#you’re never done with him and you can keep saying it until you believe it

[melobin]

behind the screen 𐙚 sungchan smau #30

✧ camgirl reader x roommate sungchan

✧ synopsis. in which sungchan discovers his favorite camgirl also happens to be his roommate

✧ wc. 2412

✧ warnings. half written, half smau, minor angst.

behind the screen masterlist

it took everything in you to not complain to wonbin about bringing someone else with him, you weren’t entirely sure if you could deal with the countless old, snobby, rich couples you’d be greeted by at the party let alone being stuck with one of wonbin’s friends all night. you let it go though, not wanting to cause anymore stress for yourself during the night.

you sighed as you opened the door to wonbin’s car, sliding into the passenger seat before looking at him, smiling weakly at the boy beside you.

“you changed your hair again?” you admired the shorter hair he adorned “what? like a month of blonde hair? are you trying to damage it?”

“ha ha” he pulled off of the curb before settling with a steady pace, his tone was gentle as he spoke to you “do you wanna talk about it?” you laughed slightly, keeping your eyes on the road in front of you.

“there's nothing to talk about” wonbin sighed.

“my friend is meeting us there, we won’t get chance to talk about anything when we meet up with him” it was your turn to sigh, you leaned your head against the door window before speaking.

“we’re not together, i shouldn’t be upset but i just can’t believe he lied to me” wonbin hummed at your words, encouraging you to continue “and the worst part about it is that he lied to me about seeing somi like, he can do what he wants he doesn’t have to tell me but there’s something so fucking off about him lying to me about working late and then going out with her”

“you’re hurt”

“i don’t care” wonbin laughed to himself, you looked over at him with slight glare in your eyes “is this funny to you?”

“you said you don’t care but you just ranted about being upset at it, it’s okay to admit it hurt you. he lied to you and went out with his ex who hates you y/n, he acted like a prick” you sighed and looked down, fingers playing with one another as you listened to wonbin.

“did chaewon say anything to you about it?” your voice was quiet as you asked your question.

“just that she wasn’t sure if it was him at first until he got out of the car to open the door for her, she said they both seemed a little dressed up too” you felt sick as he spoke, only humming in response to his words.

as wonbin pulled into the car park of the venue, you found yourself not wanting to go in and see people. once he cut the engine of the car off he undone his seat belt so he could look at you. “i know it doesn’t seem like it, but i’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this. sungchan wouldn’t go out of his way to lie to you and hurt you, he’s never done it before so why would he do it now?” you shrugged and sank back into the seat of his car.

“change of heart maybe?”

“i doubt that, he’s obsessed with you” you looked at him before shifting your eyes over to the door of the venue, a boy with soft brown hair stood outside of it looking seemingly lost.

“is that your friend?” wonbin nodded “he looks lost”

“he’s never been here before”

“you made him travel alone?”

“he just moved here, he needs to learn the city himself” you shook your head and laughed, following wonbin as he got out of his car and walked over to his friend.

“taro!” there was a smile on wonbin’s face as he greeted his friend with a hug, his friend reciprocated his actions before turning to you.

“i’m guessing this is y/n?”

“this is shotaro, he moved down here not long ago from japan”

“it’s nice to meet you” you stuck your hand out and shotaro took it in his, something about his smile warmed your heart.

“shall we?” wonbin nodded to the door and shotaro walked toward it, before you could follow him wonbin nudged your with his elbow “cute right?” he spoke quietly, giggling as you looked at him. you shook your head and laughed “don’t worry, he’s al yours if you want him” was his final words to you before he jogged ahead of you, catching up to his friend and swinging his arm over his shoulder as they walked into the building with you trailing behind.

“i feel underdressed” you looked around at the people surrounding you, the middle aged women filled with heavy botox and adorned in black and red cocktail dresses. by the way they were fluttering their eyes at each other, you were almost beginning to thing this event was planned for another reason.

“i feel like i’m interrupting a swingers party” you giggled as you heard wonbin talked, shotaro’s laugh echoing a little throughout out the room as wonbin took the words out of your mouth.

“oh my god no wonder they planned it in a hotel” you giggled again as shotaro added on, you enjoyed watching the dynamic between the two boys.

“i’m pretty sure some of the women are given wonbin the eyes”

“hey at least there’s a young couple over there, we aren’t surrounded by old, horny wrinkly people” you and wonbin turned your head to where shotaro was, you felt your heart drop instantly as you locked eyes with somi, only feeling worse when your eyes trailed to the man standing beside her. sungchan. “you know them don’t you, i shouldn’t have said anything i’m sorry” you shook your head and looked at shotaro, giving him a small smile.

“don’t be, it’s nothing serious” the two boys went to speak at the same time but you stopped them, hooking your arms through both of them and pointing them in the direction of the bar “want a drink? it’s on me”.

on the other side of the room, painfully unaware of your presence, sungchan stood behind somi she spoke to her father. he struggled to focus on what the man was saying, his mind distracted. he thought about you, he felt guilty for lying to you about what he was doing but he had convinced himself it was for the greater good, all sungchan wanted to do was protect you from getting hurt but he feared what he was doing would end up hurting you more in the long run. the only thing that broke his thoughts was the feeling of somi’s elbow digging into his side as her father spoke to him.

“it’s great to see you back around sungchan, it’s been so long” sungchan nodded and smiled at him, holding his hands behind his back.

“i’ve been busy with work sir, me and my partner have been assisting your son in his new line of work. he’s doing very well, he’ll be a great trainer in no time”

“there’s no need to be so formal son” sungchan nodded again and laughed awkwardly, feeling relief as he turned back to somi “wonbin should be around here somewhere, go and give him some company, he’ll need saving from some of the women here”

“yes father” somi bowed her head gently as her father walked away “he’s by the bar i saw him walk in” she commented, sungchan missed the slight amused tone in her voice as he looked back toward the bar.

sungchan was sure everyone around him could hear his heart drop to the floor as he looked at wonbin, his eyes instantly shifting to you standing next to him. he wasn’t sure what got to him more, seeing you there or seeing the unknown man that was stood beside you, laughing at something you had said.

“oh would you look at that, guess i was right about her jumping between men”

“you don’t know anything” somi laughed at sungchan’s defensive tone, finding his annoyance amusing.

“she’s doing it right in front of your eyes sungchan, you told her you were busy so she found someone else to spend the night with like i told you she would”

“you need to stop” she shrugged and looked away, laughing to herself before hooking her arm through his.

“daddy told me to go and talk to wonbin so let’s go” the last thing sungchan wanted was to end up near you, especially with somi there.

there was panic in the air as wonbin whispered to you that they were walking towards where you were, you had no time to escape the moment so you stood there, face blank as they stood in front of you. from the slight glance you gave to him, you could tell sungchan felt uncomfortable but you gave it no mind, not wanting to dwell on any emotion the boy may be feeling.

“y/n, fancy seeing you here, i didn’t know wonbin was bringing a guest”

“you knew i was allowed to, why wouldn’t i?” there was a slight attitude in wonbin’s voice, it almost made you laugh “i brought two guests actually” he nodded towards shotaro “shotaro, he’s an old friend, shotaro this is somi my bosses daughter and” both of the boys eyes shifted toward sungchan whilst you stood there awkwardly, looking down at your fingers “this is sungchan” shotaro stuck his hand out to greet the taller boy, for a moment sungchan debated on ignoring his greeting but he felt too bad. his hand joined with shotaro’s before pulling back immediately. you knew shotaro could sense the awkwardness in the air as he cleared his throat, deciding to try and break the ice.

“having a good night?” he look at the people standing around him but barely got a reply, somi chimed in to say she was having a lovely time before shotaro spoke again “good good, i’ve just been keeping y/n company while wonbin gets catcalled by middle aged women” sungchan’s heart hurt as he heard you laugh for the first time that night, you finally lifted your head to look at the boy who was speaking. he was sure he saw a subtle dampness in your eyes and that only made him feel worse, he wanted to come clean about everything here and now but he was second guessing himself. he didn’t want somi to tell everyone what you’ve been doing but he also began to slightly question if she was right about what she said, if there were men waiting for you to click your fingers so they could run to you. he quickly rid the thought out of his mind, not ever wanting to think you were someone who would use people for their own needs before dropping them for someone else. even if you were like that, he was sure you’d never do it to him.

“shall we get a drink, sungie?” shinchan shivered as somi spoke to him, he was quick to shake his head and take his arm away from hers.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom” sungchan left before she could say anything. he was thankful that the bathrooms were single rooms instead of stalls, the moment he was in there he was pulling out his phone and pulling up your contact info, wanting nothing more than to settle the sore heart he knew you had right now.

sungchan was stressed as he waited for you to knock on the door, the few minutes that he waited for you felt like the longest moments of his life. panic ran through him once you did knock on the door, it took him a few seconds to compose himself before he turned the handle, shooting you a weak smile as you slowly entered the bathroom, letting the door close behind you.

“you wanted to see me?” your voice was a gentle as ever to sungchan’s ears, despite the severity of the current situation, you still calmed him. he was in a daze as he looked at you, unable to find the right words to say “sungchan?”

“right sorry” you nodded, rocking back and forth on your tiptoes as you waited for him to talk. yet still, he looked at you with nothing to say.

“look if you have nothing to say i should get back to wonbin before he starts wondering where i am”

“wait” you looked at him “please”

“sungchan can you tell me what’s going on please” he sighed

“i cant” you titled your head to the side, narrowing your eyes as you looked at him again.

“why would you bring me here just to tell me you can’t tell me what’s going on” he went to speak but you interrupted him, he was quick to seal his lips and let you speak “i would have been bothered with you going out with her but it wouldn’t feel half as shitty as it does knowing you lied to me to do so” he could hear the tone of hurt that laced your voice, he knew he had made the wrong decision.

“i never meant to hurt you, i promise there’s a good reason for this”

“then what is it?”

“i can’t tell you” you laughed, crossing your arms across your chest. he looked desperate and if you weren’t in this situation with him then perhaps you would have pitied him.

“you’re joking right?”

“i’m sorry” he placed his hands on the edge of the counter that was in the room, briefly making eye contact with himself in the mirror before sighing “she said somethings and then we saw you with that guy wonbin brought and she was trying to get into my head about you just using me because you were bored and then i just panicked”

“you really think i’d do that?” sungchan turned to you, the hurt in your voice told him he had fucked up. you spoke quietly, the noise from the other room was louder than you were.

“no no no i promise i’d never think that of you” he tried to hold your hand but you stepped back, sighing.

“i should go”

you watched him for a moment, feeling your eyes dampen before turning away and placing your hand on the door handle, before you turned it sungchan spoke one last time.

“you look beautiful by the way” you closed your eyes and gulped before turning the handle and leaving the bathroom, leaving sungchan in the there alone.

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[ddollfface]

There's just something about a depraved, gross, and pathetic yandere that gets me going. It's just that they're so tragic that you can't help but coo at them. They rely on you, their mere existence is nothing without you, and it makes my heart swell.

Their eyes water and hearts pound as they watch you, unable to rip them away from your figure. You're just so precious, something to be preserved and kept clean. After all, you're their darling, no? The one person who's lightened their path, someone who's always been there for them, though you've never spoken more than five words to each other.

You don't know it yet, but you've changed their life. For better or for worse? They've got no clue, but they'd like to say for better, though if you knew the things they've done, you'd disagree. But that's fine. Though they crave your validation, you'd understand eventually that everything they've done is for you, you, you.

You are their Goddess, their one shining light that they bow down to, kissing your delicate skin as if it were silk woven from the hands of nymphs. They can't articulate how they feel, unable to fully express the pure devotion that racks through their body when they first laid their eyes upon you, recognizing the kindness and pure bliss you radiated as you interacted with others.

The way they see you is warped, perceiving your form as something more similar to a deity than a human. The ground you walk upon is meant to be worshipped and appraised.

His breath ragged, in and out, rushed sighs as he tried to keep his cool. He can’t; not when you're just there. You’re so close, just out of reach, on the edge of his fingertips. He knows it’s wrong; he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be watching you like this, when you’re oh so vulnerable. It’s gross, it’s perverted, and it’s foul. He knows, but he can’t find the fucks to care. He grips the stained wall, his dirty nails clawing at the dry material. His mind races with thoughts; how you’re so beautiful, such an innocent, untouched angel. Oh, you’d look so sweet underneath him, letting him show you what you deserve. He watched carefully, his eyes trained on your figure, as you maneuver through your apartment. He quirked a brow, you seemed to be looking for something? Your hands rake through your wet hair, breathing softly, a last attempt to calm yourself down. You had to get ready, there was only an hour or two until he arrived... You look into your vanity mirror, your tired eyes staring back at you. Nothing make-up couldn't fix. You don't need it, he thinks. Of course, the powders and foundations all enhance your pretty face, but he doesn't believe you need it. You look so much more pretty when your face is bare, nothing hiding yourself from him. He feels like he can see you, the real you, the fake persona he's conjured in his brain.

This is so LoveSick!Poet coded <3

[seraphdreams]

I don’t need a “”man”” I need toxic ex bf gojo who threatens other potential partners and doesn’t let other men near you and drags you away from your friends bc they’re getting more attention than he is and “”just so happens”” to be at the clubs you’re at with your friends (btw where are you going dressed like that sweetheart?? Trying to entice other men?? Silly you, now you’re getting fucked in the backseat of his car and he’s not gonna let you cum until you tell him you love him)

the thing with satoru is that he’s cocky — he fucking knows what his dick does to you , and the way you try sooo hard to deny that fact . . drooling all over the seats as he miraculously has you face down ass up in the backseat, his large frame hovering over you while he circles at your clit (like he used to when you’d both cuddled together) . . . you have to miss him, why else would you go out of your way to try and impress someone else if not to get back at your annoying ex? the sensation of the pads of his fingers tapping lightly against your clit while he’s shallowly fucking you with just the tip, has you whining . . begging . .

a sweet cacophony of “‘toru, please.” , “it’s not enough.” , “lemme cum, daddy.” have him smug as fucking ever . . look at you, only wanting to cum instead of revealing your true feelings towards him — of course, you loved him. who wouldn’t? but you’re in a battle of pride and your heart is set on winning.

oh, how he’d lean down and press soft kisses on your sensitive neck (just as he did when he was trying to butter you up the first time you caught him cheating). maybe you should’ve let him go then, yet in the back of your mind your only thought was no one else could fuck you like satoru gojo could.

so perhaps you do love him. perhaps you let the word slip, but undoubtedly so, he’s slipping the tip completely in and giving you exactly what you want — to squirt all over his cock n go dumb from the pleasure.

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[suguann]

FUCK IT, I WANT YOU—JJK MEN. * ˚ ✦

✎. jjk men who are infatuated with you. | wc. 2.4k+

tags. fem!reader, bsf sister, cockwarming, slightly rough sex, best friends to lovers, exhibitionism, breast f*cking, domestic nanami, pet names, praise, mild dark content, dubcon, stepcest, stuckage

featuring. gojo, higuruma, nanami, geto, sukuna

an. banner is from hare kon okawari | masterlist

↬ GOJO

He shouldn’t even entertain the thought of wanting you—somewhere in the world, there’s a book of rules that says you shouldn’t develop a crush on your best friend’s little sister. 

It doesn’t stop him from letting you talk him into shopping (as if he’d ever tell you no) and watching you try on tiny, flowy sundresses that make his jaw ache, how he’s just on the side of too-weak for those low-scooped tops you’re always wearing whenever he’s at your house. 

At first, Gojo wonders if you do it on purpose—the bashful smiles and bumping shoulders if he’s close by—but you’re painfully shy for that to be the case. It’s why a smirk tugs at his mouth after leaving love bites across your chest when he finally gets you alone in his room so that he might see the adorable little face you make as you try to cover them up afterward. 

He has you perched in his lap on the bed with an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you rooted on his cock buried deep inside the hot-wet heat between your legs. His mouth sucks marks into your skin wherever he can reach, deep groans rumbling in his chest every time your pussy clenches down on him—a sweet reminder that he hasn’t let you move for a while.

“Toru, not there,” you squeak, fingers knotting in the hair at his nape to gently pull him away. “People will see.” 

But he doesn’t listen as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, mesmerized by the sight of it pebbling into a tight peak—your thighs shaking around him when he pinches too hard.

“So fucking pretty,” he growls, biting his lip as he finally looks up at you. “Just let me play with them a bit more, and then I’ll fuck you. I promise.”

A white lie, but he’s done and said worse, and this isn’t that. This is him savoring a victory he never knew he had until you fluttered those long lashes and asked for a kiss.

You’re gasping and writhing, unable to do anything except sit there while he overstimulates you with his mouth and fingers. When he finally rolls you over onto your back, you’ve already cum twice, but that doesn’t stop him, greedy hips churning against yours and stealing another.

He sucks a nipple into his mouth, loving how you quiver underneath him, your soft socks slipping where they try to rest around his waist. “You’re so sensitive, huh, baby?” he rasps, nosing the soft swell of your breast as he crowds you underneath him. 

You mewl out a broken version of his name, hot pants against his neck that make you sound so desperate—not really answering him as your nails bite into his shoulders—and he can’t get over the way you look right now, how you sound. He’ll never be able to go back to pretending that you’re Geto’s annoying little sister (as if he ever thought you were) as Gojo watches drool trail from the side of your mouth from how good he’s fucking you. 

“Do you know how filthy you look right now?” he grits between his teeth. “Been thinking about this for so long—fuck—can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

↬ HIGURUMA

It’s an accident the first time it happens. 

You’re at the beach, playing with him in the water, when a wave hits you and washes your bikini top away. You squeal, and because he’s your best friend and has always looked out for you, he doesn’t realize right away he used his hands to shield your bare breasts from everyone else on the beach—eyes round when Higuruma does.

It’s innocent—his intent—yet alarm bells are ringing in his ears.

He expects you to shove him away—you don’t. Instead, you give him a sweet smile with a soft, muttered thank you and let him carry you back to the towels. 

He’s still reeling at how you fit perfectly in his palms, skin against skin in a way he’s only ever shamefully imagined alone with his fist around his dick. It has him shifting his trunks uncomfortably, and he wants—no, needs (a definite need) more.

Higuruma spreads you out on your towel under the canopy of the large beach umbrella, the shirt he gave you pushed up and held out of the way under your chin as you watch him. His shoulders block out anybody from really seeing how he’s teasing your nipples into his mouth—your fingers digging into the hair at his nape to keep him there. 

He never thought he’d get this far after years of watching you dance around the periphery of his life without ever really being his. How seeing you like this—whimpering his name under your breath, eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks, and grinding onto his thigh pressed up between yours—only ever existed in a fantasy or two. 

There’s nothing to do but watch as the lines of an eight-year friendship crumble into the sand with your soft squeaks of more, and his low groans fuck, and he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than a small flame doused in kerosene. 

If this is the sacrifice for holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your sweat-slick skin, he’ll gladly burn.

He’d keep you like this forever if he could, and the way you look at him, pleading with your eyes, makes him think you’d let him if he asked (or maybe he wouldn’t have to).

He releases your nipple and smiles when your shirt falls from your teeth with a whine, your foot stomping against the towel in a way that’s too fucking cute.

“Why’d you stop?”

All the blood and heat in his body rush to his dick at how needy you sound—for him, all for him—and his breath fans across your spit-slick skin shakily, pent up and overflowing with nerves he’s held onto for as long as he can remember. “Sweetheart, you have to be quiet.”

You nod eagerly, your grip tightening in his hair to bring him back towards you. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be quiet. Just please don’t stop.”

Never. 

When your leg brushes the tent in his trunks, it feels like his eyes roll into the back of his head from the contact. He greedily takes your tight, sensitive peak back into his mouth again—hardly paying attention to the wanton moans you fail to suppress as you continue grinding onto his thigh.

↬ NANAMI

Nanami stares at you more often than usual after you have his son—at how your chest fills out every top you wear, and your hips become the perfect place for his hands—a strange new obsession that develops overnight without a manual or an off switch.

One day, you’re his beautiful wife. The next, you’re his beautiful wife holding his baby, and suddenly, he’s seeing the world through a clear lens, and he can’t stop looking.

His hands are always on you just to curb the constant ache that never really fades, brushing hair out of your face, massaging your lower back, shamelessly letting them wander too close to the underside of your breasts whenever he can. Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and sometimes it’s all he can think to do.

Some days, after a stressful work day, he’ll lay atop your chest and pepper kisses against whatever skin he can reach, wandering, eager hands getting their fill until he falls asleep. On other days, he stays up long enough—baby tucked away in his crib and the monitor softly humming on the coffee table—to peel your clothes out of the way to get the full picture.

“Just like that, darling,” he groans, watching where you’re kneeled between his legs, unable to take his eyes off the way his leaky tip peeks out from between your soft, bare breasts. 

You stick out your tongue to lick away the pearl of white drooling out of his slit, only to spit it back onto his cock to help aid your up and down movements. It has him throbbing at how messy it is, liquid-hot heat pooling in his stomach at how good it feels. He knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he’s torn on whether or not to stop you or let you keep going.

“How does it feel?” you peer up at him through long lashes like you don’t already know what you’re doing to him.

“‘Good, darling. So fucking good—fuck, keep going—pretty little wife on her knees for me,” he curses, hips shuddering when he thrusts up, watching his length disappear and reappear again and again.

The delicate smile that adorns your lips makes his heart flutter, and balls draw up to his body. “Yeah? You gonna cum, Kento?”

“I don’t—I, fuck, yes.” He’d much rather finish with his face buried in your tits, but he’s already too far gone to pull away, to shove you down onto the couch.

You hum softly. “I want you to cum on me. Please.”

That’s his final undoing, groaning at the thought of him marking those cute tits that take up his every spare thought, cumming unexpectedly in a rush of white-hot pleasure before he can stop it. His cock jerks until viscous streaks of white paint your chest, and it makes everything sticky and sloppy, sending a weak burst of liquid pleasure rushing up his spine before he slumps against the couch with a satisfied sigh. 

↬ GETO

He loves it when you’re like this. Soft and pliant beneath him, eyelashes spiked with tears.

He doesn’t know where to look—can’t decide between the smattering of possessive marks littering the inside of your thighs or the ones that travel across your chest. 

A decision easily made for him when he presses the tip of his sensitive cock back into your fluttering cunt, unable to tear his eyes away from how your breasts bounce with every one of his harsh, desperate thrusts. His thumb smooths over a peaked nipple—bitten raw and pinched tight—and he curses under his breath at the feel of you clenching on him like a vice.

You tell him how good he feels under a hitched breath, and his chest tightens because he can’t remember the last time someone used an adjective like that to describe him. Good. It’s weird how such a simple word can make Geto’s head spin and make him feel like anything other than the man he is outside your bed.

He ducks his head down to suck another little bruise right above your nipple, the corners of his mouth curling slightly, knowing that he’ll be the only one that’ll know it exists. 

“Prettiest fucking girl I know,” he breathes harshly, already close. “I wish you could see how perfect you look.”

Geto slips his fingers between you, playing over the tiny, sensitive bud at the peak of your thighs.

“Oh.” A soft sigh.

“Maybe I should take a picture, huh? Would you let me? So I can look at you like this,” —he thrusts deep, making sure you’ll be able to feel him afterward— “all damn day, every fucking day.”

And like a tightrope snapping loose, you fall apart around him, practically choking his cock, and he fills up your cunt for the second time that night.

↬ SUKUNA

You're cleaning the apartment you share with your step-brother until it's spotless because the guy you’ve kind of had a crush on since the start of the semester is coming over today to study, and the butterflies in your belly tell you today is the day he’s finally going to ask you out. 

What you don’t anticipate—between throwing away Sukuna’s collection of energy drinks on the coffee table and doing a load of laundry—is the possibility of getting stuck in the too-small dryer while reaching for a sock or that your brother would be the one to find you bent over with your shorts riding up your legs.

You suppress a groan at the sound of Sukuna's patronizing voice behind you. "What do we have here?"

"Don't just stand there, idiot," you hiss. "Help me."

He chuckles in that mean, condescending way that always sets your teeth on edge. "You're really bossy for someone with their ass hanging out of a dryer. Maybe I should leave you here and wait for Mick—”

“His name’s Mitch—”

“—to find you."

"No!" you say almost too loudly, wincing as your voice echoes around the dryer. With a small sigh, your head hanging, you add, "Please help me."

"That's better." 

It's quiet for a moment, and you start fidgeting again to free yourself until you feel a pair of large hands palming your hips, and you can't stop the squeak that escapes the back of your throat—not expecting the terrible-hot-wrongness of it to feel so good.

A feeling stirs in your belly that you’d tucked away long ago, and only returning to under the safety of the baby blue twinkle string lights in your room—hand in your sleep shorts and teeth digging an imprint into the palm of your hand to hold back the name you only chant in your head.

“You’re s-supposed to be helping,” your voice wavers, dizzy with what’s transpiring in that cramped laundry room.

He huffs a soft laugh behind you, pressing a kiss to the base of your spine where your shirt rode up. “Give me a minute.”

It's embarrassing when you feel wetness pooling in the seat of your underwear, heat rushing from the roots of your hair and down to your toes when his hands travel over the swell of your ass in your tiny shorts. 

You're almost compelled to tell him you’ll get out on your own because it’s the right thing to do—to put a stop to something that shouldn’t happen except in cheap porn. Then his hand comes down against your backside, hard, and every single thought in your head scrambles like an egg on hot pavement.

You whimper, the force of his slap jolting you further into the dryer, sweaty hands scrambling against the metal walls to keep your face from crashing into it.

"Fuck, I've always wanted to do that,” he breathes before tugging the crotch of your shorts and panties out of the way, and you feel something wet and slick drip against your cunt. "Maybe I'll just keep you here for a bit. What do you say, sis?"

His thumb runs along your slit and presses inside you.

“Ah. W-wai—”

“Shh. Just—fuck, so fucking tight—just let me enjoy this pussy, huh?” And quieter, “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

You shiver and swallow around the words threatening to escape: me, too.

[yuwuta]

RODEO STATION, 1 — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO 

A collection of you and Megumi, through the years, through Gojo’s eyes. 

content, warnings: friends to lovers, fluff, sort of canon-adjacent, satoru adopts megumi and tsumiki, reader has a cursed technique but it’s not mentioned in depth here, really just you and megumi falling in love and gojo watching

word count: 1.1k

part i: first years, jujutsu tech. fits in the timeline around when nobara first joins the class

When Satoru first finds him, Megumi has two conditions. First, that Tsumiki would be kept safe and happy, and far away from the Zenin clan if they weren’t going to be good to her—safe and far away from all jujutsu society if Gojo could help it; and that she would never have to worry about feeding herself or Megumi ever again. Satoru agreed right away, he would have done that without the request. 

For his second condition, an eight year old Megumi looked Satoru straight in the eye and told him that he would absolutely not be separated from you. Satoru thought it was cute, sweet, in the bratty, and naive but determined kind of way that seemed to be everything that kid stood for, and Satoru couldn’t fault him for it. Megumi’s evident childlike adoration of you aside, Satoru saw potential in you, too, so he accepted Megumi’s conditions, happy to welcome the two of you to the world of sorcery. 

It’s not until a week before you both start at Jujutsu Tech, that Satoru really asks Megumi why he wants you here (never mind the fact that you had already also made up your mind about being a sorcerer, and if there is anything that Satoru has learned about you in the past decade, it’s that: one, you have the magical ability to make Megumi do anything you say; and two, you’re incredible persuasive and very stubborn). Megumi doesn’t look him in the eye when he answers, fidgeting with his melting ice cream instead when he says, “Well, she saved my life.” 

Satoru doesn’t tease when he hears this, only digging his spoon in for a scoop of Megumi’s toffee butter, smiling to himself when the cold hits his tongue, because he’d heard the message loud and clear: Megumi believes he owes you his life, and to keep yours protected, he wants you by his side.

Satoru quickly learns that Megumi truly has his work cut out for him as he watches you burst through a top-floor window of a high-rise building, falling carelessly with the object of your mission—a special-grade cursed object—clutched in your grasp. Second later, there’s a loud explosion, as the ugly head of a large cursed falls limp in the hole in the broken glass that you’d left behind. Satoru chuckles when he sees you smile, and the faint cheer of weeeeeeeee as you fall. He knew you were wild and stubborn by the way you bossed Megumi around without a care, but seeing you in action proved that you were also in your own league of crazy, a fantastic sorceress in the making. 

To his left, Yuuji gapes wildly as he looks up, shielding his eyes with his hand, and then flinching back when Nobara bursts through the ground floor door, not without a nail going flying into the curse that had been chasing her. She looks angry, then wide eyed, then up to where Yuuji and Megumi were also staring and starts squealing alongside him. 

“Gojo-sensei, what are you standing there smiling about—do something!” Nobara shouts, pointing an accusatory finger up in the air at your flying body. 

Yuuji gasps again, like he’d just figured out the consequence of you falling from a building, spewing on his own cries, “Hey, seriously, what the hell are we doing—she can’t fly,” he shouts, turning to shake his sensei, then pausing, “Wait, Fushiguro, can she fly? You know her.” 

“Idiot,” Nobara spits, “If she could fly then she’d be flying, not falling.”

“Then why aren’t we doing any—you know what, I think I can catch her,” Yuuji boasts, rolling up his sleeves, prepared to position himself underneath your descending body, and that’s when Satoru steps in, extending an arm in front of his students. 

“You all worry too much,” he smiles, lifting his blindfold just enough to look the pair in the eye, and tilt his head up slightly, “Besides, Megumi’s handled it.” 

Three heads turn back up to the sky, where you’re no longer in freefall, instead have had your shoulders snatched by Nue’s talons. You’ve still got that wild smile on your face, wider now as you descend much more elegantly via Megumi’s shikigami. Nobara and Yuuji wince as Nue’s wings flap widely when you’re set on the ground. You shift the box with the cursed object to one hand, reaching your free one around to pet the bird’s feathers. It crows happily, and Satoru snickers, much to Megumi’s dismay. You always did treat his shikigami like pets. 

“Hey, you’re okay!” Yuuji cheers, eyes sparkling, “What’s in the box? A sword—actually, I don’t want to know. If it’s another finger, keep it away from me.” 

“Hand it here,” Nobara demands. You’re happy to hand over the box and have another hand available for petting Nue. 

Satoru watches fondly as Yuuji and Nobara fuss over the box. They should probably exercise more caution, but he’s there, so the worst can’t happen. Meanwhile, you step closer to Megumi with Nue fluttering behind you. 

“You’re the one who told me there would be no need to get involved,” Megumi says, voice soft, hands falling comfortably at his side. 

“I said that you wouldn’t have to get involved with the curses,” you correct, standing on your tiptoes to nuzzles your head into the bird’s feathers, “I said nothing about not getting involved with me.” 

Satoru does his best not to choke out a loud laugh as Megumi’s face becomes increasingly pink when you reach forward to pinch his cheeks, his grumbling drowned in the sound of Yuuji and Nobara’s bickering. Satory sighs, content. He cares for all his students, but there’s a certain weight lifted on his shoulders knowing that when it came to you, there was truly nothing to worry about—Megumi would always be there for you. Honestly, he thinks Megumi might fight him to protect you if it came down to it. 

That thought does bring an audible chuckle to his lips, Megumi’s pinched expression calling to him, “What are you laughing about?” 

To which Satoru only hums, sticking his hands in his pockets. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow deeper, but it’s quickly dissolved when you catch his attention again, saying your farewells to Nue before giving Megumi the okay to let him recede into his shadows. 

“Oh, nothing,” Satoru chirps, turning to lead the group back to Ichiji’s car, “Come on, who’s still up for revolving sushi!”  

Cheers follow him as the veil dispels. You question Yuuji about whether or not you think the restaurant will have grilled eel, and Nobara pretends to throw up, arguing that eel is the worst, that you all should stick to hand rolls instead. Megumi stays quiet, walking on your outside, and humming along with all of your suggestions, and Satoru can’t help but wonder whether or not you knew that Nue had been out from the moment you’d stepped in the building. 

Honestly, he thinks Megumi might win that fight—might win any fight if it meant being with you.

[soobnny]

request. you falling asleep on skz’s chest and telling them you love them for the first time in your sleep

sorry it took me so long, anon! but here is the request u sent me

BANG CHAN

— it would be a little late in the night when you finally fall asleep, maybe around 11pm. it’s one of the rare days chan doesn’t allow himself to fall prisoner to another all-nighter (not that it ever bothered you, but chan’s been making effort in spending more time with you in the present instead of in his head)

— he definitely sleeps better with you, how could he not? with your head on his chest and your cheek a little mushed and your lips in a small pout and your ear to his heart. it’s perfect circumstances to sleep and your breathing is such a lullaby to him, and a reminder to ground himself in the present more to enjoy moments like these. you guys don’t get to cuddle often so it’s nice to take everything in when he can

— chan’s just on the verge of falling asleep when you say it and i think he wouldn’t be able to believe it first (talk about an instant alarm ?). he’d just blink down at you for a moment before the sweetest smile plasters on his face, the crinkled eyes until they almost disappear and lip biting type to stop himself from smiling too much

— his heart would just expand tenfold because you really are the person he sees himself with in the future and to hear those three words he’s almost told you a million times before leave your lips is just so reassuring and so beautiful to him; that you love him back, and he can’t wait to tell you in the morning

— when he’s finally processed it, he’d lean down to kiss you .. just every part of your face. but like, he’s so careful about it so you don’t wake up

— he falls asleep maybe half an hour later because all his life his mind has been running and running and running but with you in his arms, and those three words, he feels so safe that he allows his mind to rest. sometimes, it’s enough to just let his heart beat and love

❝ i love you. god, i love you too. i’ve been wanting to say it for so long now. ❞

LEE MINHO

— i think lee know’s def the type to know he’s in love first because it’s such a drastic difference to suddenly consider you in everything when he used to never do it before and he’s not oblivious to his feelings. like he’s the same but also so different ? little gestures of love would build up to his light bulb moment that he is so in love with you and he wants nothing more than to tell you but he doesn’t want to scare you off

— you stay over at his house when it happens. doing schoolwork? cramming for a paper? somewhere along those lines. you never notice the time when you’re with him and suddenly seconds turn into hours and it’s too late for you to commute home and lee know’s mom used their car so he can’t drive you home either. just proposes you stay over bc it’s not like you haven’t done it before

— you two always spend silence in comfort so he doesn’t know you’re asleep at first when you say those three words to him and the way you say it is so faint that he almost misses it. but he doesn’t. he hears it loud and clear

— his heart swells even more when he looks down to see your eyes closed and your mouth slightly parted and his response is just the fondest expression on his face. the most endearing smile and a finger brushing over your features because wow, this is the girl that snuck her way into his heart and unknowingly stole every part of him

— would brush your hair out of your face to see you properly before finally whispering that he loves you too. he’d say the three words the next morning.

— years later, he’d always brag he was the first to tell you that he loved you but you’d never know it was you. it’s a little secret he keeps to himself, and the moment is so intimate that it’s his only

❝ ah, (name). you’re all i’ve ever wanted, did you know? ❞

SEO CHANGBIN

— for changbin, i truly believe there is no moment of sudden realization. he’s well acquainted with love like i think he’s most in touch with that emotion. he feels so deeply and i think he learned most of that from his mother. he wouldn’t be afraid to embarrass himself in the name of love. in fact, he thinks it’s the greatest feeling on earth and it’s something you shouldn’t ever take for granted (i’m sorry, i’m a softie changbin enthusiast)

— everything is steady with him. loves you more day by day by day but he’s always known he’s been in love with you and nothing is ever overwhelming with him like it’s always so safe

— when you say it, he feels his heart beat 98383 times faster because what do you mean the person he’s so in love with loves him back ? like i feel like it just doesn’t cross his mind honestly. like he loves you and that’s that and he’s satisfied with loving you but suddenly his whole world just stops when he hears those words

— changbin would try to keep his position still though, even though he feels like jumping around and spinning you around in his arms but he just doesn’t want to shake you awake from your sleep

— spends the rest of the night thinking about you saying that you love him. there’s nothing more beautiful than the reciprocation of a feeling of love so great

❝ i love you, and that’s always been enough for me, but god does it feel so great to hear it from you. ❞

HWANG HYUNJIN

— he loves like in movies, in books, in art. despite being such a hopeless romantic though, everything is actually so new to him. it’s only with you that he experiences that shortness of breath, that jumble of words, that all-nighter because you can’t stop thinking about the person you love the most, and those damn butterflies

— even the first time you fall asleep on his chest, he freaks out. and he freaks out even after the 9183th time but who can blame him? he may look like such an expert, such a poet, such a man of love, but he’s nothing more than a boy who’s falling in love for the first time

— so, it is the 9184th time you’re asleep on his chest and he has a hand running through your hair when you mumble it in your sleep

— FREEZES. for maybe a good 5 mins? honestly it feels like forever because he really is frozen. and then, that music plays. the music when the love interest shows up on the screen in movies. it plays in his head and his heart is pouncing like crazy and it’s just such a moment to be in love

— pulls you closer when he finally recomposes himself and has the most lovesick smile on his face for maybe an hour before he allows himself to fall asleep because this is all he’s ever dreamed of

❝ you’re someone straight out of my dreams. ❞

HAN JISUNG

— to me, jisung feels a little reckless when he loves. but like, not in a bad way. it’s more like, he’s been careful his whole life and keeping on a guard because he values his silence and his comfort over everything else but god, when he loves? he jumps straight in. he jumps even without the guarantee of anyone catching him. when he loves, there is no doubt, no second guessing. he simply dives head first

— he’s falling again, falling and falling, it’s never ending. even as you fall asleep on his chest one afternoon after watching a movie together

— he JERKS the moment he hears you say it like actually just jerks from his place and accidentally wakes you up from your slumber

— you freak when you wake up thinking that something must’ve happened because he’s staring at you with wide eyes but at the same time, he’s also apologizing for accidentally waking you up. you’re just in the process of asking him about it when he cuts you off by kissing you

— when you kiss him back, there is nothing in his head but “wow, so this must be the feeling of being caught” because he’s finally landed safely in your arms after all that falling

— don’t be mistaken though, he’d fall over and over again because the feeling of having you catch him is so addicting

❝ (name), is this real? ❞

LEE FELIX

— oh felix, the sweetest boy who falls in love in the sweetest way. definitely is the type to see colors brighter and hear music louder and just have all his feelings amplify because of you. stars come together when you look at him and he feels himself revolving around you like he’s just !!! there is no explaining how deep this boy loves. it’ll be like fireworks, like earthquakes, like thunderstorms but it’ll also feel like breathing and the quiet patter of rain. you get every variant of love with him because he’s so adamant on showing you every part of him

— you two cuddle up to each other all the time. he loves skinship, he loves physical touch, he loves holding you and being held and kissing you and hugging you and everything that makes it feel like you’re close to him so he doesn’t question when you fall asleep on his chest

— he’s on his phone, probably taking a picture or video of you when you suddenly say it. there’s just instant tears in his eyes the moment the words leave your mouth. he cries because he’s overwhelmed that you feel the same way about him and he’s scolding himself for being so dramatic over it but also he seriously cannot stop crying like what have you done to him?

— smiles and cries and laughs and leans down to kiss your head over and over and over and you can only ask why his eyes are so red and puffed when you wake up and he wastes no time to tell you that he loves you. drops it immediately. he’s been waiting forever to say it anyway (actually, he’s said it quite a few times but only when he thinks you can’t hear)

— won’t stop saying it anymore like every hour is a good opportunity to tell you that he loves you

❝ i can’t get over how beautiful it is to love and it’s all thanks to you. ❞

KIM SEUNGMIN

— the peak best friends to lovers story. seungmin isn’t the type to throw the feeling of love around. he isn’t the type to fall in love quickly either. he falls in love in moments you spend as friends, but it also kind of takes him such a long time to admit it because he’s always rejected the idea of romance and the gentle emotions that come with it. he’s so used to teasing and tough love that he suddenly can’t function properly when he realizes he’s growing softer because of you

— seungmin holds out from saying ‘i love you’, mostly because it’s hard to rid the stubbornness he’s carried all his life, but don’t get me wrong. there are so many times when he’s almost said it but stopped himself before he could. maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to startle you either. it’s a scary feeling after all, and being his best friend, you know about all his flaws. how could you choose to love him despite it all?

— even so, he is still powerless to love. no one can ever go above the feeling no matter how hard he tries. when you say it in your sleep, he finally lets go of whatever he’s been holding on for so long. he’s ready to willingly admit he’s in love with you and has been for such a long time

— he runs a hand through your hair, just thinking of how comforting it is to be with you, of how you make him smile without even having to be there with him. just the thought of you makes him so happy and it’s infuriating because why does losing to love feel so much like winning instead? is it because it’s you he’s falling in love with?

— would ask you if you’re sure because he’s someone that values sureness, honesty, and just Purpose. he loves on purpose and he wants to make sure you love him by your own choice too. he’s always chosen to take every step closer to you all his life

❝ do you really mean that? please mean it. ❞

YANG JEONGIN

— time always slows when you’re with him. he also gives me romance between friends because like seungmin, he’s not the type to take love lightly. he only ever says the three words in important moments. he never wants to just throw those words around because romance is so important to him, and he’s always been the one to seek for it because it’s so beautiful

— when he meets you, he just thinks, so this is what love is. he understands now why people tell stories about it, why it’s subject to so many songs. he understands when he looks in your eyes

— it’s an afternoon of teasing where your eyes meet and you just double in laughter because whatever the hell you’re talking about is so funny to only the two of you. the boys will never understand the language you’ve crafted for yourselves

— you fall asleep after having played games and ran around and teased each other all afternoon and it’s in his arms while the two of you are watching a movie

— when you say it, he falls silent. he closes his eyes and crosses his fingers and prays he isn’t just dreaming this up, might pinch himself even because it’s just so unreal to him that you love him like he might be the Foolish silly type but when he loves, he really does give it his all

— you wake up at one of the louder scenes of the movies and you’re like ??? why is jeongin staring at you like that so you’re like stop staring .. but he kind of just grins really LOVESICK and you’re like oh my god what is happening. he’s looking at you different and his eyes are softer

— with a yank of your shirt, he kisses you and mumbles how much he loves you against your lips

❝ i love you. and i will choose to love you everytime. ❞

[fettuccin-e]

Something Bad

Kinktober Day 20: Corruption

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, afab!fem!reader, blowjob, face-fucking (do NOT look at me rn), corruption, slightly innocent!reader, age gap mention, Joel is simply not prepared for how filthy his girl is (w/c: 1.4K)

A/N: I believe in filthy old man Joel and younger even filthier girl okay!!! This may have gotten a little out of hand but idk I can't help but ramble about sucking Joel's dick alright?? (I have been using these prompts by flightlessangelwings for Kinktober!)

Joel Miller is a bad man. A bad fuckin’ man.

He knows it, has known it for years. He has too much blood on his hands, too many skeletons in his closet, to be a good man.

But fuck, this has got to be the worst. 

You’re supposed to be off-limits, the pretty little nurse that floats around Jackson, tending to the sick and injured. You, the sweet little thing who's never seen the outside of the town walls, who wears pretty dresses you make yourself and brings fucking baked goods to the patrol groups after they get back.

You, who asks him how he’s been, who traces a gentle hand down his forearm, sending goosebumps across his body. You, thirty fuckin’ years younger than him, and so angelic you practically glow.

You, on your knees on his kitchen floor, sucking his dick like you’re fucking starving for it.

You’d started off so delicate, so innocent, when he’d started this... thing with you. This dirty, nasty secret he has to keep from his own brother, from the entire town.

It had started with a gentle kiss when you’d patched him up after a patrol gone wrong. You’d fashioned a bandage over his chest, and God, when you looked up at him with those pretty doe eyes, he was a fuckin’ goner. He wasn’t sure who moved first, you or him, all he had known was that your lips against his were soft. So soft, softer than anything he’d experienced in twenty fucking years.

“Don’t know how to do this,” you’d breathed against his mouth, your fingers clutching into his shirt, “just know that I want you.”

Joel pulled back, looking down at you with a hard gaze, ready to pull back, tell you this was a mistake, “Darlin’-”

“I know you want me too, Joel,” you’d said, firmer than he’d ever thought you could be. “I just need-” you’d stuttered, and leaned your forehead against his as you collected yourself, “I just need you to teach me.”

It had spiraled from there. 

He’d tried to be gentle with you, but fuck, it’s so hard when you’re so soft beneath him, whining his name and tangling your fingers in his hair. You’d been so nervous the first few times you’d done this, nervous enough that Joel had pulled back, night after night, just to make sure you were still alright with him seeing you like this.

“You can say no anytime you want, sweet girl,” he’d mutter, “I won’t mind.”

But you’d always shake your head, eager to learn, eager to please. And fuck, Joel can’t help it when he fucks his fingers into you a little too hard, treats you a little too rough. He’d a bad fuckin’ man, God, he shouldn’t even be near you.

When you’d both started this, you’d been quiet and uncertain about what you wanted, leaving Joel to ease it out of you with soft touches across your body and licks of his tongue into your mouth.

Now, though. Now Joel thinks he’s made a fuckin’ monster.

You crave him in ways he’d never thought you capable of, dragging him to your bedroom when he gets home and stripping him down before he’s had a chance to say hello. You beg him to fuck you, use you, anytime he wants.

“Need it Joel,” you’ll whisper, pulling him with you. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about it all day.” 

You don’t even make it to the bedroom today. No, you corner him while he’s making dinner for you both, turning him until his back is pressed against the counter. You look at him with those pretty, pretty eyes, warm and gorgeous and calling to him like a goddamn siren, as you sink to your knees.

“Sweetheart, you can’t-” he stutters over his words like a virgin, and all you do is look up at him as you unbutton his jeans, pull his fly open and free his cock. It’s fucking sinful, the way it looks huge next to your pretty little mouth, the way you press it against your cheek, looking up at him with all of the fucking innocence he’s taken from you.

“What Joel?” You coo, pressing gentle kisses up his shaft before sucking the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it for one horrible, maddening moment, before pulling back again. “You don’t want me to suck your cock?” 

Joel is going to fucking die here, in this kitchen, if you keep talking like that, keep licking at his cock and looking at him like that from the floor. “Darlin’, fuck ‘course I want you, but fuck, not here. We can go to bed-”

“Too far,” you whine, and Joel doesn’t have a chance to fucking breathe before you’re sucking his cock into your mouth, bobbing down as far as you can before he hits the back of your throat, and motherfucking Christ, that’s it, he’s going to die.

You suck his cock like a goddamn pro, like you hadn’t just learned to do this a few months ago. And Joel should feel bad, he should feel some modicum of guilt for making this pretty, innocent nurse into such a filthy little thing, but he can’t bring himself to when it feels so good. So fucking hot and wet, and your fingers digging into his thighs over his jeans.

“God damn it, baby,” he grunts when you hollow your cheeks, making it that much tighter and his head is spinning, fuck, he must be losing it. You fucking smile around his cock, bobbing deeper, pumping the part of his cock that can’t fit in your mouth with a slick hand. “Suckin’ me so good, that’s so fuckin’ perfect, shit-”

His hips twitch uncontrollably, shoving his cock far, too far down your throat. You choke, pulling off of him immediately, pumping him in your hand as you gasp for breath. And Joel fears he’ll pass out when a line of spit connects the tip of his cock to your bottom lip. “Shit, sorry, sweetheart-” he grunts, but you only smile up at him, pumping him quick and so overwhelmingly perfect. Joel’s knees threaten to start shaking.

“You can fuck my mouth, Joel,” you say, blinking up at him slowly, sweetly. “I promise I don’t mind.”

Joel’s vision blurs at the edges, and he sucks in a labored breath through clenched teeth as you suck him into your mouth all over again. Your hands wrap around his wrists, tugging his hands into your hair, and fuck, how can Joel resist you? He’s never been able to, and damn it, he probably never will.

He curls his hands into your hair, pumping his hips up into your mouth as far as you can take him, before pulling out again. Fuck, what would people say if they knew Joel Miller had the little nurse, with the baked goods and kind smile, on her knees in his kitchen, fucking her mouth like she’s no more than a filthy fucking whore.

His cock throbs in your mouth as he drags his hips in and out, in and out. You make obscene, sinful fucking sounds, little whines when he pulls out, loud, wet sucking noises when he pushes back in. You just kneel and fucking take it, letting him pull your mouth onto his cock with his fist gripped in your hair.

From the corner of his eye, Joel can see your hand move, subtle and silent. He nearly chokes when that pretty, delicate hand disappears between your thighs, rubbing at your clit through your pants as Joel fucks into your mouth like a goddamn madman. The sight nearly makes him black out.

His orgasm rushes into him without warning, and he can barely choke out a rough, “Fuck, gonna cum-” before he’s shooting his cum down your throat. You moan around him like you love it, the vibrations reverberating up his fucking spine.

Joel Miller is a bad fuckin’ man, but he thinks this might be what heaven feels like. It's probably as close to heaven as he's gonna get.

When he finally releases his grip on your hair, you lean back, letting his sticky cock slip from your mouth, and Joel watches as you stick your tongue out, showing him that you swallowed every drop. Joel’s spent cock twitches between his thighs. 

“Take your fuckin’ clothes off,” he mutters, dark and deep and every bit the bad man everyone thinks he is. “Right now.”

You smile softly, standing up off the floor and pressing yourself against him. “Why don’t we go to bed, Joel?” you murmur in his ear, and Joel growls.

He spins you both around until you’re bent over the counter, ass out for him.

“Too far,” he murmurs, and wrenches your pants down your thighs.

[kumawaii]

SHE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU | VNC

cw - manipulation, toxic behaviors, possessiveness, masturbation (m), voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

— for the anon who requested it!

∘₊✧─── 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ───✧₊∘

bestie!vernon is always chill. you’ve seen him lose his composure a total of five times, but even then you can’t really say he lost lost it. it’s one of the reasons he’s become your safe space. and because that’s what he means to you, you always put him first.

it’s the same for him. bestie!vernon never hesitates to let you — and everyone else — know that you’re his top priority. he loves the feeling that comes along with being your number one. not only because he knows he can never do any wrong in your eyes, but because he can see the amount of affection you have for him every time he looks at you.

this all is horribly derailed when you mention that you’re going to start dating again. you’re excited when you tell him about the guy who happens to be a friend of one of his friends. bestie!vernon feels a bile rising up his throat when you go on and on about how he’s a sweet guy who gives you butterflies. it’s hard for him to put on a smile and act like he’s happy for you.

on the night of your date, you get a message from bestie!vernon asking if you can drop off the book he let you borrow. in spite of him never asking for anything back in the course of your entire friendship (he always let you use his things until you were done without any pressure), you don’t think it’s strange. so an hour before you’re meant to meet your date, you stop by his apartment.

you let yourself in with your spare key after he doesn’t answer your call. the apartment is quiet as you head for bestie!vernon’s room. his door is cracked open and you can vaguely make out his body laying on his bed.

just as you’re about to call out to him, you hear the prettiest moan ever. like a deer caught in headlights you stop just outside the door. now you have a clear view of bestie!vernon jerking off on his bed. your pussy gets wet instantly at the sight of his big, pretty cock. his eyes are screwed shut as he slowly fucks his hand.

it’s disgusting how long you stand there and watch. everything about what you’re doing is wrong, but you can’t look away. bestie!vernon is just so hot, and he sounds so cute as he pleasures himself. you can feel your panties start to stick to your cunt the longer you watch him. eventually, you decide that you have to leave because what you’re doing is sick.

you stop mid-step when you hear your name. it doesn’t sound like an i caught you call, but a fucking moan. bestie!vernon keeps whimpering and moaning your name, bucking his naked hips into his hand. you can’t believe it, and the turn of events has you so out of your mind that you act without thinking.

“vernon.”

your best friend lets out a surprised yelp when he hears your voice. his eyes get wide as he sits up and scrambles to cover himself. you’re incredibly turned on as bestie!vernon turns red, unable to meet your eyes. it’s silent for a moment. the air is thick and heavy with tension that feels like it might snap at any moment.

“i thought you were stopping by later.” bestie!vernon sounds so embarrassed, but you think it’s the cutest thing ever.

“your text said six.” you say, not taking your eyes off his poorly covered cock which is still oozing with precum.

“i-i swore i typed seven—” vernon stutters, finally looking at you.

something inside you snaps when you meet his embarrassed yet needy gaze. bestie!vernon lets out a deep groan when you pounce on him, lips messily colliding with his. you snatch his hands away from his crotch as you two fall back on his bed and bring them up to cup your tits. he moans into your mouth, gently squeezing as his tongue plays with yours.

when bestie!vernon is easing his cock into your dripping cunt, you’re already delirious. he starts fucking you with a rough precision you didn’t expect from him. he slaps your ass as it bounces back on his cock, already obsessed with the hot sight. his leaking tip is curving deliciously against your walls, leaving you a moaning mess.

“fuck. you have the prettiest ass ever.” vernon grunts as he kneads the two globes. he grips them tightly and starts to drag you back and forth on his cock until you’re screaming out his name.

you’re dripping all over his sheets, but you can’t feel embarrassed because he’s fucking you so good. no one’s ever gone as deep as him, and all you can do is moan like a pornstar. vernon doesn’t mind at all, though. in fact, he loves it.

“should’ve fucked you sooner, babe.” bestie!vernon says as he keeps slamming his cock into your tight little hole. “can’t believe i almost let him have you.”

you’re so close to cumming that you’ve completely forgotten about your date. somewhere in your hazy mind, you know you have to let him know you’re no longer coming. luckily, bestie!vernon knows you better than you do. he has your phone in his hands and is typing in your password before you can realize what he’s doing. for a fleeting second, he contemplates on sending a video showing exactly why you were going to miss the date, but the thinks better of it.

the squeal you let out when you see he’s called your date after he tosses your phone by your head is so cute and makes bestie!vernon fuck you harder. “tell him you’re not coming.”

your best friend’s voice is so dominant and rough that you gush all over his cock. he moans out your name as your cream completely coats his dick. your pussy is so sloppy that you can hear it all throughout the room, and when your would-be date picks up the phone, you wonder if he can hear it too.

“hey, i’m about to leave—”

“i can’t come.” you say, voice trembling as feel yourself on the brink of an orgasm.

“what? is everything okay?” he sounds so concerned, but all you care about is how vernon’s thick cock is splitting you open.

“y-yeah!” you cry out when bestie!vernon turns you until your laying on your side and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. “just can’t make it.”

there’s no way he doesn’t hear vernon’s moans and the wet sound of skin slapping, but you don’t care. all you want is to get filled up. so you abruptly hang up and start to meet the harsh thrusts making you see stars.

“fuck, vernon!” you toss your head back when he finds your sweet spot, abruptly cumming all over his dick. “cum inside me!”

that’s exactly what bestie!vernon does, stuffing you to the brim. he slowly fucks it back into you for a minute before collapsing next to you. he keeps his cock inside you as he pulls you against his body with a satisfied hum. you cuddle into him, sleepily telling him you want to fuck again when you wake up. he smirks when you hook a leg over his hip — a clear indication that you want him to stay inside you.

and he does. it’s what he deserves after all that he did to get to this place. bestie!vernon plans fell into place after telling you the wrong time on purpose and masturbating when he knew you were watching. the cherry on top was his performance of a lifetime; acting embarrassed when he was really turned on beyond belief. it was all worth it because now he’s the one with his cock and cum inside you.

[messylustt]

Jzhxjsh if can I make another request, I REALLY LOVE TOOOO MUCH YOUR WRITING AND i need jealous like i need oxygen

“ if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were jealous ” & “ you look really pretty right now ”

only free to me — leon kennedy. ughhhh i need jealous hobie too like bdjskjdks

hobie’s gaze was locked onto the spider variant talking to you. you and hobie were seated, your gaze looking up at the arrival of someone hobie now easily can say he dislikes. hobie found himself slowly reaching out for you, his leg bent up on the long bench. and by subtly tugging at your suit you were forced to slide towards him, his legs now open around you.

his gaze never shifted from the spider variant who was earning a few too many smiles from you. and it almost felt like a relief when the spider finally got called away. you wave him off, before shifting your gaze to hobie, your smile having fallen. “what was that?”

“what was what?” hobie “innocently” asks, his fingers still not having let up their grip on your suit. you look down at his connected hand. “that.”

he looks down too, a small lazy smile edging his lips, as he rubs the material by your hip between his fingertips. “you look really pretty right now…you know that?”

you give hobie a look. you were used to this. this flirting and smirking attitude. “ha ha.” you mockingly say, turning away to continue eating.

“you think i’m joking?” he raises his brows as you glance at him again. his leg around you seems to be more prominent the closer he shifts towards you.

“you’re always joking.” you remark. hobie shakes his head “don’t believe in comedy.”

“oh, that’s right.” you chuckle, unconvinced, looking back to your food. before you can place a forkful in your mouth, hobie redirects it to his as he leans close by you. you smack his hand away, but it’s too late, your foods gone.

“really? i was looking forward to that.” you mutter, frowning. hobie makes a point to eat it slowly, savouring the taste with small sounds, resulting in you elbowing his stomach.

he slightly doubles over, laughing. and just as you go to scold him, the spider variant from before taps your shoulder. “hey, sorry i didn’t get to ask before — mission report run. but uh, are you free tonight?”

you pause, eyes slightly widening. “oh, uh…yea—“

“nah.” hobie instantly cuts in, looping his arm around your shoulder so that you press more into him. “she’s busy, sorry mate.”

you shift your gaze to hobie eyes narrowing sharply in question. “aren’t you?” he asks you raising his brows pointedly.

“no, I’m sorry, I don’t know what he’s talking about — ” you begin to say to the spider variant but hobie swiftly placed his hand over your mouth, your back now having shifted to his front, his stance now straddling the bench.

“she doesn’t wanna admit it, poor thing, but she’s sick. she’s a lil embarrassed.” hobie states, looking to the spider who is eyeing the interaction with a mixture of a nod and a confused expression. you slightly struggle against his grip, but hobie just rests his chin on your shoulder, you now practically flush against him.

“I’ve told her there’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about, but ya know. she likes to keep up appearances.”

“maybe another time…then.” the spider variant suggests.

“hm.” hobie just hums, silently saying ‘no’ in his head, while he fake smiles at the poor spider until he leaves.

that’s when hobie finally let’s up his grip on your mouth, as you spin to face him. “what the hell was that?”

hobie shrugs. “no, no don’t just shrug at me.” you say pointedly. “you’ve done this before. the last time that guy asked me out. I was not sick then, and i’m not sick now.” you pause, eyes narrowing. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were jealous.”

hobie scoffs. “jealous?”

“then explain that.” you gesture in general to the interaction before.

“he’s a dick.” hobie says. “no he’s not.” you answer easily. “he may be thick headed sometimes, but everyone here knows how nice he is. so, come on, what’s your next excuse.”

hobie’s eyes narrow as you cross your arms. you raise your brows waiting. “if you aren’t gonna say anything, then imma go apologise to him and explain that i’m free — ”

this time hobie cuts you off by tugging you closer and grabbing your chin, his lips smashing against yours. you gasp into his mouth, as you’re tipped back, your back forcing to arch as he holds you against him. his seating position made it easier to control the movements.

your seating position made it hard. hobie used that to his advantage as his hands found your waist, his lips wrapping around your lower and sucking. he then begins to slightly shake his head his lips brushing yours. “but you aren’t free…ya wouldnt wanna lie now would ya?”

you’re shocked, and all that comes out of your mouth is “but i don’t have plans tonight.”

hobie chuckles, licking at your lower lip slowly as he makes sure you stay close. “i don’t mean ‘schedule’ wise, love…” his mouth opens against your own, panting breathes mixing. “i mean you aren’t free to anyone but me…”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 IN PAPER RINGS AND PICTURE FRAMES!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai has never been a true believer of murphy’s law, not until today at least. he swears the world is out to get him, all he wanted was to give you a nice valentine’s day... and maybe something a little extra special. (wordcount: 6.7k; sfw; very brief mentions of dazai's attempts, fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: valentine's day fic for my sweetest boy

“What do you mean I can’t have the day off?” Dazai cries out, staring down at his phone in abject horror. A pillow is flung at his head and Dazai sputters out an apology to you before lifting his phone back to his ear, making a point to lower his voice as he says, “Kunikida-kun, it’s Valentine’s Day. Not even you can be this heartless.”

“Dazai!” Kunikida says, voice stern and sharp, and Dazai knows that the man is serious because he’s not spitting out insults about Dazai’s laziness and lack of drive to do anything but lounge around and avoid work. “Trust me. It brings me no joy to make you come in today—not for your sake, but for her’s. But we have to finish up the final preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission before they leave for Kyoto tomorrow morning. Get to the office now.”

“Kunikida-kun,” Dazai complains, feeling a bit more panicked, “but I-”

“Maybe if you had actually done your work the past few days, I could’ve covered for you,” Kunikida spits out angrily. “But we have double the workload to finish by tonight because you’ve been slacking off the past week. Anyway, you shouldn’t be calling the day of asking for a day off. Be to the office asap.”

Kunikida doesn’t even wait for Dazai’s response, hanging up the phone and leaving Dazai standing in your apartment staring at his phone with parted lips and wide eyes, unable to comprehend what just happened. A noise escapes his lips, something caught between a scoff and a whimper, and Dazai thinks he might cry. He feels like a wounded puppy as he turns his attention over to where you’re still curled up in bed, eyes barely cracked open as you watch him with furrowed brows.

“Bella…” he pouts, making his way over to you so he can sit next to you on the bed. “They’re making me go into the office.”

You only roll toward him, eyes heavy with sleep, barely able to hold them open, and Dazai’s chest feels tight and warm with a lovely feeling that he’s only ever experienced with you. He reaches out to cup your cheek, fingertips grazing your skin—your lashes flutter as your eyes droop back shut, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of someone seeking out his touch, trusting his hands as if they aren’t rotted and blood-stained.

“Then go,” you say with a yawn, leaning into his touch and pulling the dark comforter back up around your shoulders from where it had slipped down your body.

Dazai pushes his lip out even more. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to spend the day with you. You took off today too.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and Dazai wants to tell you that it is decidedly not okay but he can’t tell you that because you’ll ask why and he can’t tell you without ruining everything. “I’m tired anyway. Someone decided to keep me up half the night.” 

Dazai can hardly even muster the vulgar smile and dirty joke that should have come to him with ease, and evidently, that’s proof enough to you that something must be seriously wrong because you crack your eyes back open and peer up at him, concern slowly eclipsing the tiredness. Another thing he’ll never be used to: having someone genuinely worry over him even over the smallest things. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him softly, yawning again as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. The comforter slides down from around your shoulders again, revealing the smooth skin of your bare shoulders and collarbone, and Dazai wishes for nothing more than to slip beneath the sheets with you, wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your chest.

Instead, he lets himself lean into your touch for a moment, eyes falling shut as he basks in the feeling of your fingers carding through his dark locks, nails gently scraping his scalp. He thinks he could stay in this moment forever, but alas, the serenity is utterly shattered when his phone starts buzzing again.

Dazai lets out a heavy exhale, dark eyes dragging from you to where his phone is laying on the bed next to him, seeing Atsushi’s name flash on the screen—surely having been told by Kunikida to follow up and make sure that Dazai is actually going to show up at the office. 

“I just wanted to spend the day with you,” he says, a bit of a white lie, but he can’t tell you the real reason why he’s so disappointed. “He’s had it out for me ever since we got together. He’s jealous. This is his way of getting one over me.”

You smile lightly at him, pulling his face down a bit so that you can press your lips against his. Dazai sighs into your mouth, eyes sliding shut again as he kisses you, hand coming up again to cup your cheek as his lips move against yours. The kiss is slow and intimate, but far too short for his liking. You pull your lips away from his and Dazai gives you a wounded look when he tries to chase your lips only for you to dodge with a giggle. 

“Go, Osamu,” you tell him and Dazai lets out a groan, letting his head drop to your chest. You toy with his hair and Dazai wants to tell you that doing that is only going to make him want to stay even more but he also doesn’t want you to stop so he decides against it. “The faster you get there and get your work done, the quicker you can come home.”

Home. Another word he might never get used to, his chest feels warm and fluttery as he tilts his head to the side so he can peer up at you. “Or I can just not go in at all and deal with Kunikida’s righteous fury tomorrow.”

“No,” you say firmly, tugging at his ear and making him yelp. “Go, Osamu. Don’t be ridiculous. Let me sleep.”

Dazai sighs, rising to his feet and letting you curl back beneath the covers. He wants to tell you that it’s not that simple and that he has a whole plan and he needs to follow it strictly otherwise he’s scared that everything will go wrong, but there’s no way of explaining that to you without having to tell you why which would ruin everything. Lamenting to himself, he shrugs his coat onto his shoulders and leans down to press his lips between your brows as you start to doze off again, brushing your hair behind your ear and letting his eyes linger on your face, skin glowing gently beneath the early morning sun. 

It takes all of his willpower to step away from you and make his way out of your apartment, the ring in his pocket weighing more heavily with every step he takes.

•••

Dazai is really trying his best not to let his frustration spoil the night. The sun has already long set. What should have been a short day at the office finishing up paperwork ended up with him working overtime because of an emergency mission on the far side of the city concerning an ability user who could mimic appearances. Everybody else is still at the office trying to finish up preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission in Kyoto but the President had taken one look at Dazai’s abysmal expression and told him to go home and be with you.

And Dazai should appreciate that, honestly, otherwise he’d be stuck at the office until god knows when, leaving you at home alone all day and all night on the one day he was planning to spend the whole day with you, but he’s so bitter that he can’t even summon the appreciation he should feel. You’re taking it in stride, of course, telling him that it’s okay and you’re not mad even though Dazai insists that you definitely should be. He called you while on the train with Kunikida, curled up in a seat pouting as he shot his partner dirty looks and mourned his shitty luck because of course this would happen on the day he was planning to make the biggest decision of his life, and yours.

Not that he could tell you that part, obviously.

Kunikida had been rightfully guilty, apologizing to Dazai for the day taking as long as it did and continuously shooting him ashamed looks, but Dazai couldn’t even bask in the knowledge that Kunikida is actually apologizing to him for making him work because he’s so frustrated about how the day has gone compared to what he had planned.

It’s still salvageable, he reminds himself, glancing down at his phone. The reservations he placed for the restaurant aren’t for another hour and a half. He has plenty of time to walk back to your apartment and change so he can take you out for the night, and the thought of taking you out for the night makes all of the frustration he’s feeling absolutely disappear, entirely overshadowed by the giddiness tingling through his limbs and the nerves that tighten his chest. 

Tonight.

He twists his hands in front of his body, eyes catching on a convenience store at the corner of the block, a wide range of chocolates and flowers on display at the main window. With only a moment’s hesitation, he speeds up his pace, flinging open the door to the convenience store and beelining right to the dwindling Valentine’s Day display, weathered down by other frantic partners who were late to get their beloved gifts.

He lets out a relieved puff of air when he sees that your favorite flowers and chocolates are still available, although he’s a bit irate because the flowers aren’t as healthy as they should be, but he supposes it’s his own fault. Of course they're not going to be in perfect shape after being on display all day—if he wanted perfect flowers, he should’ve bought and brought them to you first thing in the morning.

Which he could have done if it weren’t for Kunikida, he thinks bitterly, deciding to place all of the blame on his coworker instead.

He drops the flowers and chocolates at the cash register, where an older man is working, and Dazai pulls out his wallet, flipping through to grab a few yen and place them on the counter.

The older man lets out a bit of a chuckle as he scans the chocolates and the flowers. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you, boy?” he notes. “Can’t have a happy lady at home, I know mine is angry as a bull. Hope you have more than this to appease the girl.” 

Dazai winces and then mutters, “She’s not angry, I got pulled into work. She understands.” 

It sounds pathetic even to his own ears. The man finds it amusing, evidently, from how he has to smother another laugh as he gets Dazai his change.

“Mine said she was fine with it too,” he says, “but I know I’m coming home to the cold shoulder. They never say what they mean, son.” 

Dazai’s mood falters again, the giddiness and nerves slipping away into something colder because he’s feared since he left this morning that you would be bitter over him having to go into work today. And he knows deep down that you’re not like that, that if you say it’s fine, it really is fine most of the time, but a part of him can’t help but wonder if you’re only saying it because you don’t want to stress him out even more, because he’d made it abundantly clear this morning that he wasn’t happy. 

“There you go,” the older man passes over his change and the flowers and chocolates. “Good luck.”

Dazai can barely even bring himself to give the man a proper thank you, making his way back out of the convenience stores with the flowers and chocolates in hand. His eyes flicker down to his phone again, catching the time before he continues down the street—the pit stop had only taken a few minutes, but Dazai is doubly anxious to get back home to you now. Not just because he’s worried that you’re not quite as okay with it as you’ve made yourself out to be, but also because he misses you and just wants to get back home to you, this day has been too long and it’s been especially hellish and jarring because he woke up this morning thinking he’d get to spend the entire day with you.

He’s ready to get home to you. He’s ready to take you out to dinner. He’s ready to take you down to the gardens and he’s ready to-

God, he’s ready to propose. After all of these damn years, he’s finally ready and he will not let a shitty day at work ruin that for him. He still has the whole night, and that’s what’s important because…

He stares at his hand, where a droplet of water had splashed against his skin. A dreadful feeling arises, dark and slithering as it spreads through him. He turns his gaze up to the dark sky—dark because the sun has set, yes, but he realizes now, with a pit in his gut, that it’s also because storm clouds seem to be gathering above the city. He hadn’t even noticed them in his pitiful spiral, nor had he noticed the way the wind had picked up. 

He hardly has time to react before the rain comes down. Hard. Torrential. He stands on the sidewalk, too riddled with shock and disbelief to even move for cover. He stares ahead, wondering just how much more terrible this day can get. He’s never been a believer of Murphy’s Law or any of those other dubious, paranoia-induced “laws of nature,” but he’s severely starting to question his standing on it because of all days, of course it’s today where it seems that the entire universe must be against him.

He stares at the drenched flowers he had just bought you, crumpled and ruined from the force of the rain—he can’t even bring himself to feel frustrated, if anything he’s starting to feel a bit numb with exhaustion, half-certain that there’s a god up there sabotaging him. He tosses the flowers in a nearby garbage can along with the soggy box of chocolates in his other hand, and almost robotically, he makes his way to stand under an overhang, pulling out his phone to call you.

You pick up after the first ring, you always do.

“Osamu?”

“Can you pick me up?” Dazai asks, voice hoarse and empty.

“... Of course. Where are you?”

•••

The car ride has been damningly silent and Dazai feels bad because you’ve tried to make conversation with him but he can’t bring himself to speak. You’ve given up by now though, resorting to just focusing on the road, occasionally sparing him concerned glances. His head is starting to hurt and he fears that if he says something his voice might crack, so instead he just leans his head against the passenger seat window, letting the cool glass spread through his brain and ease the pain as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“We’re never going to make the reservation,” Dazai finally decides to speak up, voice sounding cold and distant even to his own ears. He nearly flinches—he would’ve preferred it to crack than sound so frigid and aloof. 

The rain pouring down is torrential, lightning webbing across the dark sky and wind howling outside. Already, there’s been road closures, the twenty minute drive from the Agency to your apartment has taken twice as long as it usually takes and you’re still stuck in bumper to bumper traffic trying to take the long way around to the complex. The reservation is set for forty minutes from now, and it’ll take nearly as long to get to your apartment at this rate, and then Dazai still has to dry off and change from work, and then you have to drive to the restaurant which would've taken another twenty minutes without traffic. 

Not that it matters anyway, the storm has already destroyed his plans for after dinner, which was the whole point of the dinner anyway, but still, he would have at least liked to bring you to a nice dinner for Valentine’s Day.

He wonders if this is all meant to be a sign, and the thought makes his chest ache because of course when he finally thinks he’s ready to take the next step in his relationship with you—one that he knows you’ve been waiting patiently for four years now but his own hangups about himself have stopped him from ever doing anything about it—this happens. And you’ve never pressured him about it, you’ve never even brought it up to him because you know the topic makes him uncomfortable, but he’s seen the way you look at all of the happily married couples who come into the cafe when you meet him there for his lunch break and he’s seen the way you sometimes glance down at your own empty finger and Dazai thinks he’s ready. 

Against all odds, he thinks he’s ready—he bought you a ring, he planned out the whole proposal. Anxiety has been eating him alive all week as the days led up to this and now that the day is here, everything just goes wrong. He was going to bring you to the aquarium, because he knows you love to watch the dolphins and the penguins but that was ruined because of work. He was going to take you out to dinner at Le Normandie in Naka, because he’d seen you looking at the menu all longingly a few weeks ago, but that was ruined because of the road closures and traffic. And then he was going to bring you down into Yamashita Park, over to the flower gardens where there was supposed to be a band playing, because they always do on Valentine’s Day, and he wrote up everything, a long and flowery speech about how you’ve shown him what it’s like to really live, what it’s like to be human, but that was ruined by the storm. 

All the preparations he made, all of the plans he had, all of it gone to ruin. Just like that. 

And now he’s doubting how ready he actually is.

He really does wonder if this is a sign, a warning, even—higher powers telling him not to condemn you to a life with him because what sort of sane person would want a future with someone who’s spent most of his life trying to kill himself? Dazai has more issues than he’s worth and he’s still half-convinced that you don’t know what you’re getting into even though you’ve been with him for four years and have seen some of his most egregious lows. You’ve had to cut him down from the noose, fight him for the blade he held against his skin, and Dazai doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fully free himself of the dark thoughts tearing apart his brain. 

And you deserve better than a future with someone who’s fickle about living and unable to effectively combat the dark thoughts that plague his mind. This is the world’s attempt at reminding him of that before he makes a mistake.

You draw him from his spiraling thoughts as you squeeze his hand gently, lifting his hand to press your lips against his knuckles and Dazai feels even worse because why are you comforting him when he’s the one who ruined your Valentine’s Day. 

“Let’s order takeout then,” you say easily, giving him a warm smile that should have made him feel more at ease but instead it only makes him feel worse because you shouldn’t have to settle for takeout on Valentine’s Day, especially when he planned such a nice day out. “I’m craving pizza. We can curl up on the couch and watch a movie instead.”

Dazai is unconvinced.

“Don’t give me that look,” you complain, but you’re still smiling and Dazai is finding it hard to keep up his sullen attitude with you looking at him like that. “There’s a new horror movie I wanted to watch, it’s available for streaming now.”

“This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go,” Dazai murmurs, finally intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing a circle with his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“Let’s make the most of it anyway,” you tell him, giving him another radiant smile, and Dazai feels a bit like a fool—he’s never listened to the warnings from higher powers before, so why the hell should he now? When you give him another reassuring squeeze as you rest your joined hands back down on the console, turning your attention back onto the road, his chests lighten and the creeping doubts start to trickle away. 

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all work out anyway.

•••

It takes less than an hour for his slim hopes to be crushed yet again.

Dazai stares at the food in front of him, too numb to even think to go chase after the delivery driver and tell him that he got the order wrong. You’re standing somewhere to the side, looking even more concerned—not because of the food, because of him, and Dazai knows that he should reassure you and tell you that everything is fine but he can’t even muster the strength to speak the words. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, reaching out to grab his hand. He doesn’t even intertwine his fingers with yours, but you’re undeterred, clutching his hand tightly, and he knows he’s being unfair to you but he just doesn’t even know what else to do. “Osamu, it’s fine, really. It’s just some food.”

“You don’t even eat any of this food,” Dazai says, voice tight and more than a bit frustrated. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take, the morning had started off so nice waking up to you fast asleep on his chest and every passing second since then has just gone further and further downhill. “Not one thing has gone right today, and they can’t even get one order done correctly. It’s not fine, I-”

Dazai’s eyes flutter shut when you reach up to cup his cheeks between your hands, squishing his face gently before leaning in to press your lips against his. He sighs against your lips, the frustration slowly starting to dissipate as you rest your forehead against his, stealing one, two, three more kisses before finally pulling back a bit to speak.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him again, and Dazai thinks he should be the one reassuring you because it’s your Valentine’s Day that has been utterly ruined but he only relaxes into your touch, soaking up all of the comfort you offer him. “I have pizza bagels in the freezer, we can throw them in the oven. Honestly, I’ve been tempted to make them all day, anyway, but I wanted to wait for you. It’s not a big deal.”

“... Yeah?” Dazai asks quietly, and you give him that soft, soothing smile that always puts his nerves at ease. He lets out another puff of air, nodding. “Okay, I’ll put them in.”

He steals another kiss from you, and then another, and the tension in his shoulders finally begins to melt when he feels you giggling against his lips, shooing him away to go put the pizza bagels in the oven.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, that maybe the night is still salvageable, he reaches for the door to your freezer and as his fingers curl around the handle, the power goes out. Thunder shakes your apartment complex, lightning webs the sky outside, and the wind outside becomes even more treacherous. And with it, the ability to use the oven to make the pizza rolls you want disappears.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. Dazai thinks it should be comical at this point but he can find no humor in it, his throat tight and clogged with a million unwelcome emotions. He swears there must be someone up in the heavens laughing at him, finding entertainment in his misfortune and misery, and maybe he deserves it for all of the sins he’s committed in the past but he wishes that they wouldn’t drag you into this. 

He casts a miserable look in your direction, unsure if you even notice because you’re already at work trying to fumble to light a few candles, and Dazai is so tired that he thinks he might die. All he had wanted was to take you on a nice day out, ending the night with dinner and a stroll through the gardens at Yamashita before finally gathering the nerve to get down on one knee in front of you, showing you the ring he’d been so nervous buying and-

And then he pauses.

Where is the ring?

The thought dawns on him so damningly that he feels physically ill, realizing that he hadn’t felt the familiar weight in his pocket earlier when walking home from the Agency, nor had he noticed it when he slipped his jacket off and laid it on one of the kitchen chairs. He rushes over to where he had left his jacket, panic spreading through him so intensely that he can hardly think straight, ignoring how you call his name, worried.

His chest tightens, blood running cold as he fumbles through the pockets of his jacket trying to figure out which one he left it in only to realize that it’s not snugged safely in any of them. Dazai thinks he might throw up, wondering if it had fallen out when he took his jacket off at the office, or if it had fallen out while he was walking to work, or when he stopped at the convenience store and pulled out his wallet, or when he was walking home. If it was the latter three, the ring is gone and he’ll probably never see it again, and he probably should take that as a sign from god to not condemn you to a life with him.

“Osamu?” you ask, voice soft and cautious as you make your way over to him, obviously sensing his distress. 

Dazai wants to cry. Or maybe he wants to laugh. He can’t tell. He leans his elbows onto the counter, hiding his face in his hands, and then he decides to laugh, or maybe he’s crying, he’s not sure honestly, but his shoulders are shaking and you’re wrapping your arms around his waist. Dazai wants to melt into you and he wants to tell you just how abysmally terrible this day has been but he can’t without telling you what he had planned and that only makes him more miserable. 

You coax his face out from where it’s hiding against his hands as you stroke his hair, pressing your lips to his shoulder, and then his temple, and as soon as he turns his face to you, you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness streaming down his cheeks, and he realizes distantly that he must’ve been crying. God, when was the last time he cried before this? He doesn’t even remember. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, keeping your voice soft as if to not startle him. 

He doesn’t want to answer, so he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck, hiding himself from view again. As always, you take it in stride, wrapping your arms around him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head and hold him close, lips pressing against the top of his hair. And Dazai is still so frustrated—he’s so frustrated and upset with himself and upset with the world, but as soon as he’s wrapped tight in your arms, it becomes increasingly hard to remain focused on all of the negative thoughts.

“I’m so tired,” is all he can say, voice hoarse and cracking, blunt nails digging crescents into your back as he clings to you desperately. 

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He’s so tired. He just wanted this to be a nice day, and he wanted to finally push himself into giving himself to you entirely, because it’s what he wants. It’s what he wanted. He wanted to be yours and he wanted you to be his. Officially. But if the world really is trying to warn him against it, he’s thinking that maybe he should heed its warnings for once—for your sake, because he’s sure that anyone tied to him must be cursed. 

“Let’s go lay down,” you tell him softly, carding your fingers through his hair gently. The motion is so soothing that it nearly makes his eyes droop shut, exhaustion seeping deep through his bones. “Os-”

There’s a harsh knock at your door. 

Dazai’s eyes slide shut again, frustration coming back tenfold because he can’t even have a single moment with you without it going horribly wrong. You sigh as you break yourself free from him and Dazai longs to be back in your arms instantly, the weight of the day bearing down on him twice as heavily without you there to share the burden with him.

“I’ll go get the door,” you tell him, leaning up on your toes to press your lips to the corner of his. “Go lay down, I’ll join you in a second.”

“No,” Dazai says, capturing your lips in a real kiss briefly before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll get the door. You go change into your pajamas.”

“You sure?” you ask him, concern clear in your eyes as you look up at him.

Dazai only nods, pressing his lips to your forehead before ushering you off into the bedroom. You cast him one more worried look but Dazai shoos you away pointedly before making his way over to the door, frowning a bit because who the hell is showing up at your door this late? He thinks that if it’s the restaurant that sent the wrong food, then Dazai might just slam the door in the delivery man's face because the damage has already been done and Dazai is feeling petty.

But no. It’s not the delivery man standing outside your apartment with the right food this time. Rather, it’s an anxious looking Atsushi and a stressed Kunikida. Dazai’s eye twitches a bit—as if his day hadn’t been ruined enough with work, he swears to god that if they're about to bring even more to him on top of dragging him away from you all day, someone might die. 

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi sounds absurdly relieved at the sight of the man but Dazai’s expression doesn’t budge, waiting for them to explain why they were interrupting his night with you. “We were just leaving work and-I wish I’d seen it sooner, I’m sorry-I would’ve come sooner but-I mean we tried to call and text but-”

Dazai has no idea what Atsushi is talking about, so he drags his eyes from the anxious boy up to Kunikida, waiting for a proper explanation. Kunikida’s lips twist when Dazai looks at him and Dazai thinks the man has no right to look at him that way after being the root cause of how awful his day.

Suddenly, Dazai catches sight of the familiar velvet box sitting in Kunikida’s hand, and he’s not sure what amalgamation of emotions rocks his body—fear, relief, apprehension—but he doesn’t like it, reaching out to snatch the box from Kunikida and cradle it to his chest, watching the two of them uneasily.

“You moron,” Kunikida snaps, careful to keep his voice low, but not low enough because horror shoots through Dazai when Kunikida continues with, “why didn’t you say you were-”

“Lower your voice,” Dazai says, panicking, casting a glance back toward where you’re still getting changed in the bedroom.

“Why didn’t you say you were proposing?” Kunikida finishes in a whisper, voice still a sharp hiss. “If you’d mentioned that I would’ve-”

Dazai feels flustered, and he does not want to answer and admit that he hadn’t thought it would make a difference. Luckily—or maybe unluckily, he concedes—he doesn’t have to answer because he hears you making your way out of the bedroom.

“Osamu?” you call curiously, “Is that Kunikida-kun and Atsushi-kun?”

Dazai’s eyes widen when he realizes that he has nowhere to hide the ring as you come around the corner from the hall. He promptly slams the door in both of his coworkers’ faces without even the sparest thank you, ignoring their surprised yelps as panic begins to spread through him, doing his best to hide his hands behind his back when he turns around to face you.

And then-

Then he hesitates. 

The excuse on his lips about last minute mission briefing or Dazai having to sign off on a time-sensitive report dies when his eyes fall upon where you’re standing, dressed in your fuzzy pajamas with your arms wrapped around your waist and a confused expression painted on your face. The only lighting in the room is the few dim candles that you set up once the power went out, and the soft ambience casts an ethereal glow over your face. He thinks, not for the first time, that you might be heavenly, an angel sent to guide him on the path of good because how could he ever allow himself to fall back into his old, tainted habits without tarnishing you as well, and tarnishing you is simply unacceptable. 

All of the doubts that have risen throughout the day wash away as he looks at you, and he wonders, briefly, how he could’ve ever had any doubts? Dazai, for all of his insecurity and fears of commitment, wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He does. He knows it so thoroughly that he can feel it in his bones; he doesn’t want anyone else, he doesn’t want to be alone, he wants you. He wants to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night, he wants to lounge around on the weekends because you’re both too lazy to get out of bed and do something productive, he wants to be there for your lows when you’re so overwhelmed with work that you can hardly think straight much less properly take care of yourself and god, against all odds, he wants you there for his too, when he feels like he’s being consumed by his own thoughts, spiraling down a dark and never-ending train that might not be as dark and never-ending with you there as a light to guide him out of it. 

“Marry me,” he says, breathless, voice laced with desperation.

You stare at him, eyes wide. He stares back, frozen, unsure of what to do because this was not how this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be extravagant, romantic, like you deserve, not some half-assed spur of the moment proposal. The words hang heavily in the air between the two of you, but he forces himself to push forward, too far in deep to back out now. 

He fumbles as he tries to shift the velvet box into one hand to bring it in front of him and show you. He drops it. Of course he does. Everything else has gone wrong today so why not this too? But still, he pushes forward, kneeling down to scoop up the ring box and prop himself up on one knee in front of you, throat swollen and tight as he opens up the box to show you the ring inside of it. He’s holding it backwards. Of course he is. So he fixes it promptly, swiveling it around with trembling fingers, waiting anxiously for you to respond. Or even just react. 

You haven’t budged from where you’re standing a few feet away.

What if you say no? God, the thought hadn’t even crossed his head but now his heart starts to sink from his chest down to his feet because you’re not moving and you’re not saying anything and he doesn’t know if you’re just processing his words or if you’re trying to figure out the best way to reject him. 

He starts to fumble out words. “This was not how this was supposed to happen,” he admits, speaking so quickly that he can barely understand himself. “It was supposed to be a nice day, we were gonna go to the aquarium to see the dolphins and penguins, dinner at Le Normandie and then go down to the gardens at the park, and there was supposed to be a band and flowers and I had a whole speech ready and it definitely was not supposed to be like this but everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong, but I want to marry you and I don’t want to wait anymore, and I’m sorry that this is a shitty proposal, you deserve better than this. And I’m probably making it worse, I should have just waited for another day, but-”

But please say yes, he wants to say, but he can’t force the words out; he can only stare at you, expression more open and vulnerable than he thinks he’s been in his entire life. And he realizes, a bit horrified, that you could ruin him right now—he’s laid his heart out on a platter and it’ll only take one swift motion for you to crush it in hand and he thinks he’s terrified but-

All of the air is ripped from his lungs with a harsh oof. In an instant, his back is to the floor and you’re on top of him and Dazai is staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, trying to figure out what exactly happened.

“You’re so stupid, Osamu,” you cry out and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that you’re crying, hands propped up on his chest to brace yourself up, tears pooling in your eyes and streaming over your cheeks and dripping onto his own face. “Is this what you’ve been so upset about all day? I don’t need any of that, all I need is you.”

Oh. Dazai can’t breathe, and it’s not because you’re on top of him it’s because your words are processing and he’s realizing that-are you saying that-

“Of course, I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, a puff of air that he does not have in his lungs, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling—elation, relief, exhilaration, all of the above—but he does know that he’s never felt anything like it before and he doesn’t want it to go away. Ever. Dazai swears he sees a flash of a camera from the window, and he swears doubly that he hears Yosano let out a hoot of a cheer and Kunikida hushing her, dragging her away, but he can’t even bring himself to care. 

 Yeah, Dazai thinks to himself, eyes sliding shut as he rests his head back against the floor, the first genuine smile of the day tugging to the edge of his lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, clutching at his shirt, sniffling and hiccuping over each breath. He wraps an arm around your waist, using his free hand to slip the ring out of the box and slide it onto your finger. You cry harder. He kisses the top of your head, wondering how he could ever have any doubts or hesitations. 

He could definitely spend the rest of his life like this.

[midnightwriter21]

demon slayer hcs: the hashira men w/ a demon!SO that’s immune to sunlight pt2

characters: fem!reader x sanemi

warnings: blood, injuries, language, angst

pt. 1 w rengoku and giyuu HERE

SANEMI

this poor man can just never be happy huh

now i find it very hard to believe that sanemi would be with a regular civilian

he’s gotta know that his SO is able to take care of themself

SO

ur a slayer and you guys are paired up on a mission together

there were reports of several low ranking demons being sighted in a town

so Sanemi decides to split up and to meet back up when the sun begins to rise

when you don’t show up at the meeting place he knows something is very very wrong

tears through the town looking for you

and he finds you alright

laying in a pool of your own blood

haori torn to shreds

sword broken

he doesn’t even walk toward you

he’s frozen

his blood has literally gone cold

stands there staring at your broken body until the kakushi arrive

when they do they quickly realize that you are alive and sanemi snatches your limp body from them and SPRINTS to the butterfly mansion

he hands you off to Shinobu who gets to work immediately

he waits there for her to give him an update

and boy does she

you? a demon?

his sweet loving girlfriend is a demon?

it can’t be true. you were laying in the sun.

he tells shinobu this and she says that she’ll have to do some more testing when you wake up

it’s 3 days later when you finally do wake up

and when you do you’re greeted with 2 low ranking slayers pointing their swords at your neck

of course they had to keep you guarded in case you woke up and needed a snack

the human kind

screaming for shinobu she rushes into the room

she sends the slayers out and quickly explains what has happened to you

you ask for sanemi

and your heart breaks when she tells you that he hasn’t visited

not once since she told him what you had become

a few more days pass with shinobu running a bunch of tests

she concludes that you’re somehow immune to the sun and that you don’t have an appetite for humans

and still no sign of sanemi

he hasn’t responded to any of your letters either

when shinobu releases you from her care you head to sanemi’s estate

when you knock on his door he opens, looks at you

and then slams it right back in your face

so you leave

as the weeks pass you throw urself into training with Nezuko who you’ve become friends with

but other than to train you don’t leave your estate

you have locked yourself away from the world

believing that sanemi hates you because of what you are

a monster

it’s not until Genya visits you and sees how pitiful you look that something is done

Genya storms to his brothers home

the ground practically shaking under his steps

Genya literally slaps some sense into Sanemi

like actually slaps the shit outta him

Genya is the only person that could get away with something like that other than you lol

not 10 minutes after genya left your home you get a very hesitant knock on your door

you don’t answer

so Sanemi takes it upon himself to walk in

and he finds you sitting on the floor staring at the wall with a blank look on your face

he sets a gentle hand on your shoulder and you don’t react

you don’t move a muscle

you don’t even blink

it’s as if you’re in a trance

he takes in the dark circles under your eyes

and the frown that looks like it’s permanently stretched across your face

and the guilt hits him full force

kneeling next to you and pulling you into his lap

he buries his face into your hair

and he cries

“i’m so fucking sorry”

“if i didn’t decide to split up this wouldn’t have happened”

“it’s my fucking fault”

and then he feels you pull away from him

his eyes are still closed with tears slipping down his face

and then a small cold hand is wiping the tears from his face

“you left me” you say

and his eyes shoot open

to see you with tears in your eyes

he looks away

“i can’t look at you knowing that this is my fault” he says in between cries

“why are you here now?” you ask

he pulls you back into his chest and say

“Genya told me how you’ve been acting and I can’t stand knowing that you’re unhappy”

you push yourself closer to him and say

“if you want me to be happy, then stay”

he takes a deep breath

“i’ll stay”

[marxo-fm]

Sessions; ii

—highly suggest you read part one first. ✯ playlist for sessions is out now!

Summary: König admits his obsession that he has with you to the point where it’s unbearable, as the two of you make up for the time missing in your office.

Warnings: Mentions of adult themes and language, some plot with smut, smut smut smut—did I forget to say..smut? innocent!reader, virgin!reader, Obsessed!König, mutual masturbation (I lowk surprised myself with this omg) König teaches the reader some things, praising, size kink.

Words: 2.2K

A/N: CREDITS TO @/xbruised_peachx ON TWITTER!!! CHECK HER WORK OUT it’s seriously amazing. This fic is so filthy like I seriously can’t believe I wrote this, but can you blame me? SMH. There will be a part three after this so bare with me, and I’m sure part three would be the final part. Maybe soon after I’ll write a Ghost fic, (wink wink) Btw I created a playlist for this fic and it’s on my masterlist! And let me know if you want to be on my taglist for part three!!! Okay, bye bye now peeps, thanks for reading! :)

You consumed all of König like a drug he just can’t let go of, you were his addiction, the only person that keeps his mind at ease from the world; and he’s sure he’ll never be sober. Because he’s nothing without you.

——

“What?” You pant, looking at him through your heavy eyelids. His sea colored eyes gazed your upon your flushed body once more, swearing under his breath that he may not be able to contain himself once he’s inside. Inside your mind and body. When he said he wasn’t done—and that he’s just getting started—had you feeling unknown emotions. You’re anticipating what he’s going to do with you, and you shift on his thigh that is soaked with your juices from actions before.

You can’t help but blush, feeling rather shy underneath his strong gaze. The tension almost unbearable, the sexual tension. He is eager to touch you, to taste you, and to fucking feel you under his touch.

You clouded his mind, making it harder for him to form sane thoughts.

“I said, we’re not done, Schatz.” He chuckled, his mood shifted from before. Seeming more possessive and more hungry. Starving. “What are you going to do?” You question, and that right there—made König glare at you. Burning holes through your eyes. Nothing but hunger behind those eyes, almost the same as a hungry predator finally having their prey in sight.

In that situation, König is the predator, and you’re the prey.

He kept you there, on his thigh, until he spoke. What he said next absolutely shocked you to the extreme, “no no, I’m not going to do anything—liebe. I’m just going to watch, watch as you please yourself for me. Can you do that?” He smirks under his mask, from what you can tell, his eyes lightened up in admiration. Seeing how you fell apart little by little, and it’s all because of him.

You stammer, unable to form words correctly as his statement. Your stomach flipped and heat took over your body once more. “I..oh,” you whispered, goosebumps form all across your skin. “Lie down, Prinzessin.” You paused for a minute before finally processing König’s order. You obeyed, and that only turned him on more than he already was. If that was possible.

You made it so fucking easy for him.

“Look at me, mein Schatz, don’t be nervous.” He assured, “you have no fucking idea what you do to me.” König admits, shifting his entire body towards you on the couch. You almost want to hide from his eyes, those eyes that tell so much yet so little.

He moves closer, his rough hands are placed on both of your knees and you yearned for him to search your entire body. “Every second of my day, everyday, you haunt my mind. I finally have you, I finally fucking have you, Mein Liebe .” Your breath caught in your throat, you want to speak—you really do—but he admitted how much he thinks of you, right in front of you. I’m going crazy too. You thought, what he confessed last session was really true, and now you’re just as crazy.

He wants to fill the void, the void that kept you two apart for almost months. Now, König will make up for the precious time missing.

“König, I don’t know what to say.” You confess, holding yourself steady with your arms behind yourself. In all honesty, you really didn’t know what to say. It was difficult to form any thoughts at the moment. “I don’t need you to say anything.” He said lowly, his rough hands rubs circles on your knees. His touch drove you insane, (he’s only touching you—yet you feel like you’re going to pass out.)

“Soft.” He states, spreading your legs wider and you gasped at his actions. Your skirt rode up, revealing little to his imagination. Your soft skin under his rough touch was enough to kill a man on the spot. Most certainly a six foot ten man.

“We’re going to take it slow,” he began, his German accent thick. “And then slowly, I’ll have you unravel in my hands.” You want to tell him that you have already fallen apart underneath him, and suddenly, he’s hovering over you.

He’s big. His huge torso blocked your view of the ceiling and you gulp. He leans down to your ear and you shiver, “let me be the therapist for tonight, liebe, let me be the one that eases your mind.” He offered, and you quickly accept it.

Though his words had your heart racing to the end, beating against your ribcage, felt as though your heart completely stopped. You let him take full control of you, you allowed it and you don’t regret it one bit.

He backs away, and the emptiness of his heated body left yours, leaving you feeling cold. Just come back and touch me yourself.

He watches you, not saying a word as you both held intense eye contact. His sea blue eyes soon trained on your panties, and in response, you clasp your thighs together. Everything in König’s eyes changed, his eyes are now possessed with anger. “Open.” He demanded in a voice so different from before.

König’s entire demeanor changed, “I..I’m sorry.” You stammered, his mood doesn’t change after your apology and now—you wish you’d never done what you did. You think of something, something that’ll get his mood to change.

You figured it out, you honestly surprised yourself for what you’re about to do. Slowly, you take your fingers and trail them up to your thighs. Your fingers go under the hem of your black underwear. He cursed under his breath, and that tells you that you succeeded. But you’re confused as to what to do next, you know you’re supposed to touch yourself, and that made you feel hundreds of feelings.

But you didn’t want to do anything yet, you patiently wait on him to say something. To speak.

“Remove them, Liebe.” The word Liebe, you wonder what it means. You look at him for a few seconds, then you proceed. Obediently taking your panties off and your hands shake while doing so, you’re immensely nervous and too flustered to comprehend anything. He helps slide them off your legs and then throws them on the ground. Too consumed with the way you presented yourself in front of him, it felt like his soul ascended.

(…)

He wanted to fuck you right then and there, the sight of your pretty pussy soaked with legs open wide, all for him. All for König.

Holy fuck. He murmured to himself. He can’t help his painfully aching cock bulging against his pants, and he’s holding back every attempt to stuff you full. König’s using every muscle and strength he has in his body to withstand his desires. “So pretty, and it’s all mine. All of it.” He growled, your hand covered your slick cunt and he let’s you do it.

“Mein Schatz, touch yourself for me, think you can do that? Hm?” You nod, vigorously. Quickly, you touch your sweet spot and slowly rub yourself. Your touch had you throwing your head back, but König didn’t want you to look away. “No, face me. Look at me.” He demanded, not allowing you to hide yourself.

He gives you another minute, trying his best to not thrust his fingers in your throbbing pussy. He really tried. “Doing so good,” he praised. You shove a finger inside and you let out small whines. Those whines that König wanted to turn into screams. You screaming his name would be burned into his memory till the day he passes.

(…)

Your finger wasn’t enough, and embarrassingly, you didn’t really know how to please yourself other than just rub slow circles. He saw your face twist in frustration, your fingers trembling before him and unable to fully insert your small fingers in. You whine, needing him more than ever.

“Want me to teach you? Liebe?” You nod, mind going dizzy at the thought of him touching you.

Now how can he decline when you asked politely? He couldn’t.

He brought his thumb to your clit, and sparks run through your entire veins. He fulfilled your wish, rubbing circles on your clit with his rough thumb and he found amusement the way his simple touch had you gasping for air. You instinctively buckled your hips and moved back and forth, desperate to have him move his thumb move faster. “No, be patient, Schatz.” He demanded sternly, whines and whimpers left your mouth from his torturous speed.

“Please, I need..you.” It’s you saying it instead of König, and he couldn’t deny that it made him crave you more. His thumb suddenly quickens its pace, then, he stops. You whimpered at the sudden action, “why’d you stop?” You huffed in frustration, wanting more and more and more.

He doesn’t answer your question, instead, he shoves his calloused middle finger inside your throbbing cunt with no warning. The size difference of just his finger, had you breathless. You’re not sure if you could go on, thinking to yourself how he’d fit inside you when his middle finger is already stuffing you full.

You felt like you were drowning, all water was filling your lungs and you were no longer breathing. It’s what this felt like. The burning pleasure that was also painful had you gripping onto König’s wrist. No—it wasn’t because you wanted him to stop—that’s not it, he was going painfully slow. Taking his time with you. The time that was wasted between the two of you.

He suddenly curls his middle finger and goes incredibly faster. The sounds of his finger and your slick filled the silence of the office, and you felt shame. Still, you didn’t care, you wanted more. Whimpers, whines and König’s name leaving your mouth echoed in the room, and he swore he could die on the spot.

That was enough to drive a man to insane levels.

“Fuck, du bist so süß!” He groaned in German, and you can’t deny it, him speaking German made you burn with arousal. “W-what does that mean?” You ask, as if he’s your German instructor. “You sound so sweet, liebe.” He expressed, taking his thumb and rubbing circles on you sweet spot while his other hand thrusts faster.

Not only did you learn something in German, you learned what it finally felt like to truly feel alive. You’ve never felt more alive than this moment.

His finger continues to pump in and out of you, faster. His fingers coated knuckles deep with your slick, and he chuckled at the sight, earning a moan from you. König brushed over your g-spot continuously, something you were never able to do with your own fingers.

He’s a big man. So big it’s almost inhumanly impossible. Like he was crafted by the Greek Gods themselves.

“I wish you could see how beautiful you look.” Mentioned König, you couldn’t help but blush more at his praise. It only makes you closer to your finish line, so close.

“König,” you sighed, “I am so close..” his eyes diverts its focus to your flushed face, letting out a deep groan. “Yeah? How close, Schatz?” He teased, you furrow your brows in frustration. He inserts another finger out of nowhere and your breath is caught in your throat, “oh!” You shout. Electric shocks run throughout the entirety of your body.

“Tell me now, how close?” He huffed, though you couldn’t process what came out of his mouth, since you’re lost deep inside of heaven. Your eyes roll back and your mouth gaped open, gripping your skirt that’s at your hips with both of your hands.

Your vision turns black and you see nothing but stars, and König’s eyes trained at your arousal. You thought you lost hearing, since all you could hear was a loud ring in both of your ears. Your orgasm hitting you like a hammer to a nail. “Oh darling, no need to say a word, you were closer than I thought.” He quipped, taking his fingers out painfully slow.

The cold air made you wince, feeling the emptiness of his warmth when he took his fingers out of you. König left you stunned, taking his fingers into his mouth and finally tasting you.

As if tasting your mouth wasn’t enough, he tasted your arousal and your stomach flipped. The sight of him tasting you was something you’d see in a daydream, but that turned real. He licks his fingers clean, then looks at you hungrily. Leaving him addicted to your taste, and he wanted more.

“Divine.” He groaned, leaning into your body and dipping his head into your neck. Lifting his mask up and proceeding to kiss your neck, licking stripes of your skin. It was all so much for you, too much. It felt was like your soul ascended to the heavens, and it was König who made you feel like that. You feel so hazy, so lost in your emotions and feelings. It felt ecstatic, the heat between your legs became hotter when König kisses you.

Allowing you to taste yourself inside his mouth, almost unbelievable.

The kiss this time was tender and soft, but it quickly switched to the kiss from before. You wrap your hands around the nape of his neck, leaning him impossibly closer, and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Allowing him deeper inside your soul.

“This will be a night you will never forget, Liebling, I will make you beg to have more, mein Schatz, my treasure. Mine.”

——

NOTE: Omg it’s finally out after just writing on it for a few days, I felt so motivated just finish this part. Which means there’ll be a third part, concluding the end of this series! I genuinely want to thank those for reading, means so much to me! :) Be sure to check the masterlist!

✯ Taglist! - @liyanahelena @sleepy-time-dreamy @yourmomsmilfmistress @backgroundgirl887 @cumikering @aly0be

[thatsdemko]

feeling better - c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: y(ish)- “Hi! Sorry, can I make a shameless suggestion 🙈🤭 that some more husband Charles content like drought would be fun to say the least, sexy and cute as heck!”

p.s. - to the anon, I’m keeping your request around in my inbox in the event that this is 1. not what you wanted and 2. because I have other husband!charles fics in my drafts similar to drought that I think you might love xx

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x wife!reader

warnings: mentions of periods + oral (m receiving) + not intended for minors

a/n: inspired by @thisismeracing’s beautiful mick fic that I just can’t get out of my head! I’m not entirely proud of this smut! I haven’t wrote anything filthy in so long so I apologize I’m not into my groove, but I just love husband!charles and if anyone has any req’s for husband!charles lmk ;)

this is for all the period havers going thru a tough time rn (believe been there done that last week) xx

“so I’ve been thinking—“

“well that’s never good.”

“can I finish?” well he’s rather sassy today, you think to yourself.

shutting your phone off, you give him your undivided attention, “alright talk.”

Charles rolls his eyes thinking the same thing, those damn hormones of yours had a way of making your words rough on the edge and bitter at the tongue. but he finds it hot, he likes when you get a little grouchy and filled with an edge. it’s rare.

“since you’re not feeling well—“

“I never said I was—“

“ah that’s where you’re wrong.” a smirk tugs at his lips that he tries to contain as he takes the empty seat next to you on the couch, “it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out you’re on your period, and talking to my mother about it was where you failed.”

“well it shouldn’t take my husband that long to figure it out.” you bite back. being married for three years and having dated prior, you’d imagine by now he’d be an expert of knowing when that time of the month came around.

“you want to try again with a different tone?”

“you want to try me, leclerc?”

you stare each other down neither one of you backs down until he rolls his eyes and his shoulders soften, “can I just offer my help? or will you bite my head off?”

“depends,” you tilt your head, “what’s the offer?”

“sex. unless you’re too busy being an asshole then my dick is off the table.”

you let out a laugh that you can’t contain and throw your arms around his neck allowing his hand to wrap up under your shirt. his fingers move up and down your back, you notice his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he discovers you’re not wearing a bra.

“no bra?” he says, but it comes out rather like a question. you watch the wheels turn in his head like it’s his lucky day.

“my boobs are sore.”

“let me take care of that.” he turns in his seat pressing a hard passionate kiss against your lips. you can feel the electricity of the kiss run down your spine and warm your insides up. your cold heart softens under him.

“I’m sorry I was mean—“

“shut up, I love it.” his breath is rigid in between the heat of your bodies against each other and from the sloppy kisses, “I like dirty.”

“it’s going to be a bitch to clean—“

“I’m not talking about that dirty.” he cuts you off. his hands yank your shirt over your head revealing your perky breasts. he stands up from the couch, carefully laying you down against the black leather cushions, “I’m talking about your mouth.”

his hand barely cups one of your breasts. it sends an ache through your body and a shiver down your spine as you try to relax. the look on your face reminds him to go easy, and he does. his mouth wraps around the nipple, tongue ever so ghostly swipes across your flesh.

you gasp at the sensitivity, begging for more of his tongue, “Charles,”

“too much?”

“so good.” you moan into his skin, mouth hovering over the crook of his neck he forgets how to breathe for a second.

“are you sure this is a good idea?” you ask. carefully removing your shorts, you reveal the most unattractive pair of underwear you could be wearing. Charles doesn’t seem to notice or even care, he just nods along pulling out a condom that’s surely useless during this time.

“do you not want to have sex? I thought it would help? does it not? is the internet a liar—“

you rip the condom off his cock and just wrap your mouth around the tip getting him to shut up. his breath hitches, cock drips in precum, your warm tongue swirls, twirls, and slurps up every bit of him.

his ragged breathing fills your ears. your teeth gently press into the skin of his cock earning him to release right into your mouth. he watches you swallow with a smile on your face before leaning yourself back against the couch cushions.

“the internet was right, you girls are incredibly horny.”

“just horny for you,” you whisper wrapping your legs around his hips feeling his cock go straight for your clit.

there was no messing around. he had scoured the internet for hours and knew the best pleasure comes from the clit. and pleasure was all you ever asked for on your period, it’s too bad Mother Nature could never deliver what Charles was giving.

“horny for you, and your big dick.”

he slams into your clit again, a raspy moan exits your lips. you feel yourself coming undone underneath him. your legs shake, head becomes fuzzy until you release against him.

“merde,” he mutters under his breath, “I’ll be right back.” he gets up from the couch, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, he leaves and soon comes back with a towel and a smile.

“you want a hot bath?”

“it’ll only be hot if you’re in there with me.” you reply feeling the rough material against your inner thighs not even daring to look at the mess.

“I’m always down for round two. especially in the tub.”

“well then don’t leave me hanging, let’s go.”

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @lovelytsunoda @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix

want to be apart of my tag list? let me know here!

[maeby-cursed]

teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who waits for you in the parking lot after class. clad in a black hoodie covered in bleached designs, and baggy jeans, he looks like something straight out of your dirtiest fantasies.

he smiles when he sees you, the dimples he got from his cheek piercings in full display. he looks sweet as a peach pie like this — a feature that seems out of place coming from the wild-haired, smoky-eyed boy —, but you know that nobody else gets to see him the way you do.

that makes you smile.

teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who teaches you how to ride a skateboard. he sits you down on the deck and positions himself behind you, keeping your legs between his. you both propel yourselves with a couple of kicks to the ground and speed down the ramp of the park.

his friends laugh at the sight of you shrieking with delight, and he smiles, pushing your hair to the side so he can see your eyes, brimming with adrenaline and a danger that begins to taste like him.

teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who is there for every single one of your firsts and kind of regrets not being able to experience his own with you. he holds your hair during your first hangover, doesn’t laugh when you cough after your very first drag of a cigarette, and sleeps under your lilac covers after you’ve spent your first night with him.

teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who drops out of school because he finds it tedious, who is kicked out of his parents' house. who now lives with his best friend satoru, and is studying cosmetics at a course.

you've seen his sketchbooks, his delicate and intricate designs. you've seen how he braids some of his hair when he's tense and how he applies red shadows with care whenever you two go out on a date. you’ve seen how much talent he has. 

he dreams of being a tattoo artist and you’re sure he will be.

teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who is reluctant to tattoo you. he's been doing this for two years now; he's done full backs, arms and legs. he's even done piercings; eyebrows, nipples, bellybuttons. 

but your skin is different. your body contains your person and he doesn't feel quite ready to mark it.

yet he's never been good at saying no to you so he ends up giving in.

teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who, at twenty, spends his evenings in your shitty apartment contemplating the little heart he carved into your hip and kissing it.

grown teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who helps you with your studies, who's not quite a teenager anymore but who still takes you to the park from time to time, to watch that shine in your eyes come to life when you ride his skateboard again – just like it did that first time.

grown teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who never gives up his black eye shadow even if the years go by, who keeps a little bit of his old self in his combat boots, in his chipped nail polish.

grown teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who at twenty-six adopts two girls whose parents also threw them out, who works double shifts every day until he’s twenty-nine and is able to open his own tattoo shop, who keeps on working so they can get the lives he believes they deserve.

grown teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who still listens to his favorite songs. ‘one of us’ and ‘american idiot’ and ‘teenagers’; who dances with you and your little girls to all of them.

grown teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who, although his exterior never truly softens, has always been full of kindness and clouds.

grown teenage dirtbag!suguru geto who deep down knows that a part of him will be eternally misunderstood by everyone else, yet who recognizes something in your eyes; something that assures him that in this house – this house he’s built with love and devotion to his true self – everyone else does understand him. and know him.

and love him still.

[heavenblvd]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒.

pairings — fem!reader and rafe cameron.

summary — after rafe takes your life, he tries to move on, and simply pretends he’s the one who didn’t do so. eventually, hauntings and truths will lay themselves out to remind rafe just how sickening he is.

warning tags — adult language. details of gruesome m*rder & m*rder itself. mentions of DV relationship, (brief) child ab*se & awful parents. talks of religion and god. reader’s pov from heaven (?? just stick w the program). rafe actually going more insane than usual. overall dark content.

author’s note — this is based on and inspired by ethel cain’s song ‘strangers’ and while this song has multiple interpretations to go by, i’m taking mine by the main and common one (just without the c*nnibalism!). this also gets super dark and depressing so if you cannot bear any of it, please click off! this also isn’t revised at all so my apologies for grammar mistakes.

likes, shares & reblogs are very much appreciated ⋆୨୧ ₊ﾟ

you had tears in your eyes, body shaking to point you thought you’d convulse. you tried to be obedient by keeping in rafe’s secret of what he had done on that tarmac. he beat you to make sure you kept your mouth shut for good.

he said, “i’ll kill you if you say one word,” and it took enough fear to believe him, but you didn’t think that day would come.

murder is an evil thing, and everyone can attest to it. rafe murdered sheriff peterkin as if she was nothing, as if she was a problem in the way. bad enough, he let john b. routledge — one of your best friends — take the fall for it.

you continued to keep your mouth shut, but after rafe tried to invade the police, ward killing himself, you didn’t see a reason to keep quiet. ward was the only reason why rafe could stay out of prison, and now that he wasn’t around, you could speak.

your father preached every sunday to live by righteousness and good, to never let evil win.

rafe was that evil. he was the devil himself.

the devil that you danced with, let make love to you, kiss you, but also beat you until stars twinkled in your vision, and your breath kept getting caught in your throat.

your mother would be horrified to know that, your father too. but it was their fault in a way that you accepted this cruelty as love; your father, especially to blame.

if love is not meant to be hit at you, does it even exist? your father showed you that when he’d slap or punch you for falling out of line, but go to church the next day, and preach about being a good servant to god.

you wanted all evil out of your life. it was suffocating, it was drowning you.

rafe had to be eliminated first.

“you killed peterkin, and i’m tired of knowing it,” you said, picking up your car keys. “we are done, and i won’t even show up to your trial when you go down for it.”

rafe just stared at you appalled and puzzled, sitting on the edge of his bed. you were close to being far out enough to your car until strong, violent hand seized you.

you screamed and kicked, not being new to this routine, only knowing that he was going to harm you.

you could never predict that his violence would lead him to murdering you.

“let me go, rafe!” you screamed, being pulled inside, your pleas and cries echoing in the empty home.

expecting to be physically berated, you were being led downwards.

to the wine cellar basement.

and for once in a while, you prayed to god, and hoped he would finally listen to you this time. that he would save his child, and perform a miracle.

but a miracle never came as rafe manhandled you, pinning you down on the cement ground of the basement.

“shut the fuck up! stop crying!” he yelled, a solid punch coming to your cheek, and you yelped, an easy gush of blood rushing out of your mouth. “you’re a fuckin’ backstabber. after everything i’ve done for you, gonna treat me like that?”

you cried, shaking your head. “r—rafe, please! i’ll be good, i’ll stop!”

“don’t trust you, little one. can’t let you ruin everything,” rafe said, reaching for something out of his back pocket.

the more you fought back, the more angry he got; the more you fueled the fire that rested in his hands and body.

before you could let out another plead, a sharp pain was made into your abdomen.

rafe stabbed you — and he wasn’t planning on stopping there.

god wasn’t there. you would show up to his gates in this condition, and ask him why he let it happen. if god is real, why did he bear witness instead of saving you?

rafe doesn’t recall killing you.

he remembers grabbing, and dragging you down into wine cellar basement, but couldn’t be able to tell anyone what happened after that. all he knows your blood was quite literally on his hand, knife shaking in his grip.

your babydoll white dress was now stained with violence and scarlet red blood.

the sight should’ve made him sick, but it didn’t. he just stared at you, breathing heavy, and it didn’t strike him until a while later that he had killed you.

rafe cameron had killed the love of his life.

he only panicked when it came to how to dispose your body, take off any evidence that could trace back to him. he was more than willing to dump your body in the woods, let any gators eat at you for supper.

he tossed your body only hours later in the depths of the woods, and it didn’t take long until you were reported missing.

of course, he was questioned first. it was easy for him to play the concerned boyfriend, crying because he also hadn’t heard from you, saying he had been texting and calling you for hours.

your parents sobbed on the news and asking anyone to come forward with any information, that they’ll give up however much money for their child to come home.

rafe just stared numbly at the television screen, a cup of scotch in his hand.

your best friends, the pogues, sobbed for days, and even started a search party for you. rafe made sure to dig you levels down in those woods when the ground was wet enough to dig up, and cover you up.

sarah cameron had a feeling her brother had something to do with your ‘disappearance’ but it was only just a gut intuition, she couldn’t prove it. she always questioned why you got with her brother, always emphasizing how horrible and violent he was, but you would tell her, “you don’t know him like i do; you don’t know how much he loves me, and takes care of me.”

kiara knew how bad rafe was — for god sake, she momentarily went to the academy around the same time he was a senior. she knew he wasn’t destined to be a boyfriend, let alone even in a fucking relationship.

the boys of the group were beyond furious, the three wanting to round up and take ahold of rafe, beat some information out of him. but they knew you wouldn’t want that, and that rafe would easily get the police to arrest them.

however, months passed, and you slowly became a memory to not only the town, but to rafe himself. he went on with his days like nothing occurred, that he didn’t violently take the life of his girlfriend.

you weren’t on his mind anymore, and he didn’t have to worry about you anymore.

or so he thought.

karma and revenge go hand in hand together; they mingle and burst out, they make sure they arrive at the doorstep of the people who deserve it.

rafe always thought getting rid of you would avoid his downfall, but the murder of you was just the beginning of it all.

he slept peacefully like he had done for a while now, with him about to drown into a deep sleep. he rested with his hands laid atop of his stomach, comfortable and at solitude, a female whisper woke him up.

he peeked around, but saw no one. he assumed he was just sleep deprived and imagining things, his eyes closing again for sleep.

“do you feel sick yet?” the voice that sounded like yours came through, more clearer and visible. he shot up, and turned on his bedside lamp.

nothing. no one. not you.

why would he have to feel sick? you were gone, you were no longer a problem.

rafe shook it off, and was able to go back to sleep.

you were angry in the afterlife. you stared at rafe from heaven, trembling with rage and regret. a man you once loved, had acted as if you never existed. you adored him, and he disposed you like garbage.

you just wanted to be his, wanted him to tell you that you were his only; that he loved you as much as you did to him, that he would change and better himself for you.

that the violence would dissipate, and his rough hands would be nurtured with love and softness.

but no. that never came, and never would.

you were taunted by your murder, burning with the need to remind rafe of how sick he was.

your violent lover let you bleed before him, and without tending to your wounds or simply sitting with immediate regret, he soaked in his actions and dismissed it.

why couldn’t he be gentle? was him painting you blue and purple not enough? did he have to go as far as killing his lover to satisfy the disdain and vexation he held for you?

was that enough? was that enough to make you enough?

rafe’s nights slowly turned interrupted and sleepless. your voice was always there, and time to time, he thought he saw you standing in his bedroom, drenched in blood and with tears streaming down your face as you kept asking him, “do you feel sick yet?”

sick. not regretful. fucking sick.

sleep deprivation was catching up to him, making him more mean and angry than usual, more out of control.

the coke wasn’t even helping either, only making everything worse.

he was at barry’s trailer, snorting endless lines of the white powder, trying to shake off the sight of you from last night.

“country club, you good?” barry asked, and rafe didn’t respond. “you don’t seem well, bro.”

“just need this shit, okay?” rafe mumbled, separating another drop of cocaine. “just… just want to sleep, need it.”

barry didn’t want to push him with more questions, minding his own business as the blond haired boy snorted up excessive amounts of lines.

rafe ended falling asleep on his couch, barry mindlessly scrolling on his own phone as he laid down on his bed.

the cold air from the air conditioner ran around in the basement, making it more freezing and chilling than usual.

rafe could smell strawberry perfume, indicating you were around. he looked around, and saw nothing of you.

“where are you!” he screamed. “you can’t scare me, you bitch!”

“i’m not here to scare you,” you talked, rafe spinning around to find you perched in the corner of the basement. you careened closer, the dim light emphasizing on your mangled body.

rafe stared at your stomach, where immense stab wounds laid on it. he swallowed thickly, his breath shaking and jagged.

“do you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe looked up at you. he couldn’t move in this dream, he was paralyzed and a witness to your lacerated body.

nausea and despair washed over rafe, almost consuming him entirely.

you were finally face to face with him, your hair disheveled and bunched, face stained with tears and runny makeup, all for him to look at.

rafe could feel your physical touch, your soft hand grabbing his, and made his palm touch your abdomen. he almost fucking threw up.

you could see it, you could see he was wanting to vomit everywhere. “am i making you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe shivered, forcing his hand to put more pressure on your stomach, blood rushing out onto it. “am i making you feel sick?”

rafe screamed and lurched up, his eyes opening and alarming barry. “woah, what the fuck, rafe!” barry shouted, and rafe breathed rapidly, his heart thumping against his chest, a need to vomit.

rafe brought his face into his hands, trying to shake everything out of his hand.

your face, your touch, your blood — he felt it all. he was being reminded of you, when he didn’t want to.

barry kept asking him what was wrong, why he was crying, if he was okay, but all rafe could focus on was your voice asking, “am i making you feel sick?”

he was no longer immune to his destruction. he was becoming infected by it. you were a disease that he couldn’t treat, a parasite that ate at his brain.

he would never get rid of you — and you would make sure that he never did.

it was month seven without you, and you became a faded name to the outer banks. the only people who lived on to tell your name was your parents, and your best friends. the pogues carved your name into the chateau’s tree, a ceremonial bench placed at the high school.

your body or you weren’t ever discovered, but the police had listed you as deceased. you weren’t a runaway, you were eighteen, and had nothing to runaway for. when you couldn’t be traced anywhere on the grid, the police pronounced you dead, and that was that.

pictures of you and any sort of evidence remained in a cardboard box somewhere in the police station. you were left to rot in every way.

you were tired of being forgotten, but more exhausted that nobody knew that your boyfriend did this, and you probably weren’t going to be the first girl he killed.

rafe cameron needed to know what he did, and you wanted to do everything you could to make him drag himself to the police station, sit down, and say, “i killed her — and i enjoyed every fucking second of it.”

madness was becoming rafe. he was already an insane, depraved fuck before, but the lack of sleep and memories of the murder were catching up to him for good.

dark circles were around his eyes, hair greasy and messy, his body tired. he felt like he was going to snap any second.

he kept drinking, smoking weed and doing coke back to back, surprised that his heart didn’t give out yet.

a random exhaustion toll pushed over him, laying him down on the floor of his bedroom, and his eyes threatened to snap shut.

he didn’t want to sleep, he was afraid to. he was afraid to see you, with your bloody dress and sad face, making him touch your wounds.

rafe didn’t win the fight of sleeping, and he knocked out cold on his bedroom floor.

he wasn’t in the basement, he was in his bedroom, and he could hear your feet padding away to the front of the house, to your car.

oh, he was reliving the night. and he couldn’t stop. he couldn’t get out of the memory — he was facing everything.

he saw you bloody by his doorframe, and you tilted your head. “why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice sounding as if he was trapped in a void.

you only frowned. “so you know.”

like a reflex, rafe hurriedly rushed over to you outside before you could get away, seizing you away, and taking you to the basement.

he pinned you down to the ground, and screamed at you to stop crying, upset and angry you were willing to betray him when he did everything for you.

you were sobbing, but it became echoes and his ears rang, everything around him becoming silent except his own heavy breathing. he grabbed the knife that sat in his pocket, and he could see your eyes widen with fear to the sight of the object.

“rafe!” you screamed in the first stab. he hit you sharp and right in the abdomen.

he held his knife there for a second, like time was freezing him, and he felt a hot breath at the side of his face.

it was you.

“am i making you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe proceeded to stab you as you sobbed. you cried out his name, trying to fight away the knife, promising to be good and for him to stop.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

rafe couldn’t stop, he couldn’t control himself. he kept stabbing you as you screamed. he was a monster, with the inability to suppress his anger or violence.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

a part you thought you were making him feel sick because of how mutilated your body was; that the body he was once desired, was now filling him with disgust. you wondered if how butchered you looked, was making him uncomfortable and sick. he didn’t deserve your concern, but it happened anyway. was it making him sick?

rafe wanted to cry, but couldn’t. he was revisiting the person he was in this moment, and could see life vanish from your eyes, death taking you away.

he took one last stab, and held it there like the first one. you kneeled in front of him, looking over at your corpse for a moment before your eyes settled into his raging ones.

he held prolonged eye contact with you as you inched your face close to his, but kept a safe distance. you placed your hand on top of his murdering one, and with a blank face, lastly asking him, “am i making you feel sick?”

rafe broke eye contact with you to look at your deceased body, and realized and remembered this murder. your organs could be nearly seen, blood gushed and poured out everywhere, your body cold and still.

he dropped the knife, and eyed you. “i’m sorry.”

you shook your head, and sighed. “you will revisit this everyday as long as you live,” you said, sniffling. “all i wanted was to be yours, and be good enough, rafe. was i no good?”

he didn’t have an answer, and with that, you got up, staring over at your body. “i want you to know,” you chuckled softly to yourself, “i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did. i forgive you, especially since i’m happier where i’m at.”

“heaven?” rafe asked.

you nodded. “you won’t make it here, but i’ll still hope and wait that you do — because i love you too much to let god be angry with you too.”

“he’s an angry man?”

“he’s angry and unfair,” you responded. “like someone i know. i loved god, i loved you; two men who didn’t view me as much, who don’t deserve for me to believe in them.”

rafe went quiet, and enough time went by for you to disappear for good to let rafe cry, and scream. he cried and sobbed, dry heaving as he vomited everywhere to the sight of you.

he killed you, and as long as he kept it to himself, you would drive him mad and insane with the knowing of it.

rafe cameron confessed to your murder only hours later. he drove himself to the police station, and confessed to every detail, telling sheriff shope where your body was.

they found your maimed body in the exact location where rafe told them it was, your body already decomposing into near bones, eaten by critters and bugs.

the earth was consuming you.

he was hated forever, the town wanted him torched or given the death penalty. it would be a while until he got a trial.

your funeral could be proper with your body in a casket, given a rightful way to be down in the ground, protected and secured by a box stuffed with silk fabric.

you could see your mom cry, and you wish she wouldn’t. your father had to give the prayer at your funeral, your best friends sobbing, and hating themselves for not getting you away from rafe sooner.

however, your death was simply inevitable. if rafe didn’t kill you, your love for him would. he was everything to you.

even when he was murdering you — getting a vile satisfaction from it — you were worried about him, if you and your maimed body was making him feel more nauseous and sick than the actual murder was.

rafe would live with the knowing that you truly loved him, and he took your life every single day that he spent in a prison block cell.

and your ghost would continue to linger and haunt him, never letting him know peace and serenity as he never did to you.