#Deciding if I should write more for this or not
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Lore Olympus just pulled off the biggest whiff in webtoon history.
I promised I would choose one of two headlines and of course, this is the one we wound up with. But should we really be surprised? Rachel herself seemed to be telling on herself down to the minutes leading up to the finale, fully confirming to us that yes, she's been writing this comic at the last minute, by the seat of her pants, for ages now.
(that second one was literally posted TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES BEFORE THE COMIC UPDATED.)
Welp, let's get into it. Possibly the last essay I'll ever write about this dumpster fire of a comic (but probably not, let's be real LOL)
CONTENT WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND FASTPASS SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES FINALE AHEAD!
Holy crap, where to even start with this. I knew it was going to be bad. I knew it was going to be rushed. I knew it wasn't ever going to live up to what I had hoped it would be years ago when I was still a diehard fan.
But I didn't think it was going to fall quite this hard. Despite bracing myself for the worst, Rachel has once again let my expectations down through a final display of explosive mediocrity and disappointment.
Yes, the episode is called "You're Welcome", and yes, that instant "ick" you're feeling is the exact same as what we're all feeling. This title plays into the dialogue later, but what a shitty, lowkey mean-spirited title for the series finale.
Now, before we get into the actual episode, the WT ads for this are just... so desperate and misleading.
They are trying SO HARD to hype up something that isn't there, and at the last minute to boot, because Rachel definitely hadn't written any of this ahead of time.
First off, the bit about the gods being in "eternal chaos" of course isn't a stake worth worrying over because Gaia literally does away with Ouranos in the first 5 panels.
Did you really think I was joking about that 5 panels thing?
That's it. That's the death of Ouranos. As mysteriously and quickly as he arrived, he was gone, after Gaia ripped out of him what appeared to be some purple sunny side up - but it's actually, in fact, Apollo.
And that's when we start to get some of the worst dialogue I've ever seen throughout LO. Remember when I said LO's dialogue was like Shenmue 3? Welp, the finale decided to continue that tradition and further fuel the suspicion that this entire thing was written by ChatGPT.
Oh, by the way, that "thank you, ma'am" was Artemis' first and last line of the episode. So once again, just like in Episode 248, we're completely robbed of her reaction to Apollo being a rapist piece of shit and the character development she could have had as a supporting character. The women in this "feminist retelling" really couldn't be more half-baked.
Gaia stumbles upon Persephone, and I'm not even gonna fucking bother showing the panels where Gaia says it's time to "make things right" because they literally don't matter. Why don't they matter? Because Rachel just had to get in one more pointless time skip.
We're shown a sequence of pointless images that I'm not gonna show as I don't want to waste my image limit on them, depicting Hades having a sad day because his small wife isn't with him and oh nooo what could have happened?? Did Persephone finally divorce him ??
Nah, we couldn't possibly have an actually happy ending in this comic. Instead we get a completely pointless phone conversation between Hades and Hecate-
Not only is the grammar particularly bad in this episode, but the actual script-writing is atrocious. We literally did not need this phone conversation to happen because-
-we're cutting BACK TO THE PRESENT THAT WE JUST CUT AWAY FROM FOR A 3 MONTH TIME SKIP. FOR NO REASON BESIDES SHOWING HADES BE SAD OVER SOMETHING THAT ACTUALLY ISN'T THAT BIG A DEAL, AS YOU'RE ABOUT TO SEE.
I- I LITERALLY HAVE NO WORDS. I HAVE NO WORDS TO DESCRIBE WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS. ALL I CAN HEAR IN MY BRAIN IS THE LEGEND OF ZELDA ITEM GET MUSIC-
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-BECAUSE THIS WHOLE THING SUDDENLY SOUNDS LIKE SOME CONTRIVED FETCH QUEST. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HADES AND PERSEPHONE HAVE PROVEN 'TRUE LOVE' IS REAL? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY HAVEN'T USED 'LOVE' AS A FORCE FOR DESTRUCTION?? ARE WE FORGETTING THAT HADES MUTILATED A GUY IN THE NAME OF 'LOVE'? THAT PERSEPHONE LITERALLY INVADED THE HOME OF HADES' CANONICAL FIRST WIFE BECAUSE SHE FELT MILDLY THREATENED BY HER?
This whole concept of "true love" that Rachel is trying to convey feels so juvenile especially for a series that has sold itself as being mature and thought-provoking and progressive.
HAHAHA SO FUNNYYYYYYY why does Rachel write like this. this is, at best, the writing of a 13 year old on fanfiction.net, which I SHOULD KNOW, because I WAS ONE OF THEM. BUT I'M 28 NOW AND RACHEL HAS ANOTHER 10 YEARS ON ME.
Okay, this is the part where I'm CONVINCED Rachel either just mashed this into the episode in the MINUTES leading up to its release, or she used ChatGPT or something. Because NONE of this dialogue makes any sense. Beyond how stilted and lifeless it is (seriously, this dialogue reads like something from Empress Theresa) Gaia is clearly meant to 'replace' Erebus here which I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO EVEN EXPLAIN IS SO FUCKING DUMB, but ALSO what is even Persephone trying to communicate here? "That is true, but it was a deal I was willing to make and ties me to the Underworld. Please don't change me." What? Gaia hasn't even insinuated that she's going to do anything to Persephone, why is Persephone immediately jumping to this conclusion? What does 'changing' her mean? Is she asking Gaia not to force her to sacrifice something (which she never did)? Or is she asking Gaia not to strip her of her Underworld status? Because again, why is that even something Gaia would do?
Maybe this is harsh but I'm pretty sure even Empress Theresa is more coherent than this, what in the flying fuck is Gaia talking about?
"I can just see the potential for conflict! To relieve you from the burden of the whats, the hows, and wheres." Like... okay, first of all, that second sentence isn't even a complete sentence, it's a dependent clause left hanging, but also what the fuck does this MEAN. Is she EXCITED for the conflict but then contradicting herself by saying she wants to relieve Persephone of that conflict? Or is she saying she can see the conflict it would cause for Persephone to have to perform duties in both realms and trying to insinuate that she's going to relieve her of those complications?
Here's what I think happened - I think that second 'sentence' wasn't supposed to be a sentence, but the start of the sentence to the next panel-
So with that theory in mind, the sentence becomes, "To relieve you from the burden of the whats, the hows, and wheres, you are to spend three months in the Mortal Realm to do spring and the rest of the year in the Underworld. That seems fair to me."
It's still a very poorly written line of dialogue, but at least with that fix in mind it makes sense. But man, you can really fucking tell this episode was submitted at the last minute because that's a serious syntax error that should NOT have happened in this two-time-Eisner-winning comic.
Errors aside, it's clear that Rachel is following through on having Persephone spend only three months in the Mortal Realm, rather than the traditional six. There ARE other translations that have that number closer to four, but those four are the time she spends in the UNDERWORLD, meaning she's always spending either equal or MORE time in the Mortal Realm. Of course, Rachel doesn't want her self-insert small wife power fantasy to actually have to be separated from Hades despite this being a retelling of The Abduction of Persephone, so instead of her spending three months in the Underworld, she's now spending them in the Mortal Realm, literally doubling the MINIMUM amount of time (four months) she was originally meant to reside in the Underworld.
But oh no, apparently those three months are STILL NOT SHORT ENOUGH FOR PERSEPHONE-
Of course, Rachel "Retcon" Smythe had to have her cake and eat it too. I always worried something like this was a possibility, but I never thought she would actually prove me right - not only is Persephone only separated from Hades for three months out of the year, but actually he can visit her any time he wants to, so really, they're not separating at all.
I think Rachel needs to look up "reunion" in the dictionary, because if you can visit each other any time, then that means the 'reunions' are no longer special occasions. This completely removes any semblance of depth or meaning from all of the storytelling leading up to this, all of it with the expectation that this was a retelling of the Abduction of Persephone, because that's what Rachel said it was going to be. At this point it's safe to say that Rachel has zero business attempting to "retell" mythological stories, because she doesn't even seem to grasp the concept of why they were written the way they were to begin with. Either that, or she really just doesn't care, and the only reason for making LO a Greek myth comic at all was to propel her career.
This also brings me back to those promotional ads, the other one that posed the question, "Will sacrifice be enough to bring these two back together?"
This is stating the obvious, but I need to make it perfectly clear - Hades and Persephone have never sacrificed a single thing. The only thing they could POSSIBLY quantify as a "sacrifice" is "not being tied at the hip for a few hours", because even Persephone going on the equivalent of a work trip next door is apparently enough to make Hades sad as we saw in the 3 month time skip panels. Why is Hades so sad and lonely if he can visit her any time? Why is he acting like he hasn't seen her in years when he's actually on his way to reunite with her? Why is Hecate calling to ask him if he's "okay" as if he JUST got separated from her, but actually he's about to literally go to the Mortal Realm to reunite with her?
Hades hasn't 'sacrificed' a damn thing, neither has Persephone. They've both always gotten exactly what they wanted, even at the cost of breaking the story's own established rules. Their 'sacrifice' is equivalent to what billionaires think are 'sacrifices' when they can't buy another yacht or go on that third overseas vacation for the month.
And even outside of this episode, when have these two ever sacrificed anything?
I've tried so hard to think of what sacrifices have been made by the characters within LO, and I genuinely can only think of one - and that was when Artemis chose to go to the Mortal Realm with Persephone instead of staying with her family in Olympus. That was a genuine, selfless sacrifice, made by a character who has been shelved in favor of focusing on the self-centered pink and blue airheads.
Being forced to be apart for a couple days to do the equivalent of a day job and whining about it the whole time is not a 'sacrifice'. Neither of these characters have ever sacrificed anything, they just feel like sacrifices because they have the integrity and empathy of soggy cardboard.
sigh Anyways, we're back in the present and Hades and Persephone immediately decide they're gonna have sex because ofc, and then we get this gem of a panel-
MMMMMM
FUNNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY JOKE
For some reason it's just a common thing for people to just be in Hades' home, and they can't seem to get any privacy as a result of this, but I digress. Turns out they still need to have that coronation for Persephone.
There is... so much wrong in these three panels.
First, to state the immediate issues - why the fuck are they mentioning Apollo at Persephone's coronation? Like first of all, no shit Apollo isn't gonna be there, but also, if this is supposed to be an event for and about Persephone becoming Queen of the Underworld, then why in the WORLD is Apollo even being mentioned? This is supposed to be a "feminist retelling" where the victims are empowered and heal from their trauma, but LO once again can't try to show any sort of positive growth for the victims without bringing up the assaulters and giving them screen time. It just goes to show that Rachel's idea of "healing" is purely rooted in the revenge, and not the growth. It's a very high schooler approach to this subject, hellbent on showcasing how all the meanies from the past are losers now and life just sucked for them forever, but inadvertently proving its own point that the victims haven't and can't move on because the narrative is spending so much time on caring what's going on with the abusers. It's the "I don't care! Look at how little I care! I'll prove it to you by putting in the effort of showing you how little I care!" approach, it doesn't really feel like moving on.
It's not about how Persephone and his other victims could have grown and healed, no, Rachel always needs to highlight just how much worse the bullies and haters and abusers are doing to make the victims seem like they've healed by comparison. Don't get me wrong, I can understand wanting to showcase the downfall of a character like Apollo, but this just... isn't the right context for that? Because it's once again taking attention away from the victim to focus on the abuser. It's once again spending screentime on the voices of the oppressors rather than the oppressed.
And speaking of, what the fuck is this punishment even? I knew Rachel wasn't gonna be able to resolve this plotline properly, she never had the capability to, but ... community service? Are you fucking for real? What is this even a punishment for even? Was this EXCLUSIVELY the SA, or does this ALSO include his attempts to overthrow Zeus by poisoning him, nearly killing Daphne, Eris, Eros and Psyche, trapping Eros and Psyche in an enchanted basement, and framing his father's 'death' on his half-sister? Because if so, how in the world is anyone content with community service? He hasn't even been turned into a mortal, HE'S STILL A GOD, so what's to stop him from going "WE'LL MEET AGAIN, SPIDERMAN" and trying something else? How is this a reasonable resolution in ANY context?
This is why I talked at length about what an issue it was to hide what Apollo really admitted to. Because now we really don't know what exactly he confessed to, and thus we can never really see the point of views of the victims outside of just Persephone - and we still don't even get Persephone's, because she just walks away from him and then he gets eaten by Ouranos and next we see of him is him doing community service! Once again, any emotional development that could be given to Persephone and the other victims is stripped away to make room for the point of views of the oppressive men. In this, the two-time-Eisner-winning "feminist comic" that is LO.
And that brings us to the "where are they now" segment. Yes, as we all feared, there's a "where are they now" segment, and it's as rushed and underwhelming as we ought to have expected it to be.
There is just... so much to unpack here, and yes, all of it is delivered in the dumbest way possible that only raises more questions than answers.
So Rhea and Metis are just back and we're not gonna talk about the implications of them being alive again?
Dionysus is a 3 month year old in the body of a teenager / young adult, and his mom is just alive now because Hades conveniently got his hands on more ambrosia and brought her back to life offscreen? But somehow Triptomelus and Hedone are still child-sized relative to their ages?
How did they 'heal Zeus'? And why is he so content with losing his power as King and Apollo being sentenced to community service after making an attempt on his life? How does he feel about the letter that Hera gave him? Did he even read it?
Where the fuck is Hebe in all of this? Is she okay? Do people still think it was her who put Zeus in a coma? Or did Apollo confess to that, too?
You're telling me Hera and Echo are just in a relationship now despite the fact that Hera is literally racist towards nymphs and there is ZERO reason for them to have a relationship in the comic beyond the fans making gratuitous headcanons out of it? How is Rachel, a bisexual woman, so bad at writing actual lesbian relationships and giving them the same amount of attention as the heterocis ones without shoving them into the background as props for insincere queer rep? And what about Hera herself? How did she overcome her role as the Goddess of Marriage to finally divorce Zeus?
"Ares is still a dog!" Haha! Ares is still a Persephone simp! Happy end!
Why is Eros just standing there smiling at the camera struggling to be seen past Hedone who's just floating right in front of him? You're telling me there wasn't a better place to put her out of that entire panel?
"Hades and Thanatos have been making more time for each other. Sometimes they even have a conversation." I'm sorry, is this supposed to be funny? The man abused Thanatos for years, treated him as just a lowly employee when he was literally his adopted son, and now you're trying to play it off as a joke that they're "making more time for each other"? What the fuck is this?
TGOEM disbanded? Why? What about the women who were genuinely a part of it?
Also, Artemis and Selene are just good friends now because reasons? Because they're both affiliated with the moon, I guess? Why is Selene even in this comic-
"They are still looking for Kassandra". Who? And why? This feels like such a last minute addition to acknowledge a character that the comic spent WEEKS foreshadowing only to have her finally appear as a pointless McGuffin, but it's so last minute that it does nothing. I'm assuming it's Eros and Psyche looking for her, but like... why can't they find her? They're gods, tracking down one mortal shouldn't be that difficult LOL ???
And also, where the fuck is Leto?? You're telling me she was an accessory - maybe manipulating Apollo, maybe not - but we don't see what happened to her? Is she just back to being a social outcast then? jesus christ this comic isn't finished-
Kassandra is where the "where are they now" sequence ends, and we're treated to one final horribly written dialogue scene between Hades and Persephone, where they tell each other how much they love each other in a desperate attempt to convince the audience that this is, in fact, a romance.
There's this thing in romances called chemistry, and if you're good at writing it, you shouldn't have to write dialogue like this. You should be able to see how much the characters love each other through their actions, through their small behaviors around each other. It's not always about what they say out loud, it's about what they don't have to say, because when two people really share that close of a bond based on love and trust and chemistry, words often aren't necessary.
Hades and Persephone do not have that chemistry. It has been apparent for years now, but this final exchange really is the nail in the coffin. There are no microexpressions or subtle emotions, no subtlety in their word choice, and nothing unique setting their voices apart. It's all just "wow thank you for being such a wonderful amazing partner, you are amazing and I love you" word salad that has to do all the heavy lifting for the completely non-existent chemistry that's been at its absolute worst throughout this entire season.
And worst of all, despite this story trying so hard to be focused around Persephone, around her story, her trauma and her healing, her voice... it's still all just about Hades. In the end, she's thanking Hades, and forcing him to say "you're welcome". All of it is trying so hard to convince us that Hades has been a positive addition to her life, that she 'owes' so much to him, but we've obviously seen plenty throughout the comic that begs to differ. And even if he were a better person than he is, it still doesn't change the fact that once again, the men are being held up above the women, with the women being grateful to the men who choose them. LO can try its hardest to convince people that it's feminist, but it is, at best, reinforcing the very same structures of the patriarchal system that it claims to despise and rebel against.
We do get one line from Hades acknowledging Persephone's part in the relationship-
-and it falls so fucking flat because it's still about him and what she does for him, and because nothing about their relationship was built on any sort of organic chemistry. There was a lot more chemistry back in S1, but it was still predicated on Hades lusting after a vulnerable 19 year old girl.
Yep, and that's it. That's the end.
Except it isn't because Rachel wanted to try and be smart by including an 'epilogue' that's really just stretching the episode out pointlessly for another few panels. And of course, we had to get another time skip, just a final dose of salt in the wound, this time to years ahead when we inevitably had to reconnect with Persephone and Hades in the future after Melinoe was born.
To recap, Melinoe doesn't remember... because Hades had Morpheus erase her memories.
This plotline has really started to give me the ick because it actually feels very familiar. Bear with me here, because I'm gonna go on a bit of a tangent about my own original work, but it's because I wrote a plotline exactly like this years ago.
There's this... turning point, in Time Gate: Reaper, when the main character Uzuki is kidnapped by a Reaper (see: undead) who wants to experiment on her in the hopes that he can somehow gain her abilities to bond her soul with others (which later allows her to literally possess people after she becomes a Reaper herself). Mitsuhiro, the male deuteragonist who kickstarts the plot by telling Uzuki she's got a limited amount of time left to live (which he knows thanks to his magical death timers that mark themselves on his skin), feels an immense amount of guilt after finding out she was kidnapped by the Reapers (at this point she's been gone for three months), as they were originally after him; he worries that she was made a target simply due to him associating himself with her, and vows to rescue her.
With the help of some other spunky teenagers and anime trope characters, Mitsuhiro does eventually rescue Uzuki - but for the three months she had been gone, she had been tortured, abused, and experimented on, causing her mind to split and for her to lose any sense of awareness of who Mitsuhiro or her other friends were. She was no longer herself after the hell she had been through.
Mitsuhiro's solution to this is to have Springlock - another Reaper with motivations that are not yet clear to the cast - erase her memory. This is not a light decision that comes without consequences - for the remaining duration of the story, Uzuki is plagued by night terrors and panic attacks, unable to really remember what happened to her aside from whatever brief flashbacks her brain recalls in its haze of memory loss. She is traumatized, both physically and mentally. She has lost three months of her life and memories, and doesn't know how to explain why she's covered in scars that are still healing, why she's missing organs, why she's now blind in one eye, and why the sound of scraping metal and ticking clocks gives her panic attacks. Mitsuhiro has convinced her friends that she's suffering from memory loss due to trauma, but only he knows the truth that he forcefully took her memories away from her, without her consent. This was not the right choice to make. It was not noble of him, it was not a grand gesture of love, he made a decision on her behalf without her consent that has now resulted in her becoming a nervous wreck. Sure, she still would have had PTSD if she remembered what happened, but at least she would know why and could then seek adequate help. Without those memories, she has nowhere to begin to heal. And so we see the consequences of this throughout [AFTERBIRTH] and even the upcoming Thread of Fate. It is a long-term problem that is not going to be solved overnight, especially not with Mitsuhiro withholding information from her.
Reading about Melinoe having dreams about her experiences trapped in Tartarus with Kronos ... it felt familiar enough that I had to talk about why the insinuations of this are so fucked up. I know there are people who are gonna handwave it away as "she's just a kid", "these are gods so what does it matter", etc. but ... it just feels like such an oversight to have Hades effectively erase her memory of her trauma and then hint at them still being present in her mind through her dreams. She did not ask for that. And the fact that she's now dreaming about it all does not bode well. But we're supposed to think Hades made the correct choice, regardless.
But none of this is effectively expanded on or explained, because we get one final scene of Melinoe and Demeter visiting Persephone, who has just given birth to... Makaria?
So it turns out Persephone and Hades are just able to have biological children now. Don't know why, but of course they both look exactly like Hades.
What I was really confused by though is the fact that it's Makaria and not Brimos. Do you remember Brimos? The child that was foreshadowed in Hades' original fantasy dream sequence about his future children about Persephone?
Either Rachel completely forgot about him, or she saw all the criticism over the fact that Brimos isn't a confirmed child of Hades and Persephone (rather, an epithet that can apply to basically any Underworld god including Persephone and Hades) and that her "research" was dependent on a book she read when she was 13 and decided to axe that. But she went to the effort of establishing that all the dreams Hades had were , in fact, canon visions of the future, so good job Rachel, you created yet another plothole on top of the hundreds of others.
And that's where the series ends, on a final nuclear-family-photo of Persephone, Hades, Melinoe, and Makaria. Of course, Dionysus and Thanatos aren't present in this shot because this is Lore Olympus and only biological children count /hj
Why Rachel couldn't move the "the end" portion to THIS part, I don't know, but I'm also expecting way too much of the person who finished this 20 minutes before it was due.
So that's it. Six years and that's what we get. I didn't expect much, but I was still incredibly disappointed, as were many others who walked away from this dazed and confused. Maybe it's all the "haters" deserve at this point. But what of the fans? While many of them are celebrating this ending at best and tolerating it at worst, I can't help but think of the fans of this comic who hung on for so long in the hopes it would "pay off", just for it to go out as gloriously as a wet fart.
As for me, I have such mixed feelings about Lore Olympus ending, but none of them pertain to the comic itself. Most of what I'll miss from this comic isn't the comic itself, but the people who have made reading it every week so fun, the artists and writers who have enriched the content with their own interpretations of what could have been, and the experiences of being part of such an amazing community made up of people who are as long-term-obsessed about this piece of media as I am.
I get people who ask me a lot if it's "worth it" to be so engrossed in the LO slander, who assume that I'm going to "regret" ever being a part of it all... but from where I'm standing right now, I couldn't ask for a better view.
Even if I didn't love every minute of it, everything I have here I owe to this comic. This stupid, wonderful, boring, amazing, pile of shit comic.
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can u do a matt x reader fic where the reader is going to the triplets house and meeting them for the first time alongside tara, jake & johhnie, Sam and Colby and Larry. Like the whole group has already met them but it’s the reader’s first time and during the whole hangout she can’t help but feel attracted to Matt and gets all blushy and kind of shy whenever he talks to her and he notices it and like takes it to his advantage kinda, and subtly flirts and teases her and likes seeing her all flustered.
shitty explanation but I hope u get the memo😭🙏🏼
thank you baby🤍
why so shy?
warnings: hella swearing, teasing/flirting, dirty jokes
a/n: yall I love your requests, you’re all so smart fr
a/n 2: guys I had two different endings to this and was torn between them
if you dont like how its written do not hesitate to ask me to re-write it!!
not proofread
~
“atta girl”
“oh my god, hi!!” tara squeals as she wraps her arms around y/n.
tara’s been waiting to meet y/n, she and y/n had been messaging on instagram and eventually exchanged numbers, where their friendship grew even more, despite the fact they hadn’t even met met.
so, this is where they found themselves, hugging in the triplets house where they planned to meet, they invited everyone and orginally planned to meet at a resturuant, but matt refused and so nick decided it’d be better at the triplets house.
“hi!” a small grin fought its way onto y/ns face. she wrapped her arms around the small figure hugging her.
tara pulled away and backed up, gesturing her arms out to the several boys sitting on the couch, she introduced each and every one of them to y/n, a huge grin on taras face.
after tara finished introducing everyone and etc, it went to a quick silence, but matt broke it with “what’d you guys wanna do?”
his eyes were on y/ns, mostly asking her as she was the guest.
y/n felt her cheeks burning up, her hands folded together and she quickly looked away from his eyes. her grin turning into a nervous smile and voice slightly shaky. “I- uh, I dont mind what we do. is- is anyone um, I dont know.” she mumbled, she couldnt think of anything and she decided it’d be best if she didnt embarass herself any further.
she awkwardly took a seat on the couch, the only avaible spot being close to matt, literally sitting beside him with some space, thankfully.
she slowly sunk into the couch, letting everyone else begin conversation around her, she could hear voices trying to decide what they should do.
she kept her eyes on her hands in her lap, trying to think of anything other than how nervous matt just made her.
she looked up, her eyes immediately going to matts figure, her eyes trailing up and down. scanning the boys figure, looking at his side profile, the way his shirt hugged his skin, the prominent veins in his arms and hands and his tattoos. she’d be lying if she said she didnt get nervous just by the sight of him. hes gorgeous.
the rings on his fingers and the veins in his hands kept her eyes captive—who is she kidding? his entire body was keeping her captive, under the hold of attraction.
matt glanced over at her, letting his eyes linger a moment longer over her. seeing that she was staring at him, more specfically his body.
just to tease her, he curled his hand into a fist and flexed his arm slightly, making his veins and muscles more apparent. he watched her eyes widen, cheeks turn a bright pink and her throat audibly swallow.
a smirk grew on his face, he shifted his body more towards her. he stood infront of her, orginally with larray but larray had seen y/n staring at him, chuckled and walked to sam and colby, leaving matt with y/n.
he walked closer to y/n, leaning down slightly to her level he looked down at her, “what’re you looking at, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper so no one heard him.
y/ns eyes stared up into his eyes, her stomach fluttering and her cheeks burning an even darker red.
she swallowed, attempting to recover her calm demeanor and answering with her best try at a mono-tone voice “n- nothing.”
matt hummed, a pleased smirk formed on his face. he nodded once at her, then walked away to his triplet brothers, trying to shove down how nervous she looked and how big his ego felt now.
chris had been whining for ages now about how hungry and thirsty he was, nothing but complaints about how ‘im dying of thirst’ and ‘im starvinggg’ leaving his mouth, as if the boy couldnt walk to his own kitchen and get food and a drink himself. but the poor boy claimed his stomach ached too much to get himself food, in other words, he was too lazy.
“im so thirsty.” chris mumbled, crossing his arms and staring at the floor like a kid pouting. his throat dry.
jake looked over at him, stopping abruptly in his conversation with nick about loud cars and their shared hatred.
“how thirsty?” jake said, a small giggle being heard at the end of his sentence.
“sooo thir-“ nick cut off chris, though he’d rather watch it all play out, he did not want to hear his brother finish his sentence. “shut up chris! he’s setting you up! you fucking doofus.” nick rolled his eyes.
“dont know how you didnt see it comin’” matt laughed at his brothers cluelessness.
“what the fuck ever” chris grumbled, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms on his chest, a clear sign of him “not having this” or annoyance.
with a new idea, he turned to y/n with puppy dog eyes.
“can you get me a drink please?” he asked, pouting his pretty pink lips in a convincing manner. looking up at her with glossed over eyes and licking his lips to try and convince her even more.
matt scoffed, jealousy bubbling in his stomach he walked over to the pair and slung an arm around y/ns shoulder. sending a glare towards chris, his mouth shut but his eyes speaking loudly.
“shes not gonna get you a drink, go and get your own shit.” matt rolled his eyes, tightening his grip around y/n ever so slightly. for his own benefit, matt used his hand to shoo his brother off. watching as chris stomped his foot while walking to the kitchen, grumbling things under his breath, his insults and curses clearly directed towards matt.
“finally, someone needed to shut that kid up” larray teased, his eyes boring into the back of chris’ head, “shut up larray, why don’t you go make me food?” chris shot back, walking back to larray to continue their play fight.
matt and yn tuned out their bickering, focusing on the still close proximity between them. y/ns body tensed at matts arm around her shoulder, “gotta show my girl some respect, yeah?” matt whispered, his face facing forward but his mouth close to y/ns ear. his words were targeted, he knew what he was doing. feeling y/ns body stiffen under his touch and her breathing shallow with his words was only egging him on.
y/n gulped, nodding her head. trying to push past the butterflies in her stomach. blood rushing to her cheeks while she replayed his words in her head like a vintage cd player.
“yes- yeah.” she mumbled, her body still tense and stiff.
matt hummed in content, removing his arm off her and walking over to larray, where he stood and watched y/n.
y/n took in a breath, trying to calm herself before walking over to chris, pushing herself onto the counter where chris was getting his food.
“how- hows your food comin along?” she asked, swallowing her nerves.
“eh, it woulda been better if you made it.” he scoffed, looking over his shoulder to flip off matt, whom chuckled in response and turned to larray to engage conversation with him, in which, larray immediately making fun of matt.
“y/nnn” tara groaned, grabbing y/ns arm and dragging her with her.
“I wanna show you something” tara said excitedly, a big, toothy grin on her face while she spoke. she continued to bring y/n with her, across the kitchen and into matts room.
“okay, but why are we going into matts room?” y/n asked, looking at tara for an explanation, but nonetheless she stood in his room, standing awkwardly and examining his room.
“its was the first place I thought of.” tara shrugged, “oh shit! I forgot to grab the thing, ill be right back. dont move, k?” tara said, her smile dropping. leaving the room quickly with a sly smirk on her face, a knowing smirk.
y/n nodded hesitantly, unsure if she was entirely believing tara.
she swung her arms around herself boredly, looking around but staying in place and making a soft clicking noise with her mouth whilst waiting.
it wasnt until a few moments later she heard a ‘click’ noise from the door, not her mouth, the door.
her eyes moved to the door, expecting to see tara with whatever she went to grab, only to see matt walk in with his eyes glued to his phone.
never once losing eye contact with his phone he shut the door, and walked closer to his bed, finally looking up from his phone he saw y/n with an awkward smile on her face.
“hi.” she mumbled, taking a step back. her voice was breathy and shaky, signaling she was already nervous even with only being in the same room as matt for 30 seconds.
“hi, pretty girl. what’re you doing in here?” he asked, still not letting the pet name go, already feeling the satisfaction of her reaction using in his veins.
“I- um-“ she attempted to speak, though her own voice betrayed her. if she sounded pathetic earlier, she sounded even more pathetic now.
“why so shy? cmon baby, use your words. I know you can.” he drawled, taking a step closer to her, tossing his phone onto the bed and giving her his full attention.
“tara- she, she took me in here and left.” y/n calmed her composure, taking another step back, feeling her back press against the wall she let out a defeated sigh. she was screwed now. pressed against a wall infront of her newfound crush? god was she so fucking screwed.
“atta girl.” matt praised, taking another step towards her. he placed his hands on either side of her hips, his head tilted downwards a little to ensure his dominance over the situtation.
“I knew you could do it” he leaned his head into her neck, pressing soft kisses on the warm and smooth skin, sending shivers down y/ns spine.
y/ns lips parted, a small whimper escaping her lips, she tilted her head back, giving matt better access to her neck.
matt trailed his gentle kisses from the side of her neck, to her ear. he pressed a quick kiss to the shell of her ear before whispering in her ear
“you’re my pretty girl, arent you?”
“only I can make you this nervous, hm?”
“I see the way you look at me”
once he finished, he suckled on a spot underneath her ear, her sweet spot, earning a small moan from her.
he moved his lips to hers, pressing a slow and deep kiss onto her lips, y/n immediately kissing back with the same energy. melting into the kiss almost instantly.
theres no way tara didnt plan this. y/n saw the smirk playing on tara’s lips when she left the room, maybe she should’ve thought about it more.
1694 words
@luverboychris @chrissturniolosfavoritesexdoll @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07 @genshin-addict @mels22lunchbox @ssilentzom @haunted-headset @dollyspsychoxo @sturnib-tch @b2cute @livvy4realll @graysturns @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi @mattsmad @sturn-bugz @maryx2xx
#sturniolo#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nicolas sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo#sam and colby#colby brock#sam golbach#larray#jake and johnnie#tara yummy#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#mollys requests
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Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More
[large text: Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More]
As it has been said many times on this blog before, facial differences are a very wide spectrum - there’s thousands of conditions that cause it, and they’re often extremely different from each other! It’s an incredibly diverse category almost by definition. But…
In books, movies, and our inbox, it seems that a traumatic battle scar is the only facial difference that exists. I find this rather frustrating because I would like to see the real life diversity to be actually considered by writers when creating characters - and that’s exactly what this post is for. I hope that by making people just aware of the myriad of options they have, I can help a bit.
This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t write characters with scars, it’s to say that there’s more for you to consider. Just like not every physically disabled person has hip dysplasia and not every neurodivergent person has epilepsy, not every person with a facial difference has scars!
Of course, this list isn’t exhaustive - no such list exists, it would be like “list of every disability ever”, it simply can’t be done. This is just a dozen random facial differences that I would like to see incorporated into characters more often!
Facial paralysis
Exactly what the name implies. There are many types of facial paralysis - complete, partial, bilateral, unilateral, chronic, acute, and it can affect the whole face, or only part of it. Sometimes it can cause problems with speech or dry eyes (mostly the latter), but it’s frequently just primarily a visual difference. A person with facial paralysis might be completely unable to make facial expressions at all if it’s severe, or have a lop-sided smile and inability to raise an eyebrow or control an eyelid like me.
Causes include cranial nerve damage (especially the 7th nerve, which is called facial palsy), Bell’s palsy, Möbius syndrome, or multiple sclerosis! It can be congenital, like in my case, or acquired, like in most cases - mostly due to stroke.
Here I would write something about the current media representation being good, bad, or what tropes to look out for but I don’t know a single character with it. So :-)
Anotia/microtia
Microtia is a congenital facial difference that affects the outer ear(s) - as the name implies, they’re smaller than average; anotia means a complete lack of them. This usually will also result in being d/Deaf or hard of hearing in that ear, as the ear canal can be smaller or closed (depending on the “grade”). People with microtia who decide on using hearing aids will usually wear a bone-anchored hearing aid, which looks very differently from the “regular” HA; it’s worn with a headband.
Microtia can be the only facial difference that a person has, but it can also be a part of Goldenhar syndrome, Treacher Collins syndrome (mentioned below!), or hemifacial microsomia.
Congenital Trochlear Nerve palsy
I have a subtype of this, and because it happens to have the most boring name in existence I have never seen anyone talk about it, certainly not see a character with it. So!
CNIV palsy (again, an incredibly catchy name) is a disorder of one of the very-easy-to-damage nerves that allow eyes to move. It causes constant double vision, severe strabismus, and progressive facial asymmetry. A person with CNIV palsy will have a 24/7 head tilt to the side and will have their chin tucked in, which causes said asymmetry - facial features on the side of the tilt will sag down, the eye will “sunk” in, and because it’s congenital, the jaw can grow to be misaligned (like mine!). Over time, it causes neck pain and kyphosis, so add chronic pain to that.
Trochlear nerve palsy can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, and even extremely rarely genetic (that’s me! allegedly <1 in a million). However, most acquired cases are only temporary, and “fix themselves” with the passage of time.
Again, I would love to write something about CNIV palsy representation, but I’m fairy confident it doesn’t exist : )
Sturge-Weber syndrome
The most visible part of SWS - that you might be familiar with - are port wine stains! In this syndrome, they tend to be large and generally cover the forehead-eye area. Around 15% of people with any kind of port wine stain on their face have Sturge-Weber syndrome, and even more when it comes to larger ones.
Most people with SWS will have epilepsy since childhood, and many will develop glaucoma (which causes blindness) if the PWS is around that eye. Hemiparesis (one-sided weakness) can also sometimes happen on the opposite side of the PWS.
Here is a short article about media representation from a person with SWS!
Cystic Hygroma
Also known as lymphangioma, it is a bump that mostly happens on a person’s lower face and/or neck. It’s almost always congenital and a result of a blockage in the lymphatic system (thus lymphangioma). Sometimes, if it affects the mouth or jaw, it may cause a speech disability where the person’s speech might not be fully understandable, or cause an airway obstruction; this generally means that the person has to have a trach tube in their neck to breathe.
Here is a short article about living and growing up with cystic hygroma by Atholl Mills!
Congenital melanocytic nevus
A complicated name for a specific kind of birthmark! Melanocytic means related to melanin, so it’s a black or brown birthmark that can show up on any part of the body and be of almost any size. Sometimes it can be hairy as well.
While CMN doesn’t usually cause any problems, people who have it have a higher risk of skin cancer, epilepsy, and brain tumors.
Here is a short article on representation - among other things - by a person with CMN!
Ptosis
Ptosis is actually really common - I can almost guarantee that you have seen someone with it - but for some reason it never shows up in media, unless it’s to show that a character is under the influence or vaguely creepy. Ptosis is simply a drooped eyelid.
It’s caused by damage to the third cranial nerve, which can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, etc. It’s very common in myasthenia gravis and CHARGE syndrome. In most cases ptosis is a visual thing, but it can sometimes cause problems - for me, it partially obstructs my vision and for some people who acquired it later in life that can cause pain (due to having to constantly lift the eyebrow).
Ptosis is often misunderstood, and people tend to make bizarre assumptions about those of us who have it - even Wikipedia cites “looking sinister” as a symptom (not that I particularly trust Wikipedia as a source, but it shows the general public’s view quite well). In real life, we are normal people and all these “drunk/high/rude/evil” associations aren’t true at all.
Treacher Collins syndrome
You have probably seen a person with TCS at some point, as it’s not that rare. This is a genetic, congenital disability that affects the development of the face.
The bones of the jaw and cheeks are underdeveloped, eyes have a downturned shape, and microtia/anotia is often present as well. A lot of people with Treacher Collins are d/Deaf or hard of hearing. Sometimes, the small jaw might cause problems with breathing, which is why a lot of people with TCS will have a permanent tracheostomy tube in their neck.
Similar to ptosis, eyes in TCS are often seen as “looking sad”, but that’s an incorrect assumption - that’s just how they look like.
The main and only big representation of TCS in media is that one awful movie from a few years ago, that was literally just inspiration porn featuring an able-bodied actor based on a shitty book, made by an author with some sort of abled-person guilt. Very cool, don’t do that.
Crouzon syndrome
Crouzon syndrome is a type of craniosynostosis; a congenital condition where a person’s skull fuses too early. There are other disabilities that can look somewhat similar, like Pfeiffer or Apert syndrome, but they are different!
CS will affect the person's skull - it will be taller than usual, eyes - they will be large and bulging, midface - it's often smaller than average and can look sunk in comparison to the jaw and forehead, and more! Sometimes people with Crouzon syndrome are d/Deaf or hard of hearing (very common with craniofacial differences), or experience long term effects of hydrocephalus, which happens fairly often.
Here is a short article by Mikaela Moody about movie representation - and her piece on how it to be trans while having a facial difference, which I relate to a lot and wanted to share:-)
Phthisis bulbi
Phthisis bulbi is something that I have mentioned on this blog before, as it logistically should be represented way more often in fiction than it currently is. It's also known as the “end-stage eye” which is a pretty metal name. This is an ocular difference that can result after trauma to the eye. It can also result from a million other things, but trauma is apparently the most common thing to happen to an eye in fiction, so.
With phthisis bulbi, the eye shrinks, sinks, and everything inside becomes stiff; this is permanent, and the eye isn't functional anymore - it's blind and unable to move. The only treatment is to have the eye removed, especially if it causes pain.
If you're writing a character who got a Hot Sexy Scar over their eye and still has that eye, they probably should have this (and yes, the “shrunk and sunk” part is mandatory, you can't just make the eye lighter and call it a day).
Frontonasal dysplasia
Frontonasal dysplasia is a congenital facial difference that affects the structure of the face. While it's a spectrum with a lot of variety, most people with FND will have hypertelorism (eyes spread widely apart), a flat and broad nose, and a cleft going through the middle of the nose. Other facial clefts (not necessarily just cleft lip) are also common. Sometimes, someone with it can also have cranium bifidum (meaning a brain/meninges that protrude through the skull, similar to how spina bifida works), or intellectual disability related to the potential absence of corpus callosum. Rarely, limb differences can also be a part of it; absent tibia, extra toes, or clubfoot.
Again, I’m unaware of any representation of FND outside of “scary birth deformity” on medical shows :--)
Parry–Romberg syndrome
PRS is also known as progressive hemifacial atrophy, which is a much more descriptive name. It’s an acquired facial difference that people just get for unknown reasons, mostly before the age of 20 and usually between 5 and 15. Generally, PRS is considered to be slowly-progressing, but this can vary pretty widely between different people.
As the name implies, it causes atrophy in the face, which affects everything from skin to fat and muscles to sometimes even bones. Some people will also experience skin darkening, alopecia (hair loss), or trigeminal neuralgia (very severe nerve pain) on the atrophied side. The difference between the two sides can be very pronounced, with a visible line between the halves showing up on the forehead.
Again, no existing rep that I know of :-)
And as always, I recommend this short PDF that in my opinion any writer who wants to include a character with an FD has to read. Additionally, you can also check our #face difference tag, this primer on facial difference, or this piece on making sure you’re not contributing to disfiguremisia.
Also apologies for the amount of “idk what to say about already existing rep because it literally doesn’t exist afaik” but I hope it illustrates the problem :-)
Happy Face Equality Week!
mod Sasza
#mod sasza#face difference#disabled character ideas#writing guide#writing resources#writing advice#writing help#face equality week#long post
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forbidden love
pairing(s): nico hischier x fem!hughes sister
summary: what happens when they both want a love that's forbidden?
warnings: fluff, sooo much flufffff. nicos a cute little baby in this. shy, nervous and cute reader. use of pet names and y/n. cussing, implied smut 18+ intense makeout, nothing too heavy.
wc: 3.6k
an: hiiiiii loves!!! NICO FIC NICO FIC NICO FIC!!!! about damn time!! loveeee nico. hes so ?? to many words. i really enjoyed writing this. this is my first hughes sister story i've written, and i loveeee, hopefully you guys do too! i had trouble deciding if i should make this a cliffhanger or not... i kinda did but i think i want a part 2 if you guys want that!!! share your opinions, i love hearing them!! anyways i hope you enjoy, this might be my favorite piece yet. i hope you guys enjoy! like and reblog if you do, much love as always<3
happy reading <3
Nico knew he couldn't have you, but he wanted you anyway. Being Luke and Jack's older sister, made you off limits to anybody on the team, older or not. Nico had not always felt this way about you until recently.
Ever since Jack got drafted to the devils, and then luke, he started to see you at more fundraising events held by the devils, team outings whenever you were in town visiting. Stealing little glances at you when you were in the same room, being pulled in by your smile and how you moved your hands as you talked to anyone and everyone.
If that didn't already pull him into you even more, what did was, how you acted with the rest of the team treating all of the boys like they're our own family. Always greeting nico with a shy smile and hi, making conversation about anything, hockey related or not.
Nico was enhanced by you, but he couldn't have you, which brings you guys to this moment.
–
“Jack if you don't answer your phone, god help me” I yell shout out, as I call Jack for the 10th time in the span of 15 minutes. Already calling Luke’s phone around 30 times, still no answer. My hands are shaking as I type out random masses of texts to both of them.
So maybe taking an impromptu trip to see my brothers wasn't the best idea. living in vancouver had its perks, being close to Quinn was one of them but i missed my two younger brothers, or maybe i should say assholes since neither of them can answer their phones.
I'm standing outside their apartment soaked from head to toe, not thinking about the rain, nor was I thinking about the fact that they had moved, leaving me with no key to their place.
So I'm stuck, knowing there's nothing I can do. I pull my suitcase over to the wall, slowly and dramatically slide down the wall, letting out a deep sigh as I do. My phone is almost dead, I'm hungry, jetlagged, annoyed, cold, wet and so many other words right now.
Dropping my head into my arms that rest on my knees, deciding that this will be my final resting place, for tonight. I hear the elevator door ding open on the floor, not bothering to look up knowing it's neither jack or luke walking down the hall.
“y/n” I hear my voice with a thick accent say, knowing the voice I slowly lift my head up, locking eyes with the one and only Nico Hischier “Hi..” I mutter back embarrassed at the fact that look like a lost wet dog right now in front of him.
“Are you okay, did something happen?” he asks back as he begins to walk closer to me. “I uhh…wanted to surprise Jack and Luke but it seems like they aren't here.” i sign out, “to make it worse i don't have a key to their apartment, they're not answering my calls or texts. My phones almost dead and i'm covered in wet rain and i'm cold.'' I huff out the last part, my eyes beginning to fill with tears. I close my eyes quickly not wanting to look like a fool even more and cry in front of nico.
“Oh y/n”, expecting him to just stand there, instead he makes his way to me taking a seat on the ground next to me. "What are you doing nico?” I say, opening my eyes again, turning my head to lock my eyes with his. I get a good look at him for the first time since this, and fuck is he beatiful.
His deep voice snapping me out of my trance as he speaks, “sitting with you, what else does it look like.” he says followed with a soft chuckle. “Nico, you don't have to do that, I'm okay, you can go home, I'm sure you're tired.” instantly feeling bad he's wasting his night away with me out here.
“Jack and Luke would kill me if I left you out here by yourself”, “if I don't kill them myself” I say back my eyes now dropping back my feet. That earns a laugh from Nico, he has such a nice laugh, I think to myself. y/n, snap out of it and get it together.
Sitting up straighter, pulling my head to lean against the wall, mirroring nicos position. “Are you sure? You don't have too, i'm not even sure when they'll be back.'' I say looking at Nico, who's looking back at me. “Well I do have another idea,” he says, licking his lips before speaking again. “I live right down the hall, if you'd like you can stay with me until they come back.”
“Nico i can't do that, i feel bad”, “don't feel bad, i'm offering. I'm leaving you out here by yourself.” he repeated to me again. My heart picks up at his words. Taking a deep breath, I weigh my options in my head, knowing that this is probably the best option, but also my worst.
How am i going to survive with very, sweet, hot, sexy, nice, handsome, pretty, swiss caption of the new jersey devils, nico hischier? I'm probably not, but at least I'll die happy and not here.
“Okay, I'll come. Thank you so much nico.” I finally answered him, “dont worry about it, come on let's get you changed and warmed up i can't imagine how cold and tired you are” he says with a soft loving look on his face. Getting up before me, holding out his hand for me to grab, pulling me up from the floor. His hand feels so soft and warm in mine, I don't want to let go.
Pulling my hand out of Nico’s, I go to grab my suitcase, to follow him down the hall, before I can fully grab it Nico has it in his hands. “Nico..i can grab my own suitcase” “i know you can, but i want to do it, so i am” he says as he looks back at me smiling.
Ignoring how his smile made my whole body tingle, I sigh out and shake my head as a small smile breaks through on my lips, as I follow Nico down the hall.
Stopping at his place, only a few doors down from my brothers, popping in the key and turning the lock, quickly opening the door. He motions for me to go in first, I give him a small smile as I enter the apartment.
Taking in the place around me, pictures of his family and teammates over the walls, little nicnacs that fill the space, it feels like home. “Does my place give you your approval?” he says from behind me, “yes it does, jack and luke need to take a few home decor lessons from you.” that earns me another laugh from nico.
“Let me show you the guest bedroom” he says, leading me through the apartment, down a hall, opening a door which I assume is in the guest room. “Here's the guest room, hopefully it's okay and comfortable for you, I wasn't expecting anyone over anytime soon and i-” “Nico'' I say, cutting off his ramble. “It's perfect, thank you” I say walking in front of him, pulling him into a hug.
God, he smells so good. The way his warm body is wrapped around me like a warm blanket, I don't want to pull away, but I do after a few moments.
“You're welcome y/n” he says looking at me again, i can feel my heart beginning to heat up. Clearing his throat before looking away, “the bathroom is at the end of the hall, my room is at the beginning of the hall.” he says, while pointing in the direction. Nodding in understanding even though he can't see me.
“Feel free to shower and get changed, i'm going to head to the kitchen to start making dinner” he says now turning back to face me, “nicooo… you don't have to cook anything. You're already doing so much for me by letting me stay here, really”
“Now what kind of host would I be, if I let a pretty girl like you starve under my watch.” Nico replies with a teasing smile on his face. “A bad one i guess” I smile breaking through my face. “You called me pretty” I said again, my eyes never leaving his. “I did, because you are.” he says before walking out of the room, leaving me stunned.
“Do you have any special requests for dinner?” I hear him shout from the kitchen, popping my head out of the room, “no! Surprise me!” I replied.
This is dangerous, I can not think or find him attractive. He’s my brother's captain, teammate and also one of their closest friends. I have to keep it together.
I gather my things to take a shower, making my way to the bathroom, shutting the door and turning the shower on. I then work on peeling off my semi- wet clothes off my body, the relief filling my veins once they're finally off, finally making my way into the shower. The hot water relaxes my body instantly. Throughout the whole shower all of my thoughts are about Nico, and I'm going to act once I get out of here, making me nervous and feeling things. Things i shouldn't feel.
Turning off the shower, getting out and drying myself quickly. I began getting redressed again, clearing the mirror to take a look at myself, the old devils shirt i've had for god knows how long, that's probably three sizes too big, and shorts that you cant even see. Not bothering to pack pants, because I thought I would be staying with my brothers, not Nico.
Inserucies start to plague my mind but I push them down. brushing my hair, fixing my shirt, deciding that it's good enough. Grabbing my things before making my back to the guest bedroom. dropping off my things in the room before taking a deep breath making my way towards the kitchen.
Walking into the kitchen, nicos back is turned to me. A sight that I'm not complaining about seeing. The way his mussels are ripping through his shirt, is enough to make my mouth water. What I'm doing. Get it together.
Walking further into the kitchen, I get a better look at what he's cooking, pasta boiling the water and it looks like he's making a type of sauce. Smiling softly to myself, at how sweet he is.
“Do you need any help?” I say breaking the silence. Nico turned around quickly, a smile dancing on his face. “No, I'm okay, thank you though. How was your shower?” he asks before turning back to the stove again.
“It was good, thank you” I say, still standing awkwardly in the kitchen, not sure where to go or what to do. “I can feel your nerves from over here y/n.” nicos voice breaks through the kitchen as he speaks, “I'm sorry, I'm nervous.” I nervously laughed out loud. “Why?” Nico says as he circles his way around the counter leaning against it, in front of me.
“You make me nervous, I don't know how to act around you.'' I said truthfully to him, while looking in his eyes. “You make me nervous too, don't worry” he says as he looks me up and down, his gaze feels like summer sun on my skin, leaving trails of heat throughout my body.
“Dinner will be ready in 15 minutes, feel free to take a seat, or keep standing there checking me out. Either work for me” nico says to me, winking as he walks around the kitchen again. I'm frozen in place. What just happened? Is Nico flirting with me? The wink? Holy shit.
My mind and body are on fire, as I walk over to the island to sit down. Tension fills the air, I sit there for a few minutes trying to wrack my brain of something to say.
Nico beats me to it before I have the chance to open my mouth. “You look different” he says, back still turned towards me. “What do you mean by different? Is that a good or bad thing?”. “Not bad,” he replies now, turning to look at me, “just older, I'm not sure how to explain it, but you look good.”
“Thank you?” i say my cheeks are warming with blush. “You’re welcome” he hums back. “You look really good too” I say, Nico chuckles at me “shit, sorry. You look good like everything you know? Mussels, everything. I'm rambling, shit. this is embarrassing." I say, dropping my head into my hands with a groan.
“I found it cute, don't worry pretty girl.'' Turning around to get plates out of the cabinet. Pretty girl. Gosh he's making it harder to not go pounce on him right this second.
“Dinners done, are you ready to eat?” he says a few moments later, nodding my head at nico as he looks my way. Grabbing two plates filling them with the pasta he made , which looked so good. My stomach growling, reminding me how hungry I am.
Placing my plate in front of me, along with a glass of wine that I didn't even see him pour. “I think you might need this after today” he says justering to the wine, as he takes a seat next to me. “How'd you know?” I slowly laughed to him, “this food looks so good, nico. Thank you so much”
“You don't have to thank me, y/n but, you're very welcome.” he says to me. “Now eat, I heard your stomach growl in the kitchen.” he says in a teasing tone. My eyes widened, quickly grabbing my fork, and digging in. the flavors, melting on my tongue. I internally moan at the taste.”fuck this is so good” i say with a mouth half full. Forgetting Nico is right next to me, I'm quick to cover my mouth with my hand.
“I'm glad you enjoy it.” Nico says, smiling at me before taking another bite. Nico and I make small talk as we eat, talking about anything from hockey and my brothers to my job in Vancouver, and everything in between. Finding myself laughing and blushing more than I would have liked. Nicos charm pulled me in, and I couldn't find a care in me to stop falling for it.
“Thank you again for dinner nico” I say as he clears the plates. “Of course, not everyday I get to cook for thee, y/n hughes” “shut up” I laugh back at him.
“At least let me do those dishes, since you made dinner,” I say , making my way to the sink where Nico is standing. “No way, go sit back down,” Nico says, looking down at me. “I'm not taking no for an answer nico.” I say placing my hands on my hips, “fine, but I'll dry them.” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I know why Jack and Luke say you're bossy”. “Hey now. I'm not that bossy, shut it” turning my body away from him as I speak. Turning on the sink, grabbing the sponge and soap, and began washing the plates in the sink.
Nico just chuckles in response. We began a system of wash, dry, wash dry. The silence is comfortable as we work in peace. It almost feels domestic? Something that I could get used to. y/n stop thinking about that. It will never happen.
“y/n” nico says snapping me out of my day dream, “hmm?” “You've been washing the same plate for the last 2 minutes. I'm pretty sure that it's clean ""oh!" I say looking down at the practically shiny plate in my hands, “here you go I'm sorry” handing him the plate, our hands grazing, making my heart rate speed up.
I have to get out of the kitchen, I say to myself. Turning off the water and drying my hands on the towel, stepping away from the sink, locking my eyes on my sock covered feet.
“Are you okay?” Nico asks me, raising my head to look at him. “Yes I'm okay, just tired,” I say softly. “I think I might head to bed, see if Jack or Luke responded to me or not.”
“Of course, feel free.” Nico says, while putting the dishes away. “Okay..thank you again for dinner, again. Goodnight.” I say as I make my way out of the kitchen, Nico following behind me. “Good night y/n.” he says to me with a small smile on his face, i smile in return and make my way to the guest room for the night.
Closing the door behind me, I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in. making my way over to the phone to see that neither jack or luke have responded to me, a frown falling on my face. I call them each again, even sending Quinn a text asking if he's heard of them.
Locking my phone, setting it back on the bedside table, I pull back the blankets settling into the bed. Slowly sinking into the comfort of the bed, I can feel the effects of today hitting my body. My eyes slowly closing, the one thing crossing my mind is nico.
Just as I'm able to fully close my eyes, I hear a knock on the door. Getting out of bed, opening the door to see a now shirtless nico in sweatpants standing in front me. Hair messy, like he's been running his hand constantly through it.
“Everything okay, did you need something?” I ask him, trying to keep my eyes on his face only. “Everything is fine, yes” he replies to me quickly. “Are you sure?” I ask again, feeling like he hasn't told me the whole story yet.
“Can I do something?” He asks me if I can feel his eyes looking at my lips, “yes?” I say swallowing quickly. Nico takes a step more, until he's directly in front of me, his face a few inches from mine.
“I shouldn't want to kiss you y/n '' he begins, my breath hitching as he places both of his hands on my hips, his thumbs tracing small circles on them. “I shouldn't have these thoughts about you. Youre jack and lukes older sister, fuck i should be thinking about you like this.” he says now locking his eyes with mine.
“I can't help myself though, everything about you is perfect. I want you all to myself.” one of his hands begins tracing up my side, making its way to the side of my neck holding it place, lifting my head to meet his face better.
“I want you so bad. I can't have you though. You're like a forbidden fruit that i want to taste and kiss and love so bad but i can't have you, and it's killing me.” he finishes dropping his head lower to mine, our faces now only a few centimeters apart.
“Who says you can't have me?” I say softly, not trusting my voice, trailing my hands around his neck. “What if I want you too?” I whisper out before connecting our lips together.
Nico is quick to respond, pulling my body flush against his, our lips dancing together. His hand trailing down to my ass, grabbing a handful of it before pulling away, smiling at me, “I've wanted to do that all day” he smirked at me, before connecting our lips together again. His tongue enters my mouth as we fight for dominance, deciding to let Nico win.
I began to walk backwards towards the bed, hoping Nico would follow. Before I know it he's picking me up, throwing me over his shoulder, walking down the hallway and tossing me on the bed in his bedroom.
I look at the room around me, taking in every detail, before locking eyes with nico who's now looking at me from above. The way his chain dangles in my face, and his brown eyes look in the dimly lit room, and how his chest rises and falls is a sight I want to see forever and forever.
“Take a picture, it'll last longer.” he smirks to me, “you're just so pretty” i say as i run my hands through his hair. “Isn't that something i'm supposed to say?” he asks as he begins to place soft kisses down my exposed neck.
“Maybe you could show me instead?” I say, pushing my lips to his again. His hands quickly fell underneath my shirt, tracing up my bare sides. I remove my hands from nicos hair, pushing myself up from the bed. Pulling off my shirt, throwing it somewhere behind us, clipping my bra, tossing it in the same direction as my shirt. Now leaving myself completely bare in front of nico besides my shorts.
Our chests are raising and falling together, our eyes locked. “y/n..” nico says to me breathlessly. “Fuck you’re so beautiful” his hands running along my bare sides and underneath my breasts. “Are you sure about this?” he asks me, our faces close together again, “i've never been so sure about anything in my life, Nico please touch me.” desperation in my voice dripping like honey.
A growl like noise rips through nico, as he reconnects our lips together again. His hands are everywhere, heat spreading all throughout my body. I feel him everywhere. I want him everywhere.
If he's a forbidden fruit, then why does it feel so good?
#nhl fanfiction#nhl hockey#nhl imagine#nhl x reader#nhl fic#new jersey devils#nico hischer x reader#nh13#nico hischier#njd#nico hischier smut
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Hiiii :3 and could you do Kate laswell and könig with a reader who loved cuddles?
Hey there! Sure I can! But I don't write Laswell as very cuddly! But I made König's a bit longer to try and make up for it, hope that's alright!
Laswell and König with a Cuddly!Reader
Laswell: If you love cuddles then she’s the wrong person to ask for some, sorry. Sometimes she doesn’t mind them, sometimes she absolutely hates being touched. It’s very rare for her to initiate anything more than just a kiss to your cheek or a hand on your back for a short amount of time. Laswell genuinely is not a cuddly person, at all. Sometimes, on a good day, she might oblige if you ask her to. However, even then your cuddle sessions won’t be too long. And if I were you then I wouldn’t force her to cuddle you either, she’ll get snappy if you do. Your relationship is built on mutual trust and respect. You’re violating her boundaries if you force her to cuddle. Sorry, but that’s just how I’ve been writing her.
König: He’s not too fond of cuddles either, but he makes exceptions for his S/O. If you’re his S/O, that’s great! You can ask him for some cuddles and he’ll only very rarely say no to you. It’s usually when he’s busy that he’ll say no, but any other time? He’s free game. Again, you’re the only person he’s somewhat cuddly with. However, unlike Laswell, he sometimes will ask you for some cuddles himself. Sometimes even the big guy needs to hold someone, or even be held. I’ve said it before, but if you’re roughly the same size as him, or even taller than him, then he might hint at wanting to be held from time to time as well. But other than that, he’ll humor you. You can cuddle in any position you want, but he refuses to lie down on top of you. Even when you’re the same size as him, he won’t do it. König is aware he’s a very heavy lad, so he really doesn’t want to crush you. But if you wanna lie on top of him, then you can go right ahead, he really doesn’t mind. In those cases he actually quite likes it when you’re shorter than he is, because in that case you can lie on top of him in your entirety. He’ll wrap his arms around you, sometimes he’ll kiss the top of your head as well. Spooning with him is pretty nice. He’s a strong guy, and a warm one at that as well. Don’t ask him to cuddle you in summer, though, as he gets sweaty fairly easily and doesn’t want to gross you out. Besides, he also doesn’t want to sweat bullets just because you’re clinging to him. But you’re more than welcome to just plop down in his lap during any other season and nuzzle into him. He’ll call you “meine kleine Schmusekatze” or, if you’re being especially clingy, “mein kleines Schmusebärchen”. I think that eventually, when he comes home from an especially rough mission, he actually kind of looks forward to holding you. It’s not that unlikely that you might get hurt because of him, so it’s nice to get to hold you and make sure you’re safe within his arms. Sometimes, while you’re cuddling, he’ll tease you by speaking his dialect. He’s saying no mean things, though. It’s either how cute you are, how you can’t understand him, or just some random things he thought of at the moment. Even if you know German he’ll lay his dialect on extra thick so you can’t actually understand him.
#cod#cod x reader#kate laswell#kate laswell x reader#könig#konig#könig x reader#konig x reader#it makes me happy to see people requesting König from me#he's just an idiot who deserves the world#I wish we had more holidays here so I could write for him#but the next holiday here that I could properly write about for him is Christmas#so I've decided the next random thing I'm gonna write for him is celebrating his birthday with him#I'm gonna post that on my birthday because we're gonna be twinsies in that regard and I don't care what others think#I've said it before and I will say it again: König is my little Barbie doll that I can do with whatever I want#I should really project even more onto this guy. this is actually giving me some ideas#I don't care how unrealistic they are he's Austrian and therefore he's me from here on out#I really need to write more for him#also Schmusekatze means snuggle cat. Schmusebärchen is the cuter version of Schmusebär#which translates to snuggle bear#and then people say German can't be a cute language
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ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.
(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone
It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation.
The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been.
The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.
“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.
Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.
He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.
When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.
Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs.
You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.
You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.
His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.
He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.
He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.
He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.
He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.
He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it.
But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely.
Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.
“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”
He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.
“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”
You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.”
Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them.
“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”
I love you.
He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.
You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.
“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”
He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.
“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”
Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.
He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?”
He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.
He does.
“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”
Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.
“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.
Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.
“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”
Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.
He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.
You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty.
“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”
Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.
“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”
You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.
He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours.
Then you ask:
“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”
Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches.
Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.
He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.
“Yes.”
“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.
Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.
You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.
You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”
He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.
“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.
“Yes.”
Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”
He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state.
He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.
You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.
“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?”
Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”
You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.
As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.
“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”
“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”
Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.
Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.
“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”
“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.
“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.
Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”
His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.
“You did,” you confirm.
Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.
“Truth,” he murmurs.
You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”
“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette.
He voices his first lie, “No.”
You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.
He refrains, if only barely.
You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.
“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”
“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”
“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”
Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”
If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.
The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”
Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh.
“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”
He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially.
After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”
The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.
He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.
“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”
For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.
He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.
Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.
But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”
Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.
“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”
Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?
Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.
Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?
He knows his next question.
“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”
He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.
You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”
“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.
“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”
He halts.
His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.
Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.
So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”
You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”
He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?”
You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”
“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”
“We were never even dating, Daz-”
“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”
“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.
“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”
“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”
Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.
“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?”
Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.
He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.
“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”
He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.
“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”
He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.
“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”
His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?”
Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”
Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”
Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”
“He was,” you confirm.
Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty.
He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.
“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.
He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.
Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya.
Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.
After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills.
For better or for worse, you’re not most people.
In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”
Dazai snorts.
“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”
“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”
“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”
Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-
No. Dazai refuses to believe it.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”
“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”
Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”
“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”
Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”
You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die.
“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”
“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”
You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”
“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.
“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”
Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.
He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.
He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.
After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.
“Are you happy?” you ask quietly
Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.
“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?”
He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”
You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.
So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.
But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?
“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.
There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.
He forces it out anyway.
“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.
A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…
Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.
Your lashes flutter before you speak.
You lie for the first time that night.
“Yes.”
Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”
“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”
Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him.
He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.
“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”
“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”
“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”
“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.
There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”
Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.
“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”
Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.
So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.
No.
“Yes.”
“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.
You don’t.
The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.
“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.
God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.
His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.
There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it.
All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.
He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.
He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.
Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall.
His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.
The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”
Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.
Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven.
You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.
His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”
He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.
Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him.
“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?”
You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.
“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”
“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar.
“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?”
“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.
He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.
He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.
He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking…
Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.
It was a very lonely four years without you.
“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”
You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.
“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.
This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.
“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.
You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”
His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand.
12:35
He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.
You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”
He doesn’t waste any time on that.
His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.
Then, he ruins the moment.
“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”
Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”
“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”
“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.
Dazai gags.
“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.”
“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”
You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.
“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”
“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.
“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.
Dazai squints at you hard.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”
“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”
“How-”
“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”
Okay.
Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”
It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”
Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.
“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.
He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.
The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”
Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.
It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.
No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.
His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.
But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.
But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.
He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”
He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you.
Unfair, he thinks mournfully.
“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”
“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”
“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.
“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.
Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.
“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous.
You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-
And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”
A trick.
Dazai knows it.
You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.
He knows it.
He falls for it anyway.
Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.
“Yeah?” he says, voice rough.
Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.
“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.
He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.
He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.
His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.
“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.
“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening.
He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.
His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.
He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.
“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”
“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”
And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.
Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you.
He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s.
It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.
He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.
He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.
“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.
You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”
The rest of our lives.
Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”
“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”
Of course, you know.
He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.
“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.
Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.
“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”
The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-
“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”
Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers.
(I love you, he means)
“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.
(I love you too)
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai smut#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu smut#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd smut#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs smut#bungo stray dogs x you
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Barry leaves, asking Rafe to watch his sister, who overhears and objects. Despite her attempts to seduce Rafe, He declines. That night after Barry goes to sleep he confesses his love to her and they have passionate slow sex
Rafe Cameron × Barry's little sister!reader
warnings: p in v (protected), fingering, light oral (fem receiving)
word count: 2.2k
author's note: I hope what I did here is not dissapointing you bestie 💕and if I'ma 100% honest with you, my brain never comes up with anything for Rafe so this is a blessing because I need to write him more (accidentally wanted to write "need to ride him" there lol)
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You're standing in the kitchen of your trailer, your big brother and his friend Rafe are sitting on the couch just a few feet away from you. You never intend to eavesdrop on them, especially because you really don't want to know about all the illegal shit your brother gets up to. You've learned to keep out of Barry's business and only ever do something when he specifically asks you to. Like the one time he needed you to smuggle something over the border, so you packed your suitcase, and your innocent best friend, and had a girl's trip. No one would suspect a cute and innocent looking girl like you to be the sister of one of the biggest fish in the OBX.
“I need you to stay here, make sure no one comes around and tries anything while I go pick up the new shit,” Barry says in a low voice, not wanting you to listen of course.
“Isn't she old enough, though?” Rafe asks and you smile into yourself a little. You like that he trusts you more than your brother does, but then again it's the simple brotherly instinct to want to have you taken care of. And who better to do that then his best friend. Of course.
“Just keep an eye on her,” Barry sighs.
“I don't need a babysitter,” you speak up and turn around to look at them both.
“Who said anything about babysitting?” Rafe cocks his eyebrow up, trying his best to seem innocent.
“Exactly,” Barry hesitates. “Rafe will just wait for me here until I get back. No babysitting. Just waiting and you're here too, sis.”
“Ugh, you guys are the worst,” you groan and walk back into your room.
You decide to go through your closet, putting on a pair of dungarees over a simple red top first and walking back into the living area. Barry had left already, and you decided to play a little game with Rafe, unbeknownst to him.
“What do you think?” you ask and twirl around, and he lifts his head to look at you.
“Cute,” he notes and dips his head again, looking back to his phone.
You go and try on something else. A mini skirt and loop top, showing off your belly button piercing.
“How about this?” you ask him again and this time his eyes linger for a little longer, but he just shrugs.
“Looks good to me.”
You groan and stomp back into your room. Picking out a shirt that is basically see-through and a pair of hot pants that really should probably not count as pants, but panties.
You step back out and walk straight over to him, placing yourself in front of him and twirling your hair.
Rafe's eyes get stuck on your tits before he looks up at you and gulps. “That's something,” he rasps and lifts his hips in his seat, but he doesn't go further.
Not only are you frustrated because none of your attempts have shown any real effect, but also because all you want is for him to just fuck you. It's not really that easy to find a guy when you have a brother who threatens anyone you even think about bringing home. But Rafe's at your place basically every single day. Barry finds him trustworthy enough to stay with you while he's out. And on top of that, you know of the rumors. You know of Rafe's reputation. He takes what he wants, and he doesn't leave until he's satisfied. That's what you wanted for yourself. Especially for your first time.
Which is why it also doesn't make sense to you that he hasn't made a move on you yet, especially considering how you always flirt with him as soon as Barry leaves the room.
You decide to let it go, instead only putting on an oversized shirt, no bra and a pair of shorts. Your usual look, basically.
When you come back out, Rafe's already looking at you, he's smiling.
“I like that one too,” he says, and you roll your eyes.
“Whatever.”
“Since when do you have a piercing?” Rafe asks and watches you sit down on the other end of the couch.
“Few months ago. Thought if I hide it long enough, my brother can't tell me off about it anymore,” you shrug, bored out of your mind really. And you don't realize that Rafe keeps talking to you about you, and not just about random shit like usually. He asks about your favorite things, and he doesn't even make fun of you for how polar opposite it all is to how people perceive you.
No one would expect a trailer park chick to be a math nerd, or like classical music the same amount as rap. But Rafe finds it fascinating. He's practically enamored by you, but you're too stuck in your head to even really notice it.
“This is prolly the best shit I had in months,” Barry grins while walking in, taking a small bag of shit out of his backpack and throwing it towards Rafe. “Think we can at least triple that,” he says, and goes to stash the rest.
Rafe is dipping his pinky into the powder and rubs it on his gums. “Oh, that's good,” he nods and leans back.
They spend the rest of the night talking about how much they can take for it and the usual split. And you just sit there, watching and listening and zoning out and thinking about more fun things, like, what if Rafe didn't just see Barry's little sister in you.
The night progresses and you go to your room, telling them you're tired, when you really are just not in the mood to listen to them any longer.
That's how you found yourself, two hours later, lying in your bed, body turned away from the door but still wide awake when the door opens and closes with a soft creak.
“Y/n?” Rafe asks and you pretend to be asleep. “Are you awake?”
You keep your eyes closed in case he walks around your bed to check on it, but he doesn't, instead he just sits down next to you and sighs.
“I don't know how to keep doing this, to keep pretending like I don't care,” he whispers, and your heart starts beating a little faster. “But I can't do what I want to either. I'm not supposed to- Fuck, y/n, I wish I could tell you how much I love you,” he sighs, and you rip your eyes open.
“You what?” You flip around and stare at him.
Rafe looks at you, completely flabbergasted, he really didn't expect you to hear him. But now it's too late, and he can't take it back anymore. “I'm in love with you,” he whispers, and you sit up. “And I don't- I can't keep going like this, not when you do shit like today and all I can think of is bending you over and fucking you until you beg me to stop.”
“Then do it,” you whisper.
“What?”
“Fuck me.” You look at him and he shakes his head.
“Barry would kill me.”
“I don't care about my brother. I don't want my brother. I want you,” you tell him and lean in to kiss him.
It's a gentle peck that you place on his soft lips. Rafe takes his hands up to hold onto your neck as he reciprocates the kiss, harshly and with a demanding manner that makes you feel like putty in his hands.
You try to stay quiet, but the way his tongue presses against yours makes you want to moan louder than you ever anticipated from a simple kiss. But Rafe knows what he wants, and now that he's had a taste, he's not stopping.
His hands find your waist, running up and taking your shirt off you. Rafe stops kissing you to admire your body, hands groping at the flesh of your tits, and you have to bite your lip to not moan.
“Take off your shirt,” you whisper, and he follows suit, throwing it somewhere on the floor before starting to kiss down your body. Lips trailing down your neck to the valley of your breasts, then farther down, sucking your piercing between his teeth before kissing your clothed clit.
“You smell so good, baby,” he moans against your cunt, before slapping against your thigh, and you instinctively lift your hips and let him take off your slip.
“If that's not the prettiest pussy I've seen in my life,” Rafe hums before licking a stride up your slick folds and closing his lips around your sensitive bud. Shallow moans and quiet gasps leave you as you grasp into his hair, trying to hold onto anything you can get your hands on while he edges you on.
“More, please, Rafe,” you beg and he looks up with a smirk.
“Want me to fuck you, baby?”
“Yes, please, please.”
Rafe thrusts his fingers into your tight hole and your back arches up. His fingers curl up and prod against your walls, making you squirm under him.
“God, you're tight, it's almost like-” he stops and looks at you. “Have you never had sex?”
You feel ashamed at first, but you can't lie, you know he's gonna find out eventually. So you shake your head and hope he doesn't mind.
“Jesus, baby, you should've said something. I would've come over and fucked you way earlier if that's all you wanted this whole time,” he whispers and kisses you, his hand still working on your pussy until you feel like you're about to explode.
“Cum for me, baby, I know you want to. Soak my fingers,” he growls into your ear, and you let go. Your moans are swallowed by his lips on yours and his fingers fuck you through your high until you lie there, panting and happier than ever.
“Need more,” you rasp and pull on his shorts, trying to open the button.
“Really needy, aren't you,” Rafe chuckles and gets up to take off his shorts and boxers. Your eyes go wide when you see how big he is. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to pick Rafe of all people for your first time, but there’s no going back now. You watch him pump his dick a few times before rolling on a condom and coming back to kneel between your legs.
“You have to tell me if it hurts. I don't wanna hurt you,” he says, and you nod, biting your lips in anticipation.
His tip nudges your hole, and you take a deep breath as he starts pushing into you. Forgetting that he wanted to go slow, Rafe bottoms out, and you feel like you're being split in two.
“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, and you nod, trying to not cry from the stinging feeling.
“Go slow, please,” you whisper, and he kisses you, distracting you from the pain between your legs.
He pulls out slowly and pushes back into you, groaning quietly against the skin on your neck. Your hands are clasping his shoulders and your legs are wrapped around his middle, letting him hit even deeper inside you with his shallow thrusts.
“You feel so good, baby. This pussy is made for me,” Rafe muses, kissing your neck and sucking on the soft skin, leaving marks for days. Your mind is dazed. The pain you had felt just minutes before is replaced with pure pleasure and the way he longingly stares into your eyes.
You didn't expect him to be so gentle with you, but now that you have it, you want nothing more than to do it over and over again.
“Fuck, you're so tight,” Rafe grunts, gradually fasting his pace. He pulls out almost completely, leaving you empty and babbling for more until he slams back in, holding onto the headboard of your bed so it doesn't hit against the wall.
“You're mine. My girl,” Rafe grunts and rams into you another time.
“Yours,” you moan softly, still trying to keep quiet and not wake your brother next door. But Rafe seems to have forgotten about it.
His right hand comes down to hold onto your neck, and he starts pounding into you harsher and faster than you thought possible. Maybe he really wants to try to impale you with his cock, and you know you'd let him. It's overwhelming, and you feel the band inside you go tighter with each heavy thrust.
“Let go, baby, I got you,” Rafe looks down at you and smiles, you can feel it inside of you, the warmth, and then you're lost. It feels like you're falling and when he pushes into you deeper and halts, you're caught again.
Your poor cunt won't stop clenching even after he had pulled out and disposed of the condom. You're hot and cold at the same time, like a storm had just washed over you and left you speechless.
“Next time we do this, you can be as loud as you want to, baby,” Rafe whispers and kisses your neck, holding you tightly in his arms before you both drift into a deep slumber.
◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹◃▹
please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho
taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @drwstarkeyy @immyowndefender @julczimozart
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fanfic#obx#obx fanfiction#smut#~fanfiction#~ask#@rafemotherfuckingcameron#rafe smut#rafe cameron x y/n#obx smut#~prompt
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Congrats on 3K followers, which you so deserve! My request is because The Hold Steady's song "Stuck Between Stations" is stuck in my head and the lyric is, shockingly, "Tonight it's like he's stuck between stations". Have a wonderful writing weekend!
Thank you so much! I decided to take this super literally and do something a little silly. Hope you enjoy!
➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰
The train was late, but what else is new?
Eddie watched the board as the estimated arrival time kept going up. He’d have to text Elliot to let him know he’d be late for their appointment.
At least Elliot was a regular client of his and would understand.
Eventually, only 18 minutes late, the train arrived.
Eddie shoved through the crowd to get on, not even caring if he had to stand sandwiched between sweaty people as long as he got to his shop.
By some miracle, he managed to get the only empty seat left at the back of the car.
And it was next to possibly the hottest guy he’d ever seen.
He was wearing tight jeans and a polo, glasses, a nose ring, and his hair was perfectly mussed. Eddie was such a sucker for the preppy hipster look. It never turned out well for him, but dammit if he didn’t try anyway.
“Mind if I sit?” Eddie asked the guy.
“Nope,” he replied, not even looking up from his phone.
He was furiously typing something, and Eddie was doing his best to not read anything.
But it sure was difficult and Eddie had pretty good eyesight and also never learned manners.
It’s not even that she left me for someone else. She tried to say that my coming out as bi ruined our relationship. Our relationship was ruined way before that! And she knew saying that would make me feel like shit so-
“Am I entertaining you?” The guy said from next to him.
Eddie startled and looked up, right into the warmest brown eyes he’d ever looked into.
“Sorry. It kinda seemed like you were working on a novel. I’m an avid reader.”
The man snorted and put his phone face down on his leg. “I’m Steve. You should at least know my name if you’re gonna know my business.”
“Eddie. I am sorry. Even more sorry your ex was clearly a piece of shit,” Eddie nudged his shoulder with his own.
The train started moving and Eddie glanced up at crowd of people in the car.
“Yeah, well. It was bound to happen. I wanted to settle down, she wanted to travel and focus on her career. Would’ve never worked,” Steve sighed. “Onto the next!”
Eddie snorted. “How long were you together?”
“Three years.”
“Ouch.”
“It was coming for a while,” Steve shrugged. “I feel like I mourned the relationship while I was still in it. Plus, she moved in with her new boyfriend, so it’s only a matter of time before I move in with mine.”
Eddie felt a weird pain in his chest. “Oh, you’ve got a boyfriend?”
Steve smirked at him. “Not yet.”
The train slowed and then came to a stop. The usual announcement for the next station didn’t start. Instead, an announcement let them know they were experiencing a short delay.
Eddie groaned and let his head hit the window next to him.
“I’m sure my shoulder is more comfortable than the window.”
Eddie’s head shot up at Steve’s suggestion.
Steve was blushing, looking down at his phone like he hadn’t even spoken. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Eddie imagined it.
“If you want. The last short delay took 25 minutes,” Steve continued, finally looking over at Eddie with a small smile.
“I have to let my client know I’m gonna be even later,” Eddie pulled his phone from his pocket to send another text. It may not go through underground, but at least he could say he tried.
“Client? Are you a therapist?”
“Close. Tattoo artist,” Eddie finished up the text and put his phone back in his pocket.
“Oh, my friend Will is a tattoo artist! He keeps telling me to get something, but I’m not the biggest fan of needles.” Steve looked apologetic. “I’m worried I’d pass out.”
Eddie was already planning exactly what he’d tattoo on Steve’s body.
“You’d be surprised how many people I tattoo who don’t like needles. Is it a pain thing or just the needles in general?”
“Both? I guess?” Steve was slowly leaning closer to Eddie’s side.
“Well, the pain is easy. I have a numbing cream I recommend to first timers or people getting something done in an especially sensitive spot that works great.” Eddie let his arm rest across the back of the seat, skin brushing against Steve’s back. “The other part is a little harder, but usually I go the old school distractions method.”
“Like a toddler with a shot?” Steve laughed.
“Exactly! I play music they like or put on a show they wanna watch. Sometimes we just talk the whole time. Sometimes they prefer to just close their eyes and pretend they’re somewhere else. Everyone’s different.”
Eddie watched Steve soak in that information. He technically didn’t take walk-ins anymore except for special events, but he’d be willing to have Steve in his chair right after Elliot’s appointment. He’d stay late. He’d do it for free if it meant having his hands on Steve’s skin.
“Have you ever had someone leave before it’s done?”
“Twice,” Eddie nodded. “Once was a drunk guy who insisted he was sober enough to do the tattoo and halfway through, he threw up and then just walked out. Don’t know if he ever bothered to get it done. The other was a woman who had chosen her ribs as her first tattoo ever. Don’t ever do that, by the way. Not a great start. She quit on the second word of the lyrics she was getting.”
Steve snorted. “What were the lyrics?”
“I hate to say it, but I don’t remember. I’m sure she regrets even trying all the time.”
Steve laughed again and leaned his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie let his arm wrap around Steve’s shoulder and squeeze.
“So? You gonna get one? Did I convince you?” Eddie said quietly. He didn’t want to ruin this moment between them, stuck between stations for the foreseeable future.
“Hm. I’ll consider it. Do you have room on your books for me?” Steve turned his face into Eddie’s shirt.
“I’m sure I can make room for you, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart already? What a sweet talker you are,” Steve mumbled against his shoulder.
“I read people pretty well and you are a sweetheart. No doubt about it.”
Steve groaned. “Are you always like this?”
“Not at all.”
Something in Eddie’s voice must have sounded genuine. Steve looked up at him, his face close enough to Eddie’s to feel his breath.
“This is kind of crazy.”
“What is?”
“This. I feel safe here with you. I’m ready to let you give me a tattoo even though I hate needles.”
Eddie’s fingers traced patterns along his upper arm, mindlessly planning out a tattoo already.
“Could give you one right here,” Eddie tapped his bicep. “Something small, dainty linework, a sunflower maybe.”
“A sunflower? Isn’t that kinda feminine?” Steve’s fingers were tracing a pattern on Eddie’s thigh. “Not that I’m against it because of that, it just doesn’t seem to fit me.”
And maybe yeah, if Eddie thought about it, he could see how Steve’s body type was thicker, muscular, closer to jock than city hipster living off of coffee and cigarettes. Flowers might not be the first thing someone would think of when looking at Steve.
But when talking to him, when seeing how soft he got with an arm around him, how he turned into the affection, it was pretty obvious he should be covered in delicate work.
He deserves delicate things, Eddie could already tell.
He wanted to give him that.
He wanted to give him anything.
“Someone as radiant as you needs something that represents that. Anytime you’re ready,” Eddie couldn’t help the kiss he pressed to the top of Steve’s head.
The short delay turned into a long delay, but Steve and Eddie talked the entire time. When they finally got moving, Steve stayed on even though the next station was his stop.
“Think I’d like this tattoo artist to take my tattoo virginity,” Steve smirked at him as the train started moving again.
“As long as you’re okay sitting through my appointment first. Might get boring.”
“Doubt being near you could ever be boring.”
Getting stuck on the train with Steve turned into barely leaving his side for weeks, months, years.
Nothing felt as natural as being with his sunflower.
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IT HAS ARRIVED
To celebrate the anniversary of Tears of the Kingdom's release, and to revisit Hyrule, we have put together a FREE 127-page cookbook zine for fans to enjoy. Link to downloadable PDF at the bottom.
About the Zine
The goal of this zine has been to imagine and capture snapshots of Link and Zelda’s internal and external journey between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. One of the central mechanics in both games is cooking; you cook to stay alive, you cook to improve your abilities, and you cook to forge relationships with other characters through side quests. We wanted to centre this mechanism, so decided to frame the zine as Link and Zelda’s joint travel journal.
In these pages you will therefore find a collection of short stories, small illustrations, and numerous recipes. Our team has been hard at work, collaborating and developing ideas to flesh out Link and Zelda’s journey.
Each short story is written from either Link or Zelda’s perspective. They are part narrative, part journaled notes. You will find that they have been given each their font to represent their writings. Zelda’s is the more refined one, while Link’s is the more sprawling one. I’m sure you will see the difference.
You will also find small notes and letters from other characters – notably Tulin, Teba, Riju, and Kilton – as well as an excerpt from the Lucky Clover Gazette.
The recipes themselves have been fashioned as though they were written by Link and Zelda. This does mean their fonts have been used, but we hope any difficulty in reading it is forgiven on the basis that the overall conceit of the zine is preserved. Should there be a great demand, we may look into creating a second edition using friendlier fonts.
As for the illustrations, these have been created both with the goal of illustrating the dishes – and processes where necessary – and to imply that Link and Zelda also illustrate their journeys.
All our artists, short story writers, and recipe writers have come into this zine with different skills and abilities. There may therefore be subtle differences in styles, which we have chosen to retain to exhibit each contributor’s personal flair.
Finally, I want to thank those who have contributed their time and skills to the creation of this zine: Alex, Cenza, Deldon, Mina, Rose, Sam, Scarlet, Terek, and Mr Theodore. It’s been a pleasure working with you all on this project, and I look forward to the next time our paths cross.
Thank you.
Kalh, Editor, @vagueandominousvibes
Contributors
Alex: No social media.
Cenza: Instagram (cenzadelladonna)
Deldon: Bluesky (deldon)
Mina: @zarvasace ; Ao3 (Zarvasace)
Rose: @jmserebii ; X (gravityroseK)
Sam: @lucky-clover-gazette ; Ao3 (Clicheusername5678)
Scarlet: @charascarlet , @hyrulescarlet ; Ao3 (CharaScarlet)
Terek: @valenthobbies
Mr Theodore: No social media.
Downloads
PDF: Link's Cookbook PDF
Print Files: Print Files Folder (NOTE: Read Print Files Instructions below!)
Print Files Instructions
These files have been formatted for an A5 Linen Wrap individual print through Lulu.com. The current listed price is £24.23 | $30.34 (shipping not included).
To give the illustrations a chance to shine, we recommend printing with Premium Colour on paper 80# White. To get your print copy, follow these steps:
Create an account with Lulu.com. It's completely free. If you already have an account, simply log in.
Go to 'Create' in the top bar and select 'Print Book'.
Click 'Start my Print Book'.
Under 'Select a Goal', choose 'Print Your Book'. Follow the remaining instructions on the page and press 'Design Your Project'.
Under 'Interior File Upload', upload the interior files found in the downloadable Print Files Folder (see above). This should automatically fill in book size and page count.
Under 'Interior Color', choose 'Premium Color'. For a cheaper print, choose 'Standard Color'.
Under 'Paper Type', choose '80# White – Coated'. For a cheaper print, choose '60# White'.
Under 'Book Binding', choose 'Linen Wrap'. The cover has been designed specifically for this and is not compatible with any other binding option.
Select your choice of colour for linen and print. We recommend tan (linen) and gold (print). These are the colours that will be on the linen wrap, underneath the paper cover.
Under 'Cover Finish', select 'Glossy' or 'Matte' according to your preferences. This makes no difference price-wise. We recommend 'Matte'.
Under 'Book Cover Design', upload the cover file found in the downloadable Print Files Folder (see above).
You should now be able to see a preview under 'Book Preview'. Check that you are satisfied with the result and select 'Review Book'. This will take you to a page from which you can order your individual print copy. Due to the size of the file, Lulu may take a few minutes to process the files before you can place the order, but this should take no more than 10 minutes. Simply go have something to eat, then refresh the page when you return and you should be able to order your copy.
Happy cooking!
#loz#totk#tears of the kingdom#botw#breath of the wild#loz zine#loz cookbook#cookbook#recipes#fan zine
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... READY FOR IT? | Charles Leclerc
MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT
REPUTATION ⋆ TRACK 1
charles leclerc x reader ⋆ smau
summary: y/n finally decides she’s ready to make her relationship with charles public even people just hate her so much for her past dating other f1 drivers.
taglist: [@celemilii @theseerbetweenus @anniee-mr @stelena-klayley @lozzamez3 @0710khj @afterg1ows @vincentvanshoe @coco-loco-nut @minkyungseokie @lemon-lav @stinkyjax @seokjinkismet @c-losur3 @annewithaneofthegreengable @khaylin27]
thanks to all of you who wanted to be tagged! don't forget you can join my taglist by commenting or telling me through dm <3
a/n: i was supposed to start posting this on june 1st, but since we reached 500 followers here i wanted to start posting as a "celebration". i really don't like thinking about thing kind of things BUT i thought this was a special occasion, especially since you've received me really well here. thank you so much to you all who take time to read my works! i've never thought someone would read what i write tbh
this is my very first smau so sorry if it's a little bit crap, i promise to improve for the next ones 🙏
you can send your one shots requests here!
feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!
y/n just posted
y/n we're sooooo back on track (for the third time, yes! idgaf what you all have to say 🥰)
liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 376193 others
user1 wait wasn't she dating mick schumacher? what is she doing in the ferrari garage?
user2 that was during 2021 season. she broke up with him and then started dating lando back in july 2022 if i remember correctly
f1gossip yep! in 2021 she dated mick, in 2022, lando, and now seems like she put her eyes on one of the ferrari guys 👀
user3 what a bitch. she's fucking everyone to get fame or...?
yourbestfriend go on girlie! show your amour your support 😌
y/n yourbestfriend what a stupid action... fuck you
user4 y/n are you going home? because that's what you should be doing lol
user5 guys I know that y/n might not be a piece of cake for everyone, but PLEASE, respect her
user7 exactly this!
charles_leclerc ❤️
user10 charles explain?
user11 wdym A READ HEART
user12 she might be dating charles omg
carlossainz55 happy to have you finally here! ❤️🙌🏻
user13 NOW CARLOS? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY GUYS? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?
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y/n just posted
y/n since you seem so interested, yep: i'm on the ferrari garage f1 are you spilling the tea? cos I'm not. xoxo, your friendly neighborhood wag
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y/n just posted
y/n i was scared af to tell you that french dude and i've been dating for the past seven months. you can call me whore or whatever you want because at this point i don't really care about anything. it's been a wild ride with me feeling soooo uncomfortable with you commenting every now and then about my past relationships. i love mick and i love lando, but sometimes things don't work out, and you don't seem to understand that. anyways, all I have to say is that charles makes me the happiest woman on earth, and that we don't apologize for winning ❤️💋
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charles_leclerc just posted
charles_leclerc life in these past seven months has been insane. y/n, bet your ready for more but... are you ready for it?
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x yn#charles leclerc smau#smau#f1 smau#f1 fic#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc fic#cl16#ferrari#my tortured drivers department#f1#formula 1#charles leclerc x you#taylor swift#reputation#ready for it
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hi ! can you please write about attentionwhore!reader with tsundere!heeseung?
I was thinking reader teasing her bf (hee) by wearing/trying on skimpy clothes and asks him questions like “do my boobs look nice in this?” or “does this make my ass look big?” just to tease him?
or you could do whatever you’d like ! ❣️
Dressing Rooms ┃L.HS
heeseung x attention whore!reader
reader takes her bf heeseung with her to go shopping w the intent of teasing him.
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Third Person POV~
Being Heeseung's girlfriend isn't necessarily hard, but it isn't always easy either. He's usually so enamored by video games, not paying much attention to you, but when you have his attention... You have his attention.
You asked him to come shopping with you today, out of innocent intent. At least it was innocent at first.
But when you noticed how shy he got just being around other women who were either looking at skimpy mini skirts or trying on revealing outfits, you simply couldn't resist teasing him.
"Heeseung, will you come help me." You peeked out of the dressing room, watching Heeseung glance up from his phone as he got up, pocketing the device before stepping into the dressing room with you.
"What do you need?" He asks as you turn around, showing the laces of the corset top you were trying on. "Can you lace it tighter?"
He simply nods, tightening it as instructed before glancing at your relfection in the mirror.
"Should I get this? Does it make my boobs look bigger?" You question as he gulps visibly, nodding.
You decide to tease him even more, undoing the top right in front of him as he looked away. "Oh sorry.. I figured it wouldn't bother you since we've seen each other naked before..."
You proceeded to take off the top, setting it in the pile of clothes you were buying before undoing your pants and tugging them past your hips.
Heeseung simply sat on the bench of the dressing room, watching as you practically gave him a strip tease. This whole moment had him question how he was even with you when he was such a loser. He was so boring compared to your overly interesting personality.
He got distracted staring at your ass and suddenly he felt his pants grow tighter around him. You had noticed almost immediately, but decided to feign ignorance and get him even more worked up.
"What about this skirt?" You pulled on the almost belt-sized miniskirt, and Heeseung's jaw went slack. "Fuck." He whispered under his breath, but you heard it. Of course you heard it.
"Doesn't this skirt really do my ass a favor?.." You ask and he nods, trying so hard to keep his mouth shut. He wants so badly to press you against the wall and fuck you right now.
"Heeseung.. You seem distracted..." You take off the skirt, setting it down before turning towards Heeseung.
Except now you're only in your matching undergarments. Pink and lacey. Two things on you that you know always turn Heeseung on.
His eyes followed yours as you glanced at his erection.
Your fingertips met his chin, lifting his gaze to meet yours as you kissed him softly. You could feel him melt against you as he grabbed you by your hips, squeezing ever so lightly.
"Baby.." He pulled away, glancing between you and the tent in his pants as you smiled. "If you want... I can take care of it..?" You suggested.
His eyes went wide, almost scared of the risky idea. "We're in a dressing room.."
"All the better..."
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#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#enhypen hyung line#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hard headcanons#enhypen hard thoughts#enha smut#enhypen heeseung#heeseung hard thoughts#heeseung enha#heeseung hard hours#lee heeseung x reader#lee heeseung#heeseung#enha heeseung
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now that we don’t talk [paige bueckers]
paige bueckers x fem!reader
summary: you and paige break up and neither of you know how to move on properly with your life
a/n: decided to go for some angst again…didn’t really have an aim or a direction when writing this so not sure if i should turn this into a series or not ? lmk what yall think
word count: 1.5k
masterlist
The First Week
In the first week, Paige had fallen into her daily routine. Her moments of forgetfulness were instinctual; she’d laid a dollop of minty Crest toothpaste on her blue toothbrush before doing the same thing to your red one, leaving it hanging over the edge of the counter.
The first time she did it, she’d hadn’t even noticed. It was only when she’d turned her mouth to catch the water under the faucet that she’d spotted your toothbrush that she’d set up, ready with Crest, as if you’d pop in any moment to stick it in your mouth and start scrubbing. Paige had almost choked on the water she’d been gurgling, grief worming its way up her throat and making it hard to breathe.
Heaving, she’d stood over the sink, hand gripping both sides of the counter to support herself until her knuckles turned white. It took all her strength not to buckle over from the precipitous wave of agony that had collided into her with gut-wrenching speed.
But for some reason, Paige had stuck your toothbrush under the stream of water then placed it carefully back in its cup. And so she’d made the same mistake the day after. This time, when she realized what she’d done, it wasn’t the weight of sadness that compressed her lungs, but a brewing storm of fury. Her vision had gone red, and she’d grabbed the toothbrush and hurled it against the wall as hard as she could, with a strength that she didn’t even know that she’d still had. And this time, when Paige stared at the toothpaste dripping slowly down the wall, mocking her as it made a mess on the floor, the counter couldn’t save her. She’d succumbed to the force of her fury dragging her down, and had crumpled to the floor, sobs racking her body.
The First Month
Your room was dark, in almost sub-freezing temperatures with the windows wide open to welcome in the frosty, bone-chilling winter air that Connecticut was known for. The only light in the room came from the dim glow of your laptop screen, opened live to the UConn women’s basketball game playing live on ESPN.
At first, you’d attempted to be nonchalant whenever Paige sunk yet another basket with ease, making the crowd and commentators going feral as she celebrated with her signature moves. But as the game between UConn and USC got closer and closer, you couldn’t help but smile when Paige crossed over her defense, sending them flying to the floor and leaving her wide open to score yet another 3. It reminded you all too well of the Paige you’d met and fallen in love with, whose confidence on the court had made you start viewing her as more than just your teammate.
But any trace of smile on your face quickly vanished once you watched Paige’s post-game interview during the livestream. “You’ve had quite a run this season despite being out for most of your sophomore and junior year due to injury. Who would you like to thank for your unpredented comeback?”
“I’d like to thank God. He’s been with me through everything, given me trials to test my resilience. In fact, he’s made me stronger than ever.” Paige had paused. You’d recognized her hesitance; the way she nibbled her bottom lip, her mouth half open as she debated a response, the uncertainty in her eyes as they flickered. But she seemed to recover from any reluctance, and what she said next made your heart drop. “I’d also like to thank my girlfriend, Leslie.” She motioned to someone off camera, and soon the frame was filled with tousled brown hair and soft green eyes.
Paige pulled her in close, and your world spun as you watched Paige, your Paige, press her lips against the brunette. Your hands had reached up to tear your headphones off your head, unable to further listen to the claps and hoots of the crowd along with the cooing of the commentators without feeling the need to throw up. But before you could, Paige had started speaking again. Your hands froze. You hated yourself for it, but you had to listen.
“She’s been with me through everything, from freshman year to now. She was my number one supporter when I got injured.” She wrapped her arm around Leslie’s waist, staring intently at the camera, and never before had you been this sickened staring at the blue eyes you’d once adored, could’ve spent hours getting lost in. “But even outside of my injury, Les has been on my side. Especially with all the immature drama that happened on the court last year, she was really a clear voice in all of that. So I’m pretty grateful for her.”
Leslie’s mouth split into a grin, and she turned to pull Paige in for another kiss, and that was when you slammed your laptop so hard that when you opened it the next morning, you were surprised to see that the screen hadn’t shattered.
You were not someone who cried. Your family members, your friends, Paige could all attest to that. But the torment that was clawing its way through your body, threatening to suffocate you, finally exploded. Tears had surged from your eyes, seemingly never ending, and you’d cried so much that night that it suddenly made sense why you’d almost never cried before; it was like all the tears in your life had been pent up, waiting for this moment, for when the pin fell.
That night was the lowest you’d ever felt in your life, and possibly even the lowest you’ve ever acted - blinded by a jealous rage over the girl that Paige had always promised you not to worry about, the girl Paige was basically making out with on live television just one month after you guys had broken up (and when it’d taken her two years to show PDA with you), you’d gone on all your social media accounts and blocked Paige on every single one of them.
Then an idea came to you. An act of retaliation that would hurt Paige as much as she hurt you. So you’d reopened Twitter, unblocked Paige. You’d scrolled until you found the perfect tweet. Your thumb had hovered for a split second over the like button, haunted by images of Paige’s hand trailing your stomach, her hair brushing your eyes, her mouth on your neck, before it was violently replaced by the image of Paige locking lips with the brunette flooding your mind, causing you to jam your thumb down with ferocity on the like button. You’d slammed the final nail in the coffin by deleting the app so that you couldn’t go back and undo your action before word got around to Paige.
The First Year
You thought you knew grief. You thought you’d familiarized yourself with every aspect of mourning: the realization in the morning, when your eyes open and you lose the blissful state of dreaming and you’re confronted with the harsh truths of the world. Or the late nights, when you’re restless and can’t sleep because of jealousy plaguing your mind. Even the deep longing of missing someone’s touch so bad that you swear that you can almost almost smell their perfume.
So you thought you knew grief - until your grandma died. It had been a matter of time. She’d had breast cancer, and for years now the doctors had been saying any time. But that still didn’t prepare you for the overwhelming pain that consumed all your senses, making it hard to think or eat or sleep or even breathe.
The first few nights after you received the news, you stared at the ceiling, unblinking until the early hours of the morning when the sun started creeping up through your windows. But you couldn’t even cry; you felt like a broken faucet. What the fuck was wrong with you? Sobbing over your stupid ex that you’d broken up with an entire year ago, but unable to shed a tear for your grandma, the woman who had single-handedly raised you. You were exhausted to the point of no return. When would everything stop hurting?
You’d only torn your eyes from your ceiling when your phone had lit up. It was 4 AM, and you wondered who it could be. You checked your phone, and every part of your body froze when you read the notifications.
TWITTER
From: paigebueckers1
I’m so sorry
TWITTER
From: paigebueckers1
I just heard the news
TWITTER
From: paigebueckers1
Don’t know if you’re even active on here anymore but it’s the only way I could reach you. If you see this, I just want to ask you to not keep your grief to yourself. Isolating yourself won’t make the pain go away. Make sure to talk to someone
Your heart had ached, your phone trembling in your hand. Because Paige had cared enough to send you a message, on the same app where you’d given the tabloids a wet dream and caused the UConn fandom to go into a spiral by liking a hate tweet about Paige. She’d cared enough to disregard all that to make sure you were okay. But she still hadn’t cared enough to offer to be that someone that she wanted you to talk to so bad.
So you’d left her on read, without responding. Had slipped back into your sheets, your head pounding and your lungs aching. This time the tears fell out easily.
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Can I get encouragement ? reality check? advice? from older authors?
I've been learning how to write better and my fics have been getting better, in my opinion, and also a little more popular. But then I wrote this one fic that really blew up, literally several times more kudos than my second most popular. And I’m proud of it! I worked hard and applied all the writing advice and popular tropes and all. I can see for myself why it works and the comments confirm it.
But now I can’t write anything. I feel as if I’m not allowed to write anymore my trashy 1k tertiary character POVs and crackfic and gen poems that get 10 hits. Like I should only post fics I've worked equally hard on, like I’m somehow obligated to maintain the same level of that one fic even though I logically know that its popularity was a fluke and not something I can do again even if I decided to. But I still can’t write my trash.
I just… want to sit and wordvomit some random idea I had and then post it not because it’s good but because it exists. And I can’t. I may be starting to regret that I ever tried to learn to write good.
--
Ah, the second album curse!
Yeah, this hits everyone. It usually only gets better if you've produced a lot of work to the point that it's not just one single hit you're trying to live up to and one upward trajectory with one peak.
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| Devious Lies (1/3) - Anon request - When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It has been two years, and you can't stop think about what you lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.
Hi. I have a request for natasha x fem reader one shot. It is quite long and detail. I hope you don’t mind.
Natasha and y/n have been dating for a while and announced it to the group. Maria, who is their close friend, is harboring feeling for y/n in secret. One night Maria invites y/n over for a drink in the middle of nowhere and y/n accept as Maria told her that she is having a hard time and in need of a friend. Initially, Maria talks about her problems and y/n consoles her. But then Maria started to reveal her feeling towards y/n. Y/n starts to feel uncomfortable and says that it is better if they went back to the compound but then Maria asks y/n to drink one more bottle and then they can go. Unbeknown to y/n the drink is spike and she fell asleep shortly after. Then Maria drives to a hotel and fuck a sleeping y/n and take photos to make it seems like y/n is cheating with Maria. She the sends the photos to natasha. The next morning, y/n wakes up in the hotel alone and lost but then decides to just go back to the compound. When she arrives, Natasha confronts y/n about it. Y/n the tries to explain everything to natasha but she just doesn’t accept it or don’t even want to hear it. Y/n does everything she can to amend their relationship, but nothing works. Pass the one-month mark, by this time everyone on the teams knows and is giving her the cold shoulder. They can’t work as a team anymore and request for y/n to be transferred.
Even though y/n is devastated she accept the transfer because she knows it is for the best. Everyone cut ties with her. But unbeknown to the team, tony keep in contact with her. This is because only tony listen and tries to help her. And actually, before the transfer they already found proves that this is all Maria’s doing but decided to keep quiet in order not to ruin their friendship. But on Natasha birthday, y/n decides she wants to celebrate with by coming to the compound. She asks tony for helps and they eventually decided that y/n can come in a cartoon costume so that Natasha will not recognize her. She just wants to see Natasha happy, and she agrees. During the celebration, y/n arrives in a costume and entertain everyone especially Natasha. Y/n is crying inside the costume because she is really happy seeing Natasha smiles and laugh. Before y/n return, she gives Natasha a gift. Upon opening the gift, Natasha suspect that y/n is the one in the costume, but she shakes it off.
Fast forward to one month before Natasha birthday the next year. Someone brought the topic of the person in costume during last year celebration and wonder if the person will come again. Tony is drunk during the time and accidentally say ‘she will come, she loves Natasha too much not too’. Natasha hears this and decide to confront tony to know who this person is. Tony let it all slip as he is too drunk. He also says the truth about the cheating incident. Maria is also there and decides to come clean and apologize as she regrets it very much.
(...) (not posting the rest of the request yet 'cause it would spoil the fic, but you all are definitely not ready for this 🤭) (and I swear the anon that left that in my inbox should write 'cause I would die for more fics like this) (but thank you for leaving it in my inbox, and trusting me to bring to life your incredible idea. I just hope you are still around, 'cause it took me a lot of time to actually start writing it, so I can just hope you'll be here to let me know what you thought about it).
| Some changes have been made : Maria is replaced by an oc (sorry, I grew attached to Maria the past few months, and definitely can't see her doing something like that, hope you don't mind 😭). it's going to be a short series of three parts. it's alternating between present and flashbacks so the reading order will differ from what's presented in the request (but every element will be found on the fic' at one point).
| Coming in a few weeks :))
#mcu fanfiction#a spes moodboard#reader insert#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fanfiction#natasha romanov#anon request#natasha romanoff angst#angst with comfort#mcu women#angst with a happy ending
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🫀Experiences;
One night, in a room.
Years ago I went to a school trip with some friends.
I had these friend who I loved a lot during that time, I am a very loving person so I remember hugging him a lot and he would do the same. It was nice because he was taller than me so I could listen to her heart every time I wanted to by hugging him.
As I’ve had a heart condition for a time now he always took care of me making sure that I felt okay. Something that beyond cardiophilia I always found it cute.
“Did you take your pills?” “Make sure not to eat much junk food” “How is your heart?” “Everything okay with your dumb pump” are small examples of the things he used to say to me. I had that trust in which I would lie next to him and sometimes he would put his hand on my chest while doing stuff, feeling my heart. Something that I told him made me feel safe.
I remember the movement of his hand going up and down following my heartbeat as Ive always had a visible heartbeat.
I remember him getting worried when my heart decided to skip some beats while his hand rested on my chest. “Its fine” I would say, “It does that sometimes” and the he would say that it should not happen again as if I could control my heartbeat hehe….
During that trip he was extra careful with me. We had long walks and he would always walk next to me as I would get tired easily because of my condition. My heart always beating erratically with skips and pauses with the sun making me a sweat mess. He would take my wrist to feel my pulse just to know about my condition. One time he even putted his palm against my chest to feel it directly while he told me I should follow his breathe to calm my heart.
One afternoon after one of those long walks both of us sneaked into his room (girls and boys could not share room during this trip for obvious reasons) to rest and talk. We had small conversations but I was too tired to keep the dialogue going, so after a small silence he got closer and laid his hand on my chest once again. My heart beating strong following a fast pace.
“Does it hurt?” He asked, I started blushing for some reason, it never actually mattered to me that he put his hand on my chest but somehow I felt more vulnerable this time. “No, I mean yeah kinda” I reply. “You should rest then…”
I don’t really remember who things went, but we lay down on his bed, where after some time trying to sleep he would sit and watch me straight to my eyes asking me if he could listen to my heart. My heart started to race more in answer to the question, which I stuttered to reply with a yes.
He would lay his head on my chest while his hand rested on my wrist. I remember that I was having an arrhythmia during that time, so he would comment about every skip and rhythm change my heart would make, he told about how beautiful it was for him to listen the one thing that keeps working so hard, and kinda poorly, to keep me alive.
I remember his breathing, his head moving up and down my every shake my chest had in response to hard little pump. His attempts to follow my heartbeat with smalls “pump pum” coming from his mouth.
I loved every second of it. I never felt soy listened in my life. And we stayed like that for hours until the night came. I did fall sleep at the end, when I woke up I was hugging his head against my chest, with my heart beating slowly with the same pace of his breathing.
This was my attempt of writing some of my cardiophile experiences, sorry for the bad English I am not a native speaker;;; I have many more to tell so perhaps this is only the first of many posts with my experiences, who knows?
#cardiophilia#heartbeat#dark cardiophilia#female heartbeat#irregular heartbeat#stething#heart murmur
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nonidol!jung sungchan x f!reader
at some point beneath the glittering summer sun and along evening tides, you and sungchan tripped over the line drawn in the sand.
▷ genre, warnings. brother's best friend!au, friends-ish 2 lovers, family vacay + sungchan lol, swearing, kissing, fluff, humor, sungchan does go shirtless (it's a beach), mentions of food, mentions of alcohol; lee jeno, sohee, and anton r ur brothers! (so u have the lee last name but u "look more like ur mom"); barely proofread, also im sorry if this is boring my head has not been in the game for Months
▷ word count. 10.0k
DISCLAIMER: i DO NOT actively write for or stan riize; this is literally just a birthday present T-T so if dynamics/personalities aren't right, i literally don't know these guys 💀
a/n: happiest birthday to my beloved soulmate and wife @justalildumpling :')) i hope u like it <3
OFTEN when you came back home from work, your joints and muscles ached to the point you could barely stand, your hair felt gross on your head, and your eyes stung from dehydration and sleep deprivation. That was the toll of working closing shift at the restaurant you worked at, and had been working at, for the past several years.
It wasn't out of the ordinary to see the lights in the house still warm and bright when you got home either. Your family was a handful of night owls, not discounting yourself. They had witnessed you in this particular rat-nest dump of a state time and time again, which was why you didn't worry about looking like Death Incarnate.
“Hey.”
Your soul left your body.
Sitting on your living room couch was not a family member. Though, he might as well have been a part of it from how much you had been seeing him lately. Jung Sungchan was your older brother Jeno's best friend, but Sungchan was in your year rather than Jeno's. The two met via the high school soccer team and had been good friends since.
Years later, he was sitting on the living room couch, nearing one in the morning, his hair damp from a recent shower, T-shirt sleeves rolled up his shoulders, and his phone paused from the game he was playing. Your brain was too tired to even register the amount of muscle packed onto his arms (what the fuck—).
“Sorry, did I scare you?” He chuckled sheepishly, reaching up to ruffle his dark hair, grown out slightly.
“What are you doing here?” You blurted instead. Exhaustion meant that conventional politeness was completely defenestrated. It was one in the morning on a summer night… usually your older brother was out clubbing or drinking (not that you were any different, but you worked quite a bit more nights lately).
Sungchan's eyes danced up and down your form. “Jeno and I decided we're gonna pull an all-nighter for the road trip in—” He glanced over at his phone, “—seven hours and just knock out in the car. How was work?”
Road trip? Car ride? If you could just make it to the shower… “It was fine. Tiring,” you said with a sigh. You trudged over to the far side of the room, behind Sungchan, into the kitchen. You grabbed a cup to fill with water, then drained it down your throat just as fast as it had been filled.
With water in your body, your systems were finally coming back online. Road trip. Car ride. Your eyes widened. “Oh my god. I have to pack.”
“You haven't packed yet?” He queried, tone light and teasing as he watched the progression of your panic with amusement. “Even Jeno's packed.”
You sputtered back at him, “Quiet, you!”
Sungchan's warm laugh followed you out into the hallway and all the way to your room. You couldn't understand why your face felt so hot; you should have been too preoccupied to be embarrassed, after all.
You slammed your bedroom door shut, dragging a hand down your face. You couldn't believe Sungchan just saw your I-just-worked-for-eight-hours-in-customer-service face. Not even some of your closest friends had seen the aftermath of your night shifts at work yet.
Crazy.
It wasn't every family vacation where a plus-one was invited. Your family tried to set aside time for these trips just for the six of you, but this time was an exception. Somehow—you weren't a part of the delegations—Sungchan was invited on this summer's trip to the coast. Your mom mentioned offhandedly it was because Sungchan “was a nice boy,” or something to that effect. Your family rented out a cabin right along the beach for a week, and the lot of you were going to be stuck in the family minivan for a good eight hours together.
And if Sungchan was tagging along, that meant you were going to have to fight for the middle row seat or—
“Yn—you’re in the back with Sohee and Anton.”
You came to a screeching halt on your way out of the house, a bucket hat shielding your puffy eyes from the waking world, your duffle strapped over your shoulder. It was seven hours later—an ungodly eight in the morning. “What? Nuh-uh; I don't think so.”
Jeno stood only a few meters ahead of you by the door of the minivan, his hands primed on either side of his hips as if he was the self-proclaimed guardian of the car seating chart. “Well, I said so. Sungchan has longer legs than you—”
“Why don't you sit in the back then?” You shot back with a saccharine sweet smile. You were too tired for this shit.
Sungchan scratched the side of his head as he walked out of the house to stand by you and join the argument, his flip flops thwacking against the ground. “Uhh, I can sit in the back middle seat. It's cool, dude.”
“Sungchan's too tall for the middle seat,” your dad interjected. He took yours and Sungchan's bags to add to the trunk. “Yn's in the back. Sorry, hon.”
“Dad,” you groaned.
“You can switch with Jeno half way.”
“Dad!” Jeno squawked this time.
Your father gave a tired sigh, saying more than he would ever say aloud. “Everyone in the car. Can't you two be like Sohee and Anton? At least they're knocked out.”
“They know they'll be sent to the back without question,” you pointed out as you made your way to the minivan. As you passed by your brother, you sent him a very potent stink eye, then clambered into the back row.
Like your father had said, your younger brothers, Sohee and Anton, were already dead asleep. Their mouths hung open wide enough to catch any wayward fly with their heads angled back against their neck pillows. You snorted and snapped a photo of them to add to your collection of brotherly blackmail.
Your mom was settled into the front passenger seat already queuing up driving directions to get to the coast. From your perch in the middle, you had a clear view of her phone screen—seven hours and two minutes. Yay.
You supposed there wasn't anything too terrible about the middle seat; you were out like a light as soon as the car pulled out of the driveway.
When you woke up, it was about four hours later, and your parents were having a hushed discussion amongst themselves and Sungchan. A baseball cap had materialized on top of Sungchan's head at some point when you were asleep, and the sleeves of his T-shirt were once again rolled up to expose his muscled shoulders. Did this guy not have a tank top?
“...I like it, at least—well, I don't mind all the extra requirements, and I know it'll help me reach my ultimate end goal, so.”
Your mom let out a hum of approval. “Ah, that's good that you like it. You'll be busy as a nurse.”
Right, Sungchan was in the nursing program. Your brother wasa kinesiology major, and you were going into law. It made for quite the diverse pool in the car.
You opened your mouth in a yawn and fumbled your hand around your lap for where your earbud had fallen out of your ear, carefully so that you didn't shake off Anton's head on your shoulder. (Oh no, was he drooling?)
“Yn-ah, good morning,” your mother teased quietly.
You glanced up, eyes going wide when you realized both your mom and Sungchan were now peering back at you. “Morning,” you murmured. Your fingers enclosed around your fallen earbud to tuck it into the case left in the bag at your feet.
“Sleep well?” Sungchan piped up. There was that twinkle in his eyes, the same one from last night. It made your stomach twist in a way that was more pleasant than not.
You cleared your throat, unconsciously reaching up to adjust the placement of your bucket hat and praying you didn't look like a sewer rat. “For the most part,” you replied. “How about you?”
He shrugged. “I had a decent power nap. Your mom says you're going into law. That's really cool.”
“Oh,” you blinked. “Thanks. And you're in nursing, right? That's cool, too—super admirable.”
Sungchan's mouth widened into a small grin. “Thanks. It's only our first year, but it feels like so much work already.”
“Right? Tell me about it…”
Less than fifteen minutes later, the family van pulled into the parking lot of a diner off the interstate, exactly halfway through your journey. The seven of you, weary and hungry, filed out of the vehicle and into the establishment. You and your parents slid into one booth, while your brothers and Sungchan occupied the one behind you.
There was a low-spun fan swirling above your heads, an 80s song you vaguely recognized wafting through the air at a dull decibel. Your phone was stashed away in the bag tucked into your end of the booth seat while you idly sipped on your glass of iced water.
You jolted at the feeling of something light hitting the back of your head.
A gasp from behind you.
You rolled your eyes, twisting around in your seat while picking the wadded up straw wrapper from your hair. “Who did it?” You deadpanned.
The boys table was filled with sheepish expressions, to their credit. Your younger brothers, who were sitting on the far side facing you, thrusted their fingers in each other's faces in a torrent of blame and accusation.
“Aish, never mind. I don't care who did it,” you dismissed. Your eyes caught onto Sungchan's. He sat just diagonally to your left and for some reason, his eyes on you made you feel warm.
You flicked the wrapper back; it hit Anton square in the forehead. Jeno barked out a laugh.
“Nice shot,” Sungchan nodded, extending his fist to you.
You couldn't suppress the smile from coming onto your face as you bumped his fist with yours.
Food arrived swiftly afterward, and it was demolished as quickly as it came. In the sway of a palm tree frond, the seven of you were back in the confines of the family minivan.
The remainder of the car ride carried over quickly. Though Jeno unhappily sat his ass down in your previous spot with you claiming his from before, he and your other brothers snored away five minutes in. You didn't go back to sleep despite having a full belly and less than five hours of sleep under your belt; you watched the world pass by outside the window in a blur.
Urban skylines melted into rolling emerald mountains and pastures, sank into palm trees and sandy shores that met a blue horizon as far as the eye could see.
The beach house your family rented this year was a two story cottage-type. It was small, with only one bedroom and bathroom upstairs, a bathroom downstairs, and a living room and kitchen. The rest was all beach. It was determined that you and your mom would be given the honors of the upstairs bedroom and bathroom, while all the boys piled into the living room.
Once everyone was settled in, there was little else to do but go make use of your new backyard for the next week.
“Yn! Come on, slowpoke!” Sohee shouted at you from the shoreline with cupped hands. You saw his bare back as he splashed into the waves after Anton, who was already only a speck in your vision.
Your bare feet sank into the sand, and you wiggled your toes between the warm grains. Sunshine, glorious and concentrated above the distant horizon, soaked into your skin. Ah, this was the life.
Just as you reached for the hem of your shirt to reveal your bathing suit, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Jeno and Sungchan were coming onto the beach from the front of the house, a disassembled volleyball net hanging between them.
Your eyes nearly fell out of your head at the sight of Sungchan's back—
Before Jeno or any of your other brothers or Sungchan could catch you ogling, you gave yourself a nice, mental slap to the face. No more. You needed to stop this. When did you ever look at Sungchan like this?
(You could still remember when he was the gangly kid with the growth spurt trying out for the high school soccer team. He was paired with Jeno to test his potential, and the rest was history.)
Sungchan was the first to spot you as he and Jeno determined a place to set up the net. He beamed boyishly, his chin inclining toward you. “Hey, wanna play?”
Your eyes flickered to the corded necklace hanging from his collar and between his—Yn, shut the fuck up. “Sure,” you said simply, feigning nonchalance.
If he noticed your wandering eyes, he didn't comment. Instead, he nodded back at you. “Sick.”
You both turned back to your original tasks. Your hands went back to the bottom hem of your shirt to tug it up and off your body. (Maybe you weren't the only one with wandering eyes, though.)
You draped your clothes over the back porch railing and began making your way down to the shoreline. “I'm gonna take a dip and then come back up!” You said to Jeno and Sungchan.
“Oh, okay—ow!”
You didn't see nor hear what happened, but when you glanced back, Sungchan had his back turned to you as he furiously rubbed the back of his head, while Jeno smiled innocently.
Your older brother waved you along. “Carry on!” He said.
Walking backward for a couple steps, you shot him an incredulous look, then turned around to meet your little brothers in the ocean. Whatever.
You had been staring at the wooden ceiling above your head for the past forty-five minutes. Your mom's even breathing and the ocean waves rolling outside the window failed to rock you into unconsciousness. You'd figured the sunlight from this afternoon would have made you tired, or perhaps all the food you ate for dinner, but your eyes continued to stay wide open.
A quiet sigh fell from your mouth as you rolled over onto your side and gently peeled the covers off. With near silent footsteps across the oak floors, you slipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
The cacophony of combined snoring from all the men in the living room was comparable to the volume of the waves just outside.
You barely contained your snort of amusement. You didn't worry about waking any of them up as you crossed the living room, full of a smorgasbord of limbs and bodies draped across the large couch sectional and blankets on the floor.
The back door was left unlatched when you reached its threshold. Outside, moonlight dappled across the calm sea like a sprinkling of diamonds. You slowly pried the door open, freezing.
You and Sungchan made eye contact from across the back porch. He was perched on the top step, nursing a bottle of beer in his hand. A loose breeze wafted through the strands of his hair.
“Sorry,” you whispered, moving to retreat back into the house.
“Oh, no—please.” He patted the empty space next to him on the porch step.
You blinked, at odds. He was clearly out here for a reason and you'd figured he wanted some space, but if he was inviting you, then…
You closed the back door behind you and settled beside him, with a comfortable amount of negative space between your bodies. You folded your arms over the tops of your knees and stared out at the midnight horizon. It smelled of salt and sea spray, and the light wind was a refreshing crispiness against the humid evening air.
“Couldn't sleep?” He murmured, glancing over at you.
You nodded. “Yeah. You?”
He hummed in response.
“I'm not surprised,” you said. The corners of your lips curled upward. “I wouldn't be able to sleep amongst my brothers either. Their snoring could wake a bear.”
Sungchan sputtered out a laugh as his eyes crinkled upward and he pressed the back of his knuckles against his mouth. “I wasn't gonna say it, but…”
You shared a grin with him. “I will happily say it for you, dude.”
His eyes were stunning in this lighting. The moonlight hit his irises at an angle that made them shimmer like a shade of molten copper. He licked his lips, and you saw his eyes dart from your eyes, down a few inches, then further down to the beer bottle in his hands.
“Oh, uh,” he stammered, tipping the bottle nose in your direction, “want some? I thought the alcohol would help me sleep, but it's not looking awfully promising.”
For a split second, your heart leapt at the thought—your mouth pressed against the place his mouth had been, tasting the place he'd drunk from.
You dashed the thought from your mind. It couldn't have been so significant as your brain was making it out to be. You were probably just sleep deprived.
“Thanks,” you said while reaching across the gap to accept it from him. Judging by the weight, it was just about half full, and you took a light swig.
A drop of liquid dribbled out of the corner of your lips, and you swiped it with the pad of your thumb, sticking the finger into your mouth to suck it off. You passed the bottle back over to him, catching his eyes not looking at yours.
(The organ in your chest was no longer in your chest. Was it normal for your heart to make a home in your throat instead? Why did he look at you like that?)
“Any reason for not being able to sleep?” You asked him to break the silence. “I mean, besides the symphony my brothers and dad are conducting, of course.”
His eyes shuddered, as if breaking out of a trance. “Oh, uhm—nothing in particular, I guess. Maybe it's just from all the excitement. I think it's usually hard for me to sleep in new places.”
You bobbed your head in understanding. “No, I get that. It takes me a little to get used to new environments, too. I don't know how I would have survived if I was living in the dorms at uni and not at home.” The university you attended was a decent commute from your house, so living on campus was never something you gave much thought to. The idea of living independently appealed to you sometimes, but in general, you didn't have a ton of qualms against your circumstances now.
“For sure,” Sungchan whistled lowly. He contemplated the opening of his beer bottle, then took a gentle sip of its contents. “Have you made a lot of friends? I feel like it's a lot harder than people make it seem.”
You passed him a curious glance this time. “Some, but it's definitely not as easy as high school. You haven't made a lot of friends?”
“The soccer team, mainly,” he chuckled. “The occasional ally in my classes.”
You let out a bright laugh that made his smile widen. “'Ally?’” You parroted. “What a fun word to call classmates.”
“It's true!” He insisted, chuckling. “Some of these professors are evil, man. Competitive grades? Not a chance,” He scoffed. “We're all in this together, even if the curve is against us.”
You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from being too loud, but the rolling waves likely covered your noise plenty. Your family were deep sleepers.
“I just figured that you meet lots of people,” you offered when your mirth died down to a giggle. You toed a pile of sand sitting on the last step of the porch. “Your socials are pretty active,” you said, “but I guess I shouldn't judge a book by its cover.”
“I could say the same about you, Miss Party Girl,” he smirked. “When are you gonna drag me to a rave?”
Heat raced up to your cheeks. “I've only been to one,” you said, rolling your eyes. He'd seen that post? First, the post-work daze, and now, the turnt raver? “I haven't gone to a party in a few weeks 'cause of finals anyway.”
Now that you thought about it, you'd been so busy as of late, you couldn't even count the amount of outings you'd declined on your two hands.
“Trust me, I get it.” He raised his hands in an act of surrender, his knees angling toward you. The negative space was suddenly a lot less negative.
Another tip of his beer bottle; it swapped hands once, twice more. The liquid dribbled smooth down your throat just as Sungchan knocked the rest back. The empty glass made a dull thunk sound as it hit the wooden porch to Sungchan's right.
“So what I'm getting,” you drawled, mimicking his position by angling your knees toward his. You felt your legs brush—the stimulus sent a jolt down your nerves that warned of addiction and tasted like the forbidden. “Is that you've never been to a rave before?”
Sungchan gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I have.”
You mocked his shrug. “Maybe you have.”
“Or maybe it's just that I haven't gone with you yet.”
Even the waves seemed to quiet for a second. Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest, and you tied down the nervous laugh ready to bubble out of your mouth. You bit your lip and found yourself nodding. “We'd paint the town red, Jung Sungchan,” you murmured.
There it was again—that flicker of his gaze to some place you both knew crossed a line. It was the beer, was what you were telling yourself. It was the beer.
Seagulls surfed the ever-blue sky. Eternal summer could be thought of as a filter of golden, glittery gauze across one's already rose-colored glasses. But summer, truly, was the shade of Jung Sungchan's tank top peeling off his body as he sprinted down the sandbank after your brother, Anton.
You watched the fabric whip around in the salt breeze before settling into a heap where his footprint melted into the mineral grains. You were giving Sohee the sunscreen spritz-down up on the covered porch, while Jeno barreled down the bank after his friend and brother.
From behind you came the scratch of the back door sliding open. You and Sohee peered back to where your mom poked her head out.
She just barely caught her sunglasses in time as they slipped off her head. “Hey, your dad and I are heading out. Watch each other, okay?”
“Got it!” You and Sohee chirped.
One more nod from your mom, and then she was gone. Your parents were going to take a date into town, just the two of them. That left you and the boys here with the surf and sand—definitely not a terrible compromise. If you wanted, you could probably have the whole house to yourself, anyway. These guys could entertain themselves.
“Yn! Sohee!”
Jeno arced one arm up into the sky to beckon you down to the sea, only to get dragged underwater by his two comrades. You and Sohee harked out twin laughs as you watched Jeno fight for his life with limbs flailing and foam flying into the sky.
You patted Sohee's shoulder as you set the can of sunscreen onto the porch step. “Alrighty, you're good to go, bro.”
“Thanks—race you down!”
“Hey!” Your laughter echoed as you bolted down the sand after him to join the fun.
As your feet dug into the wet embankment, your palms made purchase against Sohee's shoulders to shove him into the water. A yelp leapt into the air, and you turned away to avoid getting hit in the face with the consequence of your prank.
“I'm so gonna get you for that!” Sohee spat water out of his mouth, a wicked grin pulling onto his lips.
“No, you're not, actually!”
You bolted—well, stomped, your way through the knee-deep water, furiously trying to get away from karma. Water yanked down on your limbs in a forceful coax to give into your punishment, but you were determined.
You could hear your brothers’ hollers of encouragement: “Get her, Sohee!” and “RUN, YN, RUN!”
Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you pushed your legs harder.
“I got her!” Wait, was that Sungchan?—
You suddenly felt a pair of hands on either side of your waist—you swore as your legs came out of the water and your world twisted.
“No, no, no, no, no!” You squawked, squirming wildly in Sungchan's arms as he scooped you into his hold like a bride. (NO. NOT LIKE A BRIDE. WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE A BRIDE?—) One arm cradled your back and the other under your knees, and he laughed—he chuckled—as you attempted to flip yourself out of his grasp.
“You're not getting out of this, party girl,” he said close to your ear.
For a heartbeat, you lost your breath at the rasp behind his words and the grin on his face. But a heartbeat was all he needed.
There was free fall, and then all sound muffled as cold water engulfed your body. You plugged your nose and screwed your eyes shut. You felt your ass hit the sand at the bottom in slow motion, before the air in your lungs began to lift you back up to the surface of the water.
You broke out with a gasp, hair flipping back as you furiously swiped your hands down your face to get the water out of your eyes. They stung like a bitch, but you could feel the rush of blood in your ears; it was thrilling.
A hand in your vision enclosed around yours.
“You asshole!” You scowled up at Sungchan from where you knelt, though it was half-hearted.
He beamed back at you boyishly with damp hair hanging in his eyes and water running down the crevices of his stomach like a goddamn system of canals. “You're a good sport, Yn.”
“I'm really not.”
You had the distinct pleasure of seeing the smile slip off his face before you used his grip on you to yank him into the water. You swallowed a good half pint of saltwater, but the revenge couldn't have been sweeter.
When Sungchan's head broke the surface, it was followed by a dog-like shake of his head. You laughed to turn away from the spray of water; Sungchan delighted at the sound.
Amusement still lingered on your lips as your eyes snagged on the piece of seaweed that made its home on his head. You didn't think twice about it before leaning closer to reach it.
You stepped forward, and—oh boy, was that a mistake.
You had a front row seat view of a droplet of water slipping down the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the cliff of his chin. You wrestled down a swallow, and pulled the seaweed off his head, flinging it into the water.
“You had, uhm, a little…”
“Right, thanks—”
You both flinched apart as a man-made wave of water crashed into your sides. “AMBUSH!” Your three brothers declared, springing up out of the water and parading a full-blown attack with all weapons firing.
You and Sungchan were swift to launch your own counterattack.
Merriment filled the summer air as much as saltwater embedded into your skin and eyes and mouth. You almost made the mistake of thinking your racing heart was just from the determination to beat your brothers, and not from the guy on your side of the war. The heat was getting to you and the sun was getting to him.
It was about an hour later that you found yourself lazing upon the slick and smooth plane of a surfboard. The ocean rocked you gently from beneath the board; it had been surprisingly calm all of today.
At some point, you and the boys established a truce in the Great Water War, mainly because your brothers were hungry and there was a big, juicy watermelon just begging to be cut open and devoured in the house.
Suffice to say, you let your brothers figure it out.
Your consciousness faded into the foreground of your mind as a distant sound of splashing neared. You peaked one eye open, lifting the rim of the hat up to see who dared to encroach upon your isle.
You could recognize Sungchan's mop of hair from a mile away, at this point. You couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing, but why did it have to be either?
He cropped up right beside you, pushing back his hair to keep the water out of his eyes. “Hi.”
A smile curled onto your lips, teasing. “Hi. Good swim?”
“Good nap?”
“As good as one can be on the open ocean,” you said, shifting the hat up so you could see him better, but keeping your face shaded. “I don't know how dolphins sleep with half their brain on.”
Sungchan's brows rocketed toward his hairline. “They sleep with half their brain on? Crazy.”
“I know. I can't even stay awake with half my brain on.”
You and he shared a laugh, and he set a palm on the board next to your body. “Aw, no,” he assured. “If you've got less than half a brain on at all times, then I've got one brain cell.”
“Joke's on you, half my brain is half a brain cell.”
He wrinkled his nose at you. Cute. “Sweetheart, hate to break it to you, but that's not how brain cells work.”
You nearly fell off the board. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, do tell.”
“I'm not about to talk about neurons on my vacation.”
You challenged him with a look. “Overruled, counselor. Answer the question.”
His mouth fell open in a stunned daze, and his reaction made you break face for a moment to laugh. He blinked. “I have to be really honest with you…” Sungchan carded a hand through his hair, then pressed his knuckles to his mouth. “That was really hot.”
Was it suddenly five degrees warmer out here?
If blood rushing in your ears was akin to the sound of waves crashing, there must have been one hell of a tsunami in your veins right now.
You sputtered a laugh. “You need to get out of the sun—”
“I'm sorry I said that aloud,” he grimaced sheepishly.
“Nurse? Nurse!—” You feigned raising your head up to look around for an imaginary nurse in the middle of the ocean. “Oh, right. You are the nurse.”
He groaned, tilting his head back and playfully punching your shoulder. “You're so—”
“Hot?”
You howled at the sight of his cheekbones blooming the color of ripe watermelon. “I'm kidding; I'm teasing!”
He sighed, smiling despite the pain etched onto his gorgeous features. “Never living that down, am I?”
You shifted your position to laying on your stomach now, your arms folded beneath your chin. Sungchan carefully turned the surfboard so the tip faced him, and you were trapped in his gaze, head-on. “It was cute,” you consoled.
“So you think I'm cute?” He cocked a brow.
“And you think I'm hot.”
He flicked water at you. “Aaand, there it is!”
You laughed again, delighted at the red lingering on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. God, he was fucking gorgeous.
A beat passed for a second. Something settled between the two of you, a thing you couldn't yet put a name on, but it had been there since last night. Or maybe it had been there longer, festering in the negative space between you until said space could become something of a memory.
You weren't sure why he was here—why he'd swum out here to meet you when his best friend was back at the beach house, gorging on watermelon and getting his ass handed to him in Mario Kart by his siblings; why he all of a sudden occupied a part of your mind like the tide creeping up the embankment at four in the afternoon. At first, he was far enough for you to settle into a false sense of security; until all of a sudden, there he was, the foamy waves lapping at your feet and his smile the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes.
His tongue swiped over his lips and he cleared his throat. “So, uh, watermelon?” That was his original reason for coming out here. (He did volunteer, after all.)
You perked up. “Right, sure. Watermelon.”
“Great.” He broke into a smile, but the corners of it were softer, fonder. You could get used to the look of it.
There was this saying—the elephant in the room—but here in the cabin living room, it was definitely more of a blue whale. Just completely out of the water, weighing about thirteen tons, the size of twelve school buses… yeah, that sounded about right.
“GO FISH!” Anton flung his finger across the circle at Jeno with the glee of a kid on Christmas morning. “Suck it!”
Your mom sent an express glare his way. “Anton.”
Your youngest shrunk down sheepishly. “Sorry, eomma.”
The seven of you were settled in the living space this fine evening with a deck of cards. Your parents were on the couches watching the movie on screen and the game before them, while you, your brothers, and Sungchan huddled around the coffee table playing said game. Sunsoaked and weary, it only took one hearty and filling dinner to perk the lot of you right back up like a field of sunflowers.
“This is a stupid game,” Jeno sulked as he examined his hand of cards.
“You only say that because you're losing,” you pointed out. “Anyways, Jeno, can I have that three?”
Jeno cut you a glare as the rest of the table rolled into fits of laughter. Your smile was cheeky, reaching out to snatch the three Jeno revealed he had during his turn.
“That's cold,” Sohee snorted.
Your eyes darted over to Sungchan opposite you. His eyes were glimmering. “Yeah, I didn't know you had so much ruthlessness in you, Yn.”
“Why do you think she's going into law?” Jeno grunted. Though one card less, it meant that he had one less pair in his finished pile. At this rate, you might win and end up with the most pairs.
“Guys, it's literally just how you play the game.” You nodded over at Sohee. “Sohee, do you have a jack?”
Your younger brother handed it over without ceremony. “Unfortunately.”
“Anton, do you have an ace?”
He shook his head. “Go fish, noona.”
“See?” You said to the rest of the table, but your eyes went to Sungchan's. “The nature of the game.”
They let you off the hook because you didn't plunder everyone of their cards this round. It continued on with Sohee, then Anton, before landing on Sungchan.
He made a show of considering his cards, a furrow between his brows. He glanced up at you over the rim of his hand and gestured with a curl of his fingers. “I'd like that ace, Yn.”
“Oooh,” Anton giggled.
Jeno grinned as you extended the ace across the table to Sungchan. “Karma.”
“Thank you—” his fingers grazed against yours as he plucked the card from your grasp, “—very much.”
You pressed your lips into a small smile, nose wrinkling up at him. You had a few cards left to rid yourself of.
Your dad cleared his throat as he stood up from the couch to bring his empty bowl to the sink. “By the way, are you kids still going into town tomorrow?”
The five of you exchanged brief eye contact with one another. “Yep.”
The idea had come up during dinner after your parents came back. They'd mentioned a variety of activities and little shops to visit that might be fun for you to see, including a hand churned ice cream shop and a port side arcade building. It would just be the five of you going, while your parents would walk down to the beach trails about a mile from the cabin to go hiking.
In the morning, you and everyone else in the house took your time getting up and ready for the day. Breakfast was taken together at the table before you split off into your separate parties.
Jeno took the wheel with Sungchan riding shotgun, and you sat in the middle row with Sohee, while Anton occupied the back. You rolled down your window to rest your chin on the fold of your elbow, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you watched the scenery pass by.
Right in front of you, Sungchan also had his window rolled down with his arm propped on the lowered sill. He chatted animatedly with Jeno about whatever game he and all three of your brothers were playing this morning, but you could feel his gaze go to his side view mirror more than once.
The ride was an easy, breezy one.
The main town center bustled with locals and visitors alike in the late morning. Jeno found free parking about a block away, and the five of you walked over as one big group.
“Ice cream first!” Anton declared with one arm raised toward the sky.
“I concur,” you chimed in. You lifted your sunglasses up slightly so you could read the town directory easier. “Seems like we're close by.”
Anton nodded in approval. “Onwards, then.”
You and your youngest brother led the way. The idea of ice cream made your mouth water, especially since you could already feel a bead of sweat dribble down your spine. Why was it so goddamn hot?
The shop was a cute, little building with a pink and white striped awning and a large window in the front that gave visitors a front row view into the ice cream churning experience. You snorted as Anton pressed his nose up against the glass, a wide grin splitting his face.
“You're scaring the workers, dude,” you jested, tugging your brother along.
Anton scrunched his nose up at you. “You scare me every morning.”
“Just because you're a wimp when I put toner pads on—hey! Do you want ice cream or not?” You cackled as he attempted to flick you square in the forehead.
Jeno groaned. “Guys, can we please act normal for once?” He asked as he swung the door open for everyone.
Sungchan beat you to the punchline, slapping his friend on the back while he ducked inside. “That's rich coming from you, man.”
“Hey!”
The squabble was swiftly swept out of your mind when you stepped foot into the shop. You were nearly knocked over from the potency of the sugary waffle cone scent that occupied the room. At the sight of tubs upon tubs of frozen treats kept within the display case, your entire face lit up, eyes going glassy with wonder. “Oh no, too many to choose from,” you gasped, cupping the lower half of your face.
Sungchan chuckled beside you as he crossed his arms and assessed the dozen options before you. “I didn't know you were such an ice cream fanatic, party girl,” he mused. He glanced over at you with a fond sort of gleam in his eye.
“Don't even get her started,” Sohee groaned. “She and Anton have a sweet tooth to rival Willy Wonka.”
Anton flagged down one of the workers, having already found his targets to try. He was in here for less than two minutes and was already rattling off the entire menu to the poor girl behind the counter.
“Tiramisu sounds really good,” you muttered. Your eyes moved slowly from tub to tub. Another gasp flew from your lips, and you clasped a hand on Sungchan's shoulder. “Wait—but strawberry shortcake—hhhhh.” You wrinkled your brows together, lips pressed into a taut line.
This was not good.
“You could always get a double scoop,” Sungchan suggested.
You bobbed your head. “That's true, but I'm just worried I won't be able to finish, y'know.”
“Well, maybe I'll get one of the flavors you want and we can split.” His shrug was all too casual.
“Really?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, biting his lip through a smile.
The organ in your chest gave a hop, skip, and a leap. You weren't sure if it was at the thought of it all working out alright or if it was because of Sungchan's generous gesture. You were telling yourself it was the former, but you could be persuaded it was the latter if given a light shove in that direction.
When everyone's scoops were paid for, you fell into a loose formation to stroll around town while you finished your treats.
You and Sungchan were glued to each other's sides out of necessity since you were sharing flavors. Jeno walked on his other side, however, lapping at his cotton candy blue scoop seated upon a throne of waffle cone. The two youngest walked in front, leading you all to wherever they wished to go.
The town itself was rather quaint when you finally soaked it in. It seemed like the kind of place everyone knew everyone, and if you were new or only visiting, the locals were just as friendly and welcoming. The town center was stocked with anything a resident might need—a small grocer down the street, clothing stores and restaurants lining the boulevard, a newspaper stand at the corner, a laundromat, a hardware store, and more places you were certain you wouldn't be able to see in just one walk.
As you scooped a bite out of some of the last bits of tiramisu in Sungchan's cup, Jeno was summoned up to his brothers who were debating over which way they should turn next. You and Sungchan lingered behind to finish off the ice cream in your respective cups.
Just as you slurped up the melted shortcake ice cream at the bottom of yours, your eyes caught onto a storefront behind Sungchan. It was decked out in cliché boho-chic, with braided nets, shells, and sand dollars in the window and over the door frame. The souvenir shop seemed to embody the quintessential tourist trap, and you didn't mind falling into it.
“—guys, we're gonna go to the arcade now!” Jeno said, beckoning you and Sungchan over. They must have decided on a route then.
You made your decision. “You guys can go ahead! I'm gonna pop into this place for a second. I promised I'd get my friend Minjeong something.” Minjeong was one of the few close friends you made at university, and though you didn't promise to her face you'd get her something, you were determined to get her a little trinket as a token of your affection.
“You're gonna go alone?”
You blinked. “Yeah, I'll just meet you guys at the arcade.”
Sohee piped up, “But mom said buddy system.” Okay, you should probably honor that, but it wasn't as if the four of you always followed that rule.
“I'll go with you.”
All eyes went to Sungchan who tossed his empty cup and spoon into the nearby trash can. He gave a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. “I wanted to get my mom something anyway.”
You tilted your head to the side curiously as Jeno narrowed his eyes at Sungchan, like they were communicating telepathically. Odd.
In fact, you didn't really know what to think about being alone with Sungchan. There was a difference between coincidentally ending up on the porch together or conversing in the ocean away from everyone else, to purposefully breaking off from the group to spend time with each other.
Then again, he said he was getting something for his mom. That gave a different implication to him volunteering to accompany you. The goal was capitalism, not something forbidden.
Maybe you were thinking about this too much.
“Okay, fine,” Jeno relented. “We'll meet you at the arcade, but don't take too long or we'll leave without you.”
“Aye-aye,” you teased, raising a hand to wave goodbye to your brothers. “C'mon, Sungchan.”
You dumped your empty ice cream cup and spoon into the trash before slipping inside the souvenir shop with Sungchan following right after you. You lifted your sunglasses up on top of your head, skin prickling with gooseflesh from the draft of air conditioning wafting overhead. A soft-toned acoustic played in the background, accompanied by the cheery greeting of a staff member from behind the register.
You and Sungchan lifted your hands in warm reply, then disappeared into the aisles to explore.
Your fingers grazed along the racks of clothes branded with the beach town's name and minimalist artwork; your eyes roamed over the ships displayed in bottles on the walls, the not-for-sale surfboard hung for decor. Like many souvenir shops, there were several turning displays that boasted rows upon rows of themed keychains with specific names engraved into them.
“I will never find my name amongst these,” Sungchan mused quietly from beside you as the two of you rifled through the surfboards and seashells and sharks. “And yet, I look for the S names all the time.”
“Valid,” you nodded. “Sometimes I can't find my name either, but it's the hope that gets you.”
“And fails you,” he pointed out.
“Touché.”
Near the keychain displays stood a tower of hats and head accessories galore. There were crocheted bonnets, straw hats, ball caps, and even headbands. Your expression glittered as you plucked up a headband with twin sunflowers on the top like a pair of antennas.
After hanging your shades on your shirt color, you donned the headpiece, twirling around to show Sungchan. “Thoughts?” You asked, failing to sweep your grin away.
Sungchan beamed back at you. “Oh, you're too cute.”
You ignored the heat creeping up the back of your neck to reach for another headband—this time, one topped with red crab claws. Sungchan graciously bowed his head for you to crown him with the piece.
“Fabulous,” you declared with your hands on your hips.
He peered into the small mirror to the side of the hat rack. “You think?”
“Of course.” So much so, that you pulled out your phone to snap a picture. You tilted your head toward his to fit both of your faces and headbands in the frame.
Sungchan peered over your shoulder to take a glimpse at the photos. His tongue was jammed into his cheek, and you could feel his breath along the shell of your ear. “Send me those?”
“I'd need your number first.”
He grinned boyishly, roughing a hand through his hair before taking your phone from you. “You don't even have to ask.”
As he saved his contact information into your phone, you attempted to calm the giddy butterflies in your stomach by peering back into the mirror at the headband on your head. You squished the plush sunflower heads with your fingers, humming thoughtfully. “I low-key wanna buy this.”
He glanced up from your phone before handing it back to you. “If you buy that one, I'll buy this one,” he replied, pointing up at the crab claws on his head.
“You're such an enabler,” you jested. A beat passed. “Okay, but only if you get it with me.”
“That is what I said,” he chuckled, eyebrows arched.
The remainder of the time you and Sungchan spent in the shop was mainly to figure out what you would purchase for Minjeong and what Sungchan would buy for his mom. (Mainly, implying that there was still room for shenanigans.) It took a little more than half an hour, but you both emerged from the souvenir shop with a gift bag each, containing your headbands and the baubles bought.
The arcade was only about a ten minute's walk from your location, so you and Sungchan took your sweet time getting there. As the two of you walked—the backs of your hands grazing against one another, shoulders bumping—you nearly forgot that Sungchan was your brother's good friend. Jeno had never made it a point that you and his friends should never mix, and you knew he could care less about your love life, but this was different. (Was it?) It felt like something that shouldn't happen, and yet, why were you starting to want it so badly?
The outside of the arcade was a cream colored building, much like the others in town, but with large posters on the outside beckoning guests to come in and try their hand. Your brothers texted you to let you know they were in a game of laser tag right now, so that gave you and Sungchan a little more time to yourselves within the arcade.
“I have an idea!” Sungchan grabbed your free hand and hauled you off toward something in the distance.
The feeling of your fingers slotting with his had more than just your steps skipping. “Hey, man—you and your long legs need to chill!” You hollered at him through a laugh.
He sent you a look over his shoulder before stopping at one corner of the arcade. With jazz hands, he presented his marvelous idea. “Ta-da!”
Before you was an all-time classic: Dance Dance Revolution.
Your eyes widened just as your smile did. “It's like you read my mind,” you marveled.
The machine was just like the movies with a multicolored screen of bright blues and purples, a platform with two sets of arrows in the floor, and two arched rails at the back for each player to hold onto as they danced the night away.
Sungchan marched up onto the platform and fished a wadded up paper bill out from his wallet. “Have you played before?”
When the machine devoured his money, the screen leapt to life and blasted its opening music to announce that somebody was willing to step up to the challenge.
You set your gift bag down at the foot of the platform and climbed up to join him. “I've only seen it done before, but I've always wanted to try it.”
You and he locked eyes, and you were sure the twinkle in his was a reflection of just how excited you were.
“Well, today is your lucky day, party girl,” he chirped. “Let's see what you've got.”
It didn't take long for you to figure out that “what you've got” was a lot less than whatever Sungchan had.
You grappled onto the railing behind you tightly as you stomped your feet against the coordinating arrows that flashed on-screen. How long had it been since that fateful first round? Ten minutes? Two days? It was all mashing together.
“This is unfair; you have longer limbs,” you groaned after missing a few arrows in a row. Why were you so out of breath?
A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of Sungchan's head. It was almost comical how serious you were both taking this game. “I have practice,” he corrected cheekily.
“Same difference!”
“A master never blames his tools.”
You huffed. “Bullshit.”
At this point, your losses were becoming ridiculous. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
For a sequence you knew you were going to miss, you leaned over and pinched his side. Sungchan jolted—it did the trick, and he missed the steps. His head whipped over to you, an impish gleam in his irises.
“Oh ho ho… you wanna play that game?”
You placed your hand on your hip as the round ended. “If I'm gonna lose, might as well go out with a bang.”
His tongue swiped over his lip. “You're on.”
The next round commenced, and adrenaline spiked through you like a spear, more powerful than before. You knew to expect Sungchan's revenge, but you struck first.
A poke at his side resulted in a tickle at your waist. You returned his parry with a blind poke at his stomach.
Anticipating his response, you spotted his arm incoming out of your periphery and moved to step out of his reach. Instead of solid platform, however, your breath hitched at the feeling of half your sandal slipping off the edge.
Sungchan's eyes went wide and his arm instead curled around your waist and hauled you to him. “Shit,” he muttered, “are you okay? Sorry, that was totally my fault.”
Your palms had landed on his chest, your heart rate slowing but not fast enough. All of the excitement in your veins was likely more so from the game itself, and not from almost falling off the platform… and perhaps, another part of it was you realizing just how close you and Sungchan were now.
You nodded. “Yeah, I'm completely fine; don't even worry about it. And it wasn't your fault—I miscalculated my step and I started it anyway.”
He pressed his lips together. “Still.”
“Nice catch, by the way,” you said quietly.
You saw his eyes leave your gaze, and this time, you followed in his movements. He ducked his head, almost shyly. “I guess so,” he chuckled. “I'm glad I caught you.”
If anything, your heartbeat was gaining speed again. The hand pressed into your waist was a little more addicting than you would have liked, and his mouth was closer than you thought it had been.
In the neon glow of the Dance Dance Revolution screen, you and Sungchan leaned toward one another with one aim, and one aim only.
“Hey guys!”
You leapt off the dance platform at the same time that Sungchan zipped to his side, gripping the railing with an expression akin to a deer caught in headlights.
You pressed a hand against your palpitating heart and turned to find all three of your brothers bounding over to where you and Sungchan were.
“Oh my god,” Anton gasped, “is that DDR?”
It seemed that Anton and Sohee were more focused on the game than yours and Sungchan's compromising position. But Jeno… you noted the suspicious narrowing of his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest…
You swore you and Sungchan swallowed at the same time.
“Did we interrupt something?” Jeno drawled.
“Nope!”
You and Sungchan looked at each other at your simultaneous answer. Great. That definitely wasn't even more conspicuous or anything.
Jeno pressed his lips together. “Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “Well, Mom and Dad texted and asked for us to meet them at the house, so we've gotta go.” He lifted the screen of his phone up for you to see. Dear god, you hadn't even realized they'd texted the group chat.
You cleared your throat. “Right.”
You picked up your gift bag, and your younger brothers immediately flanked you on either side to gush about the game of laser tag they had just partaken in. Though you nodded and engaged in their conversation, your mind was elsewhere.
Plus, it was hard not to be hyper aware of the fact that Sungchan was now alone to face Jeno somewhere behind you. You were not looking forward to the car ride back.
There were always some, unspoken fine lines that should not be crossed—at least, purposefully. In retrospect, you knew Jeno didn't care about who you chose to spend your time with, as long as they treated you right. In the same vein, you didn't care much about what he thought when it came to your own decisions, and yet, you found yourself caring a little more because this was one of his friends. Not yours.
But feelings were feelings… and you were slowly coming to terms with yours.
It was like déjà vu when you crept down the stairs in the dead of night for the second time this vacation. You simply could not bear staring at that wooden ceiling any longer with your mind reeling from this afternoon's events.
The living room was yet again a cacophony of light snoring, and you crossed the room toward the back door once more.
You paused again, the sight of Sungchan's back a familiar one. Instead of sitting on the porch steps, though, he leaned against the railing, gazing out at the dark waves. It was yet another calm night out on the embankment, but the moon tonight was hidden away behind a few wisps of cirrus clouds.
He glanced over his shoulder at you. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you greeted softly, gently closing the door behind you so you could join him at the railing. It was funny how you both were on the same wavelength. Fate had a funny way of encouraging you.
You and he hadn't properly spoken since the arcade, and Jeno hadn't said a word about it to you either. Dinner had gone on normally enough, so you were unsure of where this all stood.
“I wanted,” Sungchan began, “to talk to you about something.”
You glanced over at him and found his eyes already on you. “Sure, of course.”
He straightened, gesturing to the sandy beach beyond. “Walk with me?”
You nodded and followed him down the porch steps. Your feet met the cool grains of sand, and a sense of calm seeped into your bones from the bottom up.
A hand outstretched in your vision, uncertain. You clasped your hand in his palm, and the pair of you began to walk. You couldn't recall whether you began to adore the feeling of your hand wrapped up in his earlier or just now.
“So…” you trailed off.
“So,” he picked up. “About earlier today. I wanted to, uhm, make sure we were on the same page about something.”
He stopped you both when you were a good distance from the house, where the waves slipped along the sand louder than the snores.
“I had a really fun time with you today,” he said.
You nodded your head in earnest. “I had a great time with you, too.”
He smiled then, hand letting go of yours to drag over his face. “I'm—I’m happy to hear that,” he replied, and you were sure he was trying to hide his growing giddiness.
You reached over and gently pried his hands away from his face. “Did Jeno talk to you about today? Did he say anything?” Before he could reply, you added, “Because I know he means well, but who I choose to spend my time with is my decision. If he can't handle us together, then he'll have to learn to suck it up.”
“He did say something to me about it,” Sungchan admitted, “but it was just to make sure I wasn't playing around.” With his hands locked in yours, he gave your palms a reassuring squeeze. “And Yn, I'd like to take you out sometime—properly. No playing around.”
No more toeing the line in the sand.
Your heart rattled violently in your chest. “I'd really like that.”
His expression melted into something tender, like the dark swirls of molten chocolate in the scoop of tiramisu ice cream. His thumb grazed over the back of your hand. “Okay,” he murmured, barely audible over the soft laps of the waves, “good.”
He considered you for a moment longer, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I also—I did intend on kissing you earlier today, and I probably should have prefaced it, but—mmmh!”
You looped your arms around his neck and pulled his mouth over to yours. He sank into your hold with a content hum, his hands slipping around your waist to tug you closer to him. You'd never really thought about what kissing Jung Sungchan would be like, but you knew that your imagination couldn't have been better than this.
When you broke apart with your foreheads pressed against each other and sharing breathing air, you let out a small laugh. The sound coaxed a warm chuckle out of your counterpart.
“Sorry,” you breathed against his lips, “I probably should have asked first.”
He smiled against you. “You can apologize by kissing me again.”
He most certainly didn't have to tell you twice.
a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed! (idek if that was good, im off my Game and off my Rocker dkfnrj)
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