were no barrier at all. "There's been some interest."

He nodded, placatory. "And that kid ... hope the old man's been sending you checks."

Money, always fucking money. The taste of ash and soju lingered bitterly in your mouth; you ran your tongue over your teeth and spoke. "Are they all like this? At this age?"

"Like what?" he asked.

"Rebellious," you said, although what you meant to say was sad.

He laughed. "At this age and every other, little sister."

The world blurred at the edges, uncertain. "He's a good boy," you said, and my good boy is what you meant, the possessive curling hot and tight in your body like a closed fist, like grief. Is this what motherhood is, losing him all the time by inches, feeling him bleed away from you? Bad blood. No, you won't let it happen. Not to you, not to what's yours.

Your big brother shrugged, as if it didn't matter one way or the other. "Well," he said, "you know kids." His eyes turned kind, then, a thing you couldn't abide. "I'm sure you're doing all right."

Now he’s saying something — your son, your son who was made from you — something about these strangers he’s been spending his days with against your will. He sits awkwardly on the bed: shoulders slightly hunched, with his hands tense and crablike on either side of his thighs. He doesn’t want to talk. There’s a reddened scrape on his pale left knee, too big for his lengthening body, and you aren't sure where it came from. Behind him, the sun is lowering in the sky, turning it a thousand shades of molten gold.

You hold up a hand to silence him; to your biting, iron satisfaction, he obeys. "It was all right when you were spending time with your cousins," you say, although truthfully that chafed at you, too. But it's better than the alternative, better than him running around with a gaggle of random teenagers, especially — well. There are things you don't talk about, with family.

His look of betrayal is galling. His face, the face you know as well as your own. "If you'd let me stay in Beijing —"

"Enough." Is this what it was for, your whole life? You have a headache. "This is about your future," you say. "You have to work hard in school or your father" — his father, the word twists bladelike in your mouth — "or your father and I can only do so much for you. Money can't buy you everything."

"I know," he says, and you feel the lie with all the certainty of yourself. He doesn't know what you've done for him, what you've done to give him everything. What he doesn't know could fill a whole universe, that idiot boy, the person you love most in the world.

"I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart."

"Uh huh," he says.

And it's the only thing you can do. Give him everything and watch as he doesn't even reach for it. It's all your useless hands can do. "I love you," you say, but it comes out as something else.

#the radiant emperor #ask game #astrarche-x

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clockworkbee · 10 months

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1989 tv as Jude x Cardan’s version

♪ Say Don’t Go ♪

Jude, Cardan thought, hating even the shape of her name. Jude.

If he touches me, if he even takes another step toward me, my deceit will be exposed. I don’t think I can keep the longing off my face.

(the moment I heard this line thinking of them, I remembered these lines because yeah, she was unarmed—)

He takes a step toward me. “The other night—” I cut him off. “I did it for the same reason that you did. To get it out of my system.” “And is it?” he asks. “Out of your system?”

(he waited, just a little bit longer, no? Probably for her to say no.)

I look him in the face and lie. “Yes.” [...] he gives a thin-lipped nod and departs.

(and I'm sure as damn hell that he would've stayed forever—)

“I did it for the same reason that you did. To get it out of my system.”

(I believe it was like twisting a knife, saying those words, after the time they had, for Cardan to hear it, and for Jude to say them—even if she won't admit it just then)

I hope Cardan misses me. I am not sure how long I float like that, how many times I panic and pull against my chains, how many times the weight of the water over me feels oppressive and I choke on it.

He looks to the sea, at the crash of waves. He’s on land, but he feels as though he’s drowning anyway.

(I don't care if it's from a deleted scene. It's canon for me. This is exactly what happened when Jude was taken prisoner by the Undersea. Cardan kept going to the shore thinking of her and for ways to get her back)

[...] there is silence. Then everyone around me begins to laugh. I can feel my cheeks heat. Tears of frustration and fury prick my eyes as, a beat too late, Cardan laughs with them.

(Cardan laughing along with everyone: twisting the knife)

“Deny it then,” I yell. “Deny me!” He cannot, of course, so he does not.

(pretty clear, no? except the ‘leaving in the night’ part)

“Marry me,” he says. “Become the Queen of Elfhame.” /

/ “Hear my judgment,” Cardan says, authority ringing in his voice. “I hereafter exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world until such time as she is pardoned by the crown. Until then, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life.”

(again, self-explanatory, I believe)

“It’s you I love,” he says. “I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.” He walks to the door to the royal chambers, as though to end the conversation. /

/ “I love you,” I say, the words coming out in an unintelligible rush. Cardan looks taken aback. Or possibly I spoke so fast he’s not even sure what I said. “You need not say it out of pity,” he says finally, with great deliberateness. “Or because I was under a curse. I have asked you to lie to me in the past, in this very room, but I would beg you not to lie now.”

(Each time, when either of them confessed love, the other didn’t or couldn’t—not right away)

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iguessitsjustme · 5 months

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Let’s get the chaos started… number 3.

Ooooo you really meant it when you said let's get the chaos started.

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you’ve seen on tumblr

Not gonna lie, I used to have screenshots of things but I cannot find a single one. I don't even remember why I had the screenshots. Well that's a lie. I remember why I had them but not the context or what it was even about. (If you want to know why I had the screenshots that's a different story for a different ask and I honestly probably won't share it because I might choose violence but I'm not malicious and sharing that story at this point would be mean and malicious cause the whole thing is over now and has been for...probably damn near a year)

So a description of the worst take I've seen on tumblr? This is tough because I have been on tumblr for a very long time and I have seen some just god awful takes. I could talk about people defending the romanticization of manipulation again, I could talk about people defending sending any form of hate to anyone for any reason but particularly for not sharing the same opinion, but instead I think I want to talk about something I saw somewhat recently.

Why on god's green earth am I still seeing people conflating actors and the characters they play in the year of our lord 2024? I genuinely saw someone use the actor's names in place of the character's names when referencing a sex scene and certain movements of the characters during the scene. I actually had to shut down my laptop and take a walk after seeing that. Because good god.

Listen, I know that pair branding and fan service exists. I know actors have contracts and are paid to do these things. I know all of that. But I also know that at the end of the day, that's their job. And I know it can get confusing sometimes because of that. But I'm gonna need some people to take a step back and reexamine the way they are interacting with the media they're watching. Especially the high heat media. Because the second the pants come off, some people's common sense just goes out the window.

This is not to say that I don't like high heat shows, in fact some of my favorite shows are high heat and I enjoy those scenes, but I never, never ever never conflate the characters and the actors. And that's not just dangerous because of the high heat scenes. Some of these actors play awful and villainous characters and they are very good at their job. And that's just it. It's their job. They aren't the characters they play. They aren't even the persona they put on for the fans. They are their own people and to act like they aren't is quite frankly terrifying to me.

So by all means, talk about the sex scenes! Talk about the pair brands! Talk about the fan service! But for the love of god, do not get those confused. The people you watched in that high heat scene were the characters not the actors and quite frankly it scares me that anyone needs that said.

Choose Violence Ask Game

#ask game #choose violence ask game #i might have lied a little bit about pulling punches because i am not going to name names or anything like that #i'm not trying to start shit or be mean or malicious #i just want to shake some people sometimes #really wish i could have found those screenshots though mostly because i don't remember what it was about #and i'm curious what pissed me off so much i felt the need to start screenshotting things #cause it takes a lot to get me to that point

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inafieldofdaisies · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and @clicheantagonist <3

Final snippet from Mercedes and Jacob from that chapter. ♥️ NSFW warning for a scene towards the end.

Minutes ticked by of her lying still until his even breathing signaled he was fast asleep. It was then that she moved his hand away from her waist and quietly got up. It was a ritual. A rule. To never stick around in a mark's embrace once they were out cold. She couldn't help but slip into the old habit as a defense mechanism, especially when Jacob himself still claimed he didn't even like her. On her way out of the bedroom, Mercedes eyed his clothes on the floor, contemplating how his shirt would feel on her skin. She hated the ludicrous thought and how her body was still tingling all over. The sex was good, but not that good to suddenly become an idiot. Instead of grabbing his shirt, she wrapped a blanket around her nude form and wandered back into the kitchen, setting a mental reminder to search the house for anything of interest in the morning when he would be gone. Weapons. Wine. Chocolate. She so craved the latter, yet all she could find earlier was the damn ketchup. 388 days. She sighed, pouring herself another glass of water as she watched the woods outside, imagining walking out and away from Mercy's life. Only to be eaten by one of Jacob's failed animal experiments. Mercedes had no idea how long she had stayed like that, but the next thing she heard were footsteps, the old floorboards alerting her to his approach before hands encircled her middle. "Can't sleep?", Jacob mumbled as he rested his head on top of hers. The simple gesture that was so alien coming from him and in any other situation would be considered sweet to her bore only a promise of danger.

"I woke up craving chocolate.", it was a half-lie, or half-truth, depending on how someone wanted to look at it. "And you found none stashed away.", he guessed. "Sadly." "Come back to bed.", the request was paired with a kiss behind her ear. She shook her head sharply, "Your bed is the couch, Jacob. You just fell asleep before we could talk about it." "I'm not sleeping on the damned couch, Mercedes. You're really gonna try to make me after what happened?" "Well, I won't be either, so I don't know what to tell you. And 'what happened' was nothing." "The bed it is, then.", Jacob said in a final tone, ignoring her denial of the significance of whatever he saw between them as he grasped her hand and led her towards the bedroom. "Goodnight.", he whispered as she found herself back into his arms beneath the covers. Bad idea. It's such a bad idea. She buried her face in his chest, his warmth engulfing her and heating her in the same way the fire had the living room. Casper had asked her many times how she always managed to keep emotions out of the jobs she pulled, and her answer always was, "I simply don't know how to even fall for them, only how to fake it." From experience, she was certain she would never fall for Jacob. That she shouldn't at any cost. Yet for the time being, she decided to allow herself to enjoy his embrace, despite it being as real as the woman she was portraying and maybe even more treacherous than his brother's poisonous words. Yes, we all have a role to play, Jacob. Don't I know that better than anyone else… She couldn't help but wonder what role he had chosen when it came down to her.

Waking up in an unfamiliar place all alone that morning, especially after spending such a long time surrounded by people at the Compound, definitely took Mercedes aback. She turned, finding the spot next to her empty. It was an expected but still somewhat disappointing outcome. Why do I care that he didn't stay? I should be happy he didn't. I am happy, in fact. She tried to convince herself it was for the better Jacob had left without even saying goodbye before she had woken up and that him not being clingy was exactly what she needed. What she wanted as a reaction after their night together. She took a couple of more minutes just to stay in bed, which felt like a luxury in itself after having to rise up at crack of dawn for over an year, sometimes even in the middle of the night if Joseph had decided his flock was in a dire need of a sermon. Why care about my need of beauty sleep? Or the fact that everytime my soul was close to leaving its body so it can escape having to listen to his rambling at such ungodly hours. Eventually, she finally got up, frowning at the destroyed dress that lay on the ground on her way to the bathroom. "Mercy, child, what happened to the white dress.", she mocked Joseph's voice, "Oh, you know, your brother cut it open before fucking me like there's no tomorrow. But enough about me, father.", a laugh escaped her at how he'd react if she even said something like that to him. "And where the hell did my underwear go?", she muttered as she jumped into the shower, noting she only had seen her bra laying on one of the armchairs in the bedroom. Nothing in the bathroom indicated Jacob had taken the time to freshen up before leaving, and in a way, she wasn't surprised. Since she had known him he was always serious, refusing to entertain even a small conversation, completely dedicated to his duties in the region to the point even members of the Project whispered behind his back about how ruthless he was. And yet… he had come with her, spent the night. Just the thought of him had her hand wandering down her stomach in an attempt to mirror his caress. The hot water ran over her aching body, somewhat soothing out the lingering soreness he had left her with as her fingers worked in desperation to bring her release. The second it hit her, she could help but picture Jacob and how things would have gone down if he was there with her. How he'd feel. Certainly better than her hand. "Shame you left. We could have had more fun.", she whispered, setting for washing her hair next and hoping that by the time she was done showering, all thoughts of him would disappear, carried away by the water together with the fact she had touched herself while picturing someone that was essentially the enemy. To her dismay that didn't happen and she did her hardest the ignore the concerning realization as she wrapped a fresh towel around herself and stepped out of the stall. A look in the mirror confirmed she was somewhat back to her old self: she seemed more relaxed than she had felt in a long while, face flushed with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. "Focus on why you're here. It's not for him. It never was.", she warned the woman staring at her, but her smile didn't waiver, "Why are you so happy? The man hates you. He can destroy everything, make your sacrifice pointless if you let this get out of hand. You had your fun, now it's done."

The last part did the job to remind her of her purpose, and she wandered back into the living room in just the towel, a sense of freedom hanging over her, almost as if she was back home in her condo. Being herself, not playing a role. When she came into the kitchen, a note was waiting for her on the table with a chocolate on top of it. "For the dress.", she read his messy writing out loud, "A man of few words, aren't you? Couldn't even bother to sign your name." She would have been lying if she was to say the small act of kindness didn't threaten to chip away at her defenses even a little bit, especially since it meant he had remembered something so mundane she was craving. I've had men at my every beck and call. Had been gifted anything my heart desired for years. And this is what makes me melt? It's beyond amature, naive. Like something Mercy would read too much into. This is not me. After searching the pantry, she miraculously found a couple of forgotten protein bars, and as she ate, her thoughts continued to drift back to Jacob instead of focusing on her plan of action. It didn't take long for her to make up her mind about heading to him again: she still had an official task, a chance to gather intel. She couldn't miss any opportunity to find a weak spot in the Project's defenses. A little visit wouldn't hurt, Joseph told me to keep an eye out after all.

"Praised be the Father on this fine morning, sister.", a familiar Chosen greeted her the second she exited the cabin. A chill hung in the air, and she was glad she had chosen a dress with longer sleeves, one that she suspected wouldn't result in another comparison to Faith. The outfit she had worn the previous day was specially selected for Joseph, an important piece to Mercedes becoming what he wanted to see: sweet, innocent Mercy. The light blue dress she had put on few minutes prior was meant just for Jacob, and she couldn't help but smirk at the idea it would be so easy to undo, sparing him the trouble of getting a knife involved again. Though she didn't intent for a repeat of the night before, quite the opposite: damage control was crucial, she needed to make sure where they stood and ensure the whole thing wouldn't blow back into her face as she doubted Joseph would ever actually punish his brother for straying off his path and instead shift the whole blame onto her, accusing her of seducing the Herald. The goal that day was simply to still appeal to Jacob while keeping him at arm's length, knowing full well he was most likely to drop his guard if he was distracted, a little smitten even. Business as usual. "Isaac, right?", she asked as she closed the front door. "You remembered.", was all the man said in surprise before he made haste for a truck parked out front. She followed close behind, buckling herself in and clutching Joseph's Bible in her lap as the Chosen set off towards St. Francis.

The drive passed in absolute silence to the point that even Isaac's breathing was abnormally quiet, no doubt another thing Jacob had "trained" his men to suppress in fear of angering him with their presence. Walking through the rolls of cages felt just as harrowing as the day before. She couldn't imagine ever being able to stride past the unfortunate souls locked in them and be completely emotionless or not get the urge to let them out, consequences be damned. Yet all of Jacob's men showed no compassion, playing the role he had chosen for them perfectly. How does one just lose their humanity like this? His office was empty again, a new poster hanging in the place of the one she had ripped off previously. "Are you testing me?", she mumbled to herself as Isaac left the room without even sparing her a look, focused on returning to his duties. Seconds later, after tucking the poster out of sight between the couch's cushions, she was staring at a bare wall yet again. She could sense he was baiting her, but she couldn't help but rebel a bit, especially through something he couldn't really go to Joseph with. What would he say? That I'm doodling on his precious posters? Oh, must be a sin.

Hours dragged by in wait, with the occasional footsteps moving past the door but never stopping. The increased traffic outside the room bothered her somewhat, because it gave off the impression something was being prepared when she had found no intel hinting at it. Are you out on the attack you're planning so meticulously, Jacob? Eventually Isaac finally re-emerged, announcing that he would be locking her in per Jacob's orders. What the fuck? The Chosen offered no explanation as he left in a haste before she could even get a question out, the click of the door's lock putting her on edge immediately. Then a haunting song started echoing down the hallways, and it seemed that all hell broke lose with it. Shouting, screams, and the unmistakable sounds of gunshots were all she could hear as she paced around the office, unable to shake off the feeling of helplessness. Mercedes clutched the back of the chair, her mind involuntarily drawing a vivid picture of the carnage that was happening within the Vet Center. Something thumped against the door suddenly, making her tense up in anticipation of danger. Then the handle jiggled, the sound cutting right into her as she faced the fact that the lock was the only thing standing between her and the person on the other side. And I have no place to run. The haunting jiggling persisted, then a body began hitting the door in attempts to break it down until she was sure the lock would give way. It didn't. Gunshots rang out instead, followed by the sound of residing footsteps, reeking of discipline, complete control. The fact that the attempt to break in had ceased so abruptly told her whoever had made it that far and still had the will to fight against their conditioning wasn't amongst the living anymore.

"You wanted me here today? Why?", she breathed out, wishing for the silence to return, for the goddamned song to stop playing on a loop. ♫ Only you. Can make all this world seem right. Only you… ♫ Only you. It was the same title engraved on the inside of the music box she had found yesterday and made it more disturbing he had chosen a love song as a trigger to the start of what he considered training, but only consisted of people needlessly killing each other. Her gaze remained glued to the treeline past the hospital's fence. She was zoning out, picturing she was there instead in attempts to cancel out the chaos when it all went quiet as suddenly as it had started. Yet despite the silence that fell over the hospital, the song was still bouncing around in her mind freely. "Fucking stop it.", she gritted out, unsure how much time had even passed since being locked inside but it sure felt like eternity. Joseph expects me to sit here everyday, be his eyes. Sit around, watch and listen while innocent people die. Mercedes knew she had to find the Militia or anyone that could deliver a message for her as soon as possible. She had to make true on her promise and see her revenge through before losing whatever sanity she had remaining. Still shaken up, she dragged herself back to Jacob's chair, sinking in it while she eyed Joseph's Bible in disdain. First chance I get, I'm burning that shit.

Finally, a key was inserted into the lock, followed by a click and footsteps, neither making her look up from the desk. "Let me guess… didn't see no poster hanging again today, hm?", Jacob chirped as he came to a stop in front of her, his tone too light. "Someone tried to force their way into the room." "I know. It was nothing serious.", he replied matter-of-factly, "I took care of it." She bit her tongue, stopping so much from escaping before actually saying, "You had Isaac drive me here for this. Made me sit defenseless while you conducted your trial just outside the door, forcing me to listen. Why?" His icy gaze remained on her, and she took in his attire in turn, the same clothes he wore the day before now splattered in blood. She wasn't surprised at the confirmation he hadn't taken the time to shower in the cabin nor stop for a change of clothes, instead heading straight to his duty as a 'Herald'. "Why, Jacob?", she pushed against his silence, "Is this your way of sending me packing? I thought you had changed your mind and would at least act like a half-decent human being after yesterday." Jacob shook his head, the only thing he had to offer in response. Mercy or not, I'm done putting up with your mind games. Mercedes got up, hands clutching the 'bible' to her chest as she took a step towards the door. "Where do you think you're going?", he questioned sternly and moved in her direction. "To find Isaac so he can drive me back to the cabin. We're done here." "No." She huffed, "I'm not going to sit around and wait for you to throw a word my way. You hate me, fine. But to lock me in here without any warning on what's to take place was just cruel… What did I ever do to you to decide you feel like tormenting me whenever the mood strikes? Whatever idea you have about me, about 'Mercy', I'm not someone you can walk over and make yourself feel stronger by doing so." He was in front of her now, eyes darkening more and more with each word she uttered out.

His expression wasn't enough to make her stop. It would have been for Mercy, but she wasn't her, not in that moment, "What would your brother think about how you've been treating me? That one of your captives almost attacked me. That you've basically done nothing to make sure I've settled in as he had asked. Fucking me doesn't count as caring, Jacob. The cabin has no food, I spent both days here without anything to eat, barely got offered water. I'm not one of your test subjects or the men you boss around. Yet I can't help but wonder if you're going to throw me in a cage the second another mood swing happens and you decide you're over my very existence." His gaze shifted to the book she was holding, lips twisting into a snarl when he retorted, "Who do you think told me to do it, Mercedes?" "What?", she blinked. Jacob nodded, "Yes. All the Father's idea." "No.", certainly he was lying, "Why?" A frown emerged at the question, "It doesn't matter." "Do you even know the reason?" "I suspect why." Cryptic fucker. "And I guess you won't tell me?" "No." "Goodbye, Jacob.", she told him and stepped around him, set on putting distance between herself and what had just occurred in that forsaken place. His hand wrapped around her upper arm again, his hold only getting tighter when she tried to shake it off, "Don't go." "I'm not playing this game. Last night was a mistake for so many reasons, and if I needed any proof of that, you just provided it to me without me even asking."

She had no idea what part of what she said set him off, but he maneuvered himself in front of her again, his dark stare forcing her to take steps back until she hit the edge of the desk. Pushing me around again. She regarded him with a defiant stare as he snatched the book from her hands, and set it on the wooden surface as far away from them as possible. "It wasn't a mistake. You wanted it as much as I did.", he argued, towering over her, "You asked me about the blood on my hands yesterday. It's the same with food, water. It's become a habit. I'm not used to… caring. Considering people's needs. It's not what I do here, sweetheart." "And yet you pull this the morning after. How should I feel about it then, Jacob?", while a part of her believed the excuse he hadn't thought of her basic needs, her eyes narrowed at his tone and arrogant conviction of how she felt about their night together. "It was either you staying locked inside my office or watching it all unfolding up close." Mercedes scoffed, "Sure it was." "I'm serious. Joseph wanted you to see it first-hand. I couldn't deliver on that request." "Why?" "Because despite what he believes, what God tells him, I don't think you're ready for it, nor that you're cut out to-", he stopped himself, frustration seeping in to match hers when he added, "If you want your questions answered go to Joseph. Don't waste my time. I have a job to do here."

Jacob might have been right about her not wanting to see any of it with her own eyes because it would have most likely resulted in her teetering on the edge of breaking character. Still, a part of her felt bitter at the idea he still considered her to be this spineless, helpless girl, when he was the only person in Hope County to even get glance at the real her, no matter how brief. "Well, I can easily fix that… move out of my way since I'm such a waste of time. I certainly didn't intend that.", she said with a forced smile, actually meaning the words. She hadn't planned to get involved with him on a personal level. He was the one that made the first move and, for some reason, had chosen to blame her for his lack of self-control afterwards. "Maybe, but just your mere presence is enough to waste my time.", he muttered, hand traveling up her arm to her shoulder until it cupped her cheek. Should that be an insult or a compliment? His tone shifted, "Throughout the whole trial, my mind strayed back to you. I was supposed to be focused, present, and yet all I could seem to think of was you. Only you. You're a distraction. And I don't do those." "Then don't think of me. Simple.", Mercedes offered, trying to ignore the way he was staring at her and the memories it brought back, or how he had used the phrase from the goddamned song that was still lurking in the back of her mind. "How? When I can still smell you all over me?", he snapped back, his lips finding hers before she even had a chance to answer or suggest a shower as a solution to the ridiculous problem.

There was nothing innocent or gentle about the kiss, with both of them fighting to take the lead, to come on top as hunger took over. Before she knew what was happening Jacob was spinning her around until she was facing the wall behind his desk, the same one she had stared at for so long since her arrival to a point she had every indent, spot and crack in it memorized. Anticipation coursed through her body when he moved her hair off her shoulder and pushed the sleeve down her arm, his mouth descending on her exposed skin, teeth nipping before he whispered, "Should I stop?" Yes. I'm a distraction, remember? You don't even like me. And I don't need you. Not when you could jeopardize my whole plan. "No.", came out as a sharp reply instead. "Good." Her hands gripped the edge of the desk as he gathered her dress, hiking it up until cold air hit the back of her thighs. "I like this dress better. It suits you more.", Jacob noted with approval. "I thought you might. It reminded me of your eyes.", she grabbed his hand, bringing it to her chest, "And wait until you see the front. I trust you can figure this one out." Jacob swiftly undid the bow that held the bodice closed and let out a groan when his fingers were met by bare skin. "Beautiful." She had been called that word many times, but coming from his mouth felt different, made her heart flutter even if he was actually complimenting her choice of outfit.

His hands moved on from her breasts to drag her underwear down her legs and the next instant his fingers seeked her heat, gliding in and out with ease, "So ready for me, sweetheart." A noise of protest left Mercedes when his touch retreated, but it was shortlived as he grabbed her hips and without even knowing when he had managed to undo his pants, he entered her from behind in a flash, burying himself to the hilt. A whimper slipped past her lips at the sudden instrusion, more following in its wake as he started to move without giving her any opportunity to adjust. "Tell me why I couldn't stop imagining doing just this the whole day?", Jacob said as his lips lowered to her neck, "Did you think of me, too?" She couldn't help but continue opposing him, knowing full well that deep down he enjoyed it, "No. Not even for a second." "No?", he asked, not sounding convinced at all of her lie, "Then how about I change that… make sure you remember me anytime you move?" Long, hard strokes paired with the continuous pressure of his thumb on her clit threatened to push her over the edge as she held onto the desk, relying on it to keep her unright and refusing to show how much he was rattling her. "You were holding back on me last night. What a shame.", she purred, "Harder, Jacob, you won't break me." The rational side of her reminded her of who he was, what he had put her through just minutes before, but his voice and his praises mixed with the sounds coming from both of them drowned out the pesky truths plaguing her thoughts. "You feel so good.", he choked out, and his free hand found her breast, palming it just as footsteps carried down the hallway, accompanied by low chatter.

The idea of them potentially getting caught on top of the things he was doing to her body brought her to climax, a moan ripping out her before she could stop it. "Shh, I need you to be quiet. You don't want company, do you?", Jacob instructed when whoever was outside passed by their door. His palm moved from her chest to cover her mouth while he continued to drive into her, his punishing thrusts picking up as he chased his own release. All she could do was squeeze her walls around him in response and match his movements, wondering if he would make her come for a second time. "Look at you following instructions. So obedient for once. Excellent.", he mocked, causing Mercedes to bite down on his fingers in warning, "You might be a wolf, sweetheart… but do you know what I do to them?", he let out a dark laugh, his voice waivering and betraying he was far from unbothered. With his men finally out of earshot, his hand returned to her chest, pinching her nipple, "You're close, aren't you? Greedy to come on my cock again. I can tell." She jerked her head in a nod, her skin feeling clammy with sweat while her low moans spilled freely as he focused on granting her another climax that hit her even harder the the previous. It wasn't long before he followed her over the edge, his release spilling inside her after the let out a guttural growl and buried his face in her hair. As the fog around her brain began to clear, a harsh realization washed over her, clashing with the pleasure she felt.

Fucked. I'm fucked. Both literally and figuratively. Bare. They had gone bare. No wonder it felt different. She hated the foolishness that had taken over her and how she hadn't once thought about protection in the heat of the moment. It wasn't because she hadn't done it with targets before, but all for the fact with him it felt more personal, like it meant something. Mercedes knew that made him dangerous. She completely slumped over the desk, trying her hardest to minimize the situation and convince herself it was just the postcoutal bliss she felt at the moment talking. Yet all of her attempts become pointless the moment Jacob bent down too, fingers tangling into her curls as he kissed her cheek then rested his head against it. "Exhausted you, didn't I?", he chuckled, seeming fully oblivious to her inner turmoil, "Think you can still walk?" She stared at the wall where his poster used to be, then out of the small window next to it, her words coming out in an even voice despite the array of emotions she wished she wasn't experiencing, "You forgot something." "What?", he sounded lost for a second until he slipped out of her, "Oh, fuck." "Yeah. That." "I-I-", he stopped, "I got carried away." A sigh escaped her, "You and me, both." "It will be fine. It was just once.", Jacob announced mostly to himself, his tone lacking conviction. Oh…you think- Yeah, we're not THAT fucked, Jacob.

"I'm on the pill.", she replied quickly as she turned to face him. He gave her a confused look, "Then why were you acting strange?" Mercedes shrugged, changing the subject, "And you…I thought you'd at least feel some panic at the idea of becoming a father." He pulled her into his arms, gazing into her eyes when he shook his head, "What if I hoped it happens?" Excuse me? Did my brain somehow short-circuit after that second orgasm? A frown took over her features, "Didn't you just say "you got carried away", why would you be hopeful?" He said nothing as his lips met hers in a gentle kiss, and the second they backed away, she prompted him again, refusing to drop the subject, "You didn't accidentally forget about contraception, did you, Jacob?" Her question was met with silence as he zipped up his pants and sat down at his desk, the change of demeanor only made her more suspicious of his motivations. Maybe it's a turn-on for him? Yes, a fantasy. What else could it be? It wasn't like that would have been the most unconventional thing she had encountered with men, and to her, it seemed like the only plausible explanation. Jacob finally spoke up, sounding detached, too matter-of-fact, "Isaac will drive you home and take care of stocking the fridge. I have more things to take care of here." More trials. More people have to die for the Project. For Joseph. So you can fill whatever emptiness your service left you with. "Okay.", was all she could muster as she regarded him from the corner of her eye, wondering what was running through his mind.

His gaze shifted to the wall, tone becoming lighter when he asked, "So… Where's my poster?" She looked up from tying her dress closed, not missing the hunger still lurking in his gaze, "You're back to that? I told you-" "I had a new one put up this morning." "There was nothing when I arrived, Jacob.", she lied, pairing it with a perplexed look. "Mercedes." Mercy's signature smile full of innocence was back on her face, "I swear on the Father." …'s corpse. Jacob shook his head, "Go. Before I make you confess, when that's my baby brother's forte." Mercedes grabbed Joseph's book on her way to the door, trying to not read much into the way she couldn't stop herself from sneaking a final glance at him or how his lips were twisted into a small smile. The second she grabbed the door handle, he called out, sounding more like the man that had fucked her senseless and less like a commander doing a briefing, "I will see you tonight." The simple statement made her a pause, and she hated the giddiness that threatened to take over her system, "I thought you didn't have time to babysit?" When he remained silent, she added, "What if I don't let you in? Are you going to sleep in the woods?" Another laugh escaped him, "I like the challenge, sweetheart."

His words followed her as she exited the office and did her hardest to ignore the blood splattered on the other side of the door and the crimson that adorned the walls leading to the hospital's main entrance. It was a reminder Jacob had turned St. Francis into his own battlefield, watching over as the people he had captured killed each other over the promise of survival of the fittest. His personal lab rats running rampant in the maze. He thought she had no idea about his experiments, but she always listened, gathered whatever information people would let slip up while believing she wasn't paying attention. She hated the realization the darkened spots she had observed on the walls before were nothing but the blood his men weren't able to clean off, as if the corruption itself was seeping into the building's foundation, the dead leaving a piece of themselves behind. Their legacy. A hopeless message of warning for anyone who dared to enter.

Tagging @josephseedismyfather @adelaidedrubman @thesingularityseries @euryalex @detectivelokis @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @madparadoxum @theelderhazelnut @purplehairsecretlair @neonneurons @dumbassdep @shegetsburned @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @voidika @harmonyowl @v0idbuggy @strangefable @schoute @jacobsneed @strafethesesinners @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @josephslittledeputy and anyone with something to share ❤️

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moonlightchess · 1 year

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Men, dudes, gentlemen and bros, let me tell you all about how sexy respect and empathy are with a brief tale from my undergrad years of doing nude modeling for university art classes and private, independent artists looking to commission models. I became known in my local art scene for being an easy model to work with, since I usually brought my own snacks/robe/anything else I needed, and made very few demands on the painters and sculptors with whom I was working.

A local artist in his late 30s, a sculptor, got in touch with me in 2016 . He explained that he was creating a piece for which I would be the perfect model (and for those aspiring, do NOT let things like cellulite, rolls, or any kind of "imperfections" that you think your body might have dissuade you. Artists, in my experience, LOVE details they can use like that.) We settled on a contract, which was an immediate green flag for me since it generally indicates that the artist is legit and not just trying to get a naked girl in his attic for the evening. All in all, he was lovely and my experience talking with him over the phone and getting the details of my payment out of the way was absolutely fine.

So I show up on a blustery March day in Boston. I'd forgotten my usual terrycloth robe that I would bring to modeling sessions, but it turned out that was okay because the artist, Lee, had one ready for me. And not only was it brand new, he'd washed and heated it for me directly before my arrival? He had a small table of snacks set up, which was more than most artists ever bothered to do, including hot tea and coffee AND juice, since he didn't know which I preferred. At this point I have hearts in my eyes.

I took my clothes off while he got his clays ready, and he points behind himself and hands me a remote. I was completely lost for a minute, until I looked up and realized that this man has set up an entire ass television for his models to watch while he works, since we're usually standing in one (probably uncomfortable) position for hours. He had space heaters aimed at where I was standing, and he casually informs me that if I want music instead, there's a bluetooth speaker I can connect my phone to and play anything I like. I am SWOONING now.

I picked music for the first block of modeling, jazz because y'all know me, and the minute it started playing he gasped, "Is this....Dave Brubeck? Oh my god, you are minted." It's generally bad form to talk while modeling for obvious reasons (distracting the artist, shifting your position slightly, etc), but he was so easy to talk to that we just kept chatting while he worked. I won't lie, I accidentally shifted more than once, but every time he would just murmur comfortingly, "No, no, that's perfect, I love that," as he manipulated his clay.

I need you all to understand how appealing this was. I need you all to understand that had I not been working, were I not a professional with a reputation to uphold, I would have fucked the SHIT out of this man. I would have quietly posed for him for as long as he wanted, and then I would have gladly allowed him to bend me over every fucking surface in that studio, I NEED YOU ALL TO GRASP HOW FUCKING SEXY THIS WAS. He could have HAD ME IMMEDIATELY had I not been working. He could still have me today, SORRY TO MY PARTNER BUT.

#OH MY GOD I STILL THINK ABOUT HIM TODAY #he was so kind! so respectful! so lovely!#men it's literally this easy to get laid!#JUST DON'T BE A DOUCHE????

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meownotgood · 2 months

Note

mags I do apologize for always coming to screech in your askbox (especially as you have an hard week ahead, and I do hope that you'll be alrightie and it won't be too heavy) but I forgot to say something about the prince! aki fic (sorry this weekend, my brain wasn't working properly with the heat).

so, I am not going to lie but aki in the whole exchange with reader in this new chapter gave me very much mr. darcy vibes and not in the whole banter-y way but the whole exchange they had reminded me of the scene of the handholding in the carriage with mr. darcy helping elizabeth as in the 'pride and prejudice' movie of 2005).

like it's clear aki's intention of something more and yet not being able to achieve it. and idk you represented the yearning perfectly.

(alrightie this sounded far more poetic in my head but I had to tell you!).

have a nice day and week!

YESSSSS aki and reader are totally inspired by pride and prejudice!!! aki is such a sweetheart... he's Yearning already hahaha

and it's okay, I always appreciate your comments and you being here even if sometimes I don't have a chance to reply 🥺 I appreciate you <3

#next chapter will have much more of aki being a sweetie!#basically I'm finished with the first few sections of the chapter #I just have the last section to finish #will work on it soon uuuuuu #ask mags

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saggernooseai · 6 months

Text

Story generated entirely by AI fantasy/fiction only Tim had always been the handsome one in the small town of Willow Creek. With his chiseled jawline, piercing eyes, and muscular physique, he was the object of desire for many. But despite his good looks, Tim was a kind and humble young man, loved by all who knew him.

However, one fateful night changed everything for Tim. He had been at a local bar with his friends, celebrating his recent promotion at work. After a few too many drinks, Tim got into a heated argument with another patron, which quickly turned physical. In the chaos, Tim accidentally struck the man with a bottle, causing a fatal injury. Panicked and confused, Tim fled the scene, not realizing the severity of what had just occurred.

It wasn't long before the police caught up with Tim and arrested him for the murder of the man at the bar. Despite his protests of innocence, Tim was sentenced to hang for his crime. As he sat in his cell, awaiting his execution, he couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness and despair. He would never see his family and friends again, and his life would end at the young age of 28.

Just before his scheduled hanging, Tim's best friend, Richard, came to visit him. Richard had been with Tim since childhood and was the only one who truly believed in his innocence. As they sat in the dimly lit cell, Richard could see the fear and sadness in Tim's eyes. He knew that his friend was not ready to face his death, and he wanted to do something to ease his pain.

'Tim, I know this is a difficult time for you, but I want to help in any way I can,' Richard said, placing a comforting hand on Tim's shoulder.

Tim looked at his friend, grateful for his presence. 'Thank you, Richard. I just can't believe this is happening to me. I don't want to die.'

Richard's heart ached at the sight of his friend's despair. He knew he couldn't change Tim's fate, but he could at least offer him some comfort in his final moments. 'Listen, Tim, I know this may sound strange, but I can help you ease some of the tension before your execution.'

Confused, Tim looked at Richard, wondering what he meant. Richard could see the question in his friend's eyes and took a deep breath before speaking. 'I can help you…cum before you're hanged. That way, you won't have to suffer the embarrassment of cumming during your execution.'

At first, Tim was taken aback by Richard's suggestion. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He didn't want to leave this world with the shame and humiliation of ejaculating in front of everyone. And if anyone could help him with this final act, it would be Richard.

Without saying a word, Tim nodded, giving Richard his consent. Richard immediately got to work, helping Tim lie down on the small cot in the cell. Tim's hands were still bound behind his back, so Richard had to improvise. He began rubbing his friend's bulge over his athletic shorts, causing Tim to let out a soft moan.

As Richard's hand moved faster and faster across the fabric of Tim's shorts, Tim couldn't help but feel a surge of pleasure. His fear and sadness began to fade away, replaced by a sense of euphoria. He closed his eyes and let out a loud moan as the sensations overwhelmed him.

'I'm gonna cum,' Tim gasped, just as he experienced an earth-shattering orgasm at the hands of his best friend. Pump after pump of warm cum erupted into his boxer briefs and seeped through his shiny gym shorts. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such intense pleasure, and he was grateful to Richard for giving him this final release.

Just as Tim finished his orgasm, two guards burst into the cell, interrupting the moment. They immediately began dragging Tim out of the cell and towards the gallows. Tim begged them to at least let him change his shorts, but they refused, stating that there was no time.

As Tim was brought to the gallows, his legs trembling with fear and adrenaline, the cum stain on his shorts was clearly visible to all witnesses. Some gasped in shock, while others snickered and whispered to each other. Tim's face turned red with embarrassment, but he also was so overwhelmed by the thought of being hanged his embarrassment only lasted so long.

The executioner tightened the noose around Tim's neck as he trembled, breathing heavily. As the trapdoor opened, Tim's body dropped, but instead of a quick and painless death, Tim's execution turned into an excruciatingly long demise. The drop was not long enough to break his neck, and Tim struggled and kicked as he slowly suffocated to death.

As Tim's body convulsed and his face turned purple, the crowd watched in horror. Some could not bear to look, while others couldn't tear their eyes away. And as Tim's lifeless body hung from the gallows, the cum stain on his shorts was a lasting reminder of his final moments on this earth.

Richard watched from a distance, tears streaming down his face. He had lost his best friend, and the guilt of not being able to save him would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he found solace in knowing that he had given Tim one last moment of pleasure before he left this world.

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asterjennifer · 1 year

Text

Mark

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Saeran & Saeyoung (& V)

Word count: 2,599

After so long apart, it was inevitable for them to me again.

He resigned to the idea that's been feed to him. However, his other half isn't exactly thinking the same.

The moment they stood together in front of the big doors forced his heart to swell up into his throat. The wodden color of warm brown reached his consciousness only in vague shapes, he couldn't really focus on a specific detail on the door. He stood as straight as a candle; unsure how to approach the entire situation.

“Do you need some more time?”

Jihyun's voice was soft when reaching out to the younger man beside him, stiffer than he'd like to admit. His voice was welcoming, warm even the moment he noticed his distress, however, he only shook his head.

“No, no… I am okay. Let's go inside.”

Mint colored hair fell forward after Jihyun titled his head to see his face better; much to his displeasure. He breathed through before rocking back to his heels for a second, taking in more air. It would be fine and it's nothing that's having business leaving his heart to almost hammer out of his chest.

The two, big hands on his shoulders caught him off guard. Turned with ease in order to be face to face, and Jihyun looked at him the way he'd done quite a lot lately. Fresh determination inside his shining eyes that paired ever so well with the new found calm he'd claimed over time. Yet a honest expression of strict feelings that kept his face wrinkle free.

“I mean it, Saeran. If you feel too nervous then we can go in a little later. This small amount of time won't do anything.”

He hushed his racing brain one more time. For a moment he's speechless, wondering how often that actually happened over the short years he spend alongside his old guardian. It's not that he's not wanting to see these familiar faces, it's everything evolving around them. He didn't know what's changed about them specifically. He sighed when closing his eyes, reaching up to put his hand over Jihyun's.

“I'm okay.” He promised firmer. “Please… Just go in first, that way I have a second to process my surroundings.”

Jihyun kept his eyes straight as if trying to see through his soul for any particular lie. But Saeran meant it; he's ready despite his nerves threatening to snap. The older one took in a deep breath, patting his shoulder much too gently and finally letting go of him.

“Okay then. Let's meet them.”

Without another exchange of looks or words, Jihyun grabbed the doorknobs and turned them open. The noises of the party broke through immediately and the atmosphere did a one-eighty considering the smell of food, drinks and people hit forcefully. The lights inside the big hall lightning up the main floor brightly, a little too bright in Saeran's opinion.

He blinked at the pain it caused, lifting his hand up out of reflex. He didn't expect to find so many people in the room, he'd suspected perhaps hundred. Two hundred maximum. But this easily could've been a doubled number of faces, it caused his hands to shake from the pressure he's suddenly finding himself under.

“Don't worry.” Jihyun's voice reached out between the million others.

Saeran watched how he offered his hand in the middle of public. The smile lingering on the older one's face between doting and considerate, could be both at once for all he knew. It's embarrassing given some of the strangers already turned their attention to the scene he's involved in. Although it's maybe childish in some sense he's unwilling to see, he took Jihyun's hand tightly.

It's an instant reassurance that he's not alone right in the heat of the moment. Jihyun had strangely developed this trait of providing him his hand when seemingly overwhelmed. Not that Saeran complained, it's a nice gesture of care. It's difficult to get used to regardless. He's more than grateful though, it's not something somebody has given to him that openly before.

Jihyun began to lead them through the mass skillfully, like he knew exactly where to go. The people's voices lingered in his ears as the shimmer of the stage at the right side of the room kept attacking his eyes. The red curtains fit perfectly well to the red carpet running along the entire floor. The walls a golden touch, exactly like the lights and pattern in the ceiling.

He felt out of place by how fancy everything appeared. It's not quite right he was going across this hall. This very building he'd sworn to tear down one day, bury the dust deep into the ground right next to its occupiers. Days became blurry afterwards and now it could be laying back centuries ago, on the other hand it's just yesterday where he thought of demolishing it all.

“Wait here, Saeran. I will announce your presence as soon as I spoke to them.”

Fuzzy feeling, he thought to himself. His own steps came to an standstill, Jihyun let go of his hand altogether and suddenly he stood by himself behind the stage inside the darker part of the party. Ironical, a little fainted voice in the back of his head mumbled, quickly he suppressed it.

He peeked around the corner due to his insatiable curiosity. His hand against the wall's burning and he's certain the place itself is already flaming independently. But finally he could see them all in the very center of their successes.

Jaehee and Jumin stood with their usual professional attitude when discussing something that must've been important as usual. Yoosung and Zen lending an helping hand since the blond college student carried a list of his own. They looked… carefree. Happy. But there were two faces that had oxygen pressed out of Saeran's lungs right away.

She's present, too. He'd not seen her in what felt like an eternity. Eternity? Eternal...? The memories bubbled up to the surface when seeing her smile beam underneath the artificial light. She wore a pink dress, exactly how she did the day she arrived at Mint Eye two years ago. A lot more fancy today, of course. Her hair's braided back, showing the every inch of her face which hadn't changed in the slightest.

She was still pretty. Still the girl owning positive vibes, lovely attitude with her hands always being busy in some way or another. He'd not expected to feel his cheeks get warmer at the sight of her; especially now where the issue at hand wasn't his territory to play in. She's not the only face leaving his knees to wobble, though.

That red hair of childhood struck harder than prayed; the string of bitterness rose into his mouth. He wore these glasses he didn't even need in the first place. That happy suit in a lot more brighter shade than any of the two ever preferred. They both liked dark clothing most. It's true, his brother was an adult now. Simultaneously he's stayed the boy that he'd been since forever.

So many feelings woke up in a single second, just watching them laugh, speak and interact that easily with each other's concerning. They acted as themselves without a care in the world to play pretend. The RFA truly reminded of a close family.

“I've been waiting for this moment.”

Jihyun told her, to which she gazed back in confusion at first. Not long after her face shifted into pure shock, all their reactions were similar when thinking about it. Saeran's hand on the edge of the wall had strengthen the grip drastically until the tips of his fingers turned whiter than his skin.

No, he couldn't do this. Seeing them this way, peaceful and complete, where's his right interrupting this for the countless time? V assured he's wanted numerous times throughout their recovery together. Telling him they were searching, praying he survived in order to meet. Was it true?

Right there in the shadows of the greater good, far away and known by only the cloak of invisibility, he was home. All his life he's spend time in the dark by himself. There was too much light that it burned his retina, the warmth of the room letting sweat run down his back uncomfortably. This wasn't his home in the past, it wouldn't be in the presence and never be in the future.

The urge to turn on his heels and run until his body broke down filled his veins. He couldn't meet them like this, they shouldn't see him. He remembered well what exactly he'd done to the members of the organization and no matter how much time passed; this couldn't be his life. It implied so much happiness. That's nothing he's confident believing in. He couldn't be that happy without consequences.

“I have a news many of you wouldn't have expected – I'd like to introduce a new member of the RFA.”

Jihyun's tone of excitement tore him from spinning thoughts circling around his head. His body took a step back due to fear; he's aware what's about to happen. He didn't want it. He could not want it.

“I should have discussed it beforehand with the rest, but time was not so gracious with me.”

The short hint of a chuckle made Saeran's stomach sink. He couldn't smile at them if they were to find his presence soon. Should he shake hands with them? Apologize for all the destruction he'd done? Be silent and simply stand in the corner like decoration? He didn't know. Unconscious, his scar itched until he scratched it slightly.

“A new member...? But he did not discuss anything with us..” Jumin questioned.

Yoosung followed with a suspicious hint to his voice. “I think my skin is crawling right now..”

He swallowed, it's not that easy making out their words despite the short distance. People shut their mouths one after another; he's feeling the tips of his ears pulse the longer he was conscious of his body. He pressed a fist out of pure helplessness against his chest, hard and tight.

“Please give a round of applause for our newest member.”

And suddenly people were actually clapping. Saeran knew they're waiting for him, his mind went completely blank when acting on auto pilot, coming forth from the wall into the lightened side of the party hall. A variety of eyes staring holes through his tense limbs; there's not a single thing on his mind other than staring back.

He grazed the RFA, not one without wide eyes coming back. However, the second he met the ones oh-so very familiar, he's stuck in a slow motion. Saeoyung stood right there in front of him, mouth hanging open it what he assumed to be bewilderment.

“Saeran!!!”

“..!?”

It scared him to the bone. Hearing his own name being shouted by a voice he'd never imagine would even remember his existence. His ocean colored eyes widened in a different kind of shock as his older twin brother urged forward clumsily.

“You're Saeran, aren't you? It must be you!”

He yelped way too loud, way too emotional. His amber started getting wet once the tears reached the corners. Saeran felt torn, unable to keep his eyes at one point of the other's face. Exactly like before, he was left speechless. The hug that followed only added oil to the flames. His arms shot up instinctively; out of unwell emotions he'd rather forget about.

“You're alive. Thank you so much for being alive.”

The hug's strong and content, the grasp of his brother something he's sure he couldn't ever escape. His body continued to have grown a few inches taller than him, a little bigger than him, a little healthier and stronger. Nonetheless, Saeran wasn't sure who of them was weaker in that second.

“...See? I told you there is nothing to worry about.”

Jihyun tried talking to Saeran, affirmation of that kind he's not yet used to. He started shaking from head to toe, then. That scent knocking him over internally, reminding him of the ice cream under the sunny sky they shared in the past. That weird unconditional love he gave up shamefully quick.

“It must be you. Say something, Saeran...”

He pulled back to take him by the upper arms, for a brief thought he worried Saeoyung would shake him. Instead he stared in obvious desperation. What could he say? What should he say? It's luck he's standing on his feet right now and didn't fainted in the middle of the charity event.

“Saeran. It feels like you'd go away if I hold you. Don't go away! Don't you ever leave me now!”

God they pierced through deeply, each and every single world of that stupid man across from him. He shook his head slightly; unable to think of anything or find an action that could prove he's not mentally absent. Saeoyung's torturing stare finally broke away because of Jihyun, who stood behind him with the rest.

“Thanks, V. You have my gratitude for eternity.” His voice slipped at the edges.

“You saved my brother, didn't you?”

Jihyun's warm smile twisted into a painful one. “…I'm sorry I hurt him in the first place.”

He only received half of their conversation, busy scanning his other half closely. The last time he had seen his brother's face that up close was...

“.. You remember me. Even though my face is like... what it's like now.”

The second the meaning fell over his lips, he felt stupid. Supposedly should've said something touching or real for the thick air to finally dissolve. Saeyoung's head snapped back, eyebrows rising as high as they could as his grip tightened to the point of edging on hurtful.

“What are you talking about? Of course I remember my brother.”

Why did this hurt so much, but at the same time got this immense weight of doubt and shame falling down his shoulders in featherlight manner? Why did hearing that connection coming out of the other's mouth had him want to cry his soul out of his body? Why was he cursed to be melancholic even in the moments of true happiness?

“Let's never part again. Now let's stay together, safe and sound.”

Saeyoung pulled him into another hug, almost more aggressive then the one previously. Saeran this time managed laying his arms around his brother in return; to actually take hold of him after he's been unreachable for years. An emotional flame right there underneath his skin, immeasurable in comparison to a wildfire.

“...Saeyoung.”

There. He said the name out loud. A name so very conflicting to his heart. Going from the most precious word, to an insult to his faith and back to something soothing. The looks of the other RFA members filled to the brim with empathy, sadly Saeran didn't realize. He registered his own tears that ran down his cheeks, becoming more and more the longer he held his brother.

“It IS you...”

Feeling the nod, Saeyoung buried his face into the crock of his neck. The shaking of his shape unmistakably a sign of a silent cry with which Saeran was more familiar with than enjoyable. Instead of thinking over past memories, he gave the tears a pass since they're liberating. Hugging back and hiding into the suit of his older brother, mimicking his doing, almost too close to breathe properly. Yet neither could care one bit.

They stood there for mintues inside each other's arms. Hours? He didn't need to know. All he needed was to internalize the fact he finally go back the one thing he's been craving all his life. Looking for, fighting for in the first place. Crying out for endless times.

His family.

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