#I just think that this could be their way of making this a safe space for all of us
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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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Homecoming - Andrei Svechnikov
a/n: got this done in one day :) i love this man so much ugh. also not quite sure if the translations or spellings for the words in russian i used are accurate, but i wanted to include that :)
summary: andrei goes back to russia for a few months, but you aren’t able to go with him
word count: ~2.1k
another a/n: tumblr is stupid and wouldn't let me format the text messages properly, so the italicized responses are from the reader, bold and italicized are from svech :) his messages are clearly labeled, but just a little warning that it's formatted strange because of this dumb app
“I’ll miss you,” you whisper against Andrei’s chest, your arms wrapped around his waist. He holds you close, his hands running up and down your back softly.
“I’ll miss you too, malysh,” he murmurs into your hair. Tears fill both of your eyes as you stand in the middle of the airport terminal, not wanting to leave him just yet.
Andrei was going back to Russia for a few months to visit family and reset after a tough season. He needed to get away and that meant going back home.
“I wish you could come with me,” he says, cupping your cheeks with his hands, his thumbs catching all the tears that fall from your eyes.
“It’s really difficult to take off work right now,” you sigh, leaning into his touch. “Plus, you should spend time with your family and friends, don’t worry about me.”
“You are the love of my life, of course I’m going to think about you,” he sheepishly replies, a blush creeping up to his cheeks. You smile up at him, feeling your own face heat up under his hands.
“Maybe some other time, when it’s not short notice.” He nods eagerly and smiles sweetly at you. He checks his watch and sighs, his smile falling and replacing with a frown, realizing that he needs to get going soon.
“I should, uh, I should go,” he says reluctantly, clearing his throat as he gets a little choked up. You nod and inhale sharply, not wanting to cry, but realizing that he won’t be by your side for the next three months or so, was finally settling in.
“I love you, Svech,” you whimper, falling into his chest again, crying uncontrollably this time.
“I’ll be back before you know it, honey,” he says in your ear. “I’ll make sure to find time to call you every day.” You nod against his shoulder and pull away, wiping your tears. Andrei’s eyes soften and he swats your hands away playfully to do the job for you.
“I love you,” he tells you, kissing you sweetly, your tears mixing between your lips. “So so much.”
“You better go before you’re late,” you tell him, pushing his chest back a little. He laughs and nods, stepping away from you with his suitcase. He blows you a kiss and waves to you, turning around to get in the security line.
You slowly walk out of the airport and back to your car, trying your hardest not to break down, but you couldn’t help it. As soon as you fall into the driver’s seat and your door shuts, you sob loudly, resting against your steering wheel, trying to catch your breath through it all.
A few minutes later, you get a text from Andrei with a photo of him at his gate, a frown on his face and tears evident in his eyes.
From: Svechy 🩵
I miss my love already :(
You laugh a little and save the photo, setting it as your lock screen.
I miss you too, my dear. It’ll be a long few months but we can get through it. Text me when you are boarding and when you land <3
From: Svechy 🩵
Promise. Be safe heading home
You love react the message and connect your bluetooth to your car, backing out of your parking space and exiting the garage, thinking about your boyfriend the entire drive back home. Once you park in the drive way, you stare up at the house that you’ve practically moved into. You promised to watch over his house while he was gone, and now, you were beginning to wonder why you agreed to do so.
Maybe it was because you would be surrounded by him while he wasn’t physically here. His bed would smell like his body wash and cologne, his sweatshirts would be full access to you at any point of the day, and photos of him would be all over the place, giving you the chance to look them over and see him when he wasn’t available.
Stepping into the house, you set your bag on the coat rack shelf, kicking your shoes off underneath it. Dragging your feet to the living room, you fall onto the couch and sigh. Just then, you get a text from Andrei, letting you know that he’s boarding now and that it’s going to be a long flight there.
You exchange a few more texts with him before he has to turn his phone off for the beginning of the flight. He paid for in-flight messaging and entertainment, so you would be able to contact him throughout, but you figured he would want to sleep and rest, especially with the time change.
As the hours tick by, the house was far too silent for your liking, so you decide to run some errands and do some shopping for some retail therapy. After three hours and five stores later, you return to his house, ready to unpack all the things you bought, which included some new books, some food and snacks for this week that he didn’t have in his house, and some little trinkets you thought would look nice around his home, to make it feel more like your space, for the time being.
Hours later, you are curled up in Andrei’s bed, reading your book and listening to some music quietly in the background. Your phone dings with an incoming text, and you finish reading the paragraph you were in the middle of before picking your phone up, finding a text from Andrei.
From: Svechy 🩵
Just landed. My friend is picking me up. Really early here
He sends a couple pictures, one of his exhausted looking self, his usual white baseball cap on backwards, his eyes drooped with sleep. Also included was a picture of the beautiful sunset coming up, the sky filled with clouds and a gorgeous orange hue.
Glad to hear that, baby. I hope you have the best time there, I think it’ll be good for you
From: Svechy 🩵
I’ll still be thinking about you every day I’m gone, moy med ❤️
Your heart soars in your chest as he uses one of the pet names he calls you in Russian, putting a smile on your face. You receive another text from him before you can respond.
From: Svechy 🩵
What are you doing?
Reading a new book in your bed
You send him a photo of yourself, which he reacts to with a heart almost instantly.
From: Svechy 🩵
You are so beautiful. I don’t know how I’m going to survive these months without you
You’ll survive ❤️ we can get through this, it’ll be over by the time we know it
You hoped your words would reign true. But sure enough, even though these three months dragged on more than either of you were expecting, he was soon texting you that he was heading to the airport and would be on a plane back home in the next few hours.
Somehow, you managed to stay relatively sane through this time apart. Andrei made time to call you at least once per day, and if he didn’t, he would still be texting you and letting you know how his day was going.
There were some nights where you cried yourself to sleep, wanting to be held by him but knowing he was thousands of miles away. You tried not to tell him of your current state some nights, not wanting to worry him or make him feel bad.
But now, he was finally coming back home. Or at least to his second home that he’s made in the States. To welcome him back, you decided to make a sign to hold up for him to see while you wait for him at baggage claim, and you were so excited to see him again overall.
Because he had messaging on the plane, he makes sure to text you updates every now and then, with the estimated time that he’d be landing, to let you know when to head to the airport and wait for him.
Soon, you find yourself parking in the same garage that you were in months ago, crying as your lover left for his home country. Now, you were eager to actually be here, to see him again, to be in his arms, feel him.
You arrive about an hour before his plane is supposed to land, sitting in a chair with your sign, your headphones on, listening to music to drown the loud airport noises surrounding you. You get a text after sitting there for a while that his plane just landed, and immediately, your heart starts to race.
You were starting to get antsy and jittery, your hands shaking at the thought of seeing your boyfriend after so long; tears were already forming in your eyes, and you knew the second he appeared in your vision, you would be a mess.
Before you know it, Andre is trudging towards the baggage claim area, where you are standing, holding up your sign that reads ‘Happy (second) Homecoming’ in big letters. He has his usual white hat on backwards, hiding any signs of bed head that he didn’t want to deal with.
As soon as he sees you, he quickly rushes over to you and drops his things by his side, swiping you up in his arms and spinning you around, just like they do in movies. Your sign gently falls to the ground next to his stuff as you focus on being back in his arms.
Just as expected, your tears burst out at the moment you feel his arms around you, colliding into his chest. His grip on you is deathly tight, not wanting to let go of you for a second.
“I missed you so much,” he cries into your neck, his own emotions taking over. You could tell his accent had gotten thicker again, using his first language for so long once again and not being used to speaking English.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” you whisper against his shoulder, your tears producing a wet spot on the black fabric.
“Me too. I never want to be away from you for that long,” he replies, pulling away to get a good look at you. His hands cup your cheeks and he stares deep into your eyes for a moment before his own eyes flicker over every single feature of yours.
You do the same, noticing how he hasn’t shaved in a while, and how he looks much more well-rested and refreshed. As much as he missed you, he can’t deny that this trip did him a lot of good, and you were glad that it did.
Andrei brings your face closer and crashes his lips onto yours in a searing kiss, all of his emotions in the past few months pouring into it. Your head spins from the feeling of his lips on yours after all this time, your hands wrapping around his neck to keep him in place.
“I love you,” he mumbles against your lips as the kiss breaks. “Move in with me.”
His words make you freeze, and you pull back to look into his eyes.
“What?”
“I want you to live with me. I don’t want to be away from you like that anymore. I want to wake up with you beside me, fall asleep with you in my arms, make breakfasts and dinners together while music plays through the house. I want you with me all the time.”
His words make you tear up again, so this is what he was thinking when he was away; it was comforting knowing he was dealing with the same sort of issues that comes with short term long distance.
“I would love to, Andrei,” you smile widely, cupping his cheeks and kissing him once again. “I spent so many nights wanting to be in your arms again and I think living with you would solve so many of my problems.”
He laughs at your slightly joking comment and wipes your cheeks to rid the tear streaks.
“Great. Because as much as I loved visiting my home country, my new home is here. With you.” Your heart beats rapidly as he says this, a blush covering his cheeks as well. “I like your sign, by the way.”
He lets you go to pick up the thin poster board, looking over it and laughing at the tiny ‘(second)’ you included between the two large words.
“I know this isn’t your true home, so I thought it was fitting.” He shakes his head at your words and wraps his arm around you again.
“This is my true home now. And even if I ever leave North Carolina, wherever you are, will be my home, moya lyubov’.”
malysh - baby
moy med - my honey
moya lyubov' - my love
#andrei svechnikov#andrei svechnikov imagines#andrei svechnikov x reader#andrei svechnikov imagine#andrei svechnikov fanfic#carolina hurricanes#carolina hurricanes fanfic#hockey fanfic#nhl fanfic#imagines#fanfiction#fanfic
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Keeping Secrets | John Price x female!reader
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John Price x afab!Reader
Word Count: 2.3k
Content Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, mentions of injury, cannon typical violence, swearing, age gap (reader is in her twenties, John is in his forties), suggestive content, oral (F receiving), PIV (protected (stay safe, kids)), brief mention of Price JRs, no use of Y/N
The Captain and the Sergeant start keeping secrets from the rest of the taskforce
It wasn't like it was in the movies or the books. There were no longing glances across crowded rooms; no deep, personal conversations late at night. There was no warning.
The first indication that anything had changed between the two of you was in a dimly lit safehouse. A job had gone wrong - horribly, irreparably wrong - and Soap had been medevac-ed out to the nearest army hospital. The rest of you would have to wait until morning; would have to make it through the night when a countless number of enemy operatives could still be hunting you, then hike to the nearest evac point before sunrise.
Ghost was pacing the worn wooden floors, and you were sure he'd wear through them at some point. You knew better than to make a joke about it - knew better than most the deep bond that he and Johnny shared. To mock it would be to die a brutal death by Ghost's hand in the night.
Gaz was coping with it in the best way he knew how: checking in with everyone, yourself - as the newest member of the taskforce - included, mother-hening his way around the three-room cabin in the middle of rural woodlands.
It wasn't until he'd finally convinced Ghost to sit down and take a breath, that Captain Price finally approached you. Heavily, he lowered himself down to sit beside you on the shabby old sofa, not saying a word at first as you stared ahead at nothing.
Johnny had been standing right next to you when it all went to shit. Him diving in front of you like a lunatic was probably the only reason that you were there with them. The shot to his shoulder would have been a direct headshot on you.
It was hard not to feel bitter or dazed about that.
"It's not your fault, Sarge," John said, his voice markedly softer than usual. He typically made it a point to avoid babying you in any way - knew that you hated being treated differently to the boys - but you could make an exception for him just the once. "Soap chose to block that bullet. Saved your life an' all. Cheer up, yeah? He's alright and you'll see 'im soon enough."
You turned to face him, offering him a small, weak shadow of a smile. "I know. It just sucks."
John frowned, seeing through the thin veil of fake cheeriness. Quieter, he added, "It's alright to be shaken by this, too. First near-death is always scary. It stays with you in a way the ones after don't." There was a pause - a long, tentative pause - as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his parted knees, dark eyes finding yours and holding them. "If- if you don't want to be alone tonight, you don't have to be."
Laid out in the open like that, the offer seemed so damn tempting.
Your mind raced through all of the shit that could go down if you took him up on it - if you were found out. You could be removed from the taskforce, stripped of the sergeant rank that you'd fought so hard to attain. John could be reprimanded for sleeping with an officer under his orders. But, if no one knew... what was the harm?
With a soft, sweet smile - a genuine one this time - you tilted your head, leaning slightly into his space on the sofa. "Yeah. I think I'd like some company, Captain."
Hours later, after Ghost had fallen asleep on the floor of the living room and Gaz had been assigned first watch, Price led you into the smaller second room of the safehouse - the bedroom - under the guise of checking your wounds. In reality, the minor scrapes to his arm and leg had already been dressed, not requiring any further attention. If anything, the cut to Gaz's forearm was of a higher severity.
John grinned as he shut the door with a soft thud, sliding the flimsy, rusted deadbolt across to lock it. You were thankful for the added security; the increased reassurance that the boys wouldn't be able to just wander in and catch you in the act.
The bedroom was poorer lit than the main room, making it harder to see. The moon illuminated the outline of the Captain's broad, muscular frame as he removed his beanie and tactical vest before turning his attention to his belt. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, thighs clenching in an attempt to relieve some of the aching tension in your core.
He took his time stripping down to his white t-shirt and boxer briefs, the material straining with the impressive tent in the front. "Like what you see?" he grumbled cockily, noticing your attention.
You let out something akin to a whine. He looked so good - so unbelievably good after the day from Hell you'd just had. There was also something else that made it undeniably more thrilling; the risk of getting found out. The taboo of it all.
You couldn't deny that you'd found Price attractive before that deployment. You'd spent every day for the past two years around him, living, eating, and working alongside him and the boys. It had also been a fact of life that he had a following - a constant, ever-present gaggle of new, female recruits cornering him in the hallways and vying for his attention. But he never took any of them to bed, preferring to spend his nights in the barracks alone.
At first, you'd thought that he had a wife or a partner off-base, but a conversation on your last stakeout together led you to the truth; he just wasn't interested in the barrack bunnies. He wasn't interested in sleeping with someone just for the sake of it - just because they wanted to get a piece of taskforce 141's infamous Captain.
"I think I might need to see some more to decide," you purr teasingly, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to the bed.
He stepped forward slowly, hands rising to rest on his tapered hips. He was built like a bear; broad, built, and covered in a fine layer of downy body hair.
You licked your lips, eyes tracking every single minute movement.
"I think I need to see something from your first, princess," John teased. "It's only fair."
Eyes never leaving his, you made quick work of stripping out of your own tac vest and pants, chucking them over the edge of the mattress and into a heap on the floor. You even went one step further; shucking off your t-shirt. With a small smirk, you leaned back, clad only in your flimsy underwear and sports bra.
John's eyes were practically bulging out of his head.
"Like what you see, Captain?" you purred, words a light-hearted mockery of his own self-assured crowing.
"If I'd have known," John grumbled as he took another slow, measured step towards the bed, "that this is what you looked like under all that gear, Sergeant, we'd have done this a long time ago."
A grin formed on your lips, ego expanding ten sizes as John prowled across to close the rest of the distance. His irises were all but swallowed up by his pupils, blown with lust.
Shuffling back on the mattress, you eased back as John came to a stop, kneeling between your parted legs. With a lover's gentle reverence, he pressed a kiss to each of your knees in turn before turning his attention to the scrap of damp cotton protecting your modesty.
"May I?" he asked softly, fingers hovering over the waistband at the side, thumb smoothing a path along the ridge of your hipbone.
Breathily, you gave your consent. "Yes. Please, John-"
With practiced ease, he lifted your hips up and off of the bed, guiding your underwear down your bare legs then chucking them to join the rest of the clothes littering the floor. His hands skimmed back up, callouses feather-light against the skin of your calves before rising to knead your plush thighs when he reached them once again. He seemed to be mapping out your body; ghosting over the sensitive parts repeatedly, lingering where he'd deduced you liked to be touched.
The man was a fast learner. An eager one, for sure.
When he'd finished kneading at the soft skin there, he pushed your thighs apart, holding them down to the mattress and exposing the moisture glistening at their apex. Licking his lips, he bowed his head slightly, lowering his body down to the bed.
"John?" you asked, confused as to where he was going and why he still had his briefs on. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing, princess?" he mumbled against your inner thigh, dark eyes lifting to meet yours. "Didn't think to bring any rubbers with me, and I don't fancy having any little Prices running around any time soon." A spark of mischief glittered within his gaze as he nuzzled his bristly moustache against a particularly sensitive spot. Your shiver seemed to only embolden him further. "Which means tonight's all about you."
You arched your back off of the bed, trying to push his face closer to where you desperately needed it. "Can you hurry up then?" you whined, getting impatient.
John chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."
And, with that, he bowed his head and made good on his promise.
"John!" you yelled, thighs burning with the strain as you bounced up and down on his cock. "John- fuck!"
A whole three months had passed since the first night you'd spent together in the safehouse. The morning after, you'd fully expected him to put an immediate stop to it the moment you were all rescued. Instead, he'd held your hand in the Heli - tucked between both of your bodies, hidden from sight - and promised that you'd talk about what this is later.
Nights since had been split between your room in the barracks and his. Mornings, too, upon occasion. Every spare moment the two of you got some accompanied by the feeling of his large, warm hands on you. By his constant, protective presence in your life.
It was a miracle that no one had noticed the new pull between the two of you. How you seemed to orbit one another.
And then there was the sex. The constant fucking.
"Keep it down, princess," he grumbled, breathless and sweating, beneath you. He didn't look too bothered though - too blissed out to properly care or consider the consequences of someone overhearing.
Clinging to some semblance of intelligent thought, you bit down on your wrist in an attempt to muffle the sounds leaving your mouth, drawn out by the captain and his fat cock. It was quickly becoming one of your favourite parts of him, second only to his beautiful, expressive laugh. It was no secret to you that he was well-endowed. Well-endowed and skilled at utilising it.
"Stop that," he grumbled gruffly, raising a hand to gently remove your wrist from between your teeth. He quickly replaced it with his own hand, guiding the soft part of his palm between his thumb and index finger into your mouth. Anything to prevent you from accidentally injuring yourself. "Keep riding, love. I'm getting close."
A part of your brain purred at that. Love.
It was a pet name that he used sparingly. Perhaps because he saw the flash of panic in your eyes almost every previous time he'd used it.
But now...
You tipped yourself back, hands finding purchase on his tensed, thick thighs to deepen the angle. Freeing his hand from clenched jaw, you whimpered, "I'm... John, I'm so close."
"Me too, sweetheart," he mumbled, speeding up the pace of his thrust. He punctuated the sentence with a snap of his hips. "Me too."
Wrapping his arms around your waist, he tugged you down into his chest and rolled, rising up onto his knees as he set you on your back. Pressing a trail of soft, tender kisses to your face and neck, he picked up the pace; drilling deliciously deep.
You whined, squeezing your legs around his waist and clawing at his back with your fingernails.
With a low growl, John lost it. Turning frantic as he barrelled towards his rapidly approaching end, he pushed you towards your own orgasm - practically bullying it out of you.
You came with a sharp scream, turning your head in a fraught attempt to smother the sound in the pillow. It smelled of Price - rugged, masculine aftershave and a hint of tobacco smoke.
He himself came moments later, gasping as his release swept over him. Covering your body like the world's best weighted blanket, he slumped down on top of you.
Still buried deep inside the paradise at the apex of your thighs, he pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your throat. It was one of the best part of sex with Price; the cuddling that came after.
Giving a small jolt of his hips, he grumbled something into your salty skin.
"Hm?"
John lifted his face slightly, breath tickling the underside of your jaw. "I said, I wish I was ten years younger. Then I could go again and again without a half-hour break between each round."
You giggled. John's age was something that you didn't mind. You knew that the age gap between you probably would have put some people off, but - if anything - he made you feel safe and respected. Though that could be the fact that he was a highly-decorated war vet, and a complete Golden Retriever of a man.
Pressing a kiss to his temple, you whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way, John."
There was a beat of silence as the two of you soaked up the moment; the feeling of just holding one another on the sweat-soaking sheets, oblivious to the world outside of the little bubble you'd created for yourselves. With a chaste kiss to your shoulder, John gave another tentative roll of his hips, drawing another whiny groan from you.
"You sure know how to make an old man feel loved, princess."
Before you could reply - to bring up to the l-word that you'd both been skirting around for weeks now - your phone chimed. The alert tone was one you'd reserved for the other members of the taskforce only.
Why would they be messaging on a Sunday night?
A wave of panic cresting inside of you, you eased John's softening cock out of you, wincing at the sudden emptiness. Your phone was on the desk, all the way over on the other side of the room. It seemed so impossibly far as you scrambled for it.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" John asked, suddenly fully alert and hurrying to tug his boxer briefs back on.
Wordlessly, you read the message you'd just been sent. Your face blanched to an unhealthy pallor as you handed him the phone. A single message notification waited on the screen, glaring with accusation.
GHOST: We heard everything, you two. Think you owe us an explanation at the very least. Rec room in ten minutes.
John looked up from the phone screen, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, sheepish smile. "Well, I guess that's what we get for keeping secrets, princess."
a/n:
hello, hello :)
so this was the Price X 141!reader fic that won the poll! I've had so much fun writing this one - not that I don't love Double the Love (my firstborn fic)
please feel free to tell me what you want to see next!
- happy surprise-post thursday, lapetitelapin :)
#cod#cod fanfic#fanfic#callofduty#cod x reader#female reader#john price x reader#john price#captain price x reader#smut#romance
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Hi! What’s your opinion on Maya’s book? There are recaps floating around and it’s so obvious that she wrote about Liam like girl didn’t even try to hide it in a more creative way. I don’t really follow Liam like I don’t really know him or how real were their relationships. I see most of the fans already taking sides. I even saw some louies are upset that he is around Louis this days.
I haven’t read the book and don’t have much interest in reading the book. I have read through some recaps just to get an understanding of what is being said, so there’s that, but the recaps won’t give me the full understanding of how this story is being presented.
I think ultimately the most important thing about the book comes down to the story it is trying to tell, divorced from who the book is about. This is - after all - supposed to be a book ripped straight from a teenager’s diary of a series of very traumatic experiences she has endured. (Think something like “Go Ask Alice” by anonymous) The book describes a harrowing tale, just because being in an abusive relationship like this, with an alcoholic, is harrowing. Not because of who the alcoholic is, or what their job is. This story - this idea of a young woman falling in love with someone who struggles with addiction and his mental health and what that makes HER go through and experience, is an important story to tell and tbh if I was the author I would be sad that this story is being presented in a way where Liam is the one upfront. And the promo seems to be about attacking Liam’s character - his ACTUAL character, like Liam himself - when really the heart of the story should be about this young woman surviving. It’s a shame that all of the promo and the way this novel has been presented takes away from that. Because I could see the story being very impactful for other teenagers, giving insight into how an abusive relationship can happen, and how you can be stuck there even when it’s absolutely horrible.
All of that said, I would like to remind everyone that Maya’s book is by a pay-to-publishing company. That means that she got final say on what the book contained, and any advertising has been paid for by her, in the way she would like it presented.
And as for Louis? I just remember that Liam has heavily alluded to Louis literally saving his life, so the fact that this is going on and Liam has run to be with Louis, as if Louis is a safe space, does make me smile. Hell, with that idea I wouldn’t be surprised if Louis told him to come see him to distract everything. Because Louis is a carer.
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Can you speak more to your theory about callum and Austin’s friendship being about a safe space/comfort person? I am obsessed with them and really hope we get to see more of their friendship in the future.
Hi dear 😊 Sure! Please note that these are all just my observations and assumptions, of course - ultimately, we don’t know these men. Mini-essay below.
Austin expressed in several interviews that he used to be a shy kid who couldn't really find a friend group where he belonged until he got into acting and he "found his tribe", as he put it. Based on how he behaves in interviews depending on the group he’s with and how his costars describe him, I think he's still someone who’s more reserved and needs to be drawn out of his shell with a gentle approach. He seems to have had a good example of this with Florence Pugh who helped him get out of the house while shooting Dune.
It seems to me that Austin enjoys being with costars who are confident, funny but calmly caring.
Callum fits right in that category. He has a bubbly and comforting vibe, he cracks witty jokes all the time (sometimes a little naughty, which Austin also seems to like), and he gives off a sense of safety. That he can be relied upon no matter what mood you're in or what kind of support you need. He’s also casually tactile in a way that seems to encourage Austin not to pull back on his own tactile gestures. They're both young men around the same age who share a passion and (as far as we can tell) views, so that further connects them.
I think we should consider the time when they met too. Austin was in a vulnerable place mentally and emotionally due to Elvis ending, and he said he was trying to find himself again. Plus, it was Covid lockdown, and he had just moved to a new country for this shoot. So they spent a lot of time together, often in very small groups or just the two of them during a period when Austin needed support. It’s not hard to imagine how that strengthens a friendship.
We also know that Austin has trouble staying in touch with people remotely (i.e. the joke about him not using his phone), while they also implied that Callum sends a lot of voice messages. From my personal experience, people who have trouble replying are able to maintain long-distance connections better if the other person is chatty like that.
Finally, from Callum's side, it’s clear that he likes making people laugh and making them comfortable. I think he seems to enjoy being a source of support and finds it rewarding that he’s the cause of their joy. He always raves about how quickly he "fell in love with" Austin, and I think it’s a combination of similar views and interests meeting plus a matching sense of humour, life stage and intensity levels (e.g. Timothée's intensity is too much to match Austin).
These are some factors that could have contributed to their sweet friendship. Callum explicitly mentioned in an interview that he doesn’t have this kind of relationship with a lot of costars, so I think we can safely say that this really is a special bond, and even if they drift apart, whenever they meet, they will always be happy to see each other again. 🩷
#austin butler#callum turner#anon#austin and callum's friendship#i hope we will get to see more of them together
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may 4 | cease | @jegulus-microfic | 1057 words
“Stop,” Regulus begs, pushing James away. “Please just stop.”
James stares at him with heartbroken eyes, his face crumpled as he attempts to grab Regulus’ shaking hands. They’re in the Astronomy Tower, the night sky dark and thunderous, threatening a storm it’s waiting to unleash. The moon shines down on them and Regulus can’t help but realise the irony of losing James when the sun isn’t shining, but he doesn’t know when else he’s meant to do this.
They’ve been meeting in the tower for the past few months and at first it was fun, the two of them snarking and bickering with each other until slowly it became more physical, a push here and a jab there. Until one day James pulled. He pulled Regulus into him, his back against the bannister in the tower and pressed his lips to Regulus’ passionately. Regulus had just called him some ungodly name and James couldn’t take it anymore.
Soon the tower became a place where they not only argued but also just talked. About everything and everyone. Without realising it they had become each other’s safe space and the kisses soon turned tender and soft, and the fucking transitioned into something with a little more meaning. Regulus didn’t dive off straight away and actually allowed James to wrap his arms tightly around his middle, pulling him back into his embrace.
But that was then and this is now.
Now, Regulus is staring at James imploringly, eyes shining with tears not yet fallen and James wants to scoop him up and kiss his pain away, only Regulus won’t let him come near him. James doesn’t understand. “Regulus? What happened?”
Regulus lets out a bitter laugh, wet and humourless. “What happened? Did you get concussed whilst kissing that Prewett twin or are you just an imbecile?”
James feels as though he’s been slapped and staggers backwards, because he had kissed Gideon. Or rather, Gideon kissed him and James had spluttered and pulled away so quickly that he’d almost torn a muscle in his neck. It happened just now at the Gryffindor party, one that Regulus didn’t want to go to, preferring to be in the Astronomy Tower watching the stars. James, apologising to Gideon profusely about not being available, had rushed to get the map and find Regulus, opting to spend the rest of the night with him.
Which is where he finds himself now, staring down a furious Regulus, his eyes rimmed with red. He had obviously decided to come to the party last minute and walked right in on the worst scene imaginable.
“Regulus, it’s not what it seems at all. Please let me explain,” James begs, his heart pounding its way up his throat.
Scoffing, Regulus sniffs and wipes his cheeks harshly. The sight of his tears makes James ache something fierce. He wishes he could reach out and comfort him but he knows Regulus isn’t going to allow that. Has this horrible sinking feeling that Regulus might not let him ever again.
“What is there to explain? You kissed him, and I’m the idiot because I actually thought that this meant something to you,” Regulus’ shoulders droop suddenly and he stops wiping his cheeks, it’s all in vain anyway because the tears won’t stop. “Like it meant something to me.”
“Regulus,” James breathes, taken aback by this impromptu confession.
They never spoke about what they were to each other, just that they enjoyed finding release in each other’s bodies and didn’t want to stop. The sneaking about was fun, or at least James had thought so until his heart wrangled its way into the mix and then he sort of just wanted to snog Regulus whenever and wherever. But he refrained because he knew that Regulus was scared. Scared of what Sirius would think, scared of it getting back to his parents. They’d spoken about it, lying on blankets in the tower as the sweat cooled on their bodies, and James had sworn that he would protect Regulus from everyone that wished to harm him.
Looking at him now, James thinks that the only person harming Regulus is him.
“Just go, James.”
“No,” James declares, stepping forward with determination, because Regulus basically just confessed to him and there is no way in hell that he’s going to leave here without telling him how he feels. Even if Regulus doesn’t want anything to do with him now. He has to do this.
So he starts speaking whilst Regulus is quiet. “Gideon kissed me. We were dancing, surrounded by everyone else, it wasn't just us, and he sort of just attached himself to me. I pulled away instantly, hurt my neck a bit doing it so fast, and told him that I wasn’t available. Then I came here to find you, and well, you know the rest.”
By the end of the speech he’s shyly rubbing at the nape of his neck, eyes intently focused on Regulus. The younger boy is looking at James warily, but somewhere deep in his eyes James can see that he wants to believe what he’s saying.
“You’re not available?” Regulus asks, voice small and vulnerable. But his eyes. Merlin, his beautiful grey eyes are shining with something James thinks looks like hope, and it’s what spurs him forward.
Regulus allows him to take his hands as he approaches and soon they’re standing with their faces close. It’s intimate and it’s all James wants for the rest of his life. “I’m not. You see, there’s this really prickly Slytherin who I’m a little bit in love with. Even when he’s insulting me I can’t help but adore him.”
“He sounds like a right tosser,” Regulus says and James laughs, feeling brighter as Regulus smiles at him.
“Hey!” James scolds jokingly. “That’s my lover you’re talking about.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, cheeks staining a pretty red. The younger boy’s face turns grave once more, though. “You better not be messing with me, Potter.”
“Never,” James swears, leaning down so that his nose brushes Regulus’.
“Good,” Regulus breathes. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”
James surges to press his lips to Regulus’, heart pounding as he smiles into it. Nothing has ever felt sweeter than the press of Regulus’ lips to his, and he’s sure nothing will ever be as sweet as this moment.
#jegulus#james potter#regulus black#james x regulus#jegulus microfic#marauders#starchaser#regulus x james#sunseeker#dead gay wizards#writing#microficmay2024#the mauraders#the marauders fandom
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can we do someone (your favorite) from AOT ? preferably with a size difference or height difference 🤭
ive been told that my fav (reiner) is someone we hate soo im going to do eren .
☆ - Size difference , slight public setting , cliche (?) , spoiled!reader , blackcoded!reader , cervix fucking , name calling(ma , pa , baby ) , unprotected sex (wrap it be4 you tap it.) , creampie (i cant help myself)
"how you like this one, eren?" you asked as you walked infront of him and gave him a little twirl. his green eyes following you with every movement, obviously caught on the way the lace flings to your hips like a second skin.
the both of you are currently in Victoria's Secret changing room, so you could try on a skimpy yet beautiful lace sets for whatever reason. you eren decided that its time to go shopping and so far, you spent at least hundreds in each store you had your eyes on. soending cash on shoes, clothes, bags and jewelry, food, and even bras and underwear.
"gimme another spin." he asked you, his tongue dipping out to damped his lips. he put all the shopping bags on the hot pink bench, "come closer," he gestured with his hand.
as you stood in between his long legs, his large hands came up and cupped your hips, pulling you closer.
"you like it, huh pa?" you giggled when you felt his breath on the vally of your breasts. your arms wrapped around his neck as he stood up, easily towering over your smaller form and backed you up into the dressing room. the curtain snapped closed with the magnetic clips on the sides.
"cmon, gimme another spin." he asked you again with a slight smirk. you grinned up at him with a bite of your lips and turned around. you made sure you brushed your ass against his crotch and made eye contact with him in the mirror.
his arms came around, and he made you feel safe. his bigger frame completely engulfing you as he reached down to play with the lace straps sitting on your hips, "y'know i like it." he said with a smirk before his lips landed on yours. the movement made you back up into the mirror, pinned in between him and the mirror.
your breathy moans filled the small space once one hand shoved itself into the underwear and the other around to speeze at the fat of your ass. his – now wet – skillful fingers made play with your little clit, pinching and pulling with precision. "d.. damn!" you bit your lip, trying to consume your own moans. he smirked into your neck as he felt you getting wetter, and pushed his fingers in, immediately pressing into the spongy spot.
your eyes widened and you went up on your tip toes, trying to run from the pleasure but his hand on your ass held you down, "baby its big- its s'so big-" you began before his other hand came crashing down on your mouth, shutting up any (and all) noise.
"you don't want people asking if we're alright, huh ma? you want to be that loud, go ahead- we'll just get kicked out of your favorite store." he laughed into your neck as he plunged his think fingers into your slippery cunt, pulling and pushing at your gummy walls.
his 2 fingers already felt like a dick once he pulled them out and heaved a thigh on his hip, making your back arch off the mirror. he smirked again, "be quiet, baby" he said before positioning himself at your entrance, he rubbed his leaky tip into your clit catching the bud before actually sinking in.
"you've taken it plently of times before, quit struggling." he grunted as he made you take his inches, all his inches. he held your thigh well above your head and straightened it to press against your chest.
the angle is life threatening.
"nono fuckfuck baby.. mm!" you whimpered as he gave you his inches, the tip pressing slightly against your cervix. he thrusted sharply and it knocked the breath out you. "eren, i'so big, feel you in my tummy.."
eren bit his lip as he felt your gummy walls contracting and milking him.
"fuckk me, ma" he groaned into your sweaty neck, his hips studded as he quickly came to an end. "cum with me, please. youre so beautiful, white is your color, ma" he whimpered as he came, coating your gummy walls with his semen.
the pressure from his orgasm made your walls constrict again, making eren whine and you creamed all over his dick, making it weep and drip as eren held your limp body up against the mirror.
"you jus' so good to me, baby," he groaned into your neck as he slowly pulled out and lowering your sore (now shaking) leg onto the ground. he took some cloth from the ground and wiped at your trembling thighs and kissed at your neck while you catched your breath–
"are we okay in there, ma'am? sir?" a polite women asked with a slight smile laying at her lips. she shifted her feet as she waited for an answer. a small gasp at the suddenness escaped your lips, and you quietly laughed as eren got down on his knees, cleaning you up. he looked up from under his lashes, his green eyes catching the light as he moved,
"get this set in all colors, i want 2 of each pair." he said, already knowing the woman knew which set you had on.
swear i pulled this right out my ass . if you want smth specific , ASK ! dont be afraid , ill try my best to give you that vision .
-Aizawas BARB !
#attack on titan#attack on titan x reader#attack on titan smut#aot smut#aot x reader#eren yeager#eren smut#eren yeager smut#eren jeager smut#eren jeager#eren x reader#eren x black reader#eren x you#eren x black fem!reader#eren aot
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Let's talk about the OST of Black Butler
What really drew me to Kuroshitsuji was the music of the first two seasons. I remember so vividly listening to the music before watching the actual anime, and I remember how the OST made me feel. It was so sad, so raw and heart wrenching, even before knowing the story behind it. As a classical music fan and also musician, here are my favourites even though no one asked LOL :
I mean, with "Si deus me relinquint", I always want to cry. Clearly meant to be ciel's lament : "If God has forsaken me,
Then I shall forsake God, too."
The unusual spacing of each lyrics, as if the singer was panting her words with difficulties, as if too tired to continue.
Then we can hear the gregorian/religious choir : "agnus dei qui tollis peccata mundi" : "Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us." Reminiscing of the cult, and the sacrifice that has been done. The second part of the music, makes me think of Sebastian, here to "save" ciel. (But is it really saving if he's just going to eat ciel's soul anyway. Giving no chance of eternal peace.)
An underrated OST : I've Come To The Lost World/Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen (you can find it here). The title is a nod to Malher's same title song. In this ost, there is no lyrics, however, in Malher's, here are some of the lyrics :
"I am lost to the world
With which I used to waste much time;
It has for so long known nothing of me,
It may well believe that I am dead.
Nor am I at all concerned
If it should think that I am dead.
Nor can I deny it,
For truly I am dead to the world."
You can hear the composer of Black butler's ost passion for opera in a few titles (with "Cena d'amore" or even "Wie Schon")
At the beginning, it sounds peaceful. But the plaintive melody of the erhu (I think) can be heard at 1:52. So melancholic, and lonely. How can life be peaceful even when you are "safe", when you know you're going to die soon by the hands of a devil. Recalling the original of Malher's lyrics : For truly I am dead to the world.
The danse macabre (here) is one of my favourites too ! So dark (literally the "dance of death"), and clearly inspired by Camille Saint Saens "danse macabre". According to the legend : "Midnight strikes. Satan is going to lead the dance. Death appears, tunes his violin, and the round begins, almost furtively at first, comes to life, seems to calm down and then starts up again with an increased rage that will only cease when the cock crows. The Sabbath dissolves with the dawn."
This music was clearly inspired by Vivaldi "the storm".
I just LOVE IT. So well composed. You can imagine Ciel and Sebastian in a frenzied dance. Ciel getting tired and not being able to keep up. Almost as if Sebastian were playing with his food. At least, that's how it makes me feel !
This OST named "Ciel" : Si deus Relinquit, but make it orchestral. Again, Ciel's lament.
And should I talk about the band KALAFINA ?????????????????? Made by the one and only Yuki Kajiura (amazing song writer, did plenty amazing music for us weebs lol). We were blessed with the song "Lacrimosa".
"Broken and vanishing into the distance
I want to love this dazzling world once more
I hide my dreams within my eyes
Until my tainted heart
Receives falling tears
A phantom carriage parts the darkness
On its way to where there is light
The trap known as dreams
Lures us into the inferno"
( ༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ )
I heard the fanbase in japan had a CONCERT for the 15th anniversary of kuroshitsuji. How I pray for something like that in Paris one day lol. Here's a snippet : here
Such a lengthy post and yet I could go on and on... Please let me know if you want more !!!!
#anime OST#black butler#kuroshitsuji#ciel phantomhive#sebastian michaelis#yes i'm a music nerd#sebaciel#and yes#i only talk about Ciel because he's my son !!! :'(
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i remember the younger primes being outcasted/mistreated by the older primes after the battle w/ unicron in the covenant of primus, though i don't remember if thirteen was also mistreated since i haven't read it in a long time
so i was thinking maybe a short story about thirteen being mistreated? but like, marginally more since he's thr absolute last of the thirteen
I got you pal.
━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━
Giftless, powerless, without purpose. That was what they said about him nonstop. They did not mean to be cruel, Thirteen could see it in their optics. They were merely stating what they saw as a fact. That didn't stop it from hurting. That didn't keep him from wandering aimlessly in order to escape their backhanded words.
Most of his siblings ignored him or otherwise regarded him distantly. He was a decoration at the best of times and a roadblock on days when the patience of his kin was limited. Prima threw him out of the way once, and Quintus threatened to drop him in a vat of acid just to see if an energy being could melt. If he wasn't a waste of space, he was a training dummy. There really wasn't much of a choice on his end. he didn't feel pain, so of course it was only logical that he assist in things that had him performing as an object rather than a person. Thirteen was not their equal, not in the optics of his fellow Primes.
The only one who treated him well was the most unlikely of the Primes. The only other partial outcast.
"Thirteen, my little Prime, what have they done to you this time." Solus ran her digits along his armor, the armor she made for him when she saw how damaged his original shell had become. It was a gift forged with love after she finally witnessed how carelessly he was being treated.
Where before she had largely ignored him, now she coddled him. Perhaps it was the fact that Thirteen was being damaged, or maybe it was simply because she had been mostly unaware of his presence. It could have even been because she saw another outcast in him. Whatever the case, she tended to him.
"Another scorch mark..." She sighed as she pulled him into a hug. It was a new thing for him, but Thirteen melted into her embrace all the same. She was the only one who understood. She was the only one who cared.
"I'm sorry they cannot see your light as I do." She shook as she caressed his helm so lovingly forged for his use. He could feel her tears trickling onto his armor. He wanted more than anything to wipe them away, but there was little use. She was the only one of their number who did not match the mold set by the others, and Thirteen was the broken Prime lacking in power and frame. They were outcasts, and neither of them were going to cease being scorned for their oddities any time soon.
"I promise you, I will change things for us. We will be seen, and when I can convince the others, I will personally make you a seat at our table." Solus cupped his face, her violet optics burning bright with passion. She would do as she promised, regardless of the cost. Thirteen wished he had a voice to deny her wishes with. He was fine being discarded so long as he had her. He needed no seat at the table of the Primes. He needed no respect or honor despite how much he longed for it.
He just needed Solus, and he needed her to be safe. Standing up for him would only make her a target. Her oddities already had her position hanging by a mere thread. If she were to act out on his behalf...
"Don't, please don't. they will hurt you as they do me."
His words meant nothing. She could not hear his pleading thoughts as she comfortingly began the process of touching every new scar upon his frame. It did not hurt. He was incapable of feeling pain. But by Primus, did every mark feel like a scorch on his spark.
"I will speak with Megatronus. If all goes well, we may gain him as our ally and fix things. Don't you worry Thirteen, this too shall pass." She pressed a kiss to the crest of his helm, a motherly gesture that Thirteen cherished. He prayed that she would endure, that her passionate spark would last forever.
And yet, he had a feeling it was not to be.
#transformers#maccadam#transformers prime#aligned continuity#the thirteen primes#solus prime#the thirteenth prime#angst#family feels#one shot
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This section of a blog post describing the author's playthrough of Thief II: The Metal Age is one of my favorite pieces of videogame analysis of all time.
I was replaying a bit of Thief II last week and First City Bank & Trust is not only my favorite mission of the game but honestly probably one of the best levels in the history of videogames. The way such a simple mechanic as "the loudness of your footsteps depends on what material you're walking on" makes certain spaces feel immediately hostile and threatening simply through their material in a way that plays so elegantly into the game's themes is legitimately one of the greatest achievements in game design I can think of.
[Transcript:
The building itself is baroque and extravagant where the public can see it, drab and utilitarian where they can’t. It’s both bureaucracy and the service industry incarnate. All gilt and smiles on the surface, all rote paper pushing and veiled condescension underneath. It’s the perfect example of the connection between materiality and wealth. Marble, tile, and carpet create extreme of tension and release in the public spaces, while stone and wood make the private spaces muted and unremarkable. So much of this level – of this game – only works because of the way sound is handled. Tile floors are not threatening until you make it so they are painfully loud to walk on. Wealthy materials therefore make for more hostile environments, it’s almost comically elegant. I love many levels from the Dishonored series, but even they were never able to evoke so much with just simple texturing. Tile floors with a carpet in the middle, immediate feelings of wealth, opulence. Also hostility, challenge. But there’s safety there too, if you reach the carpet you have some degree of freedom, but it’s constrained by the physical size of the carpet. The more wealthy the location the more it makes use of tile and carpet, the more spiky your feelings of threat and safety, of tension and release, become. And that’s without adding anything beyond materials.
This is a rare area where The Dark Project missteps. By casting the forces of the natural world as the antagonists it undercut this materiality. The materials of nature are grass, and stone, and wood. But these are not naturally hostile to Garrett, they read as safe. The variation throughout The Dark Project means you don’t have enough time to solidify the association between natural materials and safety. You understand it but it’s not ingrained, so when it’s altered it’s not as powerful a shift as it could be. This is easy for me to say years later. It’s also only after playing The Metal Age that I really get that sense of nature as refuge. Which in itself is an impressively on theme sensation. Nature is leaving the City just as I need it to be around. The very materiality of this new City is hostile to Garrett, the one force that could help him is dying and he helped bring that about.]
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Ophelia and The Orc
writer's block has been hitting me hard and i kind of forgot i created this tumblr but thank you everyone for the comments, reblogs and likes they honestly make me feel like im doing something right <3
Literotica summary: Ophelia gets eaten by an orc
Critiques are very much appreciated
2.8k , orc x female reader
Ophelia watches with big round eyes, her stomach twists and her cheeks heat at the offensive sight. Betsy was a good woman, a good wife and yet here she was on her hands and knees being…savaged by an orc.
She felt sick–betrayed. How could Betsy do this to her husband? To herself? She had children for god’s sake!
The sick sounds of her vulgar moans filled Ophelia’s ears as she watched her breasts sway from being pummeled into so viciously. Poor innocent Ophelia was aghast, she couldn’t possibly understand why anyone would want to be victimized in such a way. To get pleasure from it. It was…sinful!
Just before she could run off, she suddenly was grasped about the waist–a hand covering her mouth when she shrieked in muffled surprise and terror.
“Mmph!” she struggled against her attacker but it–no–he was far too strong. She looked up, the back of her head hitting the creature’s chest. An orc. A real one. Right in front of her face. Touching her.
It–he, smiled at her. Ophelia mistook it for baring his large sharp teeth at her. She stared at his pointed tusks in horror. She struggled further and he chuckled.
“Easy.” he rumbled, low and dark.
He was huge–bulky and big. Everything about him screamed inhuman. His green skin. Pierced pointed ears and black eyes. Ophelia felt faint.
Betsy let out another groan from behind the two of them and the orc’s ears twitched. He looked over at the sight and a small grunt escaped his lips, he looked back down at Ophelia. “Are you next?” he asks slightly smirking.
Ophelia’s eyes widened even further, practically bulging out of her sockets. She shook her head furiously.
“Hm..” he hummed, removed his hand from her mouth then stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “Shame.”
She gulps. Shame?
Ophelia looks the orc up and down once again. She really looked at him and…there was a certain attractiveness about this orc. His strong jaw, sharp nose, and strong brow–it was all an approximation of a human man. He was just so…masculine, everything about him screamed male, and that both captivated and repulsed Ophelia.
There was also the fact that he was well-groomed. Which shocked her. She had been told all her life that orcs were dirty senseless animals that only knew violence. But here she was, safe and sound (at least he hadn’t proved to be violent yet) next to an orc that smelled like pine. Her cheeks flushed pink.
The orc seemed to know exactly what Ophelia was thinking because his smile grew wider and he cupped her chin–Ophelia’s lip quivered.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs, “Aren’t you curious, small one?” he baited–knowing full well that of course Ophelia was curious. Not about that–well, okay, not just about that. But it was a little hard not to think of that when she could still hear the dirty sounds echoing through the forest. They were getting louder, she could hear the orc that Betsy was with starting to make his own perverted noises.
“I-I…” she shook her head, “No…I…” her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. She was so overwhelmed with what was going on in front of her and what was going on behind her.
Her lack of answer didn’t seem to deter the orc but fueled him further as he moved closer into her space. Backing her up against a tree. “No?” he mocked gently, “You lie, badly,” he murmured, leaning downwards and Ophelia thought for a moment he was going to kiss her but instead he lowered his head down and traced his nose against her jaw, inhaling deeply then letting out another rumble deep from his chest.
He was smelling her. Not only that but she jumped when she felt the wet warmth of his tongue follow after. Tasting her skin, she shuddered. Was he going to eat her?
The orc began to nibble slightly on her ear lobe and Ophelia squeaked in alarm, “Please don’t eat me!”
He pulled back quickly, looking at her face–seemingly searching her eyes to see if she was being serious. She was. He chuckled heartily, seemingly uncaring about the fact that there was a copulating couple just a few feet away from them.
“Eat you?” he asked, “Why would I do that?” his words seemed genuine but then again there was a certain hunger in his eye that made Ophelia nervous. Then there was the bit about licking her and the sniffing and…it was all making her rather flushed, her thighs rubbed together under her nightdress and she felt a strange wetness.
“Stop it.” she whimpers. “You’re an orc.”
“I am.”
“Orcs eat people.”
He raises a brow, “people?”
“Women. They go missing and then…” She looks at him expectantly, and then Ophelia hears another guttural moan from behind and her nose crinkles. The orc laughs smoothly. “Why are you even here?” she asks accusingly. Was he planning to do that to Betsy too? Were they going to take turns? She shudders at the idea.
He shrugs. “Keeping watch.”
“Keeping watch?” she says in disgust, “You’re voyeurs?” he looks amused but shakes his head.
“Some orcs are, but I’m keeping watch for soldiers.”
“Why would you do that?” What business would a soldier have here? They didn’t seek out orcs, they protected the village.
His face darkens slightly but he shrugs, “It is not safe. There is danger.” Ophelia scoffed. Of course, there was danger. He was the danger. She turns her face away from his but that dark look fades from his face back into an easy smile and he forces her to look at him with a gentle hand. “Why are you out here?” he asks in return. “Are you a voyeur?”
Ophelia’s face heats. “No!” she huffs, “I’m…I just…saw..I was making sure…I..” her words trip up and she looks at him guiltily. “It’s like you said, there’s danger in these woods. I wanted to make sure Betsy–” moans, and Ophelia scowls. “I just wanted to make sure she was alright.” she nudges her chin in Betsy’s direction.
“I’d say she’s more than alright.” the orc smirks.
She gasps, “You’re perverse!”
“Yes.” He smiles, “But you like that,” he rumbles, getting even closer to her space. “You smell delicious,” The orc says and Ophelia shudders. “You smell aroused.”
“W-well I’m not.” she holds her hand out, a gesture for him not to come any closer but he doesn’t listen. She shivers again when he palm touches his muscular chest. He grins down at her. “I’m engaged,” she says, and he gently grasps her wrist which makes her bite her lip at the feeling of his warmth seeping into her skin.
He kisses her fingertips, then, sucks down on one of her fingers. Ophelia watches with a dropped mouth as he removes her engagement ring, swallowing it.
“Not anymore,” he says raspily.
“You can’t just–!” she gapes at the orc. What would she tell Michael? How would she ever explain losing her engagement ring? “Why did you do that!” she asks furiously. Though the orc didn’t seem phased by her anger at all, in fact, he seemed amused by it – if the twitch of the corner of his mouth was anything to go by.
Suddenly, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling them chest to chest. Ophelia gasped in outrage but the orc just smiled at her. “I can do whatever I want.” he purrs, “this is my forest, small one.”
Ophelia’s cheeks heat and her heart races as the orc begins to massage her hips.
“S-stop it!” she demands, trying to pull away but stuck within his grasp. “You fiend!” she hisses.
“Come with me…” the orc offers, “and I will show you a pleasure you have never felt before.” he coaxed. The offer disgusted Ophelia. She would never! She was a good girl. A godly woman and soon-to-be wife! The only man she belonged to was Michael and she wouldn’t let an orc spoil her body before her wedding or ever for that matter.
But as he crowded against her and took her chin gently between his fingers… Ophelia felt a heat build in her belly.
“No…” she whispered, “No.”
“Shh…” the orc hushed, murmuring in her ear. “Relax.”
His face came closer and closer to hers–his lips, hovering just over her own.
“Stop,” she begged.
So gently, he grazed his lips over Ophelia’s and she whimpered. Her legs going weak. She stupidly chased after his mouth as he pulled back and that was when the Orc had known he’d won.
“Stupid orc…” she murmurs, “You’re a no good…no good..” The curse came out of her mouth almost inaudibly and the orc only chuckled in response.
“Garrek.”
“What?”
“That’s my name small one, Garrek. Can you repeat it for me.” he coaxed. Her eyes flitted up to his and she repeated his name quietly which made him smile. “Now, tell me your name.”
“Ophelia.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
She scowled, “Do you say that to all the human women you seduce?”
“I don’t know.” he spoke with a smile, “You’re my first human.”
That shouldn’t have meant something to Ophelia but it did. It made her think she was special. Maybe this was something more than cruel seduction on his part.
The orc–Garrek, led Ophelia away from the tree–away from the coupling duo and brought her to an alcove, a small cave that Ophelia wordlessly entered. Garrek’s hand rested on her lower back and he guided her to some furs on the ground.
“Sit,” he murmured, and she did so obediently.
Once they were on the ground, Garrek pulled Ophelia into his lap and he smiled down at her with his sharp menacing teeth.
His large hands cupped her cheeks, thumbs rubbing her blushing flesh. Ophelia squirmed slightly which only seemed to make Garrek’s smile broaden. Sitting like this, with him caressing her, Ophelia was slowly relaxing against her better judgment.
“Why…why me?” she asks quietly, “Am I really the first human woman you’ve ever tried to…seduce?”
“Yes.” he replies, then shrugs, “Why not you? You’re here…and you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. She sighs and he leans even closer. “Will you kiss me?”
“I…” she whispers, eyes darting to his lips. They looked…soft. And green. She had to remind herself. She sniffed, looking away.
He took her chin gently and turned her face, Ophelia’s breathing stopped and she was so close to kissing him. If she so much as breathed, their lips would graze against each other. Her traitorous eyes fluttered closed on instinct.
“Just do it…” she whispered. Waiting. Wanting.
Garrek’s lips touched hers with no further warning and she was damned.
He felt warm to the touch, his lips slotting perfectly with hers. At first just a gentle peck and then a longer drawn-out moment. His tongue flicked out against her bottom lip and she gasped. Wrapping her arms around his thick neck, she kissed him back.
His hands trailed down her back to squeeze her hips. Slowly, he laid her down on her back. His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, sucking gently on the skin.
“Mm..”
Ophelia had never been kissed like this before, not by anyone–certainly not by her fiance. She couldn’t believe she was letting someone who wasn’t Michael kiss her. How would she ever be forgiven for this…not that she planned to tell Michael. Gods no. Never. She would die before actually confessing that she was letting an orc touch her!
Garrek’s lips moved from her jaw to her throat, licking down the column of her neck.
“Don’t eat me,” she warned, breathless and he laughed. “Ah–!” He ripped her shift open by the neckline, revealing her breasts. “What are you doing–?” she gasped once more, feeling his hot mouth on her hardened nipple.
His hand squeezed her other breast, covering the entire thing with his palm. “Don’t worry. I won’t eat you…” he rumbled, lifting his head from her breast, “at least not in the way you’re thinking.”
What?
Before she could think too much about that, the orc ripped the rest of her shift off with one long tear. Ophelia yelped in surprise, clutching at the fabric but her hands were quickly pinned above her head by Garrek. He smiled down at her and she gulped.
“Stay here,” he murmured, then let her hands go to graze the sides of her body which made her shiver. He kissed down her throat, down the valley of her breasts, and down her stomach until he was face to face with the junction of her spread-open thighs. He licked his lips and Ophelia’s stomach dropped.
“Oh no!” Ophelia cried, “Don’t put your mouth there, i-it’s dirty!” the orc didn’t listen, if anything he seemed more enthused by the way he grasped the back of her thighs and held her open, spreading Ophelia wider. Ophelia groaned in embarrassment and closed her eyes as she bit into the palm of her hand.
“You seem well bathed to me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she whispers.
“Well…” he rumbles, then licks a stripe up her slit–the two of them groan, both in pleasure. Ophelia stares at the orc with her eyes now peeled open, breath coming in pants as he repeats the action. Letting loose another rumble of pleasure, Ophelia whimpers in both confusion and pleasure.
Garrek buries his face between her legs and Ophelia yelps, “Oh! W-wait!” she cries. He doesn’t. Her head falls back against the furs and she moans, her legs stiffening. “Ohhh…” her eyes squeeze back shut and her hips reflexively roll against his mouth.
“Good.” he purrs.
“Garrek!” she squeals when he sucks on a particular spot that has her keening.
Ophelia’s fists clench, and she clutches the furs, ripping at them while she lurches to a sitting position as Garrek continues to use his mouth on her…pussy. Yes, she could recall that word being used by Michael once or twice. When he was trying to seduce Ophelia into pre-marital actions. She had refused then…but now…
Now she was in a cave, naked, splayed out on the ground underneath an orc.
Garrek groaned between Ophelia’s thighs, his wide tongue touching every part of her intimate area. She whimpered and bucked.
Ophelia was no better than Betsy. She was engaged and yet here she was laying on the ground moaning like a wanton whore being spoiled by an orc. But she liked it. She liked the pleasure he was giving her and she wasn’t completely sure it was just the pleasure. This orc–Garrek, had been charming.
The tip of Garrek’s thick finger began to inch its way into Ophelia’s cunt and her eyes went wide.
“Oh!” she whined, her hips shifting.
He growled from between her thighs, “You’re going to be taking a lot more than this later…”
Ophelia’s pussy pulsed around the intruding digit, opening and tolerating more to slide in before clenching around it and moaning.
Everything was becoming too much and she could feel a strange tightness building in her abdomen. Something felt…off–not wrong, no, this was too good to be wrong but something was coming and she felt as if she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to.
“I feel…” she gasped, Garrek’s finger curled inside her. “I-I feel–!” Before she could finish her sentence, her mouth dropped open as a burst of pleasure shot through her. Intense and all at once, wave after wave of ecstasy as she fluttered around the orc’s thick finger. “Garrek!” she cried once more, humping his face and hand.
Gods.
Eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenching, Ophelia let out a long whine as she sobbed out her orgasm.
She collapsed onto the furs the moment the pleasure dissipated and her eyes went heavy as Garrek lapped at her folds slowly, the occasional lick making her twitch and shiver.
“Mm..” she hummed, her hand pushing at his shoulder to get his mouth away from her sensitive cunt. “Enough.” she rasped.
Garrek chuckled between her legs, eying her, “For now.” he warned. Pulling away, he laid down beside her with a satisfied sigh. Licking his lips he traced his thumb over her cheek. “There’s much more I want to show you,” he says.
She shivered, that familiar warmth pooling once again in her belly.
“You can’t have my virginity,” she said in tired sternness. “That’s…that’s for my husband.”
“Hm.”
“I’m engaged.” she reminded him.
“Not anymore,” he said back. “I swallowed your ring, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not engaged.”
He cracks a smile, “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you go on back home now that I’ve had a taste of you?”
What? Of course she did!
Garrek wrapped an arm around Ophelia and pulled her close. He laid a possessive hand on her hip and gave it a gentle pat. “I intend to keep you for myself…” he rumbled, “You’re all mine now small one, all mine.”
#orc x reader#orc x human#monster fucker#monster romance#monster x female reader#monster x human#monster x reader#monster smut
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My Name Is Cooper
Chapter 4
Not Much One For Spirits
<< Previous Chapter
Lucy x Cooper Howard / The Ghoul
Tags: angst, fluff, romance, humor, banter, femdom, alcohol and drug use, eventual smut
In this chapter…
“But I can tell ya… I remember that feelin’. Just like it was yesterday.”
“...What feeling?”
“That feelin’ that ‘cher feelin’ right now…” The Ghoul didn’t lift his eyes when he spoke, just kept them on the fire with a look of scorn on his face. “That feelin’ you get when you learn a truth you wish you hadn't… and your whole world… shatters.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “That… pit in yo stomach... You feel like you’re in bad dream... Like you're outside yourself… Just watchin’.”
Lucy felt the tears welling in her eyes begin to escape and roll down her cheeks, then looked away and said barely audibly, “...Yeah.”
He took a deep breath. “...Yeah…”
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 2,137
SPOILER WARNING: Contains all the spoilers
No trigger warnings except eventual sexy time with a zombie man.
The trio settled in a small, single unit near the exit. The kind that had the bedroom, kitchen and living room all in the same space. The Ghoul laid Dogmeat down on the bed, then made quick work of the junk scattered about, tossing it out the door so it wouldn’t be in their way.
Lucy watched him a moment, then meandered up to the bed as well and pressed down on it a couple times, half expecting something to crawl out from underneath. When nothing did, she turned around and flopped down onto her back.
Dogmeat crawled up and sniffed her face happily. Lucy reached up a moment to scratch the dog's head, but was clearly distracted. As she laid there, staring at the familiar ceiling, she remembered laying in her own bed at home. About how safe and secure it used to make her feel... and how she would never be able to lay in that bed ever again.
In fact… she wondered if she’d ever truly feel safe ever again.
Lucy thought about Norm and Chet and Stephanie and all the people she left behind. She missed home so much. But she also felt a revulsion in the pit of her stomach at the thought of making herself part of that system again.
Nothing could ever be the same now. She knew too much.
Then she thought about Max. Her knight in shining armor, and she smiled. She so regretted having to leave without him. If only he were here. Then she would feel safe. She just hoped he was okay.
“Hey, Vaulty…. Wanna make yourself useful?”
Lucy frowned, then pushed herself up onto her elbows, silently cursing fate for having ended up with him in her company instead. “Excuse me? I just shoved my… whole arm up some… things ass for you, Sir… I think I’m pretty useful.”
He smirked and snickered at her, then looked her up and down and nodded. “Yeah… you are.”
She blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him as he turned away, not sure if he meant it or if he was being sarcastic. She didn’t really like the way he was looking at her either. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know how to make a fire, don’che?”
The former vault dweller blinked again. “Of course I know how to make a fire.”
He tossed a metal bucket into the middle of the floor, along with some burnable materials. “Well… get on it, Greenhorn.”
She stared at him a moment, then down at the pile of stuff he dropped. The Ghoul seemed a little irritable now. Although, so was she. Fighting that… centaur or whatever he called it… not fun. And her arm smelled like shit.
Lucy crawled off the bed and got to work, piling the debris into the bucket and setting it ablaze.
As she sat there with her arms resting on her knees, she let herself get lost in the warm glow of the flames. There was something just so memorizing about fire. Normally, you're not allowed to have fire in the vaults. But no one was going to tell them they were breaking the rules here. It was one of the few things she appreciated about being out in the wasteland. When it was safe to have a fire, anyway.
She was suddenly jolted from her thoughts when The Ghoul started coughing violently. Dogmeat, who kept licking her injured leg, rose her head and whined in concern. He glanced over at her, then grabbed a box of deviled eggs and stumbled up to the bed. “Hungry, girl?” The bounty hunter asked the dog under his breath as she licked her lips. He put the box down in front of her and gave her a pat on the back as she started to chow down. “There you go…”
Lucy watched curiously, finding it odd to see him be so caring towards another living thing. He seemed so cold and cruel before. Like he only cared about himself. But she was starting to realize little by little that there was more to this monster of a man than she had initially believed. The way he talked so gently towards the pup, tenderly rubbed her behind the ears, and smiled at her with genuine joy seemed as out of character as Norm actually enjoying his job.
The Ghoul tromped over to the recliner next to the bed and fell back into it. “Ahhh…” Then turned to the items he had placed on the table beside him.
He started coughing again and wheezing when he breathed, so of course the first thing he reached for was the inhaler. He fumbled to get a vial out of the box and into the dispenser before breathing it in deeply, pausing as he let the drug fill his bloodstream.
As Lucy watched him, thoughts filtered into her mind that hadn’t before, and her eyes started to well with tears.
The Ghoul grabbed a bottle of whiskey and unscrewed the top, eyeing her a moment. “...You alright?”
The former vault dweller looked up at him, a little surprised at the question, then back at the fire. “Oh… I was just… thinking about my mother.”
The bounty hunter eyed her a moment as he let out a breath, still wheezing slightly, “Uh huhh…” Then he took a drink from the bottle and clicked his tongue at the bitter burn. “Ahh… kck…” And held it towards Lucy.
She glanced at it briefly, then at him, then away. “Substances… aren’t a healthy way to deal with… stress.”
“Ahh… suit yourself.” He said and took another drink.
Lucy blinked, then exhaled and turned towards him. “Give it to me.”
The Ghoul paused, then smirked and handed it over.
She took a drink and made a face, then her entire body shook after she swallowed before she handed it back to him. “Bleck…”
He let out a light laugh. “Not much one for spirits, huh?”
“That stuff is disgusting.”
He chuckled and downed another swig.
Lucy took a deep breath as she felt the warmth spread over her body, and tried to let it relax her a little bit. “...Why do you think… Muldaver… kept her alive like that? All this time?”
“Hmm…” The Ghoul considered her question. “Well, I couldn’t tell you for sure, sweetheart. What I do know is there’s usually only three reasons someone would wanna keep a feral ghoul around…” He looked over at her with a raised brow. “Either to torture it, study it, or…” He took a breath before he continued and looked back down, pulling his Winchester out of its holster. “Because they just can’t let go.”
Lucy glanced up at him, then furrowed her brow a little as her gaze drifted back down into the fire. “You think… Muldaver… loved my mother…?”
“That’s sure what I’d wanna believe if I were you, darlin’.” He said as he took a rag out of his pocket and started to wipe down the barrel.
She looked up and stared at him for a moment, then blinked slowly before her eyes fell again and she struggled to fight down the growing lump in her throat. “It… must be terrifying.”
“...What’s that?”
“You know…” Her lip shook as she spoke. “Knowing you could… turn out like her…”
The Ghoul looked up and just stared at her.
“...Sorry.” The young woman said softly as she shrunk a little where she sat. “I just… I can’t stop imagining what… it must have been like for her… What it… must be like… for you…”
The old bounty hunter exhaled and laid back in his chair, looking down at the fire as well.
“But I don’t understand why… why she went feral.” Lucy said, furrowing her brow. “If she cared about her that much… you’d think someone like Muldaver would have the means to… keep a supply of those vials around… right?”
The Ghoul just sat there, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Well… ain’t no way I can know for sure what happened to yo mama…” He thoughtfully ran his tongue over his bottom lip and exhaled again as he continued to clean his gun. “But I bet you anythang she never stopped thinkin’ about you… ‘til the very end.”
The young woman blinked, then looked up at him, surprised by his apparent capacity for empathy. He wasn’t saying much anymore, but… what he was saying... It was almost like he was trying to… comfort her.
“Did you… ever have kids?”
The old bounty hunter paused a moment, then took a deep breath and tilted his head down a bit more, so she couldn’t see his eyes past his hat. He rolled his tongue in his mouth, then said, “...You should eat somethin’.”
She blinked, then looked away. “I’m… not very hungry.”
“I know… But you gotta keep up your strength if you wanna make it to where yo daddy at. We still got a long way to go, Vaulty.”
The former vault dweller swallowed and shook her head. “...Please stop calling me that...” Her voice was quiet and shaky.
The Ghoul paused a moment and looked at her, although she didn’t look back. “Alright…” He said, nodding slightly. “Lucy.”
Lucy blinked, then looked up at the old bounty hunter, once again surprised at his response. Not only did it seem like he was trying - keyword: trying - to be supportive, but it was almost like he was starting to respect her.
Silence fell over the room as he finished up, then put the gun back in its holster. The Ghoul laid back in his chair and stared into the fire, breathing deeply against the rattle in his chest. “You know… I’m not…” He finally said. “Very good at the whole… emotional support thang.” He rolled his tongue in his mouth again. “But I can tell ya… I remember that feelin’. Just like it was yesterday.”
“...What feeling?”
“That feelin’ that ‘cher feelin’ right now…” The Ghoul didn’t lift his eyes when he spoke, just kept them on the fire with a look of scorn on his face. “That feelin’ you get when you learn a truth you wish you hadn't… and your whole world… shatters.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “That… pit in yo stomach... You feel like you’re in a… bad dream. Like you're… outside yourself… Just watchin’.”
She felt the tears welling in her eyes begin to escape and roll down her cheeks, then looked away and said barely audibly, “...Yeah.”
He took a deep breath. “...Yeah…”
After a moment, Lucy looked up at The Ghoul and swallowed before looking back down. Even though it wasn’t much, she did appreciate his effort. And she needed to show it, no matter how much she didn’t care for the man. It’s what was proper. Also, positive reinforcement and all that.
“Umm… thank you.” She said, looking up at him again. “For… for trying.”
He didn’t look up at her, just ran his tongue over his bottom lip again, as if his mind had wandered somewhere else too. “Uh huh…”
Then, as she stared at him, she picked up the distinct sound of dripping water. Her eyes moved towards it on their own, and her raging thirst finally broke through her inner turmoil like a floodgate.
The young woman stood up and quickly stepped over towards the source of the drip - the kitchen sink. She switched on her geiger counter and turned the knob. And as the water flowed and the counter barely clicked, a smile spread across her face. She quickly started drinking handfuls of water, one after another.
Eventually, she stopped to catch her breath and informed her companion, “The water’s not irradiated…” She took one more drink, then turned the other knob, and was ecstatic to find the tap flowing with clean, warm water. “The hot water tanks are still working.” She looked over at The Ghoul with a grin.
He just stared at her, as if he didn’t understand what the fuss was about. “That so...”
“You know what that means, don’t you?” The young woman said excitedly as she approached him.
“...What does that mean?” He said flatly, tilting his head up a bit.
“It means we get a hot shower!” She flashed him an almost pained grin.
“Alright…” The Ghoul didn’t seem to share Lucy’s excitement. “Well, you go on then… I’ll keep an eye on things…”
Lucy balled her hands up and held them towards her chest for a moment before quickly making her way towards the bathroom.
As the old bounty hunter watched her move across the room, and his eyes lingered on the door she had disappeared into for a moment. Once he looked away, he tilted his head back against the chair, and let out a sigh.
To be continued...
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#cooper howard#the ghoul#lucy maclean#ghoulcy#vaultghoul#lucy x cooper#lucy x the ghoul#cooper howard x lucy maclean#the ghoul x lucy#cooper x lucy#fallout#my posts#my fanfiction#ghouly-boi
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summary: sabine and ezra finally share their first kiss. unfortunately, it’s on a broadcast to every rebel cell in the galaxy.
chapter word count: 1307
a/n: shoutout to the talented and funny @kanerallels for betaing!
taglist: @laughingphoenixleader @accidental-spice @kanerallels @piraterefrigerator
@jedi-nurse @dootchster @lucasbridger @redroverrider @light-umbra
@commander-tech @jedimandalorian @notanodinarygirl {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}
also on ao3!
Ch. 2 The same thing you just read, but from Ezra's perspective
Ezra Bridger was having the time of his life.
Lothal was safe, he hadn't needed to sacrifice himself to ensure it, and Sabine seemed to think it was pretty important that Ezra didn't sacrifice himself. She'd searched without rest for a plan to keep him from exiling himself to a galaxy far, far away, and somehow it had worked.
Now she stood at his side as he gave a speech to his people— his free people— and he couldn't help but notice the glances she was giving him, hoping he wouldn't come across as tongue-tied as he thought he did.
"I'm really thankful for everyone," Ezra said, "really, I'm thankful. I wish I could thank every one of you: old Joe, Jai, Ryder, that old lady I pickpocketed a week before joining the fight," he cleared his throat, loudly, "but, uh, most of all, I'd like to thank my family."
He looked over to where the rest of the crew stood, trying to ignore the lump in his throat at the empty space next to Hera.
"We wouldn't be free right now if it wasn't for the sacrifices along the way," he finally said, holding back tears, "and I know my parents and Kanan would be proud of us."
Then he turned back towards Hera.
"Hera, a long time ago you told me that if all I do is fight for myself, then my life is worth nothing," he half laughed, and shook his head, "thank you for showing me something worth fighting for."
"Zeb, you're the big brother I never wanted— and still don't want," Ezra said, and before Zeb could pummel him, he followed with, "but always needed. Chopper, though, I could live without."
Chopper beeped in response, something Ezra thought must've been along the lines of "love you too, bro."
"Most of all," Ezra said, and the nervousness of public speaking must've canceled out the nervousness he always felt around Sabine, because he dared to look her in the eyes as he said, "my best friend, Sabine."
She almost seemed surprised as he said it, and she looked at him with an awe in her eyes that he'd never thought she'd give him, almost as though he was her hero instead of the other way around.
"I couldn't've done it without you," he said, his tone quiet, almost unable to get the words out. Though most of the people in attendance couldn't've heard him say it, Sabine did, and that was all that mattered.
He then turned back to the people and finished his speech, finding even more confidence in his words now.
"Five years ago, I never could've imagined we'd be free," he said, "and now we are. The Empire may wave its banners across the galaxy, but day by day their numbers dwindle, as long as people like you and me keep making a stand for freedom."
The crowd cheered, and Ezra figured it would be a good idea to end on a high note before he ran his mouth and got into even more trouble.
"Thank you all for coming and celebrating. Refreshments will be served in the square as soon as we wrap up the festivities."
Ezra stepped down from the podium so Ryder could give another brief speech. As he stepped down, he felt Sabine's hand on his arm. She pulled him off to the side, and he followed her gladly.
"Did you really mean that?" Sabine asked.
Ezra thought back to the last thing he'd said.
"That refreshments will be served in the square as soon as we wrap up?" Ezra asked, smiling at the prospect of free jogan fruit that he wouldn't have to steal, "of course."
"Not that," Sabine shook her head, "when you said I'm your best friend."
Her words had been quiet and unsure, but he made sure his response wasn't.
"Absolutely," Ezra said, "As long as that's okay with you."
"Of course," Sabine said, "you're my best friend too."
Ezra's knees went weak as her eyes met his. He'd done well so far in his attempts to keep himself from acting on his feelings for her, but he knew that if he lost himself in the corridors of her eyes for too much longer, he'd end up doing something really stupid. To even get to a place where Sabine let him call her his best friend had taken half a decade, and he didn't want his feelings to get in the way of their friendship.
He turned to walk away, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. He made the mistake of looking in her eyes again.
"I'm really glad you didn't sacrifice yourself," Sabine said, smiling.
Sabine had scarcely smiled at him before, and she'd certainly never smiled at him like this.
"Me too."
For anyone else in the galaxy, everyone else in the galaxy, Ezra had been willing to sacrifice himself, give up everything for their freedom and salvation. But for Sabine, Ezra had done something harder. All it took was one word from Sabine, and suddenly his sacrifice didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. In the moment when she'd found out about his plan and begged him not to go, he would've doomed the whole galaxy just to ensure her happiness. He didn't know why his life meant so much to her, but kriff it all if he didn't want to find out.
Despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to go, Ezra found himself, slowly, like approaching a wild loth deer, reaching towards her, his hand on the back of her neck and pulling him closer to himself. She had more than enough opportunity to stop him, to pull away or punch him in the gut, but she did the opposite. One second, she was a few inches away from him, and the next, her lips were on his.
Despite spending the last few years dreaming about this moment, now that it was happening, Ezra almost couldn't believe it. At first, he almost feared it was a moment of weakness they'd later regret, but the longer this kiss lasted, the more convinced Ezra was that this was the best moment of his whole entire life. He'd known that Sabine was an expert in explosions, but somehow he hadn't expected that same kind of spark to be found in her kiss, frying his entire brain in the most beautiful fireworks display imaginable.
She sighed as he pulled her even closer, and if that moment could've lasted forever, he couldn't've been happier.
But Sabine pulled away from him, quickly and suddenly. At first, Ezra wondered if it was Sabine's silent way of telling him he'd messed up and gone too far, but his senses quickly returned to him. The last minute or two had only been Sabine and Ezra, but now he remembered that there were other people in the galaxy. Trillions of them, in fact.
And millions of them were watching that exact moment.
Ezra quickly stepped away from her, hoping his expression wasn't as telling as he thought it was. They stood next to each other, though with more space in between them than Ezra really wanted.
Ezra leaned his head toward her, casually, trying not to draw attention to himself as they flashed their fake smiles to the people down below.
"Do you think they noticed?" he asked.
Then he saw a holo projector of their live stream down below, displaying a massively enlarged recording of their kiss, text beneath it reading "INSTANT REPLAY."
"This is the last time I let Jai run the holo stream for anything," Ezra thought. He noticed out of the corner of his eye as Sabine hid her face behind her hand, using sarcasm to cover her embarrassment.
"Yes, Ezra," she said, "I think they noticed."
#sabezra#fanfic#fanfiction#kazzy writes#sabine wren#ezra bridger#canon divergence#cw kissing#otp: im counting on you#star wars rebels
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I have always had a fantasy of having anonymous sex with a stranger but never acted on it because it seems too risky, and also I live somewhere there isn't a "scene" for kink or anything. Do you have any tips for how I could make that happen safely? Or even where to start looking because I wouldn't know.
If you fuck men, it's gonna be so easy. Just hop on Sniffies or Grindr or something, explain what you are into, and talk to people to arrange a hookup that's to your liking. You can tell a friend where you will be, or require some vetting of the person before you hook up until the circumstances are to your satisfaction. If you're not a man, don't worry, you can still use these apps. There's lots of women and nonbinary people on Grindr these days, and plenty of users looking for people like you.
I'll never give advice about how to guarantee safety because there is no such thing in this life, and I don't know what "safety" means to you. But someone knowing where you are, and potentially being nearby enough to intervene prevents a lot of problems. This is part of why gay male cruising spaces are so lovely -- it's far safer to get fucked by a random dude around a dozen other random dudes than it is to take a single guy you *think* you know into your home where nobody can hear you or see what is going on. The men who frequent cruising spaces want to maintain the space's existence and do look after each other, that's how they even came to arise. I can pretty much guarantee that if you have access to truck stops, public parks, parking garages, cemeteries, or the like, there is a cruising space near you -- check out Sniffies or Gays Cruising to figure out where, or google it for your area. Cruising spaces are predominately gay, though often trans inclusive, and there are some spaces where cis women show up too -- Banana Video and Cell Block here in Chicago are examples, your area might have a lot more than you might think.
The other way to set something like this up is to advertise yourself on Fetlife or some other app that's very explicitly sexual, like Feeld. You can create the sensation of a somewhat anonymous encounter by vetting a person online and then giving them a time and a place to be, and then carrying through with the act without speaking much, or by using a blindfold.
If you meant "safety" in terms of sexual wellness and health, well, that's where educating yourself about risk factors and deciding which risks you are comfortable with and which ones you are not come in. Again, there's no perfect safety, there are risks to every decision we make -- including deciding not to have the kind of sex that you want. Barriers, testing, vaccines, PreP, and the like are probably what you want to look into using in some combination, but ultimately the decision falls on you.
Have fun!
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Homestuck in 2024 except I totally ignore canon and do whatever the fuck I want
#eridan ampora#dave strider#dirk strider#this is not a safe space for dirkjake#IDC!#dirk has permanent bed head#don’t tell me this doesn’t make sense you haven’t heard me yap about eridan and the odd friendship he could have with the striders#and also I Don’t Care#the striders and eridan are my favorite parts of homestuck and i can’t focus on much else so I mashed them together#buddies#listen it makes sense if you consider the similarities#think about it…#don’t dare complain about this I Will Not Listen#I am having fun don’t bother me#If you don't get it your brain is just too small#The striders being pale skinny freaks of nature is canon to me but drawing them this way is just more fun#okay bye
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Matilda // Bigger than me
#lyrics#harry styles#louis tomlinson#hlcreators#hledit#hljournal#hlsource#1dsource#mine#tracksintheam#trackinghappily#trackinghome#ok I think I have to explain myself#this is NOT me saying matilda is about louis or that this is a parallel#it could be#I'm just comparing two songs that have kinda hit a nerve#they feel like a hug and also like my heart is being ripped out? but in the best way I guess#I just think that this could be their way of making this a safe space for all of us#and in case it wasnt clear enough: im talking about my queerness
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