#so why not in this scene? why them? why why why
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Welcome To The Itadori's! - C.K.
Synopsis. Three times Choso really, really wanted to hold you without his family barging in, and the one time he actually does.
Pairing. Best friend! Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, childhood best friends to lovers, slowburn, cameos from the Itadori’s (Yuji, Jin, grandpa, SUKUNA), smút only when they’re adults, first times, oral (female receiving), cúnnilingus, marking, rough, Choso’s a bit mean in bed, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 5.0k
A/N. The unc-kuna brainrot got me here, Yuji’s family tree is HILARIOUS.
“You’ve never what?”
“I mean, yeah? So what if I’ve never…uh-” eyes darting to the erotic scene on-screen. “M’surely not missing out on that much.”
Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. Whatever the answer was, Choso could only pray that no one walked into your apartment right now.
---
Choso swears his family is well and fully intent on ruining every waking moment with you.
He’s convinced even, at this point. Because in the 13 long years of being inseparable from you - ever since you were both whiney, snot-faced brats - Choso’s racked up more interruptions than he’s seen on those k-dramas that his grandfather swears he doesn’t watch.
It was like some cosmic joke, really. All he wanted was a moment with just the two of you…and maybe a second or two to confess his undying love. But that didn’t seem too realistic when the Itadori’s were a bit of a packaged deal, unfortunately.
Alas, Choso’s resigned himself to accept the fact that maybe - just maybe - this was the universe’s way of telling him that his pretty best friend was indeed too good for him. Something he’s suspected ever since the both of you were eight.
The realization had hit him like a semi-truck back then - five of them, in fact. And a whole zoo of animals afterward.
Of course, it’s not like that was any secret. He always thought you were perfect from the second you’d moved in - that new family next door he’d been eagerly waiting ages to arrive. And Choso, being the dutiful oldest son, was the one to deliver welcome cookies to your doorstep. Stumbling, and carefully trying to reach for the doorbell without dropping any.
“Um, welcome to-”
“Your hair’s funny.”
Now, Choso’s never greeted neighbors before, but it surely wasn’t supposed to go like this. Why was he being insulted by some little girl - you were missing a few teeth, and his had just grown back in so obviously he was much older and wiser. All unapologetic smiles and twinkling eyes as you blink up curiously at his space buns. Pretty, even when you were tearing his heart out because hey, he thought this hairstyle was cool, okay?
Which is what had him huffing and puffing back home, running straight into the arms of his dad while he tried not to cry. That is, until you came knocking at his door with your parents. Very much bawling and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug with wet mumbles of “M’sorry, meant your hair’s very cool. Wanna match-”
And, if his cheeks burned just a bit, well, Choso blamed the tears.
After a disaster like that, of course you’d grow to be best friends within the day.
But what that didn’t explain was when - after hours of bickering over whether to play tag or house - you were all tuckered out and sat beside him in a corner of his room, too exhausted to talk his ear off. Head lolling once. Twice. Falling softly onto his shoulder.
Oh.
Now, Choso might just be having the first epiphany of his entire, grueling eight years in this world - that you were very, very pretty fast asleep with your head on his shoulder.
Why? Why were you here barging into his life and turning it upside down? Calling him your “new best friend” and dragging him along wherever you went. It made his poor head absolutely spin, not daring to move a muscle so that you didn’t wake up and see this tiny predicament.
He didn’t know why. But what he did know was that he found himself subconsciously reaching for your hand, a strange little part of himself wanting to see how much smaller they were than his. They looked so soft and warm and-
“I WANNA PLAY T- Oh.”
Oh indeed. He hastily lurches away from you like it burned, hands raised like he was caught red-handed. Feeling slightly sorry when he sees you blinking away the sleep to take in your surroundings, eyes bouncing off of a very excited Yuji and resting on the clock.
“Oh no. Mommy’s gonna be mad.” you gasp, hastily getting up. And he feels a weird pang as you quickly dust down your dress, running out the door with a laughed out, “Bye, Yuji! See ya later, Cho~!”
“Bye, crybaby.”
And then it’s quiet. Only Choso still staring after you, and Yuji staring at his older brother, somewhat awestruck and wondering only one thing-
“Big bro, why are you so red?”
Choso doesn’t think he’s gotten a moment alone with you since that first initial meeting.
Fourteen was definitely the worst, in his opinion.
“Hey, Cho, y’know the girl sitting next to me in math said she had her first kiss today.”
“Oh.” It’s all Choso can manage to get out, paying more attention than he should to the gravel beneath him as he tries not to trip over air beside you. Hot under his uniform collar at the sudden shift in conversation from the usual after-school banter.
Looping your arm with his, you heave out a playful sigh, “I wonder what that feels like. Have you ever thought about it?”
No, but Choso has never thought that he’d be here - face burning at your body pressed up against his. Just knowing that his ancestors above are laughing at what a loser he is, barely able to stammer out an answer to your question.
Okay, maybe he was being dramatic. Because it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about kissing before - it’s just that whenever it popped into his mind, you were usually accompanying him. Along with those strange thoughts of whether your lips are as soft as they looked? Or would your heartbeat be as fast as-
“Man, are you even listening?”
Shit.
Your hand waving in front of Choso’s face brings him back to reality. Blinking hastily, he tries to gather his thoughts, mumbling out a quick, “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought.” averting his gaze as he feels the heat rise to his cheeks at your intense gaze.
Your smile only widens, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you nudge his side. “Thinking so hard about kissing, huh? Cho, you lecher!”
“Am not.”
“Am to.”
“Am not.”
“Am to.”
“Who were you imagining it with, huh? Gonna give ‘em a big smooch tomorrow?”
God, you were going to be the death of him. “N-no! I haven’t even- shut up, crybaby, it’s not like-” he sputters out useless protests over your laughter - his favorite song, even when you were teasing the hell out of him. But ah how you relish in his embarrassment, tittering out little giggles all the way until you’re steering him onto your lane.
Choso, on the other hand, keeps wishing the ground would swallow him up more and more with each step towards his porch. He’d have broken into a sprint right then if he hadn’t known you and the way you’d race him there instead.
“Alright.” you declare once you’re stood at his front door, jolting Choso out of his reverie. And he’s barely opening his mouth to register your words before you plowing on confidently. “We’ll just have to practice our first kisses with each other.”
Perfect. Great. Wonderful.
The final nail on his coffin. You might as well have planted a bombshell right in the middle of his already-chaotic world with the way he was reeling in- shock? Fear? Anticipation?
“Practice.” Choso whispers, more to himself than you. Yet you nod anyway, eyes locked with his like you were studying his reaction. “For…practice.”
Doubt starts to creep into your pretty features, “Well, we don’t have to if you do-”
“No no no no, I want- ahem.” he cringes at the pathetic desperation in his voice. Desperately trying to scramble back some semblance of sanity as he clears his throat, “I want to. Just-” Choso urgently looks around for- ah, there it is.
Dragging over the brick from the side of his porch because goddammit he might be 14 but he sure hadn’t hit that growth spurt yet. “Practice, right?”
You nod with a fiery determination that, later on, would make Choso chuckle with fondness. Muttering out a firm, “Practice.” Letting the boy in front of you nervously leans closer, breath fanning your face. And shit if you were nervous then you didn’t show it, but Choso felt like he was about to spontaneously combust.
Brows furrowing in concentration, eyes only squinting ever-so-slightly as he takes peaks at how pretty you looked. Close enough that he could count every lash as your pretty eyes closed shut, lips glistening with that strawberry chapstick you loved, puckering adorably. Only inching closer and-
Click!
“You two are so cute! But um- dear, how do you mute this thing?”
You spring apart so fast that Choso wouldn’t be surprised if you’d teleported. He doesn’t even know what’s happening before, from the safety of about three meters away from him, you’re muttering out an embarrassed little, “Hi there, Mr. Itadori. The gardenia are coming along nicely.”
His dad smiles like he hadn’t just starred in what was likely Choso’s villain origin story. Waving happily, “Aww, thank you, sweetheart. Now, why don’t you two go back to doing your lil’ thing and I can ah- practice my photography.”
“Dad, I’m running away.”
That practice kiss never happens. And, well, if there was a proudly framed photo down the hallway of the two of you - with Choso absolutely bright red and standing comically on a brick to meet your height, faces nervously scrunching towards each other - well, neither of you ever mention it. Jin Itadori does, though - every time you come over, in fact.
It’s only when you’re both eighteen, when Choso’s a lot deeper in his feelings - and only slightly less embarrassed about it - that he thinks that maybe not all family interruptions were that bad.
Graduation was…something. Not exactly something that he’s sure if he’ll ever want to relive with the sheer amount of awkward photos and tears that his dad lets out. God if he has to shuffle into another-
“You alright, Cho?”
Ah.
Traitorously, a smile makes its way onto his face, peering down at your beaming face. Both of you having made it way past the awkward early teens. Well, at least you certainly have - Choso still feels like the same awkward little boy with an even more awkward crush. “Hm? Yeah, m’great.”
“Are ya sure? Because you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm any second now.” you raise a brow teasingly. Ah, how gorgeous you were - even when you’re picking him apart.
“Yeah. Great. Only had this smile plastered on for the last five hours.”
“Aww, but you look so pretty smiling.” you shrug, with the audacity of someone that didn’t just have Choso’s knees dangerously weak. “Anyway- A bunch of us are gonna try to convince ol’ Yaga to let us take photos with his shades, you wanna come?”
“You think m’pretty?” he muses, embarrassingly late.
“Cho.”
“Yaga. Shades. Got it.” Choso mock salutes, drinking in the little laugh it startles out of you, eyes sparkling with mischief and looking right into his soul. Beautiful. You were always beautiful.
And Choso can’t just stand around and do nothing about it.
“Crybaby, look, I-” Fists clenching, he takes a steadying breath. The heat only rising to his cheeks at your awaiting gaze, “I…”
“HEY, GRANDPA HELPED STEAL YAGA’S SHADES LET’S TAKE A PIC-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP ITADORI. YOU’RE RUINING A MOMENT, LET THEM HAVE THEIR MOMENT.”
“I don’t know either of you two.”
It would be a miracle for a moment not to be ruined with two overly-energetic first-years (and a very reluctant Fushiguro) pushing their way into your little bubble. Choso bites back a groan as you’re immediately swarmed by a bickering Kugisaki and Yuji, one apologizing for “ruining your k-drama moment” and the other trying to get you to put on some sunglasses. Well, at least he could empathize with the black-haired boy, who gave him an apologetic nod.
He’s only halfway through waving off the interruption before a voice speaks up from his side. “Why didn’t you say it?”
Whirling around, Choso comes face-to-face with the disappointed look on his grandfather’s face. Already having some idea of what you mean, “Wha-”
“I may be old but m’not deaf, yet, boy. Why didn’t ya tell her?” he sighs, tilting his head to where you were wearing those shades and taking ridiculous pictures with two animated first-years.
“I don’t know what you-”
“M’not blind, either. Quite frankly I’m insulted.”
And, well, if there’s anyone that he can’t hide from - it would be his grandfather. So he heaves out a defeated sigh, touselling his hair while muttering out a pathetic little, “M’not- Ugh, she’s too fuckin’ perfect and I…I chickened out.”
Choso doesn’t know what he expected in response but it definitely wasn’t for his grandfather to laugh. Full, and raspy - loud enough that even you stop to stare. “Thought so, idiot boy.” he chuckles, drawing indignant protests. “Did she tell you?”
Raising a brow, “What?”
“Did she tell you that you weren’t good ‘nough for her?”
“No, but-” Whatever protest on the tip of Choso’s tongue is cut off by a rough hand smacking his back in what he thinks is reassurance, but felt more like a punishment for being such a pussy around you all these years.
“Then go. Ya might just be surprised. After all, you’re my grandson, and all the ladies at bingo love me.”
Shaking with both adrenaline and the effort to keep that image out of his mind, he makes his way towards you. Purposeful. Pointedly ignoring the matching smirks flashed his way.
“You really think they’ll finally get together today?” Fushiguro deadpans from where he’d snuck up beside the old man, in an attempt to escape the public nuisances he calls ‘friends’.
Choso’s grandfather hums thoughtfully, watching the scene play out before him - Choso flushed such a delicate shade of pink as you playfully put Yaga’s sunglasses on him. Settling on a gruff, “I’ll give it a few months more. He’s my grandson, after all.”
“That’s generous. I’d give it a couple years more.”
“Wanna bet, brat?”
“...”
Safe to say, his second button ended up safely in your hands that day. But Fushiguro would be the one to really win the bet.
Because it was only 2 years, 4 months and 3 weeks after this little incident that Choso finally had you exactly where he wanted - with no interruptions. All for him.
Freshly twenty one, splayed out on your apartment bedroom and having a conversation that he never in a million years would’ve even dared to imagine he’d have - with you of all people. All because of that stupid R-rated film you’d put on for movie night.
“You’ve never what?” you gape, turning down the volume to those painfully fake moans coming from the tv.
Oh, how gorgeous you looked - all shocked and batting your lashes up at him in surprise. Choso almost swoons inwardly (and outwardly) before he realizes that shit you were probably waiting for an answer.
“I mean, yeah?” he sputters out, cheeks heating up as you lean in closer to hear him. Close. “So what if I’ve never…uh-” eyes darting to the erotic scene on-screen. “M’surely not missing out on that much.”
Goddammit, some strange, carnal part of himself twinges dangerously at the little smirk that curls your lips. One that he quickly - and embarrassingly - realizes has the blood rushing straight to his cock. Humming a low, “Maybe. Maybe not.” The mattress dips slightly as you shift closer, lips ghosting his ear. “Want me to help you find out?”
Which is, well, how Choso found himself shoved against the armrest. Blanket thrown on the floor now, swollen cock leaking furiously through his pants as your pretty lil’ cunt hovers above his mouth. So wet that if he stuck his tongue out he could have you dripping all onto him.
“Y-you sure about this, sweetheart?” he hisses despite his hands looping around your thighs, bringing you closer to him.
You raise a brow, “Are you sure, Cho?”
He should say no. He should laugh this all off as a bad joke. He shouldn’t ruin this friendship - but oh how badly he wants just a taste of your dripping pussy - see if she’s as sweet as the rest of you is. So, throwing caution to the wind, Choso nods slowly. “Yes. Want it s’bad.”
Grinning wickedly, you whisper, “Thought so.” And then he’s pulling you onto his mouth, hot and urgent.
“Oh fuck-” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the first taste of your sweet sweet juices. “Shit shit shit.” So sloppily licking up your swollen folds - barely moving with any method or patience, just that he’s drunk on your pussy and wants more more more-
“Hngh- f-fuck. You sure this is your hah- first time, Cho?” you gasp breathlessly. And oh your best friend was so fucking beautiful. Dark hair untied and tousled, eyes half-hooded, your slick already smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw because shit he was so messy. So addicted to that desperate expression on your face that he just can’t help but tease you a little bit.
“Mhm?” he smirks, tongue swirling around your pulsing clit. Purposefully missing right where you wanted him the most because shit he loved those cute lil’ whines spilling out of you.
You let out a huff, hips trying pathetically to inch him closer - but Choso wasn’t budging. Holding you so firmly by the hips that you’re sure he leaves bruises, licking all over your cunt except for your clit. “Cho.” you warn. Brows furrowing in frustration at the way he bats his long lashes up at you so deceivingly innocently, “What?”
“You know…”
“I don’t.” he titters teasingly into your pussy.
“Choso.”
Now, Choso’s known and seen everything there is to do with you - but never like this. Spread open shamefully and pouting so adorably on top of him, so needy for him. It made his head spin to think of just how much the dynamics had shifted.
Shit, he really should’ve watched that godforsaken movie with you sooner. “Tell me what you want, crybaby.”
And oh how his cock twitches at the way you manage to get out an embarrassed little, “Wan’ you to ngh- tonguefuck me properly. Wanna cum on your pretty face, Cho.”
And that’s all that’s said before he’s surging forward, glossy lips wrapping around your pulsing clit to suck harshly. Rolling his soft tongue over and over-
“Wanted this for so long.” Choso mutters, muffled as he buries himself deeper into your pretty pussy. The vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running down your spine. “You have absolutely no idea, pretty.”
And you barely even have the time to register his little confession before Choso’s moving down to bully his tongue past your folds. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit as he dips into your sloppy hole.
“Oh shit. Jus’ like that.” For a beginner, your best friend really knew what he was doing. Eating you out like his favorite meal, tongue squeezing into your snug pussy to thrust in and out, swipe against your walls, stretching you out right to his will. Over and over-
“Use me.”
Your eyes snap down to meet the pure adoration in his eyes as he makes out filthily with your cunt. Choking out a little, “What?”
“Use me.”
There it was again - that strained little mantra. And as if to prove his point, Choso reaches out to deftly place your hands on his head, bucking into you touch.
And, well, how could you say no to that?
Because before you know it, you’re bunching Choso’s soft strands in your fists. Angling him just right to ride his pretty face. “C’mon, Cho. Ngh- H-harder, jus’ a bit- Oh!” he just devours the way your mouth drops into an adorable little oh! as his tongue curls deftly against that one spot. Again and again. Letting himself be so used, dragging your dripping cunt harder on his mouth.
And he likes it. Hell, he loves it even - because you’re so sweet n’ pretty on his mouth. Better than everything he’s ever been dreaming of for the past few years. And always in his dreams, you’d be clenching so deliciously around his tongue when you were close - just like right now.
So he speeds up his movements, breathing you in maddeningly. A hand snaking down from it’s favorite place on your hips to draw quick, frenzied little circles on your poor, ravaged clit. Jaw almost aching with how filthily he was dripping in and out of your entrance - be he did give a shit. Only wanting to have you breathless and creaming all over his face.
You jerk violently on top of him, “Hah! S’too much, Cho. M’so close- gonna cum- gonna-”
And then you’re cumming. Fast, and hard.
Plushy walls clamping down on Choso’s tongue, hips stuttering on his face as he laps up all your juices, an arm around your waist helping you ride his face through your high.
“S’sweet. Could get used to that.” he slurs into your cunt. Tipping his head back as far as it’d go to let the last of your juices slide down his throat. “Better than I imagined.”
The words ring in your ears as you blink back your vision. Deliriously whirling down to look down at Choso - still beneath you and looking more smug and content than you’d ever seen him. “Imagination? S’that why you’re so good.”
“No.”
You’re being flipped before you know it. Manhandled so easily by your best friend as he lays you on your back, sinking into the cushion while he looms above you. “S’jus’ that…” grunting as he flings his shirt off, “Been dreaming of your pretty cunt on m’tongue for years.”
Okay, now his confession hits - more than it did when he was tonguefucking you into insanity, anyway.
“Years, huh?” you breathe out, eyes roaming all over his sculpted torso. Taking in every dip and curve of Choso’s toned abs - all the way from his broad shoulders to the rock-hard cock straining against his pants. As if in a trance, your hand reaches out to cup his leaking erection, “S’that all you’ve been dreaming of?”
“You little minx.” he lets out a low hiss.
Before you can even react, Choso’s fumbling with that belt - cursing because shit, he’d have worn sweatpants instead if he knew they’d end up on your floor.
And you’re not any better, fingers popping open his buttons and tugging impatiently and oh- You always thought that your best friend would have a big dick - but this? He was so intimidatingly long - and thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. Fat tip flushed such a pretty shade of pink to match his cheeks, leaking down down down, all the way to his heavy balls.
You’re only jolted out of your little reverie by Choso spitting a steady stream of spit onto your quivering cunt, spreading it lazily across your pussy with his thumb. A ringed fist pumping his cock slowly, as he drags his tip across your folds, pooling your sweet juices. Muttering out a raspy, “I’ll be gentle.”
“You better not be, now jus’ fuck me-”
Well, you didn’t have to ask Choso twice. Because you’ve barely gotten the words out before he’s bullying massive cock into your tight cunt. Pressing in inch by fucking inch as you gasp and buck underneath him.
“Shhh, s’okay, crybaby. This is what you wanted, right?” he mumbles, with all the audacity of someone that wasn’t fucking into you in rapid, mindless little jabs to fit inside your snug lil’ pussy. Struggling to hold back at this point. “Wanted to be split apart on m’cock?”
You were so full of him. Even more so when he throws your legs over his shoulders, bending all the way down and folding you in half so easily beneath him.
He drinks in the barely-lucid squeal that leaves your swollen lips. Kissing your forehead gently, whispering against the skin, “Because I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”
And then it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, maybe the restraint that Choso’s been holding back for too long. Because immediately he’s plunging his throbbing cock into you - all the way till his balls, all angry and squeezing so painfully, smacks against your ass.
“Wanted this.” he rasps into your open mouth. His hips were out of control now, thrusting you in shallow, desperate rams. Pounding into you like a man possessed, and running his mouth just as much. He laces his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down even deeper into his relentless cock - as if the bastard wasn’t fucking you dumb already. “Fuckin’ needed this needed this. Shit- so bad.”
“Ch-Choso- fuck hah-” you plead as his mouth clashes with yours. All sloppy with teeth and spit and his profanities - and it felt so damn good.
“Yeah? Who’s fucking you silly, now?” he’s going harder now, tip hitting your poor cervix over and over. And you’d be sobbing at the burn and the stretch but all you can think of is shit this is Choso - the kid you used to play hide and seek with. And now he seems fully intent on breaking you. “Say m’name.”
A rough thumb starts toying with your clit, in time with the cute lil’ whines of his name that escape your mouth like a prayer. “Shit. Y’look so pretty like this.” he babbles. “Gonna cry, pretty girl?” smirking down at the way you were too cockdrunk to even snap back, only looking up at him with delirious, teary eyes. “Be a crybaby for my cock?”
You’re tugging on his hair, thighs shaky and bucking upwards. “Cho-”
“Mhm?”
“W-wanna cum. Need you to fill m’up till I can’t take it anymore.”
Oh if Choso was any lesser man he’d have cum right then and there. Instead settling for a guttural groan, drunk off the way you were milking his cock so hard as if to prove your point. It almost made him want to stay like this forever. But no - not right now.
“Oh yeah?” Hips becoming sloppy now, “Need it? Shit- m’so close.” Each word slurred, punctuated by a harsh thrust, strokes long and frenzied. Using your heavenly pussy like his personal fucktoy. So hard that he’s sure you’d have embarrassing matching bruises tomorrow - his balls on your ass, your nails raking down his shoulders.
“Me too- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl into his neck, as Choso buried his face into yours.
“Cum f’me, my girl.”
My girl.
And then you are - and he is. And you don’t know who cums first, just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes and Choso’s teeth digging into your neck as he thrusts once. Twice. Before cumming and cumming so hard he might as well have seen the pearly gates of heaven. And you were an angel.
Thick, hot ropes of cum that paint your walls white, so much that it gushes out of your poor overfilled pussy. Dripping down your legs and pooling into a sinful, creamy ring at his base.
“Mm- shit. Choso.” you moan, barely audible over the lewd squelches from below.
“M’here, my girl.” he grits out, voice shot. And it seems that that was his new favorite nickname, because Choso keeps murmuring it over and over as he keeps fucking his seed into you. Not even thinking about it at this point - just mindless, shallow grinds of his hips.
In the haze of your orgasm, you think you hear his quiet voice, strained with exhaustion and something that you weren’t in the right state of mind to decipher right now.
“Shhh, m’here. “Can’t believe I waited so fuckin’ long.” Whispering against your lips, “Love this. Love this pretty cunt.” Kissing softly, “Love the way y’take me. Fuckin’ made f’me.” And maybe even a soft little, “Love you.”
And maybe - just maybe, you whisper the same into his. Kissing him softly, exactly the way you’d wanted to all these years.
Neither of you speak after that. Not when Choso’s hips stall, body sticky and collapsing onto yours. Nor do you speak when he pulls away with a playful nip to your lower lip - a promise. Searching through your clothes for a washcloth he can wipe yourselves clean with.
It’s only when he settles back under the covers beside you, looking at you with such dark, hazy eyes - whirling with too many emotions to name - that the silence is broken.
“Crybaby.”
“Cho.”
“Corny.”
“You started it.”
Chuckling, Choso pulls your body close to his. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two because shit now that he’s got you, he doesn’t think he ever wants to let you go.
“Y’know…” he starts, “I think we should- I mean- if you want…” nervous now more than he was even after all that just transpired. Cheeks flaring as he meets your amused gaze, just daring him to go on - because you saw through him. You always did. “I lov-”
“Am I late for the mov- WHAT THE FUCK I ALWAYS KNEW BRATS WEREN’T JUST FRIENDS-”
---
Itadori Family Groupchat + Two More
Dad: Hey, all. I can’t seem to get a hold of Choso to confirm tomorrow’s dinner plans. Can anyone else let me know if he’s ok? XX
-Jin.
Yuji <3: He’s probs at rhat “best friend movie night” still
Dad: Hello, Yuji. What is a “probs”? XX
-Jin.
Kugisaki: He’s suspiciously quiet, though… Y’all think that “best friend movie night” is codeword for something else?
Yuji <3: Better not be cuz Sukuna stole my sparw key sayin something ab crashing it idk
Kugisaki: *spare
And you just LET him?
Yuji <3: HE THREATENED TO BURN MY MEGAN THEE STALLION POSTER
…
AND DID IT ANYWAY
Kugisaki: L
Fushiguro: L
Gramps: L
Sukuna (do not answer): DID Y’ALL KNOW THOSE TWO WERE FUCKIN????
*Fushiguro has left the chat*
Dad: :0
-Jin.
A/N. Spiritually, this is a crackfic idk.
#choso x reader#choso smut#choso x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo smut#choso kamo x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen#choso#tonywrites#choso kamo
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reasons why the love triangle in challengers serves cunt:
it’s a real triangle
the hate and love and lust volley between the three of them the whole time at dizzying speeds.
sexual tension is so insanely off the charts you can feel it in your mouth
zendaya
each of them is deeply jealous of the other two, in ways personal or professional or both. tashi had her career cut short before its prime. while patrick and art are still known as tennis players she will never be. art’s whole life is an exercise in repression and he knows he’ll never have that chaotic, prodigal spark that tashi and patrick share. patrick’s ex best friend and ex girlfriend got married and rich together while he’s sleeping in his car. they’re all longing for what the others have.
ZENDAYA
tennis as sex my beloved
in an early sceenplay, when art and tashi hook up for the first time, he can’t get hard until she coaches him while jerking him off. in the movie, patrick tells the story of how he taught art how to masturbate for the first time. haters will say you can’t have cinematic parallels between scenes that were never technically filmed but they haven’t watched the version of this movie in my head
did i mention zendaya is there?!?!
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I have to talk about this scene once again because I feel like there is so much to say.
What Buck meant when he said it was "exhausting":
First he asked Tommy for a tour because he wanted to get to know him better (his words, not mine).
At the end of the tour Buck asked Tommy out but it didn't work out ( Eddie arrived and Tommy left with him).
Instead of asking him out on another day or calling him, Buck did the most Buck thing ever by trying to find roundabout ways of seeing him again.
First, he tried the easy way, by trying to join Trivia night when Eddie mentionned he was seeing Tommy again, but Eddie asked him to babysit Chris instead.
So he went for a different approach by trying to get Eddie to invite him to the basketball game.
When that didn't work out, he got Chimney to invite him.
That's why Buck said that trying to get Tommy's was "exhausting", because it was. He set up so many ploys to get to spend time with Tommy and none of them worked.
That's also why Tommy is surprised, because he didn't see all the nonsense Buck was pulling to get to see him. Tommy really thought this was about Eddie and Buck being afraid of losing his friend.
But if Buck had been trying to spend time with Eddie, all he had to do was ask.... they hang out all the time. The only times Buck is actively trying to join Eddie's plans is when he know Tommy will be joining.
Buck never behaved like he did when Eddie had plans with other people than Tommy.
I can't even blame Buck because this is exactly how I act when I have a crush😂
#bucktommy#evan buckley#tommy kinard#eddie diaz#911#911 spoilers#That man was jumping through hoops just to get a chance to see Tommy again#I think that because Tommy turned him down for beers the first time Buck didn't dare to ask him again
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Some of ya'll severely underestimate just how much Minthara loves Karlach. Out of all the companions, Karlach is the only one that Minthara has no negative opinions about. She doesn't have a mean or cruel thing to say about or to Karlach. Now, she's pretty kind to Shadow and Lae'zel, but she can still be an asshole to them from time to time. Most of Minthara's comments about Karlach is praise and approval.
If you do the Karlach origin and you have romanced her, she will urge Karlach to return to Avernus. If Karlach chooses not to, Minthara will cry. This is the only scene in the game where Minthara cries and shows that level of emotional vulnerability. Lol, she didn't even cry when she was being tortured in Moonrise and thought she was gonna die! She tries to persuade Karlach by basically saying, "I'm going to personally throw hands with Zariel regardless on whether or not you're with me, so you may as well come with me." That vengence paladin in her is really shining through. And Minthara is a paladin of her word. Even if Karlach does choose not to return and dies, and enraged and heartbroken Minthara will walk right into Hell and invent a new flame so hot not even Zariel can resist the heat.
If you do the Karlach origin in which you go to Avernus but do not romance Minthara, she will be excited to see Karlach at the reunion party alive and happy. She also says that once she reclaims her house, she has every intention of joining Karlach in Avernus and she does this completely unprompted! Karlach does not even ask and Minthara is just offering her an army once she has one, and she will provide it free of charge. Karlach can ask Minthara why she's doing all of this. Minthara kind of not so subtly admits that she's in love with Karlach, but, of course, won't use the words "love" and she dances around it.
Romanced or not, Minthara is willing to go head first into Avernus on Karlachs behalf to demolish Zariel. Do you have any idea how huge that is? Minthara has been nothing but power hungry the entire game and is constantly clawing to get more. But in this moment, she is putting all desire for power on furlough just for Karlach. She is going to wage a war against Zarial and all of Avernus for the life of just one person, a person who might still die in the end. If Karlach does not romance Minthara, she is still putting her own ambition and desire for power on hold to help Karlach in which she'd gain no benefit other than Karlach being alive.
You cannot convince me that Minthara isn't canonically in love with Karlach.
PS: even the VA for Minthara, Emma Gregory, ships these two. In almost every interview Emma Gregory has done, she specifically mentions the romance with Karlach and its impact for Minthara's overall character arc.
#bg3#baldurs gate 3#karlach#karlach cliffgate#minthara#minthara baenre#minthara x karlach#doomed lesbians#they were made for each other
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ANT!FRAGILE – 최산
synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.
pairing . choi san & fem!reader
genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.
taglist . @bro-atz | comment your username if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! ♡
word count . 3,1k
DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).
NIC’S NOTES . this took way too long for no reason at all (￣ヘ￣;) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, to lazy to write it properly;;)
you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.
you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.
but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?
you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.
it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.
you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?
but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.
you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.
but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.
you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.
“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.
“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.
“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.
“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.
“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.
“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.
“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”
“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.
“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”
and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you.
during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”
“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly.
“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.
“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.
“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.
“go kill yourself.” you huffed.
“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”
“touché” you agreed.
the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.
“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”
“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.
“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”
“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”
“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.
you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.
after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.
once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.
“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.
remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.
you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.
suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.
once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.
“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.
you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.
your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.
“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.
“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”
“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.
“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.
you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.
“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.
“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.
“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”
“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”
san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.
“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.
“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.
“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”
you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.
“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.
“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.
“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.
“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.
“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”
“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.
“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.
“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.
“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.
“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.
“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.
“no? let’s see if it is now,”
your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.
“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.
you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.
“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.
san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.
“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.
“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.
“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.
you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.
that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.
you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.
“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”
“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”
you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”
he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”
“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.
“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.
“babe,”
“hm?”
“shut up.”
| masterlist
#hwallazia#ateez#ateez smut#choi san#choi san smut#san smut#san x reader#choi san x reader#san fanfic#choi san imagine#ateez scenarios#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez fanfic
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The first time they share a bed, actually share, not collapsed after a feverish fucking or exhausted into nothingness after an endless battle, but a real get ready for sleep, bedtime routine and all—Anakin cannot stop moving.
Restless and uncomfortable, he is hyper aware of every dent in the mattress, every ruffle of the sheets. His mind is not numbed by an orgasm or a complete fatigue, instead it's left to boil with awareness, with unrest.
"Anakin." Obi-Wan sounds only a little annoyed. The man is exhausted, Anakin doesn't need their bond to hear that. He is tired and in need for sleep. "What is the matter?" he still finds it within himself to ask, sounding genuine enough, concerned enough.
"Noth—" Anakin begins, and thinks better of it when Obi-Wan's silhouette tenses up, a barely there shift in the shoulders. Tonight is not the night in which he wishes to test his Master's patience, not when they both are so clearly not up for bickering.
Anakin sighs, admitting, with no small amount of embarrassment in his hushed voice "—I usually sleep on the right side…" It's close enough to the truth, he thinks, cheeks warming.
A moment of silence is broken by a muffled and genuinely amused snort. His Master doesn't even pretend it was a cough. He just laughs.
"Oh Anakin." Obi-Wan sighs once his shoulders stop shaking with his silent mirth, sounding painfully affectionate.
"Master! You—" Anakin's protests are cut short by a pair of strong hands, maneuvering him easily to the right side of the bed. Anakin can practically feel the huff of laughter against his neck when he is drawn closer, back pressing snugly against Obi-Wan's chest.
"Better?" his Master purrs against his ear.
Yes. Yes, better.
"Thank you, Master."
The smile in his voice is so obvious, laid bare. He sounds like a besotted fool. With how easily a mere hug could easen all of his uncertainties, lighten all of his concerns— perhaps he is.
"Good." his Master takes it for the answer that it is, pressing his nose against Anakin's nape and exhaling a gentle: "Good night, Dear One".
The wrong side of the bed was the least of Anakin's worries and even that is forgotten in the sleep that soon follows. So easily. He smiles.
#I don't know why I just hoard those snips in my writing app and then forget all about them#it's been there for 5 months#I keep thinking i'll actually elaborate on those scenes but i never do so lmao#obikin#obikin fic#anakin skywalker#obi wan kenobi#buns.w#buns.all#Anakin#Obi Wan#Star Wars#it's not the same wip i referred to in a previous post but figured i might post this one :)
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ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION
FEATURING: beast dazai osamu
SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}
AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it
GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings
SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST
READ: BADLANDS SIDE A
“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.”
You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.
“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”
Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes.
You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.
Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area.
You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean.
You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?
God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself.
You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia.
But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.
Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?
“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”
“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.
Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally.
Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.
But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.
“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai.
“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.
Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-
“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.
“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”
You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on.
Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”
“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”
“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”
You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.
You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers.
You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”
You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?”
Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully.
“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”
Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?
Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.
“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”
Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”
You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.
He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.
You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on.
But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror.
You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you.
You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”
You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.
“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”
“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”
You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.
Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”
“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”
“What’s the issue then?”
“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?”
“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”
Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”
“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”
Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”
A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”
Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”
Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.
The giddiness is long gone.
You still haven’t gotten dressed.
You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.
It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there.
The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.
You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression.
And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him.
His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.
He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.
“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”
And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.
“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”
“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”
“I just don’t understand.”
Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this?
If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.
God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.
Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.
A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently.
“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”
Where do you fucking start?
You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears.
“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”
You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.
“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.
He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror.
Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.
“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”
Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp.
“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”
He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.
“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”
You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box.
You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you.
“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”
His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time.
“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”
“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.
“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”
You love him.
You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.
“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.
He smiles against your skin.
“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”
You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”
“Everyone is staring at us.”
You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.
“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out.
His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos.
At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance.
Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.
Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias.
Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him.
Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.
Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.
More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen.
But is this really any better?
He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.
He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”
The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.
“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”
“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress.
Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.
“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.
“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?”
Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”
You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low.
Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.
Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”
“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”
Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall.
The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.
There you are.
Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.
Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.
“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away.
Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.
He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.
If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners.
He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?”
Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them.
You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.
His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.
God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.
The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.
“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.
He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”
You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer.
“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.
“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”
Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”
Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.
“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”
“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?”
“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”
Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.
To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.
He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”
“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?”
You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.
Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.
He feels sick.
What is he doing?
Why are you here?
What has he done?
“Dazai.”
You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him.
“Dazai.”
What has he done?
Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-
His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-
“Osamu.”
His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.
“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”
Oh.
He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.
His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them.
Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.
Hm.
Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths.
Interesting.
He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.
Osamu,
“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.
You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”
“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”
“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake.
Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.
“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.
“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”
You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start.
He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.
God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.
“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”
His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.
“Dazai.”
Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”
“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”
Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners.
“May I have this dance?”
Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.
Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.
He should just kill them all here and be done with it.
The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:
“Speak.”
Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.
You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.
Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other.
You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting.
Who are you, Dazai?
You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does.
You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him.
Could you sacrifice everything for him though?
Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him.
A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond.
I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance.
“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.
It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth.
“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.
“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”
Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”
He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.
“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”
He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”
You aren’t so sure.
Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction.
Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.
He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you.
“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”
Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.
Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.
You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.
“Is this seat taken?”
You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.
“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”
An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.
“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.
The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous.
“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you
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lost time (m.s)
master list
matt sturniolo x reader
warnings: nothing!
preview: your parents and the triplets parents have been best friends ever since before you guys were even born. you were sort of forced to grow up with the triplets. you and Matt were the closest. you two were hard to separate. but as you got to high school, you sort of fell off wanting to go do your own things. now as adults, you guys reunite and decide to make up for lost time.
a/n: i’ve been having so much inspo to write. you guys are keeping me motivated! i really appreciate it. listen to the song while reading, it really sets the scene. i encourage this with every imagine i write!LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE VERY APPRECIATED! - L🤍
"Y/n!" you hear your mother shout out from excitement as she runs over to you. you put down your luggage before embracing her in a hug, "hi mom! I missed you so much." you say rubbing her back. "I missed you more Y/n!" she says pulling away, giving your dad a chance to greet you. you haven't seen them in months. you were currently living in New York after you finished high school. you always wanted to live in the big city. you were grateful for the opportunity you received. you were majoring in the Arts. it was something you always wanted to do, but being apart from your family in Boston was the hardest thing you've had to go through.
"let's get inside. we have something to tell you." your mom says with a smile. you nod as you grab your luggage but, your dad ends up taking it from your hands. "dad I got it." you say letting out a soft laugh. "no you're our guest." he says letting out a chuckle. you three walk inside the house and you take off your coat. it was currently winter time. that was the reason why you were back home. it was December 20th, five days before Christmas. you were home for the holidays. you hang your coat on the rack and take off your shoes. you walk around analyzing everything. it was still the same, except for the fact that it was decorated for Christmas. you head towards the Christmas tree as you reach out for an ornament that had your elementary school picture in it. "did you really have to add this?" you ask with a soft laugh. "it was too cute not to add sweetie!" your mom says handing you a mug of her homemade hot chocolate.
"thank you mom." you say taking it. "so, what was it you needed to tell me?" you ask taking a sip. "Marylou, Jimmy, and their boys are coming to spend the holidays with us!" you almost choke at your mother's words. "they're back in Boston?" you ask with an awkward smile. last time you seen the triplets, it wasn't quite the ideal farewell. at least with Matt it wasn't. you still talk to Nick from time to time, Chris would like your social media posts, and Matt? well, nothing was happening between the two of you. not ever since high school at least. "yeah! the boys still live with them. I think they're like entrepreneurs or something. Marylou tried explaining it to me but I didn't quite understand." your mom says. "they'll be staying here with us until after Christmas." she adds on. your eyes widen a bit, "oh? you failed to mention this before I got here?" you say with a nervous laughter. "well, I know it isn't ideal for you. I know you and Matt didn't quite leave off on a good note." she says.
-FLASHBACK-
"so what? you meet a whole new group of people that you decide not to spend any more time with me?" you say standing there with your arms crossed. "y/n, we were always together. we're older now. we don't have to be with each other every single time." Matt says frustrated. you scoff before responding, "so you're telling me you want to stop being friends?" he shakes his head, "that's not what I said. all I said was, maybe now we can just do our own things." he says. "well that's not what you've been doing. you've shut me out completely." you say with a hurt expression. "maybe because everything has changed Y/n. you know I don't hang around your crowd." he says catching you off guard. "so just because you gained popularity, apparently my 'crowd' isn't your ideal group of people?" you scoff before continuing on, "yeah maybe everything has changed. you changed." you walk away from him leaving him in silence.
-END OF FLASHBACK-
"they'll be here any minute." your mom says adjusting the centerpiece on the coffee table. you felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest. you took constant sips from the warm mug as you sit down on the couch and wait. "you guys are adults now. you will figure it out." your mom says rubbing your arm. you didn't hold a grudge against Matt but, you still felt a sort of somber from the thought of what last happened. you suddenly hear a car pull up in front of your house. "they're here!" your mother says quickly getting up to rush over to the door. you stand up placing your mug on a coaster on the table before dusting off your corduroy pants due to your nervousness. "April!" you hear the familiar voice exclaim your mother's name. "Marylou!" she responds, happily embracing her in a hug. "is she here?" Marylou whispers to her. "yes she is! she's inside." your mother says before looking at the triplets boys. "Nick, Matt, and Chris!" she exclaims. "you boys are so grown up!" the boys smile with them shortly after embracing your mother individually in a hug. "hello Tyler!" Jimmy says greeting your dad, they end up doing a handshake.
after they all greeted each other, they finally headed inside carrying all their bags. you turn around swiftly as you see Marylou gasp from excitement, "my baby girl!" she says running up to you, hugging you. "hi Marylou, how have you been?" you say hugging back with a smile. "amazing now!" she pulls away looking at your mother, "April she looks just like you when you were in college." she adds on. you let out a soft laugh before turning towards the boys. Nick and Chris greet you with a hug before having a little small talk. Matt greeted you with a small 'hello' and awkward smile, which you did as well.
"i'm so excited for Christmas! it'll just be like the old days!" Marylou exclaims. "I brought the album book with photos of every Christmas we've celebrated!" "pull them out!" your mother says putting her hands together happily. now, you were all gathered around the couch as Marylou flips through the album book. "look how chubby your cheeks were Y/n." your dad points out with a chuckle. you felt your cheeks turn red from the comment as everyone laughs. "if only time would slow down." you hear your mother say. "I know. we're getting old!" Jimmy adds on. Marylou continues to flip through the book before landing on a photo of you and Matt smiling as little kids with missing teeth. you were both in matching Christmas sweaters as your head rested on his shoulder. "this is my favorite." Marylou says with a smile. you felt your heart ache from the sight of the photo. "you guys were so small!" your mom exclaims smiling. "yeah. now everything has changed." you blurt out with a fake smile. Matt turns his head towards you, shifting uncomfortably in his stance from the familiar words that came out your mouth.
*time skip*
you guys just had finished eating dinner. “that was amazing April.” Jimmy says wiping his mouth. “very delicious honey.” your dad says rubbing his stomach. everyone thanks your mother as she smiles, “my pleasure everyone!” she says cheerfully. you decided to help your mother clean up the table. the triplets were lead to the rooms they’ll be staying in for the next days by your father. Marylou and Jimmy were settling into their room.
“Y/n, get out of this kitchen.” your mother says pushing you away playfully. “mom let me help you.” you say trying to stop her. “no Y/n! this is your break. go relax or something.” she says still pushing you away. “you’re really not going to let me help?” you ask letting out a small laugh. “no! now go!” she says smiling. you shake your head with a smile before walking away. you head up the stairs, walking into your childhood bedroom. you look around at the pastel pink wallpaper as you let a small smile appear on your face. you were reminiscing over all the memories that you had in here. you were glad to be home. you then hear a slight knock at your door as you turn around to see Matt. “hi” he says. “hey”. you reply.
*time skip*
it was the next day, the mothers had plans to do some holiday baking while the dads just sat around and watched TV. Nick and Chris were out catching up with old friends as Matt stayed at the house. “Matt! Y/n! join us!” you hear your mom say happily. you walk to the kitchen as you see materials and ingredients laid out on the island table. Matt was on the opposite side of the island from you. “we’re going to bake gingerbread cookies!” Marylou says handing you and Matt aprons. you tie your hair back in a ponytail as you respond, “yummy”.
as you guys started it off, Marylou and your mother left it up to you and Matt to handle the cookies while they started to prepare this upcoming dinner. you were mixing the batter as you ask Matt to pour some flour on to the table. as he does so, you both took dough into your hands as you both talked. “i hope these turn out right.” you say. “me too.” Matt says with a smile. you guys just caught up talking about college as he talked about his career he started with his brothers. it felt nice to talk to him again. the conversation stops as he looks at your face, “wait hold on. you have a little something right here.” he says putting flour on your nose.
your mouth went slightly open from his actions as you let out a small scoff which turned into a smile. “oh really? because i think you have something on your whole face.” you say placing your floured hands on his face, rubbing it in. you pull away and start laughing, “oh you’re going to regret that.” Matt says with a grin, picking up more flour as he chases you around the kitchen. you shriek as you try to get away from him but he soon grabs you from behind, wrapping his arms around you as he rubs the flour all over your face.
“Matthew!” you exclaim. Marylou taps your mother trying to make her look at the scene that took place. “look April.” she whispers. your mother looks up and smiles. “guys! you’re making a mess!” your mother says laughing. your smile soon drifts away as you realize what was happening. you step away from Matt as you take off your apron heading straight upstairs. Matt just stood there feeling awkward.
later in the day, Matt knocks on your door anxiously. "come in." you shout out from behind the door. he opens the door stepping inside. you look at him before speaking, "what's up?" you ask sitting on your bed. you could tell he was hesitating to speak, "I think we should discuss about where we left off from the last time we've seen each other." he says sitting down next to you. "what's there to talk about? you made it very clear that you didn't want to be surrounded by me anymore." you say. "that's not true Y/n. at the time, I just felt like we were always together. I felt terrible for what I said. our friendship was great and I let it go stupidly." he says letting out a small breath.
all you do is avoid eye contact before he speaks up again, "can I make it up to you?" you look at him as you respond, "how?" “well i want to know you better now. you know, figure out what you’ve been doing ever since we fell off.” he says. you just look at him with a blank stare, “i don’t know about that.” you say.
“okay then let’s see…” he says looking at the time on his phone and smiles, "come on." he says standing up. "what? where are we going?" you ask confused. "just come on. put on a sweater." he says walking out your room. after a bit, you meet him outside as he stands there with his hands in his pockets. "Matt where are we going?" you ask putting your hands in your pockets. the snow fall was light, but the ground was coated white from earlier. he starts to walk as you follow quickly behind. "you'll see!" he exclaims. after a while, you guys were now standing at the park you use to go to as kids. "why are we here?" you ask smiling softly. "well, remember our snow days?" he asks. "of course I do. while Nick and Chris attacked each other with snowballs, you helped me build snowmen." you reply. "yeah. i'm glad you remember." he says crouching down bunching up the snow. "we're going to build a snowman." he adds on with a smile.
"this is how you're going to make it up to me?" you say crouching with him. he looks at you as he speaks, "to make up for the times we missed building a snowman." you look into his eyes for a bit before letting out a small laugh. you guys then continued to build a snowman. “it’s head is as big as yours.” you say laughing. Matt’s mouth opens slightly as he responds, “that’s so mean.” you both laugh and eventually after laid in the snow looking up at the starry sky.
“what are we going to name him?” you ask. Matt hums while he thinks before he thinks of the perfect name, “Louis.” you turn to face him as you hear the familiar name. Louis was the name of your childhood stuffed animal that you had matching with the triplets. “you remember Louis?” you ask. “of course i do. i still have his sibling.” he says which causes you to let out a small chuckle.
"I missed this." you hear him whisper. you stay silent as you thought to yourself. where was this effort back then? as much as you missed it too, you still couldn't forget. you sit up, "we should go before it gets any later." you say before getting up and walking away.
*time skip*
you were out sitting on the porch drinking hot chocolate as you had thoughts. should Matt be given another chance? he had you where he wanted you before until he made it disappear. why now does he want to fix things? your thoughts were interrupted when you feel a figure sit next to you. you turn to see who it is to find out it's Matt. "can I still prove to you I want to make up for lost time?" he says quietly. you could tell he was genuine. "okay how now?" you ask. he gets up with a smile as he asks you to follow him. he gets in the car as you join him in the passenger seat. "where are we going?" you ask putting on your seat belt. "some place special." he says as he drives off to the location. you look out the window as you see familiar scenery. you fix your posture as you try to hide a smile, "don't tell me we're doing what I think we're doing." he parks the car and smiles, "come on let's go." he says getting out the car.
he opens the trunk to reveal the famous sled you guys built together with your parents in middle school. you gasp while covering your mouth. "you kept it?!" you exclaim. "of course I did." he says pulling it out from the trunk. "we're going to do our tradition." the tradition was a silly thing you both liked to do during snow days. you would try to get to the highest hill and slide down without trying to fall off. you guys always failed. you and Matt climbed up a steep hill as you look at him. he places the sled onto the fluffy snow as he sits down leaving space for you in between his legs. you smile as you sit in front of him.
"are you ready?" Matt asks, "yes I am but, how did we do this back then? I forgot how steep this hill was!" you exclaim. you both let out a laugh as Matt speaks, "well you know the drill." "try not to fall off!" you say as he slides down the both of you. you shriek from the thrill as Matt laughs. when you guys reach the bottom, the sled comes to a sudden stop causing the both of you to tumble over into the snow. you both laid there cracking up. "I knew that would happen." you say clutching onto your stomach from how hard you were laughing.
"I don't think we'll ever not fall." Matt says shaking his head. "maybe next time." he adds on. "yeah maybe." you reply as your guys' laughter calms down. it eventually got silent as you continued to lay there with your arms by your side. you did miss this. "do you ever wonder what could've happened if we stayed close?" you ask still staring at the sky. "I'm not quite sure." he says doing the same. little did you know, he was inching his hand towards yours slowly. you guys laid there as his fingers were nearly touching yours.
*time skip*
it was finally Christmas morning, you were woken up by your mother shaking you excitedly. "Y/n! it's Christmas! time to get up." she says cheerfully. you rub your eyes as you look at her tiredly. "the triplets are already downstairs! come on!" she adds on before leaving your room. you get up and stretch before heading to the bathroom to do your morning routine. you put your hair up as you went downstairs. "good morning sunshine." Marylou says with a smile. "good morning" you reply smiling as well. "are you ready to open gifts?" you hear Chris say. "because we've been waiting." he adds on and you see Nick shove him.
"don't act like a child." Nick says to him as Chris rubs his arm. you let out a small laugh as you nod. you sit next to Matt and he greets you ‘Good morning’.
by the time all the gifts are open, everyone could be seen talking and laughing as you and Matt sit there taking everything in. "we need to make this a tradition again." your mom says. "absolutely!" Marylou says. "Y/n?" you hear Matt whisper to you. you turn your head to face him, "yeah?" you whisper back. "I got you a gift." he says. "you did?" you ask raising an eyebrow. he smiles and nods. "oh Matt... I don't have anything for you. I didn't know you were going to be here in the first place." you say with an awkward tone. "don't worry. I got this gift last minute. come with me." he says getting up. you look around as you notice nobody is paying attention. you get up as you follow him out the front door. "what plans do you have now?" you ask letting out a small laugh.
"well, I wanted to have this moment for just the two of us." he reaches into the car as he pulls out the same matching Christmas sweaters from when you were kids but in a bigger size. "Matt..." you say grabbing it slowly. "I think we should keep up with the traditions." he says putting on the sweater. you smile big as you do the same. "where did you even find these?" you asked looking down at the design. "I have my ways." he replies looking at you. you look up at him and smile, "thank you Matt." he smiles as he stands there rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I have one more thing." he says. "what? how much stuff do you have?" you say letting out a small chuckle. "you need to close your eyes for this one." you look at him confused before responding, "okay? you're not going to throw a snowball at me right?" he lets out a laugh as he shakes his head, "just close your eyes!" he exclaims. "fine sorry." you say shutting your eyes.
you heard his feet shuffle in the snow before you hear the movement stop. "alright you can open your eyes." you hear him say. you open your eyes slowly as you see Matt holding up a little plant. "Matt, is that what I think it is?" you say as your eyes turn soft and you gulp. it was a mistletoe. he lets out a shy laugh as he speaks, "you don't have to if you want but, I wanted to see if we could start a new tradition since we're older." you look at the plant as you smile wide, "of course I do." you say looking into his eyes before pulling him slowly into a soft kiss. Matt drops the mistletoe on the snow as he attaches his hands onto your waist.
you slowly pull away as you both hear a click. you and Matt turn towards the front of the house to see Marylou and your mother holding out a camera smiling. “everything has definitely changed.” your mom says. you and Matt look at each other and laugh.
a/n: this is a little longer than my usual stuff! i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it! LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! comment what you think about this and if i should do more taylor swift songs for my swifties. - L🤍
#Spotify#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#matthew sturniolo imagine#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo triplets x reader#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#christopher sturniolo imagine#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo triplets imagines#nick sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo imagine#imagine#oneshot#matthew sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fluff#christopher sturniolo x reader
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⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚
Rafe’s head snaps in your direction, his gaze harsh as he stares at you. You meet his eyes, your heart racing as you take in his expression. He’s furious.
“Are you serious right now?” He snaps, his body towering over you.
You’ve been misbehaving all day. From making smart comments to doing exactly what he tells you not to. It’s not that you want to defy him, you just want his attention.
He’s been busy for the past couple of weeks, so you’ve not been getting his undivided attention like you usually do. Maybe you’re being a brat, but you can’t help it. Sometimes, you just want him all to yourself.
You don’t say anything, your lips pulling down into a pout. His hand reaches forward, roughly gripping your jaw.
“The fuck are you acting like this for?” He questions, “Tryna cause a scene in front of my friends? S’that it?”
“No.” You shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes.
“Then why are you doing this shit?” He grits, jerking your face to keep your attention on him.
His friends stare with wide eyes from behind him, not daring to intervene. They’ve learned the hard way as to not tempt Rafe when he’s in moods like this with you.
“Think you need to be taught a lesson.”
You look up at him with doe eyes, “Rafe-“
He tsks, “Nah, y’know what my name is.”
Your eyes flicker from his to his friends, the two of them quickly averting their attention elsewhere.
“M’sorry dad.” You whine, practically stomping your feet.
“Yeah.. That’s right.” He speaks, his voice sickly sweet. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna go upstairs like a good little girl.. And I want you to be naked by the time I get up there. M’gonna fuck you silly, and if you’re good, dad just might let you cum.”
Your thighs clench at his words, your stomach tightening at the thought. You feel your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, knowing you’re in for it.
“Fuck are you waiting for?” He’s raises his eyebrows, “Go.”
The second his hand releases your face, you’re quickly sprinting up the stairs to your shared bedroom. His sarcastic chuckle rings through your ears as he turns to kick his friends out.
As soon as you enter the bedroom, you’re fumbling to get your clothes off in a timely fashion. You know he’s pissed, you don’t want to make it worse by not being ready for him like he said.
The second you’re fully nude, you sit at the end of the bed and place your hands on your legs. It feels like forever has passed as you wait for him, though it’s only been a minute or so. Soon enough, he saunters in the room with a devious look in his eyes.
He shuts the bedroom door without a word, turning to observe you as you quietly stare up at him. Slowly stepping forward, he pulls his shirt over his head. Your eyes rake over his torso, admiring every dip and curve of his muscles. He’s so toned and fit, mouthwatering.
His hands fall down to his belt, unbuckling the leather, and swiftly removing it. Next, he takes off his pants and boxers, leaving him bare just like you. His erection stands tall, eager to feel you around him. He stalks forward, almost like a predator after its prey, and stands right in front of you.
He pushes you onto your back and lifts your legs, planting your feet on the bed with your thighs spread, showcasing your sweet center. You lift up onto your elbows to watch his every move.
His eyes take you in from head to toe, memorizing every detail of your body, seemingly etching it into his brain. Seeing you all submissive for him makes it all the more better. He loves when you’re completely and utterly his.
Soaking in every inch of you, he wraps his hand around his shaft, slowly pumping up and down. Your eyes widen at his movement, your entrance subconsciously clenching around nothing. He notices, a small smirk pulling to his lips as he watches your arousal ooze from you.
Your eyes bore into him as he continues to stroke himself, your desire for him burning hotter inside of you. You can’t help yourself, and bring your hand to your pussy, running your fingers along your wet folds.
“Aht aht.” He smacks your hand away, leaving you whining for stimulation. “Watch.”
Your lips form a pout at his demand, but you comply because you want to be a good girl for him. As much as it almost hurts not to be touched, you listen. You know you’ll be rewarded for being obedient, and what you’ll get in return will be worth the torture now.
He brings his hand up to your face, shoving two fingers into your mouth. You instantly swirl your tongue around them, sucking his digits just how he likes. After a minute, he pulls them out and wraps them back around his member, sighing from the feeling of your warm saliva enveloping him.
His muscles flex as he continues to jerk his cock, dribbles of precum forming at his tip. Your core aches at the sight, desperate for him to fill you up. You can orgasm just from the visual he’s giving you.
As he strokes himself, his free hand meets your thigh, rubbing all over with a strong pressure. Your breath picks up as he gets closer and closer to where you need him, yet he never gives you the satisfaction you so desperately want.
“Look at you.” He coos, “So wet already.. Haven’t even done anything.”
You whimper when his fingers dance outside your folds, purposely ignoring your throbbing heat. After another moment of teasing you, his thumb trails through your lips from your entrance to your clit, eliciting a low moan from your mouth.
As his thumb presses your clit down, he positions his tip at your entrance and slowly pushes in, rubbing slow circles on your bundle of nerves. You gasp at the feeling of him filling you out, your walls stretching to make room for him.
“So fucking tight.” He groans, practically shuddering as he bottoms out.
Stilling for just a moment, he pulls back until just his tip remains, then pushes back in with great force. A loud moan emits from your throat from the sudden change in pace.
His hands grip your legs, pulling them over his shoulders as he thrusts in and out of you. His strokes are deep and hard, almost stealing your breath every time he digs into your sweet spot.
Your eyes roll back, your mouth falling open with a repetitive ‘ah, ah’ sound coming from it. The headboard slams into the wall, over and over again. His fingertips dig into your thighs, keeping your legs open for him.
“This s’what you wanted, no?” He questions, “Acting up just so I’d fuck you.”
You don’t respond, the only thing you’re able to spit out being lewd moans as he pounds into you.
“Yea..” He hums, nodding to himself. “Don’t worry. You’re gonna get fucked.”
After saying that, he pushes your legs forward against your chest. His thrusts pick up, turning your mind into mush as he digs you out. His eyes move back and forth from your fucked out expression to the way your pussy squeezes him, his eyes damn near rolling back from both sights.
He leans over you, shoving his cock as deep as it would go, his hips slamming into the back of your thighs as he does so. The heavenly sound of both of your moans and your bodies smacking together fills the room, and its music to Rafe’s ears.
“Oh m-my god.” You cry out as you feel the knot in your stomach twisting tightly.
He grins down at you as you writhe beneath him while he continuously abuses your cervix. Your brows furrow as your face scrunches in pleasure, your body ablaze with pure bliss.
Rafe uses one hand to hold your legs in place, his other hand going down to your center. Wetting his fingers with your slick, he rubs your clit in fast circles, causing your body to tremble.
You don’t even have time to warn him before the band in your stomach snaps, your juices pouring out of you as you convulse beneath him. He groans at the sight of you coming undone and the feeling of your squeezing him so tight.
With a few more harsh thrusts, he’s balls deep in you, his dick twitching as he paints your walls with a milky white. He gives you another few pumps, emptying his entire load as you pulsate around him.
He lets your legs go and falls forward, holding most of his weight on his elbows beside your head. The two of you are breathless as you stare at one another.
“All you gotta do is ask, baby.” He grins, passionately kissing you. “You know dad’ll give it to you.”
⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚
tags : @sunkissedrafe @wickedtactics @bunnycvnts @butterflyoceandreams @rafesgiirl @yourenogoodforme @marvelfanfics1recs @cini-mini27 @pinkribboncoco @drewsphswife @laniirackssss @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra
#rafe blurb#j speaks#stepbrorafe#rafe cameron#obx#obx imagine#obx x reader#rafe obx#obx smut#outerbanks rafe#rafe fics#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron x you#obx rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#dad rafe
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It’s part 2 of THIS :)
pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader
summary: your new sex routine with Lewis: having sex while watching your sex tapes.
word count: 2k
warning: 18+ only, nsfw, explicit sex content, sex tapes, oral sex(m received), P in V sex, dirty talk, slightly Dom/Sub, spanking, praise kink. If you feel uncomfortable, please exit promptly.
note: Italicized text represents the content and dialogue from the video. That idea was sparked by an anon, thank you! As always, welcome any advice or suggestions.
“Baby, which one should we watch today?”Lewis took out the videotapes and placed them on the cabinet, looking at the marker-penned labels as he asked, “The Christmas one? Or the one I made you cum with my fingers?”
You lightly tapped his shoulder. “Hey, that wasn’t just about me.”
He gazed at you intently, black eyes filled with earnestness, “But you looked especially beautiful when you cum.” As if to say tonight’s dinner was particularly good.
That time was really intense. What happened again? Oh, you think it was because you both had a bit to drink. Does alcohol-free tequila also make people drunk? Once in a tipsy mood, after a few kisses, desire surged like a tidal wave.
Lewis turned off all the indoor lights, leaving only a floor lamp on.
“Hey, today was dd/mm/yy.” In the scene, a gentle flush colored your cheekbones, and your eyes sparkled with a radiant smile.
Ah, how did we get into that state? Did we have a few drinks then?
“Here is... Lewis.” The next second, like a beacon of charisma, Lewis’s face emerged in the frame, his beautiful brown skin radiant under the lights.
The video suddenly paused.
“What’s wrong?” You turned to look at him.
“Can we have a competition?” Okay, his desire to win extended beyond the race track.
“What are we competing in?”
“Whoever initiates the kiss first loses.”
As the video resumed, his arms wrapped around your middle as he hugged you tightly into his chest, and one of his hands slid down between your legs.
“Take your clothes off, Lewis.”
Were you always this direct when you were tipsy?
Sure enough, the next moment his palm rested on your mound. But surprisingly, he just left it there, without making any further moves.
In the video, the two of you had already started stripping each other’s clothes off. The camera was placed on the bedside table. With rustling sounds, you hastily removed your clothes, letting them fall to the floor, and without a pause, you began kissing passionately.
As the camera zoomed in on the intense kiss between you and Lewis, you shifted in your seat, feeling your tongue moistening your lips in anticipation. Your inner thighs brushed against his wrist, nestled between them, and you sensed a delicious dampness beginning to seep through your panties.
You couldn’t get wet that soon. Otherwise, it would seem too eager.
You stole a glance at Lewis’s profile beside you. the contours of his strong nose and the hint of a well-groomed beard were illuminated softly by the ambient light. He was completely absorbed in watching.
The sound of kissing in the video was accompanied by a soft, wet noise.
Damn, regretting it now. Why did you make it a competition? He should be kissing you right now. You really want it, your whole body is tense, wanting to be devoured by him.
Your eyes stared fixedly at the video, how could Lewis be so whole-heartedly in just a kiss?
You were pulled closer by Lewis, his hand on your neck, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, kneading your butt.
The hand between your thighs finally reacted a bit, pressing down on your mound at an extremely slow pace. You squeezed his hand between your legs, grinding against his hips while reaching out to touch his chest. Your palm, through his T-shirt, gripped tightly, eliciting a soft moan.
The camera zoomed in, revealing his abs tensing and relaxing. Your throat involuntarily swallowed drools as your hand slid down from Lewis's chest to his thighs.
With a few swift movements, his underwear was pulled down, and his semi-erect cock sprang out. Your smaller hand grasped it the next second, stroking it gently up and down.
“The way you get hard is so sexy...”
“well,” his strong arm appeared in the frame, probably caressing your face from the angle, “but you, baby, are even sexier.”
A rush of heat surged through your body. His low laughter, filtered through the speakers, only made it itchier, so you discreetly rubbed against the bedsheet, your hand slipping into Lewis‘s waistband. After a few strokes through his underwear, you couldn’t resist anymore.
That weighty thing was too enticing, and you wanted to feel it now.
You relenting and tugging his boxers down. Your mouth waters as his hard cock springs free, slapping against his navel with a lewd sound. You don’t hesitate to wrap your hand around the base, angling his pretty length towards your mouth.
No kissing. that’s mean I can kiss his cock?
You lean your head down, suck just the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over his sensitive head. satisfied, and deliberately squinting your eyes as you looked up at Lewis.
“you’re breaking the rules...”
“Rules—” You slowly opened your mouth, allowing the head of his cock to slide into your mouth, and let your tongue swirl around it. “are meant to be broke, right?”
As you finished speaking, you performed several deepthroats, emitting soft moans as your lips hugged the base of the penis, causing Lewis to gasp urgently. You were quite satisfied with the current situation, able to both suck his cock and escape the video, at least for a while.
“You like that, don’t you?”You asked in a muffled voice because your mouth was occupied.
“Didn’t your family teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” Lewis shot back in a cross between an annoyed and sexy tone.
All Lewis received for his effort was you caressing his sacks, and the gentle touch of you cheek against his throbbing member made Lewis clench his fists as he growled.
You raised your eyelids, meeting Lewis’s gaze. The non-kissing contest came to an immediate end.
You were pulled up by the arm and your mouth was covered, Lewis devouring your lips as if starving for days.
There we go. That’s more like it.
“You lost.”
“Yeah, what reward do you want?”
“Spank me.”
The eighth.
You inhaled deeply, silently counting in your mind.
Kneeling on the bed, your buttocks raised high. The only downside is that with a slight lift of your head, you could see the tangled couple on the screen (Currently, you were making loud noises because you were being fingered). Lewis deliberately positioned you facing the screen. Your ears were filled with your own moans and gasps. You momentarily buried your head in your arms in an attempt to escape. Both cheeks were burning with heat, but there was a subtle sense of satisfaction in your heart. Lewis indeed fulfilled his promise, delivering firm strikes with gusto, not holding back at all.
“Feel good?”Lewis laid you back, your head dipping between the pillows.
He was quick to get you out of your panties, he was quick to press his cock to your twitching clit. A steady hand dragged his cock up and down your folds, the cock catching on your bud each time.
“Sir…” You whined, you needed his fat cock so bad. You needed to be plugged up before you sprang a leak. when your drippy cunt squelched, the slick, gushy sounds went straight to his cock as it jumped.
Up and down, up and down. Lewis guided his cock over your clit, and past your fleshy folds, teasing your needy hole by stretching you out with just the tip. Then he pulled out. When he finally fucking pushed into your warmth, you squeezed him tight, he sank in till all of him was wrapped up in your cunt.
The momentarily neglected video suddenly emitted the moans of you two. You reflexively raised your eyes to see Lewis fully inserting his shaft into your pussy.
“It’s all in.”
The feeling of the cock entering you made you toss your head back and moan, bit your lip and didn’t breath as Lewis inched deeper.
“Mmm...You’re so big, ahh, I like it.”
“You were so honest about it... Is alcohol really that magical?” Lewis teased as slowly pulled his dick out and then pushed it back in making your wet pussy sputter out the sound you both loved hearing so much.
Fuck... Is it because of doggy style? Lewis were particularly vigorous today, thrusting exceptionally deep.
“Ahhhh! O-Ohh god!” Your eyes rolled back when Lewis’s hand held onto your waist as he moved inside you in a fast and rough pace as his other hand pulled your hair making you arch your back making him hit a really good spot.
You felt him slightly pull his cock out before ramming back inside making you moan out loud because of the sudden pleasure, his shaft reached so deep because of a one deep thrust.
During sex, Lewis was very good at praising. Or rather, he was someone who frequently gave compliments even in everyday situations, but during sex, he was more straightforward with his praise, saying exactly what he felt. Even in the current video, his compliments were non-stop—
“Your pussy is so good…”
“You’re so delicious babe... I could fuck you all day…”
“Look at you, my beautiful gooey slit…”
These deep, seductive whispers, like the voice of a god of desire, swirled around in your mind, turning your rationality into chaos... There’s no need to even look at the video; just the sound alone was enough to intoxicate you. You closed your eyes drowsily, involuntarily matching Lewis’s pelvic thrusts, chasing after pleasure, indulging in the sensation...
“You’re silent today, huh?” Lewis bit down on your neck, leaving it all puffy. His pace slowed, focusing on giving it to you slow and deep, circling his hips so you felt every inch of him. The slow, sticky grind made a wet noise.
Your legs were now shaking as you were already nearing your climax. You tightly gripped the sheets.
“Ohh! D-Don’t hit me there t-too much!”You exclaimed as he continuously hit your favorite spot. He leaned on your back and grabbed your chin making you tilt your head to his direction. His big hand grabbed your tits as he pinched your nipple.
“You’re making me cum, little slut.” Lewis whispered and his thrusts became sloppier, you held onto his thighs, burying your nails in them. “A-Ahh! P-Please! Please! Ohh god!”
"Please what baby?" He teased.
“P-Please let me cum… Let me cum sir—ahh!” You loudly moaned when he moved inside you ruthlessly as his other hand found its way to your clit.
“Then cum. Cum with me.” Lewis sucked on your neck while thrusting as deep and quickly as he could to bring himself to an orgasm. His grunts of power echoed through the room and mix with yours. As you were fucked to an earth shattering climax, he erupted inside of you.
“Y/N, open your eyes.”
Your eyes barely opened, and you saw yourself on the video squirting gently, your legs convulsed spasmodically, your pussy continued dripping.
Your ass was still red, Lewis spread you open to see how your cunt gaped, empty without his fat cock, his seed dribbled out as your pussy contracted, spilling down your ass crack.
As your breathing gradually calmed, the room became quiet.
“Can I film your little hole?”
Both of you instantly turned towards the only source of sound in the room. On the video was an obviously just-squirted you.
The camera shook for a moment, and Lewis’s voice came through again:
“Oh, it’s twitching...”
You weakly emitted a groan. The camera shook again, and your ass and thighs appeared in the frame. Lewis’s fingers, coated with cum, entered the frame, gently stroking the entrance a few times before spreading it open with two fingers, aiming the camera there.
You leaned into Lewis’s embrace, burying your head in his neck, refusing to look. Meanwhile, the voice on the video, now synced with him nibbling your earlobe, said:
“I really love you. I love you the most.”
The video ended there. Lewis gently kissed the top of your head, his hand smoothing over your back. From his neck, a muffled voice emerged:
“I love you too.”
“Yeah, that’s it, the boys are gonna lose their minds.”
“Suck on it, good girl…”
“Ahhh, you are so hot, looking up at me like that, choking on my cock…”
“Ohh, when the boys see this, they are going to get rock hard…”
“Do you like that? my friends watching a video of you sucking me?”
#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton smut#lewis hamilton x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 smut#lewis hamilton imagine
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Curtain call - Spencer Reid
Summary: You're an actress. Opening night of the show, a cast member is killed. FBI finds out you were the real target...
Warnings: mentions of blood, a kiss
2k wc
Adrenaline rushes through you as you run through the wings, catching your breath as you made your way across the backstage. You had just about a minute until you had to be on stage once more, the big number now coming to its end. Rushing into the costume room, you barely acknowledge the one thing obviously wrong with the messy space until you reach for your next costume on the rack, moving all other clothes aside to find it. There’s something inappropriate about your outfit. One, there isn’t supposed to be any blood on it yet there it is, a bloody handprint, running all the way to the bottom of your dress. That’s when your eyes trail down to the bottom of the clothing rack, where you get a clear look of the body lying underneath the row of clothes. Blood was soaking through her entire costume and her skin was turning blue. It’s only when someone runs into the changing room at risk of missing your cue that you hear a gut-wrenching scream. Later, you’d be told that it had come from you.
Being called into the theatre the next day for “mandatory debriefing” was not what you had expected after such a traumatic experience, but you came in nonetheless, afraid of losing the job after the scene you had caused the night before. After screaming bloody-murder, half the cast ran into the changing rooms to find you hysterically crying over your cast mate’s body, holding her cold hand. The audience had been scared half to death, and after the authorities made it onto the scene, everyone was evacuated out of the theatre. By finding her body, you had cost everyone a night of the show.
But once you got to the theatre, angry yellow tape cutting off access to the public, you were approached by a handsome man with a serious face and confident posture, offering you his hand even as he walked towards you. “Miss L/N? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Agent Morgan with the FBI, and this is Dr. Reid. We just have a few questions we would like you to answer for us.” Agent Morgan had been a very kind man, who told you every formality that was written in the book, however the man he had introduced to you as Dr. Reid caught your attention in a way you weren’t aware would be good or bad. Dr. Reid stayed silent as Agent Morgan questioned you, deeply staring at you as you answered all that was thrown at you, shooting you quizzical looks every now and then and glancing down at your fidgety hands.
“Thank you so much for all this Miss L/N, that’s all our questions.” As Agent Morgan began to stand, Dr. Reid looked up at you, “Actually, I do have a few more if you don’t mind.” Agent Morgan shot his partner a confused look, slowly backing down into his seat once more. “Do you know why Evelyn was in the costume room when she was? With my limited understanding of the play, I was under the impression that her character didn’t have any costume changes up to the point you had gotten to before she was killed.” And then those that followed:
“Was anyone other than you supposed to be in the changing rooms at that moment?”
“Is there anyone in the cast who has taken a specific liking or dislike towards you?”
“Can you remember any specific encounters with anyone as you were going in or out of the theatre?”
“Have you received any eye catching letters from fans recently?”
Finally, Dr. Reid’s prying had gotten you somewhere, leaving you more terrified than ever, with Agent Morgan reassuring you “It’s just a theory that Dr. Reid has, so we’re only taking precaution. There’s nothing to worry about just yet.” The two agents drove you back to your place where you led them to the curse fan-letter drawer in your study. "I don't usually read them because there are so many." You admitted, crossing your arms tightly over your torso, observing as the doctor starting frantically pulling letters out of the tidied drawer, eyes briefly scanning the name on the front of each envelope. He threw several to the side, dropping the rest onto the floor after reading the name until nearly ten minutes later, all the letters laid on the floor.
Dr. Reid scrambled to gather the letters he had tossed to the side, standing up hurriedly. You stared at the pile in his hands, glancing back up at the two men for an explanation. "These are all sent from the same person. I'd like to read them and see if analyse the language used. I think one of us should stay here with you for the mean time." You nodded at Dr. Reid's words, briefly looking over to his partner for confirmation. "I think Reid should stay here as he looks over the letters." He moved his attention from you to Dr. Reid "You can ask her any questions you might have and it'll be good protection." The partners nodded to each other and immediately, Agent Morgan exited the room.
Dr. Reid's hand came up before hesitantly placing it on your shoulder. "Do you mind if I get settled here? Ask some questions?" You shook your head silently before asking "Um, since you'll be here awhile, can I get you something? Coffee?" Dr. Reid nodded, muttering a quiet "That would be lovely." You don't know what it was: maybe the fact that he was here to protect to or trying to save your life, but felt your heart beat in your chest aggressively, as though trying to break through your skin. You brought him coffee, sugar and packets of cream on the side just in case and watched in awe as he emptied out the small cup of sugar. Sweet, just like him.
"Dr. Reid-" "Spencer. Please." You nodded, scooting your chair closer to him as he took a sip of coffee. "Did I make a mistake by not reading these?" The envelopes made loud unfolding noises every time he pulled a letter out of a different one, and he shook his head. "No. I know I wouldn't open so many of these and I have an IQ of 187." You grinned, your chest bubbling with a giggle. Spencer perked up at the sound of your laughter, smiling gently at you. He wasn't trying to joke around, but he was happy to lift up your mood. He studied all the letters laid out in front of him, and immediately noticed a pattern.
'02.02.18, I saw you in Oliver! today, you make an amazing Nancy.'
'14.02.18, I watched you in Oliver! again. You somehow get better the more I see you on stage.'
'07.03.18 I loved you today in the show. I watched the evening show. Did you see me too?'
'17.03.18 I saw your show again. I can be your Bill Sykes if you'd let me."
'11.04.18 I've been waiting anxiously to see you again since Oliver stopped touring. You make a wonderful Veronica.'
'15.04.18 We can be Seventeen together! Let me be your JD.'
"This isn't good." Without any further explanation, he pulled his phone out, dialling a number. "He's using obsessive language and saw her in Oliver! and Heathers, both of which have abusive partners who either kill or try to kill who Y/N's playing. You need to go visit his address right now." Coincidentally, just as he hangs up the phone, your doorbell rings. Your blood runs cold and you stand up instantly, but Spencer steps in front of you, blocking you from going anywhere. "Stay behind me, but stay close." He mutters, pulling his gun from his hostler. Spencer watches you closely, and the profiler in him notices how your breath begins to speed up and your eyes glaze with tears.
One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek and he whispers "Breathe. I'm right here so no one's going to hurt you, okay?" You nod, staying as close as you can to him without touching him until you get to the front door. He peeks through the peephole and his shoulders drop as an "Oh." Escapes him. He opens and closes the door faster than you can register, now holding another letter in his hand, identical to all the ones scattered on your desk.
Six words are written on the letter when Spencer opens him, and his face pales. It was meant to be you. Spencer grabs your hand, dragging you back into your study - the one room in your house with no windows. He locks the door, pressing numbers on his phone again before it's against his ear. "It's definitely him, he just sent another letter. We're in her study but he might be around the premises or returning to his house. I don't plan on getting her out of the study until you get him." The second the words leave his mouth you're processing them, and tears are welling in your eyes once more.
The sound of sniffling gets his attention back to you and his hands are gently coming up to your shoulders, leading you to sit down in a chair. "I'm scared." You whisper helplessly, looking up at the doctor. He crouches down to your level, and hand on your knee. "Hey, what did I say before?" He looks at you intently waiting for an answer. "No one's gonna hurt me." Spencer nods, a soft smile gracing his features. "Yes, exactly. No one's going to hurt you. I have an excellent team looking for that son of a bitch as we speak and I am right here with you."
You nod, not entirely convinced, which he can apparently tell, so he continues with "Come on, look at these muscles. You think anyone will get to you when I have these babies?" His tongue pokes out slightly as he flexes his arms, which are actually more toned than you realise. You laugh again and feel yourself launching your body at him before you can stop yourself, pulling him into a tight hug. He hesitates, but eventually, his arms are pulling you even closer to him, one hand rubbing circles on your back to soothe you. You break the hug, but before you can help yourself, you realise you're leaning into him, pressing your lips against his in a passionate kiss. To your surprise he immediately returns the kiss, his hands cupping your face as he deepens the kiss.
He's panting when he pulls away from you, whispering "This is unprofessional. I'm sorry, I like you, I do, but I shouldn't." Cocking your head to the side, you can't help but smile slightly. "It's only unprofessional for one of us so technically it's not unprofessional at all." His face twists in confusion as he tries processing your words. "That's not how it wo-mmph." the rest of his words are muffled by the second kiss you give him, which you feel him melting into as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. "After- after the case. After the case, I'll take you on a date." His face falls at his own words, his face reddening in embarrassment. "That is- I mean that's only if you want. I wouldn't take you on a date if you didn't want to, that's totally fine."
The door to the study slams open just as he finishes rambling and you scream in fear, tightly gripping Spencer's hand and turning around expecting to find a middle aged balding creep, only to find a much sexier bald man, putting his gun back in his hostler. "Did you not hear us screaming for you? We thought he might have gotten to you before we found him. Ms. L/N, you're safe, we found him." Agent Morgan's gaze slowly trails to where your hand tightly grips Spencer's, and when he sees the flush on Spencer's face he makes a "Huh" noise, before walking out of the room once more.
taglist: @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist
#spencer reid x you#rainydayathogwarts#spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#dr spencer reid#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer x reader#criminal minds fanfic#criminalminds#criminal minds fics#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#derek morgan
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REGRET - T. KAULITZ
synopsis: when a video of tom getting a little too close to another girl circulates around the internet, your confrontation sparks a heated argument between the two of you. but after tom says something in the heat of the moment, he is determined to make it up to you.
content: angst
a/n: i have risen from the dead🎀 i’m really rusty so if it‘s not up to scratch i’m sorry, ill post about why i’ve not been writing later but for now enjoy whatever this is🗣️
my eyes are glued to the small computer screen in front of me, face twisting in disgust just a little more every time the low quality video replays. it is almost nauseating, yet i can’t turn away, fixated until my features are scrunched up in an agitating mix of anger and confusion. i am hoping that the events will change the next time the video restarts, that maybe my eyes are deceiving me, but as the same scene plays out in front of me, i quickly realise that it is real, and that my worst nightmare is coming true. not much can be distinguished - whoever had taken the video clearly hadn't payed much attention to keeping their camera still, or investing in the most high-tech gear, but i can tell that it is him. his dirty blonde dreads fall just below his shoulders, hand clutching a drink, surrounded by a crowd of girls whilst flashing lights illuminate his figure every few seconds, lighting up the bustling club before returning it to darkness. he knows that he is the centre of attention, but that doesn't seem to matter to him, his focus on the small blonde to his right.
much to my frustration, the video is only a few seconds long, showing tom leaning into the girl's ear, whispering something before pulling back, a smirk etched upon both their faces. it quickly cuts off just as his hand brushes along her arm, leaving much to be imagined - far too much. though this is probably for the best, watching another second of my boyfriend touching another girl would probably drive me close to insane - if i haven't already reached that point. i can't tell when the video was taken, but it is clearly recent, most likely from one of his tour after parties. he had arrived home last week, and i had been naive enough to miss him - until now.
i hurriedly rush to turn the computer off, sure that i will throw up if i have to watch that video one more time, its existence torture for me as i question how to go about this. tom is totally oblivious, having left for the studio this morning. however as each second passes, i realise that he will be home any minute, long before the anger that courses through my veins has any chance of burning out. my jaw is clenched, breathing heavy and eyes bloodshot as they fight tears, focusing on the blank wall ahead in an attempt to hold them back. the silence is peaceful, an almost laughable contrast to the chaos that echoes within my mind, thousands of unanswered questions racing through it as i am just about ready to pack my bags and never come back, sure that i have seen enough - and the only explanation is that tom has cheated on me.
but when the front door opens, i am trapped, any plans of escaping now far out of reach as tom's soft voice sounds from downstairs.
"baby? i'm home, where are you?" he almost sounds excited to see me, and on any other day, my heart would melt. but today, it twists with dread, feeling as if it has been ripped out of my chest and stepped on. i stay put, maybe because i know the capabilities of my mind, and its tendency to place me in uncomfortable situations, or perhaps it is the nagging in my chest convincing me to delay any conversation with him for as long as is physically possible.
the realisation that i can't avoid him forever comes much faster than i had anticipated. the dull thud of his footsteps trudging up the stairs are enough to capture my attention and pull me out of whatever trance i am subject to. my back falls back against the bed, shoulders slacking with the intent of looking as relaxed as possible, even if the current situation is the exact opposite. i wince when his presence makes itself known, attempting to conceal the uneasy look settling across my face.
"schatz, there you are." there’s no ill intent in his voice. infact it is sickly sweet, laced with an all-too innocent sense of security that on any other day would gravitate me towards him. this part of his day, when he would trudge into bed tiredly, was reserved just for me, for us, and it was something that we both looked forward to. but now it has fizzled out on my end, an excruciating discomfort habituating in its place, becoming harder to ignore with each passing second. the seemingly rigid walls into tom’s heart visibly crumble as he lets his guard down, his tired frame sinking into the soft mattress.
he leans his head against my arm, the limb tensing slightly in response to his touch. it feels wrong. how many other women felt him this close? the thought alone brings a sharp stab to my chest, its non-existent blade twisting within at the almost sickening idea of the same hands touching anybody else. with difficulty, i lift my arm up, heaving it to rest loosely across my torso. from the rigidness of my movement, tom senses that something isn’t right. whether it be impulse or a craving to feel me against him, he readjusts himself, grasping at any opportunity to weave himself even closer, my stiff demeanour offering him the upper hand.
the concept of control seems completely out of grasp now. although unaware, tom tears every remnant of serenity from my still frame, forcing me to follow his gaze and finally look into those eyes. his lips tug into a soft smile at the eye contact, pointer finger aimlessly grazing my lips. though emotionless, he appears to miss the look on my face, far too occupied with his own desires, no matter how light-hearted they seem.
“you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.” he mumbles against me, but when i dodge the kiss that he tries to place on my cheek, he finally pulls himself out of his selfish trance and realises that things aren’t as perfect as he had thought.
"hey, give me a kiss." his voice boarders the waters of hurt and confused, eyebrow furrowed with his eyes scanning my own desperately. when i don’t respond, he misjudges my silence for compliance, leaning downward to plant a soft kiss onto my lips. i don't reciprocate, remaining motionless, eyes wide open as he wraps his arms around me. he presses his lips harsher onto mine, desperation the clear motivator of his hurried movements. it quickly fades into concern when he realises the still lips that his own try to move against. breaking apart and surrendering his desire, he finally captures the hurt etched upon my expression, eyes trailing off into the blank wall behind him. he remains on top of me, his hand reaching to cup my cheek gently, the touch providing the exact opposite of consolation - instead allowing the bitter taste of resentment to settle along my tastebuds in place of his tender kiss. another woman felt those hands against her.
"look at me. what's wrong? did i do something?" his eyes scan mine desperately, feverishly attempting to fathom reasoning for my sudden standoffishness, all whilst his thumb rubs slow and soft circles along my cheek, an action which doesn't go unnoticed.
"did you think i wouldn't find out?" my jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as i finally push his body away. his confusion only intensifies as he collects himself as quickly as he can, scrambling to stand up and reduce our distance once again. his figure towers over mine, clearly failing to grasp the hint that i practically throw at him. if my actions aren’t able to spell it out for him, my words make what i want crystal clear.
“don’t touch me.”
though subtle, i notice the way he winces at my words, choosing to let them go for the time being. "what? baby what are you talking about? find out about what?" his chest rises up and down, expression totally readable, so much that i can sense his every thought, and it is terrifying. each second of silence thickens the already heavy air, so much that a heaviness begins to set in my chest.
i say nothing, instead walking toward the computer and switching it on. the screen lights up, the all too familiar video resuming from the point that i had left it. i grit my teeth, tempted to punch the screen and tom, both ideas becoming increasingly appealing. i turn to face him, remaining calm in spite of all brutal urges screaming out from within me, deciding to put them to bed.
"see for yourself. i'm sure you'd love a reminder of your little fling. she's very pretty, i'll give you that." his mouth opens to say something, quickly shutting with the realisation that he doesn’t have any words - none that would make the situation any better, anyway.
"shit, the paparazzi." he mumbles under his breath, massaging his temples a couple times before shutting the computer off, his eyes darkened as an unrecognisable look takes over. “schatz that isn't what it looks like, i promise you-"
"really? so i haven't just witnessed by boyfriend cheat on me with some blonde whore? you tell me you missed me? you seem to have got on swell without me.” my instinctive sarcasm soon burns out, replaced with an unexpected sadness, one that makes it next to impossible to remain composed.
"jesus christ. i wouldn't ever cheat on you. i don't even know who she is, georg said that he knew her so we let her hang out with us for the night. nothing happened, nothing at all. i love you and only you." he begins to get more defensive, voice raising slightly as he tries once again to move closer to me, an effort that even he knows is futile.
"what so you whisper in everyone's ear like that? you touch everyone's arm like that? you smile at everyone like that? i’m not as stupid as the whores you take to bed.” his excuses are almost laughable, and if my heart didn't feel so heavy with the realisation that he hasn't stayed faithful, i would probably laugh. my composure is deceptive, this soon coming to light with the coming of tears along my waterline.
"no, baby, please don't cry." he starts, protective instincts taking over in spit of the situation, his own eyes becoming glassy. when i shoot him a glare he knows to step back, though it is clear he wants nothing more than consoling me, as he usually would. now it is different, when he is the fuse that ignites this entirely fucked up situations "look, that's the only time i spoke to her the whole night. we were making a joke about georg, that's all."
"you must be kidding." my brows raise, searching his eyes for any hint of amusement, quickly understanding that he is being completely serious, this realisation only angering me more. “you know what? i’m leaving.” i attempt to move past him, struggling to progress even a few steps forward when he grabs my wrist, pulling me back in front of him. he is far too strong for me to put up a proper fight, but that doesn't stop me from trying my body tenses as i pull back, his grip only tightening, proving my efforts as worthless.
"can you just listen to me? i get that it looks bad but you're really overreacting here. Ive told you that nothing happened, why can't you just trust me?" he is no longer sympathetic. instead, his voice holds an anger within it that takes me aback slightly, his change in persona almost frightening. though his sudden defensiveness only alerts my suspicions more, silently reaffirming the fact that he has cheated, even if his words tell otherwise.
"trust you? fucking trust you? i have trusted you! and look where its gotten me. do you know how hard it is to have your boyfriend leave for months? no contact besides from a ten minute call every day, not a kiss, a hug, nothing! and this is what i see from your tour. what the fuck am i supposed to do with that?" i raise my voice, its harshness mirroring tom's as i finally manage to writhe myself out of his grip, now standing a few feet away from him. he clenches his jaw, looking to the side as silence takes over, its presence only brief however, soon destroyed by the sound of his voice, far louder than it had been through the course of the argument.
"i'm sorry that i don't have a normal career, okay? i've told you so many times that i don't have eyes for anyone else. every single night on tour i go back to the hotel early, because i miss you! and you can't even trust me!" he stops suddenly, almost as if he is contemplating his next words, enduring a silent battle between his mouth and his heart, knowing that both are leading him in different directions. i wait for his response, noticing the way that his expression darkens, eyes refusing to meet my own.
"well? that's all you have to fucking say? you seemed pretty comfortable with her. do you know how much that hurts? why am i not good enough for you?"
"stop it. you know you're good enough for me. don't say shit like that." he is quick to cut me off, his voice laced with disbelief, clearly failing to understand how i could come to such a conclusion.
"do i? seeing shit like that pretty much reminds me why i'm not-"
"look, maybe if you weren't such an insecure bitch then this wouldn't be a problem!" my face drops, lips parting slightly as i pray that my ears deceive me, creating their own truth, one distorted and far from reality. i stay silent, far too astounded to produce any witty comeback, or even look into his eyes. the silence between us is louder than any words spoken, and even more painful than those left unsaid. when i quickly take a glance at him, he realises his mistake just as fast as he had spoken. regret flashes across his face, his expression softening as he walks toward me. i nod slowly, far too defeated to argue back, wrapping my arms around my small frame and walking past him, my entire body shaking slightly as i sob.
"fuck- i didn't mean that. i'm so sorry, god i'm sorry baby." he spews out incoherent apologies, though i am far too hurt to comprehend them, instead tuning them out as i walk out of the room, closing the door harshly behind me.
it doesn’t take long for him to follow, his hurried pleas sounding from behind me. i am far too angry to listen, rushing down the stairs and into the hallway, scrambling for the nearest pair of shoes that i can find. his rambling quickly turns from frantic to desperate when he picks up on the reality of the situation, soon understanding that we are far beyond a kiss and an apology to resolve this.
“wait, hold on schatz. can we please talk about this? don’t leave me, please. i love you so much.” he tries to conceal the small sob that escapes his lips, but i notice it, the almost inaudible sound enough to make me reconsider my choices. but when his arm wraps around my wrist, though not with enough pressure to hurt, i know that forgiving him would be stupid.
“let go of me. i’m leaving for a while. do whatever you want, i don’t care.” my voice is surprisingly calm, the coarseness within it somehow washing away with each shallow breath i take. but the softness of my tone doesn’t match the strength of my movements as i yank myself from his grasp, reaching for my keys and clutching the door handle before he can stop me. i hesitate for a moment, taking a second to look back at him as he continues to spew out his apologies, mixed with incoherent promises that he loves me, along with his own tears that begin to fall from his eyes.
“bye tom.”
please come home, i’m so sorry - 8:35pm
baby? - 8:35pm
i love you so much - 8:36pm
i promise i didn’t cheat - 8:36pm
can we talk about this? - 8:37pm
please tell me you’re safe - 8:39pm
sure, tom and i had arguments just as every couple did. but when i showed up at my best friend’s house, makeup smudged and eyes bloodshot, she knew that this one was more than just a disagreement on who’s turn it was to make dinner. it was obvious that she had questions, but my delirious state was enough of a motive to save those for another time, instead choosing to rush me inside and wrap me up in blankets on her small couch, insisting that we order takeout and watch movies until i calmed down.
“he’s still texting you?” she questions, referring to my phone vibrating yet again, as it had been for the past hour. i nod my head weakly, body sprawled across her couch, shuffling over to make room for the small brunette beside me. she offers a sympathetic smile, handing me a pint of ice cream and sinking into the cushions.
“i’m sorry.” she says, reaching over and pulling me into a hug, noticing the glassy sheet that forms over my eyes, squeezing me even tighter. “boys are assholes.”
i nod in agreement, hearing my phone vibrate once again, this time not even taking the time to look at the message. they had gotten pretty predictable as they became more frequent - either telling me that he loves me, or that he wants me to come home.
“you’re welcome here as long as you need, okay?” she fills in the silence, recognising that all i need is consolation right now, creating a conversation not on the top of my list of priorities. i mutter a small thank you, feeling my eyes becoming heavy.
the beginning of a new day somehow intensifies the feeling within the pit of my stomach, the exact opposite of what i expected from a fresh start. now that i have settled down, the reality of it all feels like a fresh wound, one that i can’t envision myself ever healing from. though any time to endeavour into the complex puzzle of my emotions is drowned out by the all too familiar sound of my phone vibrating, and this time i have lost every ounce of self-control, reaching over to the small device embarrassingly fast. the bright light emitting from the screen causes my eyes to squint as i adjust, vision slowly clearing to reveal at least a hundred unread text messages, each one from tom. my sympathetic nature gets the better of me, a wave of guilt taking over as his messages spring from concerned, to apologetic, to borderline insane at my disappearance. i groan internally, quickly realising that i can’t hide forever, no matter how much i convince myself that it is the safer option.
luckily the task of getting myself ready to go back home isn’t a particularly long one. my jeans begin to dig into my sides, a rather unpleasant yet convenient reminder that i am still wearing the same clothes as the day before. quiet snores from the bedroom alert me to sleeping body of my friend, a small chuckle leaving my lips at the sound. i decide against disturbing her, instead scribbling a messy note and sticking it on the fridge, hoping that she’ll understand.
- going back home, thank you for all ur help. i’ll keep you updated, love you
the house is silent as i enter it, the lack of noise almost eerie though short lived when i place my keys on the table, the metal clattering with a small thud. there is no sign of tom, not even the sound of a tv from the living room, or the quiet sizzle of fresh food, indicating that he is making breakfast as he would every morning. though it seems that i hadn’t entered as quietly as i had hoped, the sound of tom’s steps, quick and erratic, echoing from the kitchen, getting louder and louder until he is standing in front of me.
our distance is temporary, quickly diminished as he takes me into his arms, pressing his lips against mine with as much strength as he can muster. i only realise just how anxious he has been when his palms cup my cheeks. they are shaking, the skin cold against my own as his entire body begins to tremble, my stomach sinking. he is crying. in spite of his vulnerability, he is the first to pull away, firmly wrapping his arms around my frame and hugging me tightly.
“god i love you, i love you so much. i thought you weren’t coming back.” he struggles to get his words out, a mixture of incoherent sobs and quiet sniffles accompanying his speech. his grip only tightens, hands running up and down my back as he repeatedly kisses my hair, tears continuing to fall down his cheeks. my arms remain firmly by my side, sympathetic enough to allow him this small touch, yet no where near as forgiving to consider returning the act.
“are you okay?” he becomes worried, putting his emotions aside and finally separating his body from mine. his calloused fingers run over the smooth skin of my arms, looking for any sign of harm. even though he knows me well enough to guess that i had gone somewhere safe, his protective instincts kick in, convincing him that the worst has happened.
“i’m fine.” i mumble, releasing myself from his grip and walking into the kitchen, taking a glass and pouring myself some water, my throat dry from the strain on my voice from the night before. he quickly follows behind, taking my hand in his. he notices my hesitation, running a thumb over the back of my hand in an attempt to soothe me, and somehow, it works. seeing him in front of me brings back memories of last night, their sting still painful and effects strong with the irritating onset of tears. tom sees this just as fast as i do, reaching upward to wipe them before they are able to fall.
“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry beautiful.” he whispers, his touch so gentle i almost don’t feel it. he replaces his thumb with his lips, kissing just below my eyes, damp with evidence of my upset.
“how could you?” i mumble, voice barely above a whisper as i struggle to make eye contact, tom’s own gaze pained. his eyes are bloodshot, cheeks red and blotchy and entire body still trembling slightly. his face softens at my question, and silence takes over for a few moments.
“i know. i know how it looks. i shouldn’t have gotten so close to her, not when i have you. but i promise you that i didn’t cheat. you’re everything i want and i’d be an idiot to throw that away. you have to believe me baby.” his voice begins to break, thumb running across my cheek and eyes staring into mine, scanning desperately for any sign that i am convinced. it isn’t the most detailed nor thought out explanation, but i know him enough to see that he is telling the truth.
“okay.�� i nod my head and look to the floor, swallowing harshly in an attempt to calm my shallow breathing. his fingers come underneath my chin, gently pulling it upward so that i am facing him again. the pain is still there, regret etched upon his expression as seeing the woman he loves in such a state hurts him just as much as me leaving. he takes me in his arms, lifting me up and gently kissing me again. this time i reciprocate, a small sob leaving his lips as he recognises this, his hold on me only getting tighter. the previous lack of contact had affected more than i had realised, the small reassurance of my kiss enough to crumble his usually calm temperament.
“i love you.” he whispers against me, his lips bitter with the taste of tears. that doesn’t matter to me. pressing my mouth to his as harshly as i can, my arms wrap around his neck, bringing him in even closer. he holds me so tightly, like i may slip away, the fear of losing me all too real. my small hands cup his cheeks, attempting to deepen the kiss, though doing so unsuccessfully as his voice vibrates against me. he sounds broken, his request coming out as a desperate plea, cut off by a short sob. “please say it back. you haven’t this whole time and i-”
“i love you too.” i mumble against his lips. he holds me even tighter, something which i didn’t think was possible. but considering the realms of possibility is an activity for another day. i have no time to consider anything as he kisses me once again, his touch addictive, and more than enough to make me forget everything.
#tokiohotel#tomkaulitz#tom kaulitz x reader#kaulitz twins#tom kaulitz#kaulitz#bill kaulitz#tom kaulitz fluff#tom kaulitz smut#tom kaulitz angst
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WHY has no one talked about these panels. fuck it its 12 am (at the time of me "finishing" (<- not even close) writing this, its nearly 2 am) im going to talk about them
ahem.
before i get to the Main Point i wanna discuss chils tendency to spiral into his thoughts
like, sure, yeah, he's a reasonable guy. real logical-- but he tends to rush through so many possibilities and in this scene even berates himself for his tiny mistake. every thought in this scene goes so fast to me here, just "snap snap snap, call for help, no thatll attract too much attention- wait is there a switch? crap its too far away- nevermind lets just wait for marcille- but can i trust her with that?? god im so stupid, am i just gonna be trapped here until morning???" and it takes a moment for him to stabilise and snap out of it
like... he even has a little pep talk about it
i guess you could take this as him merely being a quick thinker? but i highly doubt it -- look at this fucking guy.
anyways. hes always got to be eased out of it one way or another, whether that be complainerism (self-explanatory), strategising with another person (that way all the insecure thoughts get pushed to the back in favour of working together), reassuring himself (discussed above) or...
you. could.
distract him.
place a brick wall in front of that zooming train of thought and watch it crash and burn :)
he doesnt even respond in that first pic, by the way. in fact, he doesnt say anything for another 3 (and a bit) pages, and by then the topic has been safely switched (granted those three pages are just marcille and laios making the familiars, but i feel it still stands that there was no response at all, not even visually)
secondly, in that other instance -- see how his eyes go wide as saucers when contact is made? and how they turn into pinpricks once he looks back**? god. and. like.
oh. fuck. ive gottta continue this in a reblog since ive reached the picture limit on mobile -- i am not even a THIRD of a way through all my thoughts on this- we didnt even get to my footnote!! sit tight everyone :)
#yeah i think theyre touchy even if they dont realize it#like poke poke nudge nudge pat pat#(not to mention the fact that theyre often Right Next To Eachother)#um. ill main tag this cause i want people to see it soooo bad (+ im in need of more chilaios warriors...)#dungeon meshi spoilers#dungeon meshi#chilchuck#chilchuck tims#laios#laios touden#<- i apologise#and last but not least the star of the show...#chilaios#heehee#ohh all the normal people are gonna look at this post and squint but as long as i can drag in a FEW people my life will have vastly improve#also hello chilaios nation ! WE NEED TO DISCUSS--
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I saw Challengers earlier today and I decided to start a running doc of some of my feral thoughts in an effort to not forget what's currently marinating in my brain after my first watch
I want this movie to get a long theatrical release/run because it deserves it, but that's unfortunate because I also NEED to have it accessible to me in my home ASAP so I can pull on all its threads and take screencaps. Alas.
EXTENSIVE SPOILERS BELOW
might add to this later as I remember things, idk
-The parallel of Art spitting his gum in Tashi’s hand and in Patrick’s hand… My jaw dropped soooo early on. Anyway they obviously both act as Art’s “coach” at different times in his life in different ways. (The jerking off teaching?? Scream???) Art craves their guidance and approval as a form of love (which is also directly responsible for his confidence issues) and initially likes to follow their leads in every situation
-The parallel of Tashi making out with both Art and Patrick up against cars… delicious
-Patrick’s car is his “bed” and it’s where he and Tashi fuck. Nice
-Wait now I’m sad because… lowkey Patrick is homeless because Art and Tashi are his home…………….
-The storm = Patrick and Tashi having sex = the reason why Art’s half of the giant poster/ad on the side of the building falls down so only Tashi’s side is left up. Iconic, loooove a good visual metaphor, especially shown nonlinearly
-The parallel of the forehead kisses??? Art and Patrick on the court at the start when they won the doubles, and Art and Tashi in the sad almost-sex scene towards the end??? I will throw up
-Disclaimer and reminder I’ve only seen this movie once and might reform any of these thoughts later BUT…
One of Art’s main things is, as he tells Patrick towards the start, not wanting to be “left out.” He loves and he wants both Patrick and Tashi (but he doesn’t fully want to acknowledge the extent of his want for Patrick for years, and that repression is part of his problems…). He gets “lit up” about the thought of them together not because he’s jealous of one of them but because he’s jealous of BOTH of them; he wants to know it all, he wants to be in the room, he wants to be with them both, he despairs at the thought of losing either of them (but, at the start, especially at the thought of losing or being of lesser importance to Patrick. Obviously he’s a fucking idiot as evidenced by how Patrick goes to see him FIRST at Stanford. Ugh). We see all of this at the start when Art wants to know if Tashi and Patrick fucked. We see this in Atlanta when he witnesses Tashi cheating on him with Patrick but doesn’t directly confront either of them about it; he only skates the edge of confronting it with Patrick in the sauna while also lashing out at him. Patrick tells Art at Stanford “it’s nice to see you so lit up about something, even if it’s my girlfriend” during the homoerotic churros scene because Patrick’s clocked all of this about Art, too. He clocks it further in Atlanta when he shows up to Art’s practice with Tashi and his mere presence makes Art hit the ball harder. It obviously all comes full circle; the cocktail of emotions that Patrick and Tashi being together gives Art coalesces again for him on the court in the Challengers match: Tashi’s threatened to leave him if he loses… and she’s maybe got one foot out the door with Patrick of all people, who Art already “lost” in the past as the love he’s been mourning for 13 years. But what’s important is that THIS time, unlike Atlanta, Art learns about Tashi cheating on him with Patrick not by accident but rather because Patrick actually tells him. Patrick understands the significance of how this will get Art lit up again and make him play the way he needs to for all of their sakes, and it’s fucked up, but… what this means is Patrick doesn’t leave Art out. He TELLS Art – and he tells him in a way only they understand while they’re on the court together again. Of course Art goes through several stages of emotions in response to that fucked up information… but ultimately that moment of honesty and realization between the boys is what Art needed and puts where all 3 of them stand into sharp relief, shedding a light on who they’ve all always been and what their individual needs are.
Art’s always wanted to play tennis, but that desire is framed around his relationships. Tennis is only something he truly enjoys or that fully makes him happy when he’s experiencing it through his connections to other people: he wants to impress, earn the approval of, or celebrate with those he loves who are watching (like his grandmother or Tashi) – which is partially why he wants Tashi to be his coach in the first place. And of course, tennis all began as something Art found joy in because he was always doing it with Patrick. It’s clear Patrick feels the same. At the start, neither of them cared much about winning for the sake of winning unless it was doubles because they competed as a team and that was “really fun” for them. With the singles competition, they kind of cared less about the wins at the start; Art assumed Patrick would win and didn’t care back then, and then Patrick was willing to let Art win so he could impress his family, and they were both fine with all of those sentiments. Tennis was first and foremost something they did with and for each other. As Patrick later tells Art in the sauna, “I miss playing with you” – and, of course, at that point he’s definitely not only talking about tennis. But in that final match, after so many years, Patrick and Art finally understand each other completely again. It’s like they’re in love (because they are and always have been), they go somewhere really beautiful together… etc. They finally reconnect on the court and feel that thrill as they become synchronized again, which is what tennis was always about for them.
And Tashi, who’s irrevocably connected to them both and whose primary love is and always has been the sport itself, gets what SHE’S always wanted: to “watch some good fucking tennis.” It’s why she pitted the boys against each other vying for her number at the start. Though she needs/wants both boys in different ways on an individual level, she doesn’t particularly need or want anyone to ~be in love with her~; she wants the men who are in love with her to entertain her and challenge her and give her a show. So that’s what she tries to accomplish again in the end by telling Art she’d leave him if he lost the Challengers match… but the missing piece in her making that threat – the element that would get Art truly fired up – was that she’d potentially leave Art for Patrick. That final piece of info, when Art finds out about the cheating, is what reconnects them in all of the above ways. Because it’s about all 3 of them and their triangular codependency. They’ve all been broken for 13 years because they all need each other and tennis to be fully functional. Split any of it apart and they just don’t work.
-Literally this is a film where from the moment of the injury they’re all constantly mourning. They all lose their greatest loves that day… Tashi essentially loses tennis, Art loses Patrick, and Patrick loses the two of them. Everything after that is just them being affected by how they’re all mired in various grief and feeling incomplete… until that synchronization at the match when they finally become whole again. Going from that bed scene that was breaking my heart to the final match was HEALING. Things are still fucked up and in progress, but they’re fucked up in a way they all understand, which gives them a path forward. This movie has a fiercely happy ending in that regard… and what I’m saying is that… after the match, once they communicate further, Art and Patrick should go back to playing doubles and Tashi should coach them as as doubles team. God they’d eventually all be so happy I wanna CRY just thinking about them doing that
-I gotta say, I can't imagine Tashi pregnant. Wild to me. Sorry to their daughter. Oooo also... I think Patrick would be great with kids... when he gets to meet Lily and become "Uncle Patrick" they're gonna hit it off so fast. Help me
-*holds up Tashi watching them kiss after she orchestrated it*
*holds up the Challengers match*
It’s the same picture. Except the kisses were kisses whereas the match was actual sex.
The moaning and grunting… I’m insane.
Also Tashi’s “COME ON!!!!” is arguably the sole orgasm/climax we witness in the whole movie perhaps? Though you could argue the hug is too. In this essay I will, etc.
-Art begging for Tashi’s love/validation saying “Tell me it doesn’t matter if I win tomorrow” vs Art telling Patrick in the sauna “this is a game about winning the points that matter” / Patrick saying “I don’t matter?” AAAA oh my fucking Goddddddd I’m gonna die
-Thank you Luca Guadignino for your dedication to having Art and Patrick hold phallic drinks and food in each others’ presence. Specific shout out to Patrick at the beach party holding the beer bottle on his crotch
-Patrick = comfortable with who he is and secure in his bisexuality; honest and open
Art = repressing his queerness and his overall desires
Tashi = hiding who she is aka her dissatisfactions with life and the lengths she’ll go to because tennis is her true greatest love and always has been
COMPRESS, REPRESS... REPRESS, COMPRESS... AND THEN JUST SURRENDER, ONE TWO THREEEEE
-I need to rewatch to catch the dialogue because it was difficult for me to hear it over the music, but I think in the 3am Atlanta scene Tashi tells Patrick that Art’s grandmother had a stroke. IF that’s what she said (and if there’s no reason to believe it’s a lie Art told; like I said, I need to rewatch)… my immediate impression was that it’s a nod to Patrick being the voice of accuracy and prediction in this movie. Towards the beginning he tells Art (jokingly) that he hopes Art’s grandmother dies of a stroke, and that’s seemingly what literally comes to pass. He repeatedly clocks both Tashi and Art’s behaviors, describing them brashly to their faces (and to us as the audience), and he was right about his predictions. He’s the one who’s not repressed or unaware of who he is out of the 3 of them: when Tashi first asks if there’s something between him and Art, he looks away because he knows the answer is yes; he’s openly bi on dating apps; he tells Tashi he won’t be her lapdog unlike Art which we see later ends up becoming literal; he clocks how Tashi is hiding some of her true motivations when she seeks him out in the storm; and even from afar he predicts Art’s mindset about wanting to retire. For the most part, what Patrick does / says either seems to be or becomes truth. Hmmm, wait, as I’m typing this… something to look out for: the “I TOLD YA” shirt. Working theory: Tashi briefly wears it, she’s the voice of accuracy; then it blatantly switches over to Patrick and he wears it throughout the film and [waves to all of the above]
-Head in my hands thinking of how the word “love” is used in these tennis matches. Also something I need to make detailed note of when I rewatch
-Patrick grabbing Art’s thigh when they first watched Tashi play… oh my GOD
-Patrick pulling Art’s stool close and Art just smoothly sitting on it with no reaction… the way they kept looking at each others' lips... oh my G O D
-I just remembered Tashi referred to the boys being known as as “fire and ice.” What the fuck even.
-Tashi going to Patrick asking him to lose the match for Art… she’s literally like, "do this because I love tennis and if I lose Art then I lose the way I live tennis through him. Do this because if he loses this match he'll lose himself." And she's really like, "Do this because I know you’re in love with both of us." And Patrick is like, "A) fuck you because you know I’ll say yes precisely because I'm in love with both of you so how dare you ask this of me, and B) you’re kidding yourself if you think you don’t miss the challenge I give YOU simply by being myself because I don’t take your shit." Something something they're peers, you know
-Tbh for 13 years when Patrick gets his rare opportunities he’s @ both Art and Tashi like “you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” And the thing is that he’s RIGHT. He’s right! Art in particular doesn't want to admit it because he's trying to convince himself he outgrew being bisexual / outgrew Patrick but it's obviously bullshit
-Realizing some of the sounds in the soundtrack intentionally emulate the sounds of tennis balls and rackets???? MADNESS
#challengers#challengers movie#challengers 2024#tashi duncan#art donaldson#patrick zweig#char writes things
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i’m just saying if i had to write a final bucktommy scene at the end of s7
i’d probably have a full-circle moment of them at a romantic restaurant, this time they’re holding hands and buck only has eyes for tommy. they only pull apart when the bill comes (buck pays without hesitating)
and as they’re getting up and tommy’s helping buck into his jacket, buck remembers, oh, and asks if tommy can drop him off at eddie’s instead of the loft; he promised he’d pop over to play this new video game chris diligently saved his allowance for
and tommy says of course, he says sure, and he smiles but there’s something… else behind it. not malice, not quite sorrow, not resignation. maybe resolve? nothing buck can identify, but we see him clock it with a tiny, inquiring head tilt, a question in his eyes. tommy just smiles at him, hand on his lower back, guiding him out of the restaurant.
cut to them pulling up in front of the diaz house; Buck unbuckles his seat belt, leans over to kiss tommy goodnight, and tommy… lingers. just a second too long. he’s playing the same cautious beat we saw after their first kiss. buck doesn’t let it go this time.
so buck invites tommy to come join them for a while, to come play games. he clearly doesn’t want to leave him like this. and tommy, always clever, makes a quip about buck inviting him into someone else’s house.
buck hedges, because it’s not “someone else’s” house, not really, it’s eddie’s house. maybe buck says something about it being more of a home than the loft is?
and tommy’s got that look again. and buck, a little scared now, asks him what’s wrong. and tommy takes his hand and says “evan… i —“
“wait, tommy, don’t —“
“i think we need to talk.”
cut to inside the diaz house: chris answers the door, and buck looks… hollow, maybe. eddie comes around the corner and immediately asks chris to get the game set up while he talks to buck for a minute.
chris goes, shooting buck a concerned look. eddie gets close, asks buck if he’s okay. buck just barely shakes his head, tears in his eyes, and eddie immediately shuffles him to his room, closing the door behind them, giving them privacy.
“tommy just broke up with me.” he says it before eddie can even ask.
and eddie is shocked, concerned, because what happened? they were good, so good, buck had even said that he was really falling for him —
“yeah… he said the same thing.” and buck’s really not trying to hold back the tears but he’s not exactly crying, it’s more like the tears are just happening while his mind is elsewhere. “he said he doesn’t want to fall in love with me.”
and now eddie’s getting pissed, because what the hell? why wouldn’t he want to fall in love with him? was he — was he afraid of commitment, or did he want — ?
but buck cuts him off, barely listening to eddie, and says “he said he didn’t want to fall in love with me when i’m… already in love. with someone else.”
and then buck, breath shaky, looks at eddie for the first time since he came into the house. “eddie?” he asks, and its fragile and terrified and somehow both hopeful and hopeless, “am i in love with you?”
and we just see eddie hear this. and he opens his mouth to say something, anything, and —
roll credits.
#spec fic?#almost?#buddie#ashwrites#do we see the vision?????#911 spoilers#i guess#can anyone hear me is this thing on
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FORGET EVERYTHING ELSE IM HERE TO UNPACK THE BLITZ AND MILLIE CONTENT WE'RE GONNA GET!!!!
from what it looks like, ghostfuckers (?) is gonna be a blitz & millie duo operation (or at least moxxie is gonna be somewhere else for these parts) where blitz gets possessed AND/OR impersonated(?) by fuckface here
he looks like some kind of leviathan/envy demon in disguise? but that's just a guess. i think the memories scene here -
- matches the aesthetic and trailer color coding of this hotel/building, so i'm assuming that the possession/impersonation involves this guy using blitz's memories to control him somehow, or at least fuck him up while he's off trying to kill millie.
and oh man. oh man. these two are making me CRAZY?? FROM THE TRAILER ALONE???
what is blitz falling apart over HERE?? they're still in costume!! he's literally curled up in a ball hiding behind the couch, my poor baby what has HAPPENED TO HIM
AND THIS SCENE!!!!!!! at first i thought it was millie, then i thought no, because the hair, and then i realized wait yes AGAIN cause the beauty mark and lashes/tooth gap. my guess is that this is a flashback and GOD i am SO curious about it? who's trying to kill who. why are they fighting. HOW DO WE GET FROM WHAT LOOKS LIKE SUCH RAGE TO THE BESTIEISM WE SEE NOW?? the background looks like a saloon but blitz said he'd never been to Wrath before the harvest moon festival so what's up with THAT.
the blitz/millie dynamic is something i've been SO curious about for SUCH a long time and i am SOOO excited to find out more about them. they seem to have such a GOOD relationship right now so i REALLY want to see what makes them click so well so easily and what could potentially throw a wrench in that.
#IM SO EXCITED FOR THEM YOU DONT EVEN KNOWWWWWWW#mine#helluva boss#helluva boss spoilers#blitzo helluva boss#helluva boss blitzo#millie helluva boss#helluva boss millie#blitz#millie#helluva trailer 2
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