#I would have much preferred it to be the other way around | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fyorina · 15 hours

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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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mattyriddlesbitch · 3 days

Note

Would you be willing to do Slytherin boys x shy!reader?? If you can, thank yoiuu!!

Yes! Love shy reader with our boys!

Draco Malfoy

I don't think he cares if you're quiet or loud. He just likes you.

Doesn't try to push you into situations you're not comfortable with. Other than maybe something his family is hosting. He is practically pleading for you to go so he isn't lonely.

The type to order for you and talk to workers for you if you feel too shy to do it.

BUT will also tease you with it by saying "My wife wants x." when you guys are still just dating. He thinks it's funny when you get flustered, but won't overdo it.

Will def tease you in private too. If you get shy and blushy about something he does, like taking off his shirt, he's gonna keep doing it.

Tom Riddle

I think he prefers someone quiet and shy. Likes to be able to be with just you and doesn't have to worry about you talking to someone else when you two are out together.

Also wouldn't push you into situations you aren't comfortable with.

I don't think he'd order for you tbh, but will stand up for you. Someone talking shit about you, well...we know how that goes for them.

Wouldn't tease you intentionally, but might do something that makes you flustered and he finds it amusing, but isn't going out of his way to do it.

Would definitely love having private little date nights with you instead of going out somewhere in public where you might feel overwhelmed.

Mattheo Riddle

I covered him in another headcanon BUT

Loves shy girls. He looooooves making them flustered.

Will encourage you to get out of your comfort zone, but isn't gonna force it. He wants you to be happy, but he also thinks some things would be fun with you.

Will order for you and talk to workers for you like Draco. Will also stand up for you. Likes I said in the other one, he's showing up to your dorm covered in blood and a sweet smile.

ABSOLUTELY will tease the shit out of you. He's the worst. Doesn't matter if it's in public or private. Will whisper nasty things to you in public to see you blush. Getting super physical with you in private to make you flustered, like constantly touching you, will strip too, claiming it's for his comfort.

So overprotective of you though, he won't let anyone else tease you.

Blaise Zabini

I feel he prefers someone more extroverted, but does enjoy the power he gets when he makes you all shy.

I feel like he'd have you talk to workers and all that, just so he can see you all flustered. But he will take over if it gets too much for you.

Will also encourage you to get out of your comfort zone, partially for his amusement, but also because he wants you to get more comfortable with things. He can't be there 24/7 to protect you.

Will stand up for you too, but he won't be violent about it. I think worst he'd do is hex them or pull a really nasty prank on them.

Also loves teasing the shit out of you. Shy of PDA? That sucks. He's gonna kiss you and have his hand on your thigh or an arm around your waist. Would definitely point it out too, but only in private.

"No need to be shy around me, ma." "It's just us."

Lorenzo Berkshire

Doesn't care about you being shy or extroverted.

Sweet, sweet, sweet boy. Talking to workers, ordering your food, standing up for you, even telling his friends off if they go too far with you.

I do see him getting into a physical fight with someone too over this. A lot of people think he's too sweet, mans is not afraid to fight, especially when it comes to you.

Does encourage you out of your comfort zone every now and again, but overall doesn't push you.

Would only tease you in private. He doesn't want others getting the idea that they can tease you, so he'll keep it private. Minus a few cheeky comments or sly touches when no one's looking.

Theodore Nott

I do feel like he'd prefer someone more extroverted, but, like Blaise, loves how easy it is to get you flustered.

Will stand up for you, even to his friends, BUT refuses to order for you or talk to workers. He wants you to get comfortable doing it yourself.

Will definitely try pushing you out of your comfort zone. He'll be there to comfort and ease you the whole time, but he does want you to do more things you're not used to or comfortable with.

Absolutely teasing you in public. He's not even sorry. Shameless PDA with you, wants to see you blush and stutter.

Will let his friends tease you two, but not just you. Like, let them gag about the PDA and your blush, but if they laugh at you doing something embarrassing, he's MAD.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff

@ireallyneed-somesleep @soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @motherfing-stargirl

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddlesbitch

Let me know if you wanna be added!

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green-typewriterz · 1 day

Text

Are You looking?

Art Donaldson x fem!reader

Ask: none

summary: the reader isn’t watching, and Art needs her to look. He needs to be near

Warnings: 2000s outfits, language, cringe if your easily embarrassed, kinda toxic but it’s challengers what do you expect

Words: 2066

Art was sitting on the side of the court, hands fiddling with the strings of his racket. He had been trying to get this same drill right for the past twenty minutes and had yet to succeed. You stared at him, smiling to yourself at how red his face got when he was annoyed. “I’m never gonna get this right.” He said, almost to himself.

You nodded and he looked over, irritated as you spoke, “maybe.” He stood, gripping his racket tight in his hand and went to walk away. “Go on.” You continued, “do what you think you want to.” Your voice was calm, face still and mocking. He stopped in place, still not facing you.

”Do you always treat people like this?” He asked, turning to face you now. You shrugged, not really offering a proper reply. Your eyes flitted toward the court then back to him. He sighed and moved toward the centre of the court, running the movement again.

The movements were much more fluid this time, the racket swishing easily and quickly through the air, but he wasn’t concentrating. Every so often, his gaze would flicker to you, he wanted to know that you were watching. You leaned back in your chair, a habit you picked up when watching Art play and stared upward, no longer focusing on his practice - something you knew he’d notice.

His movements faltered as he saw you look away, nearly stumbling over his feet. He groaned in annoyance and shook out his arms, going to try again, though he was more so trying to get your attention than get the drill right “Again.” You spoke, voice tired, you looked back at him for a moment, but only up until he started the drill.

He tripped up again, eyes drawing away from the footwork he was meant to be practising. Art’s focus is entirely on you, grip on his racket tightening. It was misstep after misstep at this point, something you had grown tired of. “Ok stop. You’re done.” He stops, sighing tiredly and turning to face you. How could you even know he had messed up, you weren’t even watching.

Without another word, you stood and walked away, leaving Art standing irritated in the middle of the court. He didn’t stay still long however and, after a moment of watching after you, followed. He stayed behind slightly, eye’s following your every move. You leaned against your car, pushing your hair away from your face gently.

”I can feel you lurking.” You said, continuing the same calm tone. It was almost eerie. His eyes were drinking you in, lingering on how your hip rested against the car, how the light created shimmers on your skin.

Art walked over, stopping just in front of you. “You heard me?” He asked, face lifting into a small smirk. He leaned on the car beside you, thinking about how it would feel to be near you. You got closer to him, eyes lingering on his lips for a moment.

”I’m not deaf.” You inched closer again, almost touching. His breath was hot against your face. “You don’t like control do you?” You asked, tone snake-like. You were winding your way around him, hands inches away.

Art stared into your eyes, trying his hardest not to fall into you. “I’m fine with control. I just prefer…others to be in it.” He said, so softly it could’ve been a whisper. You nodded, as if processing something important and leaned forward, lips centimetres from his neck.

With a spare hand you grabbed his waist, pulling him into you. “Happy?” You whispered. He nodded, eyes closed. But before he could get what he wanted, you pulled away again.

His eyes opened, confusion littering his gaze. He almost looked like a lost puppy. “Patience.” It was one word, but it sent a shiver through him. He didn’t have time for patience.

Art sighed, voice filled with yearning as he replied with a quiet, “please.” You smiled, moving further away now and opening your car door.

He was stuck in place, not knowing how to react and instead simply stared at you. You turned on the ignition, muttering another, “Patience.” You didn’t wait for his reply.

——

You played your matches with fury, screaming at your opponent far too often - something that had become a trademark of yours (which you had surprisingly never been written up for). Art watched the match, or rather watched you under the pretence of watching the match. He watched how you got close to your opponent, whispering something that made her face pale. Art found himself growing jealous, the way your figure moved was almost intoxicating.

The weather beat down as you continued to play, skin shining in the endless heat. The match reached half-time and you sighed in annoyance, walking over to the side of the court and arguing with your coach. Art tried to catch your eye from his place in the stands but you didn’t take any notice, instead turning to your water bottle and pouring it over your face. The water fell over your features in almost slow motion to Art, the droplets clinging to your skin and sticking your white tennis shirt to your body.

You met his eyes, anger and annoyance evident in your gaze and turned away, heading toward the centre of the court again. You wanted to get this match done. Each shot seemed to grow with intensity and, while fatigue picked at your opponent, the longer the match went on, the better you played - maybe it was the adrenaline.

The match was called and cheers erupted from the sidelines when you won, a proud smile on your face as you walked over to take the trophy. Now seemingly the face of niceties, you shook your opponent's hand, wishing her luck on her next games and walked off the court, heading back toward your dorm to get changed and celebrate. Art’s brows furrowed as he followed after you.

He caught up, seemingly trailing like some sort of lost puppy. “Where are we going?” He asked, voice lilting with confusion. You stopped, turning to meet his eyes as you ran your hand through your hair.

“I’m home, then to a bar. You can do whatever you want, Art.” You replied calmly, crossing your arms as he stared back in some sort of pleading. He seemed downtrodden, eyes dropping to the floor for a moment until he walked closer, seemingly begging.

His voice was quiet as he spoke, “You’re not staying for my match?” He wanted you to see him play, to potentially see him win. There was something about you that made Art crave your attention - he needed to know you saw him.

There was silence, nothing but the hum of a crowd and the hot sun. Then, “I’ll see you after.” Art had been given the chance to reply, but he didn’t take it and so another silence cut through the conversation in an isolating way. He watched you walk off, uncaring and victorious.

—

The bar was thick with noise, bodies pressed against another moving to harsh music and air damp with the smell of cheap alcohol - it was a preferred place of the Stanford students. You sat at the bar, head leaning on your palm as you spoke idly with the bartender. You had switched out your tennis clothes for a darker ensemble, specifically a shining leather skirt with a white tank top and the most aggressive stilettos you could find. God bless 2000s fashion.

Art had walked in a few moments ago, spotting you almost instantly in the crowd of people. As he passed by endless bodies to get to you hands reached out in congratulation - he had won his match. He sat beside you, knowing he’d have to be the one to start the conversation. “I won my match.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I heard.” That was it, that was all you said…though it seemed to mean something to Art - a message you had gotten across. You had been talking about him and, by the drink that was just placed in front of him, you had been waiting for him too. “You weren't…distracted?” you asked now, a small smirk building on your face, twisting your glittering lips.

Art seemed confused, then he thought back to your practice sessions, you hadn’t been watching when he needed you to and you weren’t there when he wanted you to be. “It did weigh on my mind, your absence. Though clearly I didn’t let it get to me.” (this was a lie).

A smile graced your features and you leaned forward, “I’m touched you were thinking of me.” it was a whisper, a soft breath that smelled like passion fruit cocktails. His eyes fluttered - very much involuntarily - and he smiled back, his hand gliding over the rim of his cocktail glass.

He felt almost confident now, his smile matching yours in something that could only be described as want. You couldn’t ignore the prettiness of the image, how his blonde hair fell in small curls, the amber part of his eye that drew you to his gaze, the amused look that graced his blushed lips. Maybe it was why you made the decision when you did.

You stood, walking away with a sure smile on your face. Art stood, suddenly much less confident (though still smiling) and you spun on your heel, eyes meeting him instantly. “Come on.” That seemed to be all it took and he followed you, eventually speeding up to walk by your side as you walked back to your dorm room.

It was odd how quiet the night seemed in comparison to the bar. Usually there were immature college students everywhere, getting drunk under trees or thinking they were football stars when they were just drunk (something neither of you were).

The quiet continued into the dorm block, the whole campus seemed to be in the bar, celebrating your wins. The air was still humid from the summer sun and as soon as you reached your room, the windows were swung wide, allowing any residual noise from the bar to seep through into your bedroom.

This was how the two of you sat, quiet and listening. If there was any conversation, it wasn’t meaningful enough to be particular to the moment - or to be memorable. Art had turned to face you, his hands gently resting on the duvet in front of him like he was leaning forward to breathe you in.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question was posed softly, simply. You smiled - he had been waiting. Art had been waiting since the moment he had first seen you on the court, though he’d admit that he had been waiting a bit more impatiently after he felt your soft hands on his waist those few days ago. Your response was almost painful to him, a word he never wanted to hear:

“Wait.”

You stood and left the room, though you didn’t do much. Instead, you stared into the mirror, brushing your hair away from your face and thinking about what he had said. It wasn’t something you’d say no to, not in any world, but you found that the longer you made a person wait, the better it would be.

When you walked back into the room his eyes were wrought with impatience, hands begging for you. You sat back down again as if you had never left and smiled as he looked through his eyelashes at you. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek and he leaned forward, almost pleading with you. You answered his question softly, placing a deep kiss to his lips. He was almost feverish in his response, hands wrapping themselves into the beach of your hair as he pushed into you, deepening the kiss as much as he could.

You smiled against his lips, hands moving from his face to his waist as you pulled him tighter against you. It seemed as though neither of you needed to breathe as his body wrapped itself around yours and he found himself sighing when the two of you lay down, finally pulling away as you wrapped your arms around him. You lay there, him in your embrace and smiled as he kissed your forearm. You were what he wanted (the same could be said for you).

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #mike faist x reader #mike faist #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers #art challengers #hes a yearner

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11rosebunny · 2 days

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Hiiii, just to say I love your Shishitoren and Bofurin contents, I'm so glad that I found your blog 😊. Personally, I prefer Togame, but your writing of them all is so great ^.^

Could you maybe do a jealous story like them reacting to you beings jealous or just them being jealous/possessive (I love this trope)?

Like Togame and Suo being jealous, just give me life 😂

It's okay if you don't want too no worry ^^❤️

(Sorry if it's not clear. English isn't my first language)

When they are jealous

—Haruka Sakura, Toma Hiragi, Jo Togame, Hayato Suo

Haruka Sakura

When it comes to someone else taking your attention away, as much as he'd like to convince himself he's chill about it, inside he is jumping around in circles.

For the most part, he's able to control himself and differentiate when you're being just kind and flirting back, so usually, he doesn't mind it if another guy speaks to you in a nicer tone.

However, if he comes to notice that the guy begins to go on a tangent, ultimately speaking a little too much to you than he'd like, starts to grow a bit irritated. Of course he won't go up to the guy and punch him, after all, the person he so happens to be usually jealous of is Nirei.

His face transforms into a small scowl, while trying to shift his eyes away from the scene. At the same time he keeps repeating to himself,

'I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't care.'

Spoiler alert, he does care.

The worst part is, he can not blame the air-headed male for acting like how he acts, when it's literally his personality. So when he witnesses the both of you becoming a little too friendly, the best he will do is force himself into the conversation, regardless if he was even in it or not.

Afterwards when Nirei finally leaves, he waits till he's far enough before launching his body towards yours in a flash.

Toma Hiragi

If you've never seen jealous, then you have now. It's not the usual for Hiragi to explode on sight at another dude that seems to be hitting on you, other than if it was a random guy, then he's surely dragging you away with him to wherever, while cussing out the boy to leave you alone.

But when it comes to people he knows, he's jealous of Umemiya, and not for those reasons. Hiragi is aware that he's best friend simply has an outgoing and extroverted personality, he doesn't blame him whenever he gets a little too close. But jeez does it drive him crazy on the inside.

His mood instantly shifts, but not in way anyone would expect it to go. Rather then blowing up at the grey-haired male, instead, the atmosphere around him grows calmer, almost as if he's trying to avoid its not happening. The tactic for him, is it straight up ignore it by any means possible.

He'll start responding with dryer answers to anyone and spends a hefty amount of time on his phone to get the scene off his mind of Umemiya guiding you with him around the place on the roof top. He might even throw in some earbuds and blast rock music.

Afterwards when you two are back together, you can't tell if he had a scowl on his face while walking away with you by his side.

"Is something the matter?" You asked looking up at him. He doesn't say anything, still too pissed about what happened earlier so instead, he reaches his long arm behind your back to the side of your hip and brings you a bit closer to him without saying another word.

Jo Togame

Whenever he finds himself in a tight situation, specifically in public when a guy that's being friendlier than usual comes by to say hello, he's able to hold himself together very well for the first few minutes.

He even adds himself to the conversation whenever he sees a chance to—purely because he does not want to seem like a loose thread just watching the both of you speak when he's right beside you standing like a weirdo. However, when he starts to take note of how the other guy is getting closer, all up in your face, flat out ignoring whenever your boyfriend chimes in, and worst of all throwing in hints that you two should meet another time, he knows right away.

This is one of the very few times where he finds it extremely hard to keep his cool and usually, he's able to do that.

Seeing that he can't really talk to the guy because he keeps ignoring him, he'll slickly wrap his arm around your shoulder to lean on you or he'll wrap his arm around your waist and at the slightest—pull you closer to him. He stays quiet the entire time, he won't see this situation as such a huge deal where he has to hammer the guy into pieces, but there is a tiny part of him where his ego begins to escape.

He'll never cut your time short simply because he wouldn't want his time to be cut short either, but the most he'll ever do (which is quite intimidating), he will whisper in your ear.

"Are you trying to piss me off?" All while putting a smile on his face.

He only does this when he feels like it's going too far and for him, it works. Hearing his deep voice whisper in your ear to watch what you're doing makes you do a reality check that if Togame really wanted to beat up the guy right in front of you, he would without a doubt.

Hayato Suo

It's extremely hard to make him feel jealous. He knows how to keep his cool and trained himself to never lash out at all, only if something absurd had happened right before his eyes. But aside from that, even if you try to get him jealous, chances are—it's not working.

Even speaking to another guy, spending more time with your friends, or replying late, he will never get jealous or mad at you for that. So what is the only circumstance where he does feel a slight hinge of jealousy?

That is only when you get physical with another guy. He can flirt with you for all he cares and yet, he will never get upset at the sight of the random guy calling you pretty (he might even add on and say "She is, isn't she?") but the moment he sees him trying to lay a finger on you, there's a chance where he'll grip his arm in midair to stop him from touching you.

"I think that's enough yes?" He says while pulling you closer to him and putting the guys arm away.

Afterwards, the whole mood of the conversation changes, in fact he might be the only one who continues his happy go lucky personality and on with the conversation. It's awkward, the way he flat out rejected the guy for you without you even asking. Not to say that you didn't appreciate it, but now it made the other guy uncomfortable which was what Hayato was striving for anyways.

He's pricky whenever someone tries to touch you and the only time where you'll see his attitude changes.

#wind breaker #windbreaker #windbreakerxreader #hajime umemiya #hajime umemiya x reader #haruka sakura #haruka sakura x reader #jo togame #mitsuki kiryu #taiga tsugeura #hayato suo x reader #toma hiragi x reader #tomiyama choji x reader #toma hiragi #jo togame x reader #hayato suo #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker manga

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hcdwigs · 1 day

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more nanami headcanons (but as your bf !!!)

a/n: hey everyone! thank you for all the support on my last headcanon post. i never really expected it to go far, but somehow it did. it was my first time ever posting a "fic" you know? i was cringing the entire time but it was worth it, for you guys :) since it did well, here is some more!

i used third person by the way so you're referred to as his partner. tried to make this as gender neutral as possible cuz i love you guys

cw: slight suggestiveness (ooooh... but it's not extreme you sillies)

Extreme gentleman. He respects their wishes all the time. If they want space, he will give it to them. He will give them whatever they ask for.

Pays on the first date. He forbids their significant other from doing anything. He will pay because he wants to. He truly wants to, not because he feels obligated to.

Would be kind of shy about doing anything at first, especially Teen!Nanami. Even after a long period of dating, he would always ask before showing affection because he does not know if they feel comfortable or okay with it.

"May I please hold your hand? Are you okay with that?

"...We've been dating for a month."

"I know, but, I must ask, you know? In case it makes you uncomfortable.”

When he (as well as they) grow comfortable, the affection begins to become more "intense." Not intense, but he does it more frequently. He holds their hand more, gives more kisses, more hugs...

He would give the best hugs. He is a cuddle machine. He appears to hate them, but does he truly? Exactly. No, he does not. He loves them so much. He wishes he could give up his job to spend the entire day cuddling with his partner.

"Stay close to me, please."

"I don't plan on moving."

"Good. I wish life were like this every day." He hums, squeezing them gently.

Kisses with him are never short; even if he is late. He never leaves his significant other hanging. He craves and desires to kiss them. He enjoys giving his partner a passionate kiss, drawing them near to his chest, and placing his hand behind their head, leaving a memory of the kiss that is warm, tender, and unforgettable.

Genuinely feels like he could share his emotions with his significant other. Yeah, he is still serious, because it's who he is. He was raised in a family surrounded by serious people. Though, throughout the relationship, he learns how to express his emotions better. He feels like he genuinely could reveal all the emotions he has stored in him already around his significant other. If he's feeling upset, he would genuinely express that to them. If something ticked him off, he would sit down and talk to his partner about it.

Despite all of that, he still is more of a listener than a rambler. He prefers putting others first before him, and that also goes for who gets to talk. He enjoys looking at their partner with a loving gaze, as they talk nonsense. Whether it is about the new show they picked up, their day, or the latest gossip, he loves listening.

He would write love letters. I do not care if you find that corny. He is corny. He will write love letters. Nanami is romantic. I don't care what anyone says he is a romance god who does not get to show it off as much. He loves writing lengthy letters, showing the love he has for his partner. Describes their personality and how much he cherishes them, how much he thinks they're beautiful, and how he thinks that they are the stars in the night sky that stand out.

Playing with his partner's hair is (one of) his favorite ways to show affection. If they have long hair, he loves to try styling it and ruffling it. If they have type 4 coily hair, he starts learning how to take care of it so he can try protective hairstyles on them.

Another thing is lazy Sundays. He loves Sundays. Even though he has to go to stupid work the next day. The sensation of them being in his arms when he wakes up, his arms encircling their bodies firmly, the sheets covering them. He enjoys gently leaning in to kiss their shoulders, the top of their head, and the back of their neck. When they began to stir, he pulled them closer— not wanting to get out of bed. All he wants is to spend Sunday morning in bed with his lovely partner.

Gets flushed at compliments, but it is not as obvious. When their significant other says he is handsome, he smiles softly and thanks them, but on the inside, he is freaking out.

Cooks breakfast in bed for them. Always. He loves getting up just to make his significant other the tastiest breakfast ever; it is his specialty. He prepares a warm beverage and some fruit-flavored crepes topped with Nutella and whipped cream.

Before meeting them, Nanami was kind of an insomniac. He would not sleep; hence why he has dark circles. But after meeting them, he started sleeping more. Despite everything, he continues to get up before his partner to prepare breakfast for them.

Not only that but when he was stressed, he would drink his sorrows away rather than confide in someone. Since the fan book claims that he enjoys drinking, I think that, unfortunately, one of his coping mechanisms is doing exactly that. However, since meeting them, he has kept everything under control. He learned to express himself more freely and genuinely strives to avoid suppressing his emotions.

Bro is a simp. His mouth drops when he sees his partner dressed. His jaw falls to the floor. He is stuttering a bit too. I know he is supposed to be calm and collected but he would NOT be calm and collected around his significant other, people. He would go feral and be a simp for them.

He says I love you first. It was quite unexpected and seemed to come out of nowhere. He just blurted it out without waiting for the perfect moment or anything else. It was probably a simple morning, cuddling with him on the bed as usual, looking at each other fondly, and he said, "You know how much I adore you, right?"

When he realizes what he is saying, his eyes widen slightly, but then crinkle up when they tell him they love him as well.

He will do whatever his partner says. They could be 5'2 or around his height; he is a certified simp who immediately attends to their partner's needs.

Even if that includes forcibly doing silly TikTok trends. He pretends to hate it but he doesn't. He is a munch or whatever Ice Spice said.

He enjoys nuzzling his partner. Guys, I do not care. This man is a bundle of love wrapped up in a stoic-looking man. He enjoys sneaking up behind them, entrapping them in his arms, and nuzzling their neck and the top of their head. Wherever he wants, whenever he wants. And he utters sweet nothings. And leaves tiny, delicate kisses. He also wraps his arms around their waist.

He sometimes becomes overwhelmed, so he requires his own space. However, he does not simply distance himself from his partner. He properly expresses that sometimes he needs his own space. He still adores them but also needs some space. He does not want to cause conflict or misunderstanding because he is not that type of person.

Will be there for them when they are sick, even if they believe they look disgusting. He does not care; he believes they are the most beautiful sight he has ever seen in his entire life (which was cut short) (sorry, I am still coping). He will be there to care for them whether they are throwing up, crying, or whatever.

He cooks for them, he gives them medicine, he cuddles them even though he knows he may get sick...

And he does. Every single time. And he acts like a baby too.

Adorable tall, strong man Nanami acts like a baby when he's sick. He needs to be looked after completely. He starts off coughing (like a grandfather or a father). So his cough is obnoxious and loud, and he frowns. He then looks up at his partner, his expression reminiscent of a puppy who has been denied treats. It is an adorable sight. It's a turnaround from his usual chill demeanor. He then spends the entire day in bed, despite his attempts to do his routine tasks like cleaning and cooking for them, which they forbid. And he pouts about it like a big baby.

"Please let me take care of you. You took care of me, so now it's my turn."

"No, you're sick, Kento."

"That doesn't matter." He frowns.

“You always take care of me anyway.”

“But it is my honor to take care of you, my love.”

and then they end up having seven mental breakdowns

If they bring home a stray one day, he is reluctant on taking it but you know damn well he'd be like one of those dads that is hesitant about taking it at first but then ends up cuddling it the next day and then begging for them to not take it to the shelter.

Genuine sweetheart. Holds the door for their significant other, makes arrangements for them when they can not find the time, prepares meals for them, and if they come from a different culture, he starts to learn about it, particularly if they are involved in it.

...This guy is in no way aggressive. I have seen people mischaracterize him as a dominant "daddy" or whatever because he is serious, and Mappa blessed us with the hair-pulling scene. That scene was primarily caused by rage at Haruta's thoughtless harm to those around him and the fact that the man was going against two young girls. He would never act in such a way toward their partner, particularly when they were in bed. He is more of a gentle lover and is afraid of going too far.

Needs are needs, so if they ask, he will comply with some hesitation. He never seemed to get into it, so he tells them that.

That does not mean he is not into some stuff. Bro be praising. He praises hella and talks them through it.

"My love, doing so well for me."

"So beautiful, so gorgeous, all sprawled out for me like this."

“You’re mine. Until the end of time, angel.”

“God. My love, my everything. You drive me wild, you know that?”

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Want to see how breathtaking you are from here.” All in his deep, ragged and needy voice.

that made me cringe

help I'm crying at the cringe so sorry

His favorite dates with them involve going to a restaurant. Nanami knows some hidden gems, so he enjoys taking them to restaurants where they can eat delicious food. Being a food enthusiast, it goes without saying that he is aware of the good and bad places to go. Because of Nanami's exquisite taste, they have never had to worry about their food.

As I previously stated, he prefers traditional nicknames such as sweetheart, my love, darling, angel, and beloved. I do not see him calling his significant other "baby," "baby girl," or whatever; I believe he finds it cringe-worthy. This is self-indulgent oops.

Sings softly to them while they are sleeping. He sings a song while they are sleeping because he is too ashamed of his singing. His vocals are not bad; he is just shy. (Little did he know, they had several recordings of him singing in secret...)

He will sacrifice his blanket in bed just to wrap it around his partner if they're cold. Bro would give them 90004868787893 pillows, and 8 blankets if they said they were cold.

He exaggerates things. And when I say he exaggerates, I mean he goes to great lengths to win his partner over. If they enter a new niche, he buys *everything*. On date nights, he gives them large bouquets if they like that, and he treats them as if they were royalty.

"You didn't need to get me this entire figure collection from *series*... I feel so bad."

"Well, do not worry, I enjoy buying these things for you. I see how happy you are, and it immediately warms my heart.”

Arguments with him are not bad. He truly never gets upset to the point of yelling because that is not who he is—he is not a guy who yells and he does not want to cause trauma to people in general. Again, though, he seems composed, and it might be frightening. But he then does something right away that causes his partner to instantly give in. Bro could just breathe and they're like "OKAY" and yeah. I understand. I would fold so hard bro.

His love languages include quality time and acts of service. He loves spending every single second with his partner and is immediately angry at the world when he has to work overtime and can not have more time with them. He enjoys taking them on dates or simply staying at home on lazy days. He loves spending time with them. Furthermore, he expresses his love by doing things for his partner, such as assisting them with their work (if he could), giving them massages when they are stressed, cooking for them all the time, washing their dishes even when they beg him not to, eating the olives off of their plate if there are any... He is the king of acts of service.

He is not good at taking pictures. His large thumb keeps covering the lens, so they have to force him to take the pictures repeatedly. Despite this, he never becomes irritated because he gets butterflies just watching his partner pose in their gorgeous clothes.

Speaking of photos, he already had an Instagram account beforehand. (As much as he hates to admit it, Gojo is sometimes the one who takes the aesthetic photos on his page.) He was not active, but he has a few posts on it, but as soon as they got a partner, oh lord Jesus. Bro will post on his Instagram story every single second.

Even though this happens, he prefers to make his relationship private. Private but known, you know? He wants the world to know that he is lucky enough to date them, but still not reveal information or talk about his relationship to anyone. So he would take those private but not secret type relationship photos.

Captions are always complimenting them and are extremely poetic. He's just that guy.

"saw a breathtaking sight. the beach is also there."

“every aspect of you captivates me, body and soul.”

"we are all floating around with the stars and the universe, and it somehow led me to you."

cringes again

Off-topic but not, Nanami would NEVER, and I mean... NEVER, go for his student if he was a professor, even if their relationship is legal. I can't stand it when people do that. He understands that there's a power dynamic behind it and it's low-key creepy how much people enjoy it.

Along with stepcest. Why do so many of you like stepcest? Nanami is not touching any of his family members. I'm scared to say this and this is probably hella controversial for this app but he's not touching anyone even if they're not technically related.

Age gap too. He would not date someone extremely younger than him. He is not going to be 40 and dating a 19-year-old. I just can't see it.

Other than that, he does not have any preferences when it comes to appearance. He has turn-offs, but not in terms of appearance. He could care less about what someone looks like.

In terms of personality, he dislikes negative people. He despises that. He would feel guilty if he became involved with someone unconcerned about the world. He also dislikes immaturity and pettiness.

He prefers people who bring positivity into his life, you know? Someone much more outgoing than he is, but still a mature person with whom he could relate. The more extroverted they are the more they bring out of him. As long as they're not so overwhelming to him.

Even so, he simply enjoys people for their kindness and consideration. How willing they are, how passionate and motivated they are. He simply wants someone who is driven by their goals.

Texts them dad memes he found on Facebook.

“Look at it, it’s funny.”

“...lol”

“You laughed at least a little bit right?

“...No?”

“Okay. I apologize :(“

LAUGH AT HIS FACEBOOK MEMES PLEASE. THEY ARE NOT THAT BAD PLEASE.

When he met their family, he appeared calm and collected, but he was nervous. He was fidgety on the way to their house, something he had only ever done in high school. He experiences anxiety about whether he would be accepted by them or whether he would be good enough.

“Wow, I have never seen you this fidgety before.”

"I apologize. It’s just… What your family might think worries me. I am not sure if I will meet their expectations. I simply want to let them know how much I genuinely adore you for who you are and how much I want to be yours forever."

And they are like ??? because this man is perfect? He is the dream man anyone could ever ask for.

Do not take this man mini golfing bro he sucks ass… I know you guys think just because he is partly white he will immediately be good at golf but no. He sucks ass.

He would be protective, but not excessively so. He is devoted to his partner and will intervene quickly if someone upsets them, intimidating them with his composed demeanor.

"I advise you to distance yourself from them before I regretfully have to take action, okay? We wouldn’t want that, right?” Dumbledore says, calmly. While puffing out his chest. And mewing. And mogging. Whatever that means.

Okay fine, he will watch Jersey Shore, The Real Housewives, Love & Hip-Hop, etc with them. Pretends to hate it but he is invested.

Imagine just going to the bedroom and just seeing him in his reading glasses, sitting up against the headboard, immersed in the book in front of him. The only thing he has on is a simple white tee that does justice to his figure and pajama pants.

Yup feral.

Tries to get into the things their partner likes just so he can understand when they yap about certain things. He just wants them to talk about everything to him. He finds it adorable.

Allows their partner to give him a skincare treatment. He then begins to do it himself. Well, he would only use one product—a cleanser. That being said, he started using toner, serum, and other skincare products. And, yes, he allows them to put ridiculously cute facemasks on his face. And the cute little star pimple patches.

Do not take that man ice skating or rollerblading either. He would be so hesitant on going because he sucks at it. He just goes because his significant other told him to. He fell immediately.

“This sucks.”

“Stop sulking and hold my hand.”

“...You don’t even need to ask.” He says, all giddy.

Please show him the love and care he deserves.

When he works out he will flex on them on purpose. He thinks it is all funny to be all yummy. It is NOT funny.

Yup, he does push-ups while they’re underneath, each time he goes down he gives them a peck.

Yeah so imagine that with him in his compression shirt and shorts…

I could read your mind, people. You are not slick.

This man will not let his significant other have insecurities. He is the type to leave notes all over the bathroom, and every mirror, with encouraging words. Praising their looks and more. Plus he shows in…other ways (wink) how much he appreciates how beautiful he thinks they are.

If they are unhappy, he will truly be devastated. He is miserable when he sees them upset, so he does everything in his power to cheer them up. Whether that’s cooking something for them, taking care of them, trying to make them laugh, getting them something from the store, or sitting down and talking to them about their problems, he needs to make them feel happy.

When he drives, he would not put his hand on his partner’s thigh. He would much rather grab their hand, and put it on his lap, as he listens to them hum along to the radio. He purposely moves the mirror slightly toward them, just so he can see how pretty they are through the mirror. He also looks at them with a slight smile at every stop-light, occasionally leaving small pecks on their face.

Does not mind if they steal his clothes. Go on then silly. He could care less. He thinks it’s cute as hell.

Would teach them how to do things. For example, he will teach them to play an instrument if they do not already, especially if he knows how. He looks like a lovesick fool as he watches them replicate what he did. Unable to resist the urge, he kisses them without reason.

“What was that for?”

"I could not hold back. You are very tempting."

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes. You are everything I think about and want."

Butterflies all around people.

His only red flag is that sometimes he may prioritize work over his relationship. He unfortunately gets into the stress of work and begins to grind more at work. Call him out and he gets back into his senses.

Buys more storage space for his Samsung S24 Ultra to retrieve more pictures of them. His camera roll is nearly full. Just because of his significant other, his camera roll increased from roughly 150 images to over 13,000 images.

When he comes home from work, he immediately collapses on the couch or their shared bed, on top of them. He then looks like a sleepy puppy.

“Someone’s tired.”

“I hate overtime.”

“I know you do. I cooked something for you.”

“I could have just cooked for the both of us…”

“But I knew you’d come all tired from work. So no.”

“That doesn't matter, you know? I love taking care of you. Just to see that pretty smile on your face.” He pouts, once again.

He ends up making it up to them. You can interpret that however you want.

As soon as this man sees them in formal attire (or in general) it is OVER. His jaw is on the bottom of the earth, his eyes are slightly widened, a blush on his face.

“I have no words. God, I don't know how someone could get even more impossibly perfect, yet here you are, darling. No matter how many times I see you, you still manage to take my breath away.”

yup heart attack

Prepare for so many compliments daily. He talks like a true romance book. None of that Colleen Hoover stuff.

Talks about his partner like a true gentleman. He's not like those types of guys who just talk about their significant other as if they're his property. No. He talks about them as if they are an art piece.

Overall, he just loves his partner so, so much. He expresses it in a variety of ways, from taking care of them—to telling them every single second of the day. In his own words,

"Your presence in my life is like a breath of fresh air, keeping my heart full and content. I love you more than anyone could ever fathom, and I promise you, you have my heart for eternity."

i love him </3 NANMINPLEAEE BE RELALRHABADHDJSKDHSNEB

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rejectedbytheempty · 2 days

Note

Hey could you write something about older Ghost with a younger curvy wife, and potentially having sons together (only if you’re comfortable with that). Rn I’m obsessed with dilf Simon living his domestic best life lol

okay, so i have no clue why this took me so long. anyways, forgive me, i’ve never written for ghost before so most definitely will be ooc. also kind of a newer writing style for me, let me know if it sucks balls or not !!

When you first met Simon, it was at a bar. Your eye had been drawn to the big, hulking man with a skull mask nursing a glass of whiskey. It surprised you that when you went up to talk to him, he was a blushing and stuttering mess. He stumbled over his words, accidentally spilling his drink all over you when he went to shake your hand. He apologized profusely and immediately went to take off his shirt so you didn’t have to wear a bourbon stained top. It was only after you blushed and turned away that he realized just what he did. He looks back on that memory with a grimace but you love telling it because you knew you found the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

After a few weeks of dating you, his team had noticed a difference in his demeanor, he was.. happy? It took constant jabs from Johnny and Gaz’s puppy dog eyes for him to finally come clean. Pulling out a picture of you made all of their jaws drop. Johnny immediately asked “What’s that bonnie little thing doing with you?” But after a slap to the head by Price, Soap shut up. Simon pretended like it didn’t bother him, like he hadn’t already thought that himself. A couple of days later, he tried to break up with you. For your own good, he had too much baggage, and he was older than you. He would ruin your life, he decided. Too bad you didn’t agree, practically slapping him upside the head like Price did to Soap. That was when Ghost well and truly fell in love with you.

A year later, he proposed. You had said yes, of course. The hardest part had been pretending to be surprised. It wasn’t hard to figure it out when he was shaking like a leaf all throughout your fancy dinner. Then, on your wedding day, he was the same nervous ball of energy. It took a talk from Price to get him to calm down. It was a small ceremony, but you both preferred it that way, it was more intimate. By the time you both got to your vows, both of you were crying, choking on your words to the point where you just moved on to the kiss. After the ceremony, Simon swept you up into a bridal carry. He was able to pick you up with ease, which you never got over, even after all this time. As he carried you down the aisle, he was only looking at you, his brown eyes glinting with tears through his balaclava.

Simon was gone for long periods of time on deployment, but when he came back to you, he was all over you. Constantly at your back, grabbing at your curves and burying his face into your neck. He loved spoiling you, constantly buying you things, whether you liked it or not. Even if you mention something in passing, it’ll be on the dining table with breakfast the next morning. When Simon is away for his missions, you guys send letters back and forth. Sometimes you include little pictures of yourself, some more raunchy than others. One time while Gaz was looking for Ghost, he found those letters sitting out on a desk, including the pictures. Gaz turned beet red when Simon walked in, muttering apologies in a squeaky voice before running out of the room.

It had been about six months since your wedding when you found yourself bent over the toilet. One positive pregnancy test later and Simon was pacing around the room. He hadn’t expected it to happen this quick, he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Panic seized him, images of his father flashed in his mind. It took you coaxing him to the bed and rubbing soothing circles on his back for him to calm down. You had reassured him that he wasn’t his father, that he was an amazing husband and would be an amazing father. Simon sat there for a moment and then put his hand to your stomach, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours. You were right, as always, and he would be there every step of the way, for you, and for your child.

#older bf simon riley #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #plus size!reader #ghost x plus size!reader #ps!reader

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cheriladycl01 · 3 days

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The Big Mercedes Debate - George Russell x JapaneseOlympicCross-CountrySkiing! Reader

Plot: Ski-Trip with George, Toto, Suzie and Jack where your all discussing the future of Mercedes, and how an Olympic Cross- Country Skiier can help.

Credit to blimeygeorge for the GIF

"She's really good" Suzie complements as she watches you zoom ahead on your guy's ski run. You were all cross country skiing through the mountains.

You were set to try out snowboarding tomorrow as despite having an affinity for snow related sports, you'd never tried it. But as of right now you were doing what you did best, skiing.

You slowed down a few times to let the others catch up and you helped Jack become more steady of his ski's, holding his hand as you slowly went down some little slopes as he giggled overtime he got something right and you congratulated him on it.

George couldn't help but admire the way you acted with Jack, and it was one of those pivotal moments in a relationship where you knew that your partner was in fact 'the one'. He was grinning from ear to ear, not that anyone could see that behind his balaclava and mask.

After a morning of skiing, Jack started to get hungry and was tugging at the sleeve of your jacket, begging to go on your back and ski to the lodge really really quickly just so he could get his filling.

"Ah, not we have to wait for mummy, daddy and George so we can all go together. But I promise you if you can hold out while we all ski back I'll make you a hot chocolate tonight?"

"Extra cream and marshmallows?" he asks with a grin and you nod your head before you all continue down to where you can all grab something to eat.

"So Toto, how's finding George's team-mate going?" you ask after taking a bite of your sandwich and wiping your mouth clean of the crumbs and any sauce that remained.

"Y/N!" George scolds shaking his head as if you'd just brought up something really taboo.

"George, leave her alone it's fine!" his boss laughs, looking between the two of you.

"We've got options, and that's led to rumors as you've probably already seen!" he laughs taking a sip of his coffee.

"Mmmm, the Max one made me laugh!" you smile taking another bite before everyone went silent.

"Wait ... are you being fucking serious?" you say covering Jack's ears up so he doesn't hear the swears, making him giggle and swat your hands away.

"Well, Max and I have had conversations... I wont deny that" he smirks and looks at you.

"Shut up, tell me everything!" You squeal looking between Toto and Suzie.

"Well, Max has been in a championship car for the last few years and it's been rumored for a while that Adrian was leaving Red Bull and I you know, every option is possible. I don't think he would take my offer, but there's loads of other options, Carlos, Alex, Kimi ... we are looking at Frederick, Mick etc" he smiles, knowing there was options it was just tough choosing.

"Yeah, you've got a lot of good options... I think Kimi needs to be given a change in the feeder series though, let him at least have a full season in F2 before committing anything!" you admit nonchalantly.

"Damn, hoping i was going to go for Max Verstappen 2.0!" Toto laughs, smiling and wrapping his arms around Jack who had climbed into his lap.

"Mmmm he's a special case. Don't think anyone can recreate what he's done ..." you smile.

"Well, I think Alex would be really good as my team-mate!" George admits putting his own input in.

"Mmmmm, now are you saying that because he's a good driver ... or because he's your best mate. Because I would not mind having Lily around more often!" you grin, having been close to Alex's girlfriend for a while.

"Alex hasn't shown much this season, him and Logan ... have kind of been on par!" Toto offers, preferring the stability of someone like Carlos.

"Yeah, but the Williams this year is trash. You can't expect much from the pair of them when they are in an unstable tractor! He's gone from a Red Bull to Williams, very very different" you joke knowing the Williams just wasn't as developed this year.

"Mmmm that's also true... say Y/N how does a Olympic Cross Country Skier from Japan have such an opinion on an F1 team" Suzie interjects.

"Well, I've got an amazing boyfriend who teaches me a lot!" you smile pulling George in for a kiss.

y/user

Liked by georgerussell63 and suziewolff

y/user: Family holiday while i look like P4 helping debate the future of Mercedes...

Tagged 3 people.

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georgerussell63: It's been a blast! I love you lots darling!

georgerussell63: you are so beautiful baby!

fan1: It's so funny that they are all on holiday as one big family while debating who will take that second Mercedes seat...

-> fan2: it's funny she has been included in the discussions lol, she's a cross country skier!

suziewolff: leave it to the girls to fix things eh?

-> fan3: MOTHERS!

-> fan4: is this confirming the future of Mercedes has been set?

fan5: Y/N to Merc 2025 confirmed

Instagram Story Caption

Georgie said I looked coquette 🎀🩰🌸🐰

TagList:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #george russell fic #george russell fluff #george russell #gr63 imagine #gr63 fic #gr63 x reader #gr63 #mercedes

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seiwas · 3 hours

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₊˚⊹｡ big gym energy (is this my fantasy?) | fushiguro toji

wc: 2.0k

summary: who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday?

contains: gn!reader, non-curse au, college au, appearance of itafushikugi (mostly nobara), reader has a huge and lowkey delusional crush on toji, age gap

a/n: the gym toji fic! tone in this is a bit different from what i write, and it's lowkey a crack fic but i hope it's still enjoyable! listened to: big energy - latto & area codes - kaliii

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: going to the gym for yourself (and totally not for that cute guy who sometimes says hi)

“You’re going to the gym?” Nobara halts smack in the middle of the busy hallway. Groans huff behind her, the rest of your class filing out of the lecture hall. You bow your head apologetically as you pull her to the side.

“Yes.”

She squints, skeptical, “You.”

You nod.

“The gym.” she says it slower this time, tilting her head down.

You nod again.

Nobara blinks, shifting her weight as she reaches one hand inside the pocket of her overalls. There’s a long pause, rushed footsteps amplifying the suspense, then—

“Okay, what’s the bet? How much did Maki put out? I want in.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you loop your arm around hers and continue walking.

There’s good reason for her to doubt you; she knows you best after all. In your little quad, you are the least likely to be found doing any physical activity or sport whatsoever—and that’s saying a lot, considering the other fourth of your group is Megumi. But at least he walks his dogs regularly.

“Rude,” you scoff jokingly, “there’s no bet, just testing it out because they have a free trial promo.”

It shouldn’t hurt to check it out, you think. One of your resolutions this year is to finally get started on your fitness journey, whatever form it may be.

“You should come.”

Nobara snorts, “Wrong person,” you both turn at a corner, “ask Itadori.”

The gym is just a few blocks away from your campus, a good 18-minute walk if you’re counting—which is also part of what makes it so appealing. The ad you’d seen for the free trial is an early bird promo to attract new customers for the gym’s new branch launch.

And it does make the most sense to ask him; he is the sports science major after all—

“No way,” you step out on the sidewalk, “telling him is practically committing to a membership.”

—but Yuuji is a bit too eager when it comes to things like this. No doubt he’ll be at your heel, wagging his figurative golden retriever tail at the prospect of being your certified gym buddy. It’s endearing and you know he means well, but that’s way too much pressure for someone who’s just starting out.

She laughs, readjusting her bag, “He’d know how to use the machines though.”

“I watched some videos…” you mumble, because Nobara has a point, but if you’re being honest, you feel just a teensy bit embarrassed at the idea of anyone else knowing about your attempts at fitness this early on, lest it fail in the end. “I can probably ask someone there…”

“Try the most jacked up person in the gym.”

You shove her jokingly, her laughter echoing down the road.

The first person you meet at the gym is the lady at the front desk. Her ponytail sways as she greets you, a chirpy smile welcoming you in as she holds an iPad to her chest while touring you around—at the center, the main floor plan is decked out with machines; towards the back sit the squat racks, and to your sides are the private cycling rooms and multifunctional spaces. According to her, they also offer yoga classes every 6:00 p.m. on Wednesdays.

You’d expected a lot more people to be in here at 7:00 p.m., but you suppose it makes sense others would prefer to spend their Friday nights elsewhere.

Looking around, you spot a middle-aged lady you swear is Megumi’s English professor; on the treadmills, a couple your age share a laugh as they try to match pace. There are some machines you’ve never even seen in your life, Youtube videos included.

You take a deep breath. You can ask for help.

After all, the crowd feels friendly enough, not too intimidating—

—until your eyes land on him, on the benches; an absolute tank of a man doing chest presses with what you think are probably the heaviest dumbbells on the rack.

You try not to stare, catching only a glimpse of the way his biceps flex against the tight sleeves of his black compression shirt.

Don’t be a creep, you tell yourself, walking towards the leg press machine. You may be new here, but you’ve learned that gym etiquette isn’t so far off from acting like a civilized human being.

Thank god you never take Nobara seriously, because you can’t even imagine the stuttering mess you’d be if you had to ask him how to work any of these god forsaken machines.

It’s a good thing, then, that help comes to you without you having to say a word.

This is number four out of five sessions in your free trial promo, and you have no idea how to get the goddamn plates out of the barbell. You pull some out from the other side and the whole barbell comes along with it. When you attempt the other side, it does the same. Then when you finally do manage to get off the plates on one side, the whole barbell drops, clanging loudly against the metal foot of the squat rack set-up.

(Now that you think about it, maybe it isn’t such a good thing that you’ve been offered help instead of you asking. There must be a reason someone thinks you could need it.)

Someone, who is also the last person you could ever possibly want to embarrass yourself in front of.

Someone, who just so happens to be the jacked up tank of a man you’ve admittedly glanced at a few times in your past few visits here.

“To make it easier,” he crouches beside you, laying down a smaller plate and rolling the larger ones on the barbell over it.

He unloads them like they weigh nothing—and with his physique, it isn’t hard to believe that they probably do. His biceps look to be the size of your head, chest popping out in ways you’ve only seen on those Tiktok thirst edits; his one hand is larger than a 2.5 kilogram plate, and his forearms look like they could ch—

Mind out of the gutter, you blink away, focusing instead on the metal bar in front of you.

God, you don’t even know this man’s name.

“T-thanks.” you stutter, embarrassed.

He gives you a half-smile, lips turned on one side, “Sure.” then he walks away, the tightness of his black compression shirt hugging the ridges of his back muscles.

You gulp.

So begins your year-long gym membership.

(And maybe, just maybe, the kind-of-meet-cute of a lifetime. Who knows, really?)

“Who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday,” she snorts, fingers grazing over the curved edges of the heart-shaped watermelons in the fruit aisle.

You hush her, scanning the area around you for anyone who might have overhead.

It’s 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday, so you doubt it, but you can never be too sure.

“He’s nice, you know.” you pout.

“Yeah, what’s his name?” Nobara gives you a look.

You glare, touché.

Maybe you don’t know his name. Yet.

But he’s always offered to stack on the heavy plates for you, and will oftentimes help in unloading them too. There are times when you aren’t quite sure how to work the machines and he swoops in like the gym buff version of prince charming, teaching you proper form just so you don’t get injured. He’ll wipe down a mat for you to use some days, because—

“Stretching is important,” he never fails to mention.

He’s nice.

And you have an insanely delusional crush on him, but you don’t care, because why else would he be giving you this much attention if he wasn’t interested in you too?

You find out many things about your gym crush, most of them completely unexpected.

One: his hair is unusually soft for someone who looks so rough. Or, well, you think it looks soft, you can’t tell for sure; you haven’t actually touched it to be able to tell. The black mop on his head falls flat over his eyes on the few days you assume are right before his next scheduled haircut. It surprises you even more when he walks in the gym with a small hair tie holding his bangs up.

Two: he does a considerable amount of bodyweight exercises for someone his size—Calisthenics, specifically.

You watch him pull himself up the bar, biceps and back straining against the movement. The muscles ripple across the fabric of his tee, and it’s impressive how smoothly he’s able to go up and down; as if he isn’t exerting any effort at all. Then, the push-ups and dips. He can do them all, in every variation you never even thought existed, and it’s always done with so much ease.

It gives you reason to believe that he could be gentle, controlled. In what? Well. You know.

Three: he likes fruity things. You expected his go-to to be straight black, maybe a chocolate protein shake on other days too. But he shows up one day with a smoothie in the shade of vibrant magenta. Dragonfruit, you assume, from all the black specks floating in it.

This also happens to be the first time you initiate the conversation with him.

“Your smoothie looks good,” you mumble, a little hesitant.

God, so awkward.

He looks up from adjusting the plate stoppers on your bar.

A hum rumbles from his throat before he flashes you the same half-smile he always does, “Strawberry, banana, and dragonfruit.”

You don’t really know what to say after that other than, “Cool.”

And you mentally facepalm yourself.

In your fourth month at the gym, you learn a few more unexpected things that change everything.

You’ve just finished freshening up and you’re on the way out when you bump into—

“Megumi?”

He looks up from his phone, dark strands hitting the tips of his eyelashes as he pushes back one side of his headphones. He raises an eyebrow, confused and surprised.

“You gym?”

“What’re you doing here?”

Pink dusts his cheeks as he ducks his head, motioning for you to go first.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, “I started going here a few months ago. You?”

He looks a little surprised by it, probably more so at the fact that you’ve kept it a secret from him for so long, but he nods, “That’s good. You did mention wanting to work on your fitness more this year.” then, he shifts, adjusting his weight before hanging his headphones by his neck.

“I’m waiting for my dad.”

In the past few years you’ve known Megumi, he’s never mentioned his dad. You never bothered to ask because you suspected there was a good reason he never talked about him in the first place.

And so comes number four, and maybe the last unexpected thing you find out about your gym crush—

“Megumi!”

You both turn around to the voice of none other than Nobara’s proclaimed rippest DILF in Japan; the most jacked up tank of a man who also happens to be the man you’ve crushed hard on for the past four months.

Everything is snapping into place, information forming bridges you would rather not cross right now.

He walks up to Megumi, duffel bag slung across his chest as he reaches for your friend.

Megumi looks like he wants to wither away, embarrassed at you seeing him tucked under his dad’s arm. But all your brain can really comprehend is that Megumi, your good friend, is currently squished between the bicep and chest you’ve been staring at since your first day at the gym.

You hold your breath, the realization creeping to the forefront of your mind. There had been signs that your gym crush was a dad; apart from being built like one, he’d offhandedly mention ‘son’ a few times. You didn’t think it would be—

“Oh, you two know each other?” your gym crush tilts his head, turning to you, “you didn’t tell me your friend signed up for this gym, Megumi.”

“I didn’t know,” Megumi grumbles, and the look on his face can rival yours, for sure. Tough competition on ‘who looks like they want to die the most right now?’.

But he can’t win.

Because when Megumi begrudgingly introduces your gym crush to you as his dad, you’re pretty sure you’ve buried yourself twelve feet underground.

(It doesn’t ease the embarrassment when you learn unexpected thing number five: he’s been a trainer at the gym this entire time.)

thank you notes: to @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for encouraging me all the way!! ily ari

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #fushiguro itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x yn #toji fluff #toji x y/n #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #jjk #toji #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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alexa-fika · 2 days

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Aight here me out

Buggy has a child but instead their like moody, grumpy and stuff (like Octavia and loona from helluva boss) but they love buggy and would do ANYTHING for him

Happy go lucky dad 🤝 looks like it would kill you would kill you child

Substitute Assistant ( Cross guild x f!child!reader)

A/N not gonna lie I totally forgot who loons was, it’s been a hot minute since I watched helluva, since we are talking about helluva boss here, specifically loona, do expect a few swear words here and there. This one is kinda a flop but hopefully it lives to your standards Cosmo, I am surprised it wasn’t a Whitebeard request 😂,

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Here you go, asshole,” Dokucha growled, throwing a stack of paper on Crocodile’s desk, a task that they had called her father to do

Crocodile lifts his gaze from his work to the child, taking another look at the stack that now lay on their desk

“Where is the clown?”

“Why the hell do you care?! You have your stupid reports, now leave my dad alone asshole!”

“Should a child your age be using such words?” The voice of the swordsman drawls from the sofa next to them

“Shouldn’t grown men be over bullying others like little children?” She snapped back

At that let out a low chuckle that slowly grew into a full-out laugh

“Well, Well seems the brat has more guts than that useless clown,” he

“Don’t call him that!”

“Would you prefer us we call him a coward instead?” Mihawk questioned, taking a sip from the wine in his hand as he continued observing the child’s rage bubble more and more

“Shut up! You assholes know nothing of Dad! He has done many things and gathered people of all kinds with his charisma alone; unlike you, he doesn’t have to pay off or bully people into being his followers!”

Crocodile lets out a dangerous smile at her words

“Funny seeing how it was your father who borrowed money from me, money that he lost and got him where he is now, so by all means, go ahead and tell me more about paying people off.”

“Just leave him alone; you got the business you wanted. Now leave him the hell alone.”

“No can do, little jester, see those people that your father won with his ‘charisma’ have named him the president of the guild; he’s not going anywhere,” Mihawk spoke

“Whether you like it or not, it was Buggy’s decisions that brought him here; he has no one to blame but himself,” he finished, swirling his cup around and downing the liquid inside

She growled, turning around and leaving the room only to be stopped by Crocodile’s voice

“Be a good child and bring me a light, will you?”

“Why the fuck would I do anything for the likes of you.”

He lets out a puff of smoke at her comment, staring lazily at her

“Because if you don’t, then I have no trouble calling your father in instead. While we’re at it, I might have a friendly chat with him about his brat’s behavior.”

She grits her teeth at his response, glaring at him as he chuckles in response

“When you return, I have a few other jobs for you to do, so don’t be long now.”

“Fine,” she snarls, stomping her way out of the office

“Dokucha, where did you run off to? I missed you, my little star!” Buggy cheered as the small girl entered the room

“I was busy,” she mumbled

“How was your day today, Dad?” She questioned

“It’s so much better now that my favorite act is here!” Launching himself toward her, babbling about the different things they could do on their next performance

She chuckled as he draped himself over her, hugging him and nuzzling into him

“Hey, Dad?”

“And then Richie would app-hah? Yeah? “He asked, pausing his rambling

“I love you.”

He looks at her for a few seconds before he begins coming apart in surprise, fumbling to put his body together

“Little Star! You are just the cutest,” he cried, hugging her tight

“Okay, don’t go too far, old man,” she grumbled, trying to get away from the suffocating embrace

“Of course, anything for my little star!”

Again this was kinda weak but I hope you like it, obviously Dokucha is more mellowed out compared to Loona, and she doesn’t have that tsundere side with Buggy , hope you find the dynamic interesting

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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ilovematsunos · 3 days

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i haven't much planned but here it is what we decided ( @lordofthesillystraws thx for da help ):

Those six people suddenly started having weird dreams and visions of others similar to them, nothing was clear or comprehensible, very blurry and confusing, but there was a feeling calling them all to be together. (bahh)

about Kara: Coming from the Eastern, he develops a burning passion for the western culture and becomes a knight adventurer. Due the visions he have been seeing, he decides to unite everybody, he believes their destiny is to enter the dungeons and have the best companionship together. In a way to make the group feel more like a family, he spends all the money on matching clothing (that's why they all have the matsu symbol). He is the one who cooks most of the time.

about Oakso: Not much about him atm. He's the laziest one, but when he gets the determination/motivation or gets pissed he will do his job well (maybe he will slip a lot). The funny one, kinda oblivious.

about Chorolee: The one that most denies their "destiny to be together" with the group, he believes that it isn't possible to be serious. Many times, he is the one who takes the party to the right direction and make them do the right choices, except when he doesn't. He's slowly starting to believe the dreams and have more kindness to the rest.

about Ichiwin: Can heal but also go to combat aswell. Normally, has more empathy to non-humans and demi-humans. Before joining the party he wouldn't be the one to explore dungeons, he would study it from far.

about Jushi: Around his teenhood He escaped from a demihuman trade ship in a gnome town. in that night he end up invading Ichiwin's home, and that´s how those two met. First one to detect danger and attack (dw he is very strong) but can get false alarms and cause confusion. Deep inside we all know he is the most mature out of them all.

about Thodos: Takes vision very seriously, but once he got to know the group he knew he was doomed. Can use healing magic, ancient magic and destructive magic (all for convinience, the easier to end the problems the better) he focus more on healing though. Flees combat constantly. Can help with the cooking and prepare his own meals sometimes.

FUN FACTS: this is DUNMESHI, obv we have to mention the food,,, so uhm, basically they didn't bring much food to the dungeon so Kara has the brilliant idea of eating the monsters in the dungeon lol. Oakso kinds weird but accepts, Chorolee is completly disgusted and complains every time but eats anyway, Ichiwin avoids eating the monsters and prefers eating anything else in the dungeon but if he needs to he wouldn't complaint much. Jushi doesn't really care it just needs to be good, Thodos is as disgusted as chorolee but he really tries to swallow it all.

All their parents look like Dayon.

is possible that chorolee adopts a baby harpy (he doesn't know it is a Harpy

#osomatsu san #artwork #drawing #fypシ #fanart #original art #ososan #art #osomatsu fanart #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #osomatsu au #dungeon meshi au #dungeon meshi art #NO BLMATSU #proship dni

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emmitaaa4 · 3 days

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look i just find it a little funny that people—for the past 3 years—have been adamant that Azriel’s book is next ergo gwonriel is next... undoubtedly: they have the nb of appearances on their side (💀). it was THE argument.

and we were crazy and lacked common sense for saying elain’s book was coming and that the increased presence of Az + his secrets revolving around Elain = he gets the 2nd PoV in Elain’s book. outrageous fr.

… it’s not really the G/A ship that bothers me, it’s the lack of logic.

The “Az book” insistance exposes the recency bias, but also the flaws in their reasoning:

elain’s story being pushed aside in favour of a necklace/ribbon-centered love triangle (opposing 2 women) that originated in a bonus chapter… really?

the idea that gwyn would get a PoV before elain (let go of character preferences for a second and ✨ponder✨).

worst yet: in general, Gwyn only ever serves as a LI in their theories, a sidekick to Az & Nes because gwyn isn’t directly nor uniquely tied to any plot point (atp).

the way they gaslighted ppl into thinking more training & libraries & HoW gang (with 0 new characters) is more urgent to the narrative than an Elain story; than a *new* story that actually advances the plot & characters.

them not getting that gwonriel would be a consequence of elucien: E/L would have always needed to happen 1st because it is ELAIN’s story & choice.

you can’t just compare the structure of ToG and Acotar as if they’re equivalent: the PoVs work vastly differently, and either way it’s always the women that primarily drive the action… i.e. Nesryn & Yrene in ToD. “bUt cHaOl’s boOk”

if anything LUCIEN is the Chaol of acotar (it’s a compliment i adore chaol). and Vassa’s presence/importance in the series relative to other side characters makes her the closest we have to a Nesryn or Yrene figure. Gwyn is more of a Fenrys.

their characterization of Az goes against what we know of his character; “Az is horrible to women but but it’s ok we love him cause he’s different with Gwyn! she makes him better, she’ll help him heal… mates!!” …how convenient. and weird.

they acknowledge only a (convenient) portion of Elain’s character. her visions / powers involve Koschei… but also much more. Cauldron and Truthteller? never heard of them. Nuala & Cerridwen don’t matter (they’re spying on her guys!), her attraction to Az is dismissible… Lucien being her mate is all that really counts. her “need” for sunshine is her character… a result of picking and choosing of ‘evidence’ ngl (as is the way they spin all her scenes with Az). etc.

refusing to acknowledge the feysand bonus. or the set up in FaS. or the continued development of Elain in SF.

Tbh, as it’s becoming increasingly clear to the fandom that Elain is indeed most likely next, im wondering how they’re spinning this. Mother knows I hate the ship wars, but please let people realize the next book was always elriel “vs” elucien.

#messy rant #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #pro elain #pro azriel #throne of class #tower of dawn #lucien vanserra #vassa acotar #gwyneth berdara #chaol westfall #antigwynriel #acotar #acosf bonus chapter

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jadeee · 2 days

Text

Scaling Walls

Kento proposed before leaving for war. He said he'd be away for six months, but it's been a year.

— Author's Note — There's an alternate ending.

4.3k ⁎ depression, anxiety attacks, mentions of war @luneariaa @raevennsge @everything-minni

The Mad Maiden. It was an insult. Salt in the wound. A disgrace. Betrayal, disrepect, dishonor... but.. were they wrong?

You gazed out over the ledge and into the fog of the September sky. The air turned cold, yet it couldn't compare to the chill that seeped into your spine months ago. He wasn't one to make promises, so he desparately fought your attempts to extract an exact date from him. However, he stated that six months was the minimum for his departure.

You're only a woman. You can't stop war.

You remember how your throat tensed at the sound of him saying how long he'd be gone. 180 days, which was half a year without being next to him. Hearing his voice or holding his hand. Seeing him smile at your quips. Making you laugh with some ludicrous comment. How the corner of his lip would turn upward when he'd lean in during functions to whisper something the tabloids would have a field day with. It was nearly summer when he'd left. The world completed it's annual rotation around the sun without your lover's return. It was now fall... Your eyes watered. Your heart ached. Stomach churning at the, unfortunately, familiar abscence of his prescence.

"Princess..." the voice of your lady in waiting, Belinda, called from behind you. "Princess, please step back from the ledge."

You glanced at her over your shoulder, "Don't insult me."

Her chest rose until it seemed her dress would burst. "I was only... I... forgive me."

Your nostrils flared slightly as you faced forward.

"Please... come inside. There's a chill and you've left your coat."

"Have you forgotten you're my help, not my mother?" you bit your tongue as you gazed out at the forest beyond. Your hands gripped the rail. The metal from your ring pressing into your flesh. The diamond still shined despite the beginning of the dull fall weather.

"... Leave."

The woman knelt, then turned to leave as requested. The breeze blew through the sheer fabric of your dress, which started to slip from your shoulders much like the others. Goosebumps pricked your skin but you felt nothing.

April 21st, 1905

"Hello, nice to meet you." your hand shook that of other royals. The room filled with onlookers who waited for this very moment. Your staff had taken special care of mending the wrinkles of your dress that morning. Tucking and pinning your hair this way and that. Adjusting diamonds until they shined ever so brightly, then polishing the ring. You twisted it round your finger as you walked toward the podium. It'd been nine months and he hadn't sent so much as a piece of string.

The first few months were filled with letters, exchanging of small mementos and keepsakes.

Should we have a spring wedding? It could symbolize our new chapter as a married couple. What about colors? Should we have a traditional royal wedding? Oh God, the thought... Please help me decide... there's still the dress. Oh! Where should we honeymoon?

All my love,

An indecisive bride

You rested your hand at your side, then lifted your dress as the official helped you up to the platform. Maybe it was the tiny twists of flowers in the nearby vase that reminded you of his handwriting. The black ink from his last letter seemed to imprint itself in the walls of your mind.

I'm afraid things are not progressing as we would've hoped...yet, I'm eager to return to you, my beautiful wife. Yes, I know we're still engaged but it's true in my heart. You take up a lot of space there. As for the details, I'd much prefer to elope. Wouldn't you? I don't care for the details, as long as we're together. Although, if something isn't to your liking, do tell me so I can take care of it.

To my everything,

Kento

P.S.: I'd like to honeymoon somewhere warm and tropical.

A warm smile resided on your face as you stared at your hands. That was four months ago, during Christmas. Which you'd spent alone for the first time. Tears stung at your eyes, then someone in the crowd cleared their throat. You lifted your eyes to the crowd. As if you suddenly realized you were being watched and waited on. You held your head high, ensuring the crown wouldn't slip.

"Thank you to the King and Queen for my being here. I would be remiss if I didn't —"

Your eyes landed on a man who wore badges you easily recognized, since Nanami had the same ones. You recall making him explain each one to you during one of the late nights you often spent together. It'd been a year. 365 days and then some. The papers were no longer covering the war, yet cameras were pointed at you while you were here to discuss... what? Nationality? Pride? Being faithful to King, God, and country? Your throat tensed, chest rising and falling every few seconds. "I can't began without —"

You shifted your stance as you looked out at the crowd. Their faces slowly morphing into various shades of skin tones and colors instead of distinguished features. "I— I'm sorry." your breath quickened as you stepped away from the microphone emitting murmurs from the crowd.

"I can't." you faced your guard who stood by your side still as stone. His eyes, however, studied you with soft concern. As he offered you his hand, you pushed it away and ran past him to a corridor. He followed you without hesitation. The murmurs morphed into a low buzz, a steady hum of Did you see that? I think she was going to cry. It's her fiancé. Does anyone know what happened? Shame to be a widow before the wedding. Who'll design the dress?

The often hardened eyes, melted at the sight of you on the floor of the empty hall. The chiffon of your dress pooled at your bare feet, shoes cast aside, crown lying sideways by your legs which were tight against your chest. His salt and pepper brows twitched while he fought to maintain his neutral facial expression, as he was taught when he first began.

You sobbed into your hands, "He's dead isn't he? And no one wants to tell me because they pity me. He's been blown to bits or tossed aside in a ditch!"

Vincent knelt down to your level and spoke your name softly, breaking every single rule. You drew your hands down slightly then looked into his eyes. The silence seeped in, until it nestled itself into your belly. A rock hardening in the pit of your stomach, ready to savor and swallow every single fear you had.

"... no" you uttered and shook your head "no, he..." you tilted your head to the side "please..."

"I don't know if he is, but... I need to get you back to the palace. We need to get you away from you here."

Your carefully painted lips formed a frown. The skin of your chin wrinkling at the very act. Another round of your sobs echoed throughout the hallway and the buzzing seemed to grow closer. "Princess, we have to leave."

People shouted your name from the other side of the door. "Have you heard from the Prince? Is he still off at war?! Did he leave you? Will there still be a wedding?!"

Your heart sank into the pit where it would be devoured. The doors rattled, beating like the drum of an ancient song.

"Get back! Immediately!" a group of guards shouted amid the commotion. You glanced over at the oak doors. Maybe being trampled on would be better. You wouldn't know since Vincent scooped you up in his arms, then carried you to the exit behind the building away from prying eyes.

The next few months were filled with silence in every single form and shape. Silence from your mouth, save the typical "I'm not hungry" or "I'm not going." Silence in the halls, since you hardly left your room the staff didn't have to work as much. So they stood, waiting for you to come back to life. Yet, you slowly hardened each day into stubborn stone, residing in sadness.

Your staff didn't bother to ask for permission to enter anymore since you stopped speaking except when necessary. They only knocked to make you aware then opened the door timidly to do whatever they had set out. This time, it was a carefully prepared bowl of your favorite fruits. Belinda held it in her hands as she studied how your garment began to slip from your shoulders.

"Princess, the doctor says you need to eat."

"Unless he's feeding me by force, I won't do it."

Belinda sighed then nodded "Yes, Princess." she set the plate of fruit down at the foot of your bed before leaving.

Once the door shut, your eyes landed on the bowl. The faint sweet scent caused you to make your way over to the bowl of little delicacies. Your fingers touched at the cold produce then wrapped around them, lifting it to your mouth. Was he eating? Tears filled your eyes and you pushed the bowl away.

June 2nd, 1905

Nanami ran his hand through his hair. He needed a haircut but that was the least of his worries. Maybe you'd like him with longer hair... His fingers rubbed at the nape of his neck. Eyes landing on the stack of letters he kept by his bedside, if you'd even call it that. He'd started to leave the letters out of the envelope for quicker access. Carefully tying the bundle after reading them each night. The favorites were at the top — although, they were all his favorite. He made sure to keep certain things hidden however. Like the locket you gave him with your picture before he departed.

Another little thing he'd done was tie twine around his ring finger, at your behest. In one of your letters, which he keeps at the top of the stack, you mention it being his temporary ring until you two get the real one. Silver. I want silver for us. Gold is overrated. Nanami recalled how you chuckled at his statement, when he confessed his personal preference one morning.

"Should I have the frames re-done then?"

"Absolutely, the palace walls are hideous."

He grinned, breaking character, then pulled you closer to him to kiss your forehead.

He could feel it against his lips now. His fingers absentmindedly reached for the locket he wore under his shirt, only to feel the impression over his heart. A sigh left his lungs as he replayed images of you in his mind. Had you picked a dress already? It'd been a year...

The entrance of his tent flung open, "General." the soldier stood at ease awaiting for his approval and recognition.

Nanami nodded, too tired for formalities "Yes?"

"I thought you should see this, sir. We received our batch of newspapers. It's late but... it's important." he handed him a faded newspaper with a headline that read "Mad Maiden" dated April 22nd, 1905. He rose to his feet when he read about you foresaking the podium and sobbing in a hallway.

"That is all."

"Sir..."

He glanced up at the man "That. Is all."

He saluted to his higher up then retreated. A whirlwind of emotions ran through him: concern, fear, disgust at whoever concocted this filth... but namely, longing. How much longer? Recent devlopments made it impossible to write to you. The locket fell from its typical spot as he exhaled.

"Have you come to feed me?" you chuckled at Dr. Percival who stood in your room. He'd been your doctor since you were a child so you weren't accustomed to the usual formalities.

"Yes." he answered plainly.

You glanced at him then scoffed.

"... If you don't eat, I'll need to take other measures and I don't want to do that."

"... you wouldn't."

He looked into your eyes then pressed his lips together. His hand reached for the plate of food Belinda left in your room minutes ago, "Just try."

You took the plate in your hands along with the fork and bite into it. After a few chews, you spoke again "Have dinner with me."

"Okay."

It was the first time in months, you'd come downstairs for dinner. The staff didn't set the table as usual, per your request; so, you sat side by side with Dr. Percival. Your shared chews filled every nook and cranny of the room.

The doctor noticed how you wiggled in your seat. "Have you seen the leaves change?"

"From the balcony. Yes."

He studied you, "How often do you go to the balcony?"

You cut your eyes at him. He didn't move an inch.

"Why do you still wear it?"

Your fingers danced at the mention of the jewel that'd been residing there for a year.

"If you believe he's dead, why wear it still? He won't come back if he is."

Twelve hours was a new record. The longest you'd went without crying. Sleep didn't count because you didn't do that much. Tears welled in your eyes as you gazed at the diamond.

The doctor set down his fork as he looked at you. Your shoulders started to shake as you sobbed. He rose to his feet then embraced you. Everything you'd felt over the past year bubbled up and spilled over as you sobbed against him. Within seconds, your breath became bated and ragged. Your sobs were short, choked sounds "I c—" you clutched at your chest.

He glanced down at you "Princess?" his ears burned at the sound of you gasping for air. He called you by your name and clutched your shoulders "Look at me! Look at me!" his hands rested on your cheeks as he made you look into his face. Your eyes were filled with tears as you continued to gasp.

"Belinda! Vincent!" they rushed to your side and followed his orders to calm you down. He held onto your hand as he made you lie on the ground. "I need you to breathe, look at me!"

That night was the first time you didn't sleep alone. The doctor along with Vincent and Belinda stood nearby as you lie in bed. Their frames looked like shadows or watchdogs. Something ancient guarding a secret. Except were they protecting you from the evils of the world? Or was it the other way around?

October 15th, 1905

Your court and staff had worked hard to get you where you were now. Your chambers were still a mess but you were eating three meals a day, sometimes reluctantly, and moving around a bit more. You didn't deem walks around the halls as exercise but Dr. Percival differed.

"Maybe we can go out to the courtyar—"

"No."

He walked down the carpeted hallway with you "Very well."

Your eyes landed on the silver frames lining the wall. "Can I rest after this?"

"Yes, of course. Will you be going to the—"

You cut your eyes at him.

"Very well, then."

The sun peered through your curtains, despite them being drawn.Your hand slammed against the comforter at Mother Nature's reluctance to let you have your way. Your eyes followed the ray of sunshine, hand drifting up to catch the light and harness it somehow. The diamond twinkled under it and the corner of your lip twitched as you felt the tug on your heartstrings.

Mornings now typically started with the doctor talking you out of bed and doing a few stretches. Yet, this morning you simply said "Leave me... please." he obliged sensing your sadness. The mahogany doors shut with a soft thud, leaving you and the sun illuminating your room. Dust motes floated through and landed onto the pile of dresses stacked in the chair. Papers and notes about the war Nanami had been away fighting... or so you hoped. You stood to your feet then looked out the window.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts.

"I said leave me."

"There's someone here to see you." Belinda stated.

"I'm not taking visitors. You know—" you turned at the sound of the door opening. Suddenly, time had stopped. You stopped. Breathing, blinking, thinking... being. After a moment of silence, you shook your head.

"No... hm-hmph" tears quickly found their way to your eyes. "No." you shook your finger and stepped back until you hit your dresser. "How..." your breath hitched but your eyes never left him. His hair was longer... why didn't he cut it? The medals on his uniform were polished. Anyone on the street would see him as pristine but when you looked into his eyes. You felt the ache, the yearning, the tears he cried while he was away.

"I.. you.." you breath quickened as you tried not to cry.

"I know," he reached out to you and you found yourself recoiling. Nanami shrunk back, his hands idly resting by his side unsure of what to do. Hurt filled his hazel eyes as he gazed at you, tilting his head and furrowing his brows.

"Don't touch me."

He'd fought in combat, shot and been shot at but nothing could have prepared him for this.

"Guards!"

"Darling, I—"

"You're not real. You're a figment of my imagination because," you wiped the snot that was dripping from your nose "because I- I want you to be real and here, but—"

"I am. I'm right here!" he started to resist the guards that boxed him in.

"I saw you die! I dreamt about it every night!" you shouted in a broken voice then started to cry. Belinda caught onto the sound and rushed for the doctor.

Within moments, you fell to the floor, clutching at your chest. "Wh-what's happening?" Nanami attempted to run to your side but your guards pulled him back. He shoved then stepped forward only to be pulled back again. Luckily, Vincent, Dr. Percival and Belinda came running in. Vincent instructed the guards to ease up then Nanami stepped forward as you started to gasp for air.

"No, no, no," you shook your head as you proceeded to sob and heave. The guards moved forward to collect Nanami once again. Vincent watched while Belinda uttered a prayer. Dr. Percival shouted "Stop!" Nanami glanced back at him then watched as he approached you. Dr. Percival knelt down "He's real. I promise you," he leaned in until you could see his face "He. is. real."

Nanami watched you with a steady eye. Never moving or saying anything, just standing in wait for your permission. The locket thumped against his heart.

"Please... let him in. Hm?"

Your sobs died down to quick breaths as your eyes focused on the carpet beneath your hands. Then there was the ring, staring back at you through your tears. You started up again and Nanami moved closer then knelt down and wrapped his arms around you. Your face pressed against his shoulders, chest against his, muscles tensing at the sudden movement. His scent invading your nostrils until he was all you could breathe in. Your breath hitched in your throat and tears filled your vision again. The room was silent in that moment. All of the staff filling the space of the room as they watched the long awaited reunion. Nanami oblivious to whomever was watching, softly uttering "I'm here now. I'm sorry I took so long." as he caressed your back.

You held your breath, only sufficing small inhales until you felt like you would burst. Your arms hovered over his back, wavering, shaking. The familiar scent of wood and citrus wrapping itself around you like the very hug he was giving you now made the silence impossible. You embraced him tightly with all the force you could muster. He chuckled through the tears he was shedding against your nightgown.

Vincent looked at the guards then nodded, signaling for them to leave. He trailed behind the doctor and Belinda, leaving you two alone. The room was a medley of shared sobs. When he pulled back, he smiled through his tears at the sight of his beautiful bride. Even with tears running down your cheeks and a runny nose, you were still beautiful. His hands rested on your cheeks and you instinctively put your hands over his. The corner of your lips twisted as you did so.

"What is it?" his thumb brushed the tears from your cheek.

"You... you're wearing it." you touched the twine around his finger.

"Of course I'm wearing it. You're my wife."

Tears filled your eyes once more and you sobbed, wrapping your hands around him. Kento held you close. He'd never been more grateful for such a moment as this. His lips placed a kiss at the top of your head.

"You're my wife," he repeated softly.

— Alternate Ending —

Later that afternoon, Nanami walked with you along the garden. He wanted to say so much but he didn't know where to start. His hands remained at his side as he put one foot in front of the other.

"I asked the kitchen to make your favorite tonight."

"Really?"

He nodded "I also asked that they make dessert. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it is." you chuckled at his humbleness.

"I apologize for making you worry. There was an incident and ... we couldn't communicate with anyone. It became too dangerous." he took your hand in his. You held it for a moment "You're here now." you pulled your hand back and offered him a small smile.

He leaned back slightly then followed your sight of line to the sunset. His lips opened then shut and he joined you in the silence instead.

The staff relished at the joy you seemed to radiate during dinner. Your laughter and voice was music to their ears. Joy was one of their favorite songs to hear in the halls and they truly owed it to his return. He was happy to see you in such high spirits, however they were dashed when it was time for bed. You shifted for a few moments as he lie next to you.

"It's... it's been a while."

His heart went dull at the reminder "... I know. Should I remain on my side?"

Your silence put him at further unease "I'll stay here. Don't worry."

You rested your head against the pillows.

"Darling?"

"Yes?" you glanced at him.

"Can we hold hands? Only for a moment."

Silence, then a nod. Nanami felt his heart race at the pure prospect of hand holding. He'd felt giddy. He was delighted. His hand slid into yours and he looked up at the ceiling. He brought it to his chest then you pulled back.

"I'm sorry...."

Hurt filled his eyes once again. "It's quite alright. I can sleep in the guest room."

"What?! No. You've just returned from battle. Stay. I'll go to the guest room." you kicked the covers off and he scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous, the Princess should stay in her chambers. I'll leave." Nanami got out of bed then headed for the door.

"No."

He glanced back at you then shifted his stance to face you fully. "What do you suppose we do then? Since you won't even touch me. It seems you can't stand me now."

"I never said that!"

"You don't have to."

You leaned back at the verbal slap. "Nanami..."

"Just tell me what you want and I'll do it." he approached you "I swear, I'll do everything in my power to make it happen."

Your eyes started to fill with tears again as you gazed into his "I wish you never left."

He pressed his lips together slightly, still gazing into your eyes "I can't change what happened."

"... I know."

You broke your gaze for a second to wipe your face "They called me mad," you let out a half-hearted chuckle "The Mad Maiden."

"Don't say that. Whoever wrote that is a dimwit with nothing better to do."

".... so you've read about it?"

"... yes."

Silence until "I canceled my appointment with the wedding dress designer. We had a meeting scheduled a few months after you were supposed to return in the fall of 1904. When you stopped writing, I..." tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head then shrugged.

He reached out to you then drew back, remembering how you could barely hold his hand.

"... do you still love me?"

You turned to face him.

"Do you?"

"How dare you ask me that?" you shook your head and he stared right into your soul "I shed myself for months, withering away until I barely recognized myself. I waited nearly two years for you to return. I convinced myself that there would be no wedding, There'd be no honeymoon or kids skipping down the halls because you were gone. I dreamt about burying an empty box and I still kept this ring on my hand because I couldn't bear the thought of aching so terribly for anyone else." tears fell from your eyes "I ached... every single day."

His eye never left yours and they filled to the brim with tears at your words.

"Don't you ever ask me that again."

He continued to stare into your eyes then leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. A surprised squeal left your lips, before those moans he missed took over. His hands found their way to your back and your head which he cradled. With each second you melted into him and against him, he moved closer.

"Can I—"

"Yes." you pulled him down toward you and he briefly smiled against your skin. His hands intertwined with yours but the feeling of twine gave you pause.

"What? What is it?"

"You... you're wearing it." you touched the twine around his finger.

"Of course I'm wearing it. You're my wife."

— Author's Note — I really enjoyed writing this one. Originally, I had a scene where the doctor actually resorts to opium to calm down the princess but that felt too hardcore.

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