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bitchesuntitled · 2 days

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Wrong Delivery

Summary: Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI go on get! No outbreak/pre outbreak(you decide), fluff, smut, miscommunication, cussing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv(don't do that, make smart choices), cream pie, Joel being a dork.

A/N: First time I've ever actually finished a Joel story I started working on! Many thanks to @strang3lov3 for the encouragement and taking a look at this, @jay-zzle as always for giving me ideas and making moodboards for me because I hate doing them myself! ❤️❤️❤️

🌹This is for @morallyinept’s flora & fauna challenge! 🌹

Divider provided by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist||AO3 Link

As you rush into the building, trying to avoid the construction team surrounding the place, a timid smile crosses your face when you spot Joel, the man responsible for why you’re running late this morning. Instead of getting ready for work like you were supposed to, Joel Miller decided he wanted to spend his morning coaxing another orgasm out of you, as if the three last night weren’t enough. It’s been a couple of months of this.

It had never been your intention to start sleeping with the hot contractor who had been doing construction at your place of work, you both just happened to be at the same bar one night. One thing led to another and now it’s been this, whatever this is.

“Mornin’ guys,” you say passing the crew, each giving their own sort of greeting back, be it a grunt of acknowledgment or repeating the greeting.

“Mornin’ ma’am,” Joel says with a cheeky smile, “Runnin’ a little late?”

“Yeah, woke up late,” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up.

“There you are!” Becky shouts, making her way towards you, “Angie is up my ass right now about where you are with those reports you said you’d get done yesterday.”

“On it,” you sigh, “Nice talking to you Joel.”

“Oh!” Becky said with a smile, grabbing his bicep, “Hi Joel! You guys sure have been working hard on all of this.”

You try to keep your eyes from rolling at Becky’s consistent attempt at flirting with Joel. She has definitely tried her hardest to get his attention, made cookies “for the crew” but only handed some of them to Joel, tries to talk to him every chance she can, wearing lower cut tops so her cleavage is on full display, batting eyelashes and laughing at any dumb thing he says. It’s starting to get on your nerves, if you’re being honest. Making your way to your desk you open the drawer, shoving your purse inside before closing it and turning on your computer. You open the teams app, sending Angie a quick message to let her know you’ll put the file with the reports in the folder outside her door, grabbing the file and making your way to her office.

Becky is still talking Joel’s ear off and you have to stifle your laugh, watching his eyebrows scrunch together and his polite nod before excusing himself. She catches you as you're on your way back to your cubicle to start the work day.

“That Joel Miller is a man,” Becky sighs, walking beside you, “The things I would let him do to me.”

“Oh jeez,” you laugh awkwardly, sitting down at your desk.

“I wonder what his dick is like,” she continues, “I bet it’s big.”

You turn to your computer hoping she can’t see the look on your face because then the jig would be up.

“Uhm,” you say, clearing your throat, “You better be careful. Don’t wanna get turned into HR.”

—

“Hello,” a frazzled delivery guy announces himself at the entrance to your cubicle. “I have a delivery for you, miss.”

“For me?!” Becky asks excitedly, seeing the bouquet of flowers. The delivery guy nodded, handing her the flowers. “Who are they from?!”

“Uh… Joel Miller?” The guy says, looking at his sheet. Your jaw drops upon hearing his words. Why on earth would Joel send Becky flowers?

“Oh my god!” Becky squeals with delight, grabbing the card, “Aw! Look! It says darlin’ on the envelope!”

Becky opens the card, reading it aloud:

“Figured a pretty lady like you should have some flowers to look at. Been havin’ the time of my life gettin’ to know ya and would love to take you out. He signed it off with a heart and J. Miller! How sweet is that?!”

Beside yourself on handling this, the only thing you could think of was finding the man himself. If this entire thing between you two was just for fun so be it, but you needed answers.

“Real sweet,” you mutter standing up, “I’m… uh… I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” Becky hums dreamily, staring at the flowers on her desk.

You make your way to the front of the building, spotting Gus, one of the construction guys.

“Can you tell Joel I need to talk to him?”

“Sorry ma’am, he had to leave earlier, something about Tommy.” Gus shrugs.

“Uhm… okay.” You nod, deciding to make your way to the breakroom, sitting at one of the tables trying to collect your thoughts. Maybe it’s for the best that he left. That way the entire building wouldn’t see you blow up. Are you even still supposed to see each other tonight? That had been the plan when he left this morning. What the actual fuck, you think to yourself, give annoying ass Becky flowers to ask her out, and then fuck you? That two-timing son of a bitch!

“So fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.

—

You make it through the workday, as best as you can, trying not to think of Joel and how mad you are all while Becky continues to talk about him all day. What should she wear, wondering where he’d take her, what they would do, should she sleep with him on the first date. Hopefully, the Excedrin will kick in soon to help with the teeth grinding headache you’ve had all day. Walking to your car Becky’s shrill voice rings out wishing you a good evening.

“Yeah, you too,” you grumble, pulling your car door open and throwing your purse inside. You’re still so mad, fuming, seeing red as you drive towards your place. Once getting home, you quickly change into comfy clothes, and see you have a text from Joel.

JMiller: Can’t wait to see you beautiful ;) Leavin’ Tommy’s

You scowl looking at the text. How do you even respond to that? Petty, that’s how.

You: K.

You see the text bubbles pop up, disappear then pop up again before his face shows on your screen with an incoming call.

“Hello,” you snap.

“Hey,” Joel says hesitatingly, “Bad day at work?”

“Well, Becky got some lovely flowers delivered at work.”

“Oh?”

“Yep,” you say with a harsh pop at the end.

“And?” Joel asks, “Is that it?”

“Delivery guy and card said they were from you.”

“Fuck me,” Joel groans “Those were not for goddamn Becky!”

“Sure about that?”

“I got them for you.” Joel argues.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff into the receiver, rolling your eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s fine if you didn’t want this going anywhere but you could’ve been honest with me about it.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel groans, “I do want this going somewhere! Like I said, the flowers were for you!”

“Sure,” you say, shaking your head, “Just be honest, Joel. This has just been fun, that’s it. You’re getting your dick wet, stringing me al—“

“God damn it! I am telling the truth!” Joel growls, cutting you off. “I even have proof!”

“What proof?!” You spit back, “The proof of the flowers you sent Becky? Yeah, I saw them, and the card too. Sweet touch signing it off with a heart and then your name.”

Suddenly there is a knock on your door. You cock your head to the side, hearing the knock sound through the phone as well. Of fucking course, Tommy’s is a five minute drive to your place, making your way to the door you swing it open to see Joel standing there. His nostrils flared, phone held up to his ear, dropping it and angrily stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Just give me five minutes, I swear, they were meant for you and I have fuckin’ proof,” Joel says, holding up a piece of paper.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You groan, smacking your phone onto the entry table. “Why are you here?”

“I was on my way home from Tommy’s. Figure I’d come here first,” Joel says, holding the paper out to you, “Go on, look at it.”

You grab it, glancing it over. Farrah’s Flowers printed at the top, with your name listed as the order’s recipient, eyes bulging out of your head as you look at him.

“Told you.”

“Wait, then how the fuck did they get to Becky then?”

“Somebody fucked up, that’s all I know but that is my copy of the receipt for buyin’ them in the first place, and that is your name on it,” Joel smirks in triumph, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

Your shoulders relax as you open the door wider, motioning your head for him to come in. He gives a subtle nod, making his way into your home, you slump against the door once it’s closed.

“Joel,” you start, “What the fuck are we?”

He cages you against the door, pushing his lower half into you. You sigh, looping your arms around his neck, looking at those dark chocolate eyes.

“Well,” Joel says, kissing your cheek, “I want you,” placing a soft kiss against your lips, “More than just for sex,” he whispers, against your lips breathing in each other's air causing you to feel a dizzying arousal. Lips collide with him in a hungry kiss, tongues rolling against one another, gasping when his hands creep down to hook around your thighs lifting you, grabbing onto your ass before pulling you away from the door and carrying you to your bedroom.

Joel lays you down on your bed hovering over you, never breaking away from your lips, licking into your mouth with desperation like this might be his last chance. Arousal begins pool in your underwear. Hands gliding down his back, feeling the warmth radiating from him, lifting the bottom of his shirt until he finally lifts to fling it off.

“Don’t want anyone else,” Joel husks, lightly biting your neck, causing you to moan at the sensation of his teeth against your skin, “Just you.”

“Joel,” you whimper as his hand travels down the length of your shirt, pushing it up to expose your tits, ducking his head down. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened peak before switching to give the other equal attention, kissing a trail down the soft flesh of your stomach until he reaches the top of your leggings.

“Can I?” He asks, looking at you, fingers hooking into your waistband. You give a firm nod and he pulls them off along with your underwear. He sighs once they are off, using his shoulders to spread your legs further apart, “So fucking pretty,” he hums, nipping and kissing along your inner thighs, slowly making his way to your center.

You can feel his breath against your folds, trembling with anticipation for his tongue and lips to make contact, letting out a soft moan Joel begins lapping at your folds, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth. Tongue massaging circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair and lightly tugging.

Joel’s hum reverberated into your core. His mouth opened and he began to fuck you with his tongue while firmly holding your gaze. You’re back arched at the sensation, letting out a gasp. You roll your hips against his face, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. He grunts, moving his thumbs to spread your lips, licking a stripe up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. Your legs begin to shake at the sensation.

“Oh my god, Joel!” You whine, arching your back, feeling the band tightening within your core, begging for release. Joel sinks two of his thick fingers into you causing you to cry out, moving them to massage that sweet spot against your walls, “Yes! Oh my god, fuck!” You could feel the smug smirk on his face, knowing you’re about to come.

“Come on,” he coos, firmly licking your bundle of nerves “Let me have it baby.”

You cry his name out over and over as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing through you. He continues lapping at your folds, wanting to make sure he gets every last drop before you push his head away. He crawls up the length of your body, the denim of his jeans scratching against your skin.

“Good?” He asks, you nod giggling and he smirks, grabbing the nape of his neck you pull him closer to your face, looking into your eyes he whispers a hi. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, surging forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into your mouth, grinding his bulge against your center, the rough denim providing friction against your core. His hand moves to his belt, swiftly unhooking it and unbuttoning his jeans. Hands sliding down to help him push the denim off his hips, boxers following suit. You grip his hard length, stroking it from tip to base. Palm spreading the precome over his long thick length. Joel lets out a soft moan at the touch.

“Want you inside me,” you whimper, rubbing his cock against your slick heat. “Please.”

He bats your hand away, grabbing his cock to tease your folds more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit. You let out a moan when his tip catches against your entrance. Only for him to slide back up to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against you.

“Joel,” you begged, titling your pelvis, “Please, please fuck me.”

Joel smirks, sliding his cock back down to your entrance, feeding you his bulbous head. You writhe, feeling the stretch. He sinks into you slowly, filling you up until his tip kisses your cervix. Fingers gripping his back, each of you letting out a satisfied moan.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel murmurs into your neck, nipping and sucking on your pulse point, letting you adjust to his size, “Best pussy ever,” placing gentle kisses along your jaw.

“Joel, move,” you plead, hitching your legs up on his waist, “Need you to move.”

He pulls out slowly before snapping his length into you again, letting out a shaky breath at the harshness of his thrust. Your grip on his back tightens, sinking your nails into his skin. He lets out a hiss as he rocks his hips into you, trying to find that spot that makes you see stars.

“Fuck,” he grunted, “Don’t want anyone else, darlin’.”

Breathy moans shared between kisses, sweat slicked skin gliding against each other. He pushes your thighs back further into a mating press, finding that sweet spot inside your walls.

“Oh my god,” you whine, back beginning to arch, “Right there!”

His cock massages that spot with every stroke, causing your muscles to tighten. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, walls beginning to flutter around his shaft as he drills into that spot over and over.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls, feeling the heat of his skin slapping against yours, “I need you to come, baby. Ain’t gonna last much longer.”

You moan wantonly as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. Joel holding out to make sure you come first. The coil in your belly finally snaps, sending you over the edge, white hot electricity flowing through every limb. He thrusts into you harshly half a dozen more times before his hips stutter.

“Only you, darlin’, only want you,” he grunts, as he empties himself inside you, painting your walls with his sticky release, “only want you.”

Joel collapses, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your head, nuzzling his nose against yours, placing soft kisses against your lips.

“Only want you,” he sighs.

—

You spent the next hour, in each other's arms, talking, snuggling and kissing.

“I can’t believe you would think I’d want Becky,” Joel booms with laughter, eyes crinkling around the edges. You smirk playfully, slapping his arm.

“Look,” you giggle, “I didn’t know if her flirting finally wore you down!”

“Hi Joel!” He says in an exaggerated high pitch, batting his eyelashes, “My, you sure have been working hard!” he adds with a girly giggle, lifting his pecs to create some sort of cleavage.

“Oh shut up!”

“Did you see the flowers though? Like actually look at ‘em?”

“Not really,” you sigh, playing with a loose thread on your blanket.

“Purple tulips for new beginnings and love,” Joel says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “Jasmine for devotion,” he continues, kissing your other cheek, “and pink roses for appreciation,” he smiles before kissing the tip of your nose.

“Really?”

“Yep, the florist helped me pick them out,” Joel says, grabbing the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss, “Told ya they were for you.”

#jettsflora&faunachallenge #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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flwrstqr · 2 days

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enhypen hyung line reaction when you start distancing them

pairings: cold bf!enhypen x fem!reader | genre: fluff, ot7 work, imagines, angst ish| wc: 700+ | warnings: not proofread | an: this is the cutest prompt ever?? also bye why did i write 10x more than i thought. i didn't write all ot7 so sorry anon for that TT, i wrote too much and i thought if i did ot7, it might be a bit overwhelming to read.. may be releasing a maknae line ver soon | LIBRARY FOR MORE...

이희승 (lhs)

heeseung and you were known for having a somewhat fragile relationship. it wasn’t exactly toxic, but there was a noticeable weakness in your bond. whenever you tried to be affectionate, clinging to heeseung's arm and giving him small kisses, he would soon brush you off, saying he had a call to take. as he left the room, you began to wonder if you were being too clingy or obsessed. after all, heeseung was someone you had liked for months. consumed by overthinking, you decided to avoid heeseung. during dinner, as you prepared the food, heeseung noticed your unusual silence. your mouth was shut tight, and you showed no expression. the only words you said to him were, "come, eat." dinner passed in silence, and now it was heeseung’s turn to overthink. did he do something wrong? was he too cold? after dinner, heeseung retreated to his room, sitting in his usual chair and staring at the ceiling, replaying every conversation he had with you. a pang of guilt struck him as his usually cold demeanor began to melt away. hearing you sobbing quietly in your room, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. he walked in and wrapped his arms around you, and you felt his presence beside you. for the first time, he had a small smile on his face. your eyes were swollen from crying, but he gently wiped your tears and apologized for anything he had done to hurt you . ($U#IOEFHKDLFJ:% im tweaking) in that moment, you realized that heeseung did have a soft side, one that he reserved just for you.

rest of members below the cut !

박종성 (pjy)

you always loved comfort in jay’s presence. your friends often teased you about being clingy, but you often brushed it passed you. one day, hidden behind a corner, you overheard him talking to jungwon. “she's so clingy,” jay said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. the words pierced through you, leaving a sting of hurt. From that moment, you distanced yourself, pulling back from jay’s side. jay felt the change, your silence during dinners, messages becoming more dry and sent on delivered, and how you were always in your room. jay realized his mistake. one day as the two of you quietly were walking home, you felt a pair of fingers intertwine with yours. you turn to find jay's hand sneakily touching yours and grasping it. your eyes widened as you see jay's cheeky smile. "i'm sorry." were the two words you hear first. you realize what he meant as you feel tears falling down, embracing him then and realizing how much he actually did love you.

심재윤 (sjy)

being clingy with jake had always felt normal to you until one night when he called you clingy, unintentionally hurting your feelings and creating distance between you. the word stung, leaving you with a broken heart. locking yourself in your room, you cried for hours. it wasn't until jake realized the impact of his words that things began to change. to make it up to you, he tried everything: apologies, letters, and even attempts to talk it out with you. then, one night, you found one of his letters in front of your door, reading each word through your tears. you realized he truly had a soft spot for you. at the end of the letter, it said, "i love you, so please don't be sad, my angel." how could you not fall in love with him all over again?

박성훈(psh)

the evening air is cool against your skin as you walk with sunghoon, his presence a comforting warmth beside you. but as you enter the restaurant, his remark about your clinginess sends a chill down your spine. you bite your lip as you realize what he meant. throughout dinner, the conversation feels forced, the laughter hollow. he realizes how your voice went more and more quiet through out each conversation. your silence speaking for itself. as you walk back, sunghoon stops under a street lamp, his expression softened by the gentle glow. his apology is hesitant, but his eyes speak volumes. "im sorry, i was being mean, i truly think you're a beautiful person."

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sanjisblackasswife · 2 days

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Gojo Hearing “I Love You” for the First Time

I gen. have no clue if anywhere in the series anybody has said they loved gojo. Whether platonic or not. Its interesting and I was just thinking.

CW: Mentions of Gojo’s Past(some canon some not…so spoilers ig if you haven’t read the inventory arc), Established Relationship, Mentioned Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Some Angst(?), Soft Gojo, Reader speaks Spanish because I’m projecting 😋, Kisses

Blk!Fem Reader in Mind

“AND THAT’S WHY I DO NOT LIKE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES!..IT WAS VOMIT EVERYWHERE!”

“Can’t believe you managed to eat 6 boxes of cookies in one sitting.”

“Hey! Don’t judge it was a marathon of Digimon playing all day…good times. Not as good as the time—“

And there he goes again, your big over 6’6” boyfriend laying on his back on the couch having another yap fest after a long trip. It started off with a quiet evening of you both eating and watching a childhood movie to then actually sharing stories of your past.

You really couldn’t be more enamored by how excited Satoru gets when he speaks to you. His smile is wide from ear to ear and his dimples grow deeper. He’s also so expressive with his hand gestures you really don’t know where to look as you lay comfortable on his big broad chest.

Usually when he begins to speak about his life before you, you try to absorb and savor every moment. Since your friendship in high school Gojo wasn’t much of a talker (ironically) about his life, but as you both grown closer since his big mission with Geto to watch over Riko he managed to get a bit more comfortable with telling you more about himself.

It’s been 11 years since then and after some therapy sessions with you, Geto, and Gojo three of you managed to learn how to express yourselves in a healthier way with each other.

You watch now, almost 1 year into your official relationship with him and noticed he doesn’t talk much about his parents. Nor an adult in his life that was like a parent to him at the very least. Even when in High School you never met his family. You knew of his clan and that was all.

You always wondered where did he get his wild energy from? His dad? Where did he become so affectionate through touch? His mom? It was all a mystery you wanted to understand.

You’ve even asked Geto, his closest best friend what does he know about his mom and dad, but he always ends with “It’s better you wait until he tells you himself.”

You didn’t question it more, you respected the decision so thats exactly why you’re here. Watching and listening attentively to what your boyfriend has to say. It makes you happy seeing how much he has grown more comfortable towards you towards the years.

“And when I was 8 I remember my folks always gave me free range to use my technique whenever to practice, but boy they regretted after an hour because I—-baby.”

Without noticing your eyes blinked back at him as if you began to come back to reality again, Gojo seen the relaxed look you given him as he spoke, how your eyes were on his, but he just knew you—

“‘ not even listeninggguhhhh.”

Putting your thumbs on his pouty bottom lip, they’re so soft you smile at him, it wasn’t really something you’d expect to say to him, but his pretty big smile, his deepened dimples, everything about him caught you in a moment of venerability you just decided to softly speak at him;

“I love you.”

…just like that it was a pause.

It just slipped off the tongue. You meant it, but finally saying it out loud was a bit of a shock to not just you, but more Satoru. He had an unreadable look on his face, almost as if he didn’t catch what you said, but he definitely did. He couldn’t miss the way his body tensed up hearing those three words.

“What?”

Gojo didn’t say anything, almost as if it was a staring contest you rise from his chest to straddle him, “Are you okay?”

You jumped feeling the pads of his thumb dig into the fattiness of your hips, almost as if he were trying to massage you….very painfully. He got up though, placing you down on the couch and walking to the nearest bathroom without saying a word or looking at you. You could’ve sworn he wiped his face momentarily.

“Go—?”

He didn’t mean to, it was almost a reflex. Your words though, kept replaying in his head . He felt a bit silly being so dramatic , ironically but he couldn’t properly process what you said.

“Satoru?” You knock on the door breaking him away from his thoughts, “You okay, papa? I—oh.”

He opened the door, putting back on his eye mask and giving you one of the fakest smiles you ever seen him do.

“What are you doing, you okay?”

“yeah yeah I’m fineeeee. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“W-wait!” You playfully scoff at his eagerness as he pulls you to the front door, “I’m sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable….I know it was sudden and random, but I meant it.”

Gojo turns and exhales, clearing his throat he begins to scratch the back of his head, you can tell he is scrambling for words so you continue; “I do love you Satoru. A lot. I think I always have since we were younger, but I don’t know…today made me realize I should verbalize it.”

He wants to speak, but for one of the first times you left him wanting to just listen to you. Honestly you took advantage of it because who knows when you’ll be able to get him this quiet.

“I love your smile, I love your laugh, I love the way you explain things, I love the way you are, I love the way you care, I love how you can get on my nerves.” You ends the last part with a giggle making him finally chuckle with you, and he brings you closer to his chest. “I love you, Satoru. You are an amazing person and I am very blessed to have you as not only a friend but a partner.”

It was all too much, he felt overwhelmed he had to lift his mask to wipe the tears welling on the side of his eyes, he chuckles again, the free hand on your waist tightening, “Well damn if I didn’t know better I’d think you have a crush on me.”

You laugh, “Maybeeee…..Now. “ You smooch his cheek before grabbing your phone, “Let’s go get some food—-“

You tried walking past him towards the door but he grabs you from behind to hug you close, you can hear his shallow breaths in your ear. You’re used to his tight squeezes from behind but this one was firm. Almost as if he let you go you’ll fly away.

“Say it again.”

You smirk, his voice quivering but trying to be masked by a fake pouting tone, “I love you, Satoru.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again, but in Spanish.”

“Oh brother.”

“C’mon you sound hot when speaking Spanish.”

“Te amaré para siempre, Satoru…”

If words could explain how he felt right now with you, the closeted would be a weight being lifted off his shoulders. For a moment he no longer was Gojo the strongest sorcerer, he was Satoru.

Just Satoru.

Something he wanted to be for a long time, and now you are helping him take the first step into that.

You inhale his scent; mint, expensive cologne and his natural musky smell you love so much and rub his head as he is still buried in your neck. You turn to face him and grab his cheeks, almost hesitantly to cup them because you weren’t sure if he’d left you see him cry. Though you felt your shoulder dampen.

However he let you, his big blue eyes surrounded by a tint of pink, he tried laughing it off and he actually broke eyes contact with you, “I …um…heh..fuck—“

You knew what he was trying to say but you don’t force him, instead you place your lips on his, you felt him exhale, his body relaxing in your touch, “I know, Satoru. I know.”

Gojo couldn’t properly register why he was so overwhelmed with whatever he is feeling right now but he wouldn’t trade this feeling in the world. He honestly wanted to replay the moment you said you loved him on repeat all day.

Later that day you both go out and have your own last minute date for the evening, he wanted so badly to tell you he loves you back by trying to incorporate more of the word “love “ in his vocabulary, by saying things like “I know you LOVE this.” Or “Wouldnt you LOVE for me to take you here.” but it was hard and he sounded silly.

Satoru wanted so badly to tell you he doesn’t just love you, but he has fallen IN love with you.

Gojo finally found just one more person that gave him something he didn’t realize he needed;

To feel human.

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eraenaa · 2 days

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So High School

Inspired by the song "So High School" by Taylor Swift

Athlete Rafe Cameron x Scholarly Reader

Summary: He knows how to ball, you know Aristotle

Warnings: Jealousy, Dry-Humping, Fluff, Not Proofread

Word Count: 4,638

A/N: Re-upload because I wanted to add a bit of spice and a few more elements inspired by the song. And I wanted to clarify that the Rafe here is heavily inspired by Zach Maclaren

You’ve never considered yourself as a cliche. You did love to read, watch, and think about cliches, you would sigh longingly when you see the differing variations be reproduced in media. The kisses in the rain, the jocks getting with the nerds, the popular girls kissing the geeky boys. All of them were great in theory, but you could never see yourself taking part in one of them. Not until you met him. Rafe Cameron.

You’ve never had a high school romance, nothing that even resembled it. If you recall your high school days, nothing remote to a teenage romance was achieved. You went to balls without a date, only the company of your friends; no flings were made nor ambiguous relationships achieved and could be added to your trophy case. You were not even certain you had a crush— sure, you would find someone attractive, but not so much that you would look forward each day to seeing them in the halls or classroom. It sounds horrid and sad now that you say it out loud or when you share it with any of your uni friends, but you truly did not mind. You were just not destined to have a high school romance.

In truth, you preferred it that way. You’d rather avoid immature attachments. The shallow jealousy and petty fights you had witnessed over and over again. However, you were always curious about how they felt. How did it feel to look forward to going to school to see the one you liked or even loved? How did it feel to be a blushing mess just because they glanced back at you? What did it feel like to hold the person you wanted’s hand as you walked down the hall? What was it like to have your friends tease you for being so love-struck that it went straight to your heads? How does it feel to be down bad for someone while still being filled with the naivety of youth? But you suppose you don’t have to wonder at all anymore. The cliche things they say in the movies; your stomach filled with butterflies, your heart pounding hard on your chest, your skin tingling with electricity— you thought were just exaggerated reactions, romanticizing further the romances they produce, but they were right. Those are the exact things you felt with Rafe.

You never saw him coming. He was an exchange student from the States, admitted into your university’s football team. He was a few years older, but with his commitment to the sport, he was taken back a few years and started off in the second year. He was your seatmate on the third day of class of the term. He took a seat by your right and sheepishly asked you for a pen at the start of the lecture. You were set to mind your own business, lend him the pen, and focus on the lecture, but you could not help but notice him leaning closer to you, trying to copy down the notes you typed furiously on your laptop. You thought twice before you decided to be a good samaritan, shifting your laptop screen more clearly toward his view.

You tried not to get in between him and the professor as he was grilled to answer a question about Aristotle’s Poetics, the whole class’ eyes upon him as he stuttered and flailed to answer the lecturer’s question. You sighed and bit your lip, quickly typing up the answer as he was being shamed by your professor for not doing the readings. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, motioning for him to look at the screen and recite out loud the answer you had written. “Thank you,” Rafe whispered, leaning closer to you, who saved him from further embarrassment. You just nodded, but Rafe did not return to his place; he kept the rather close proximity of the both of you for the rest of the class. You just took his actions as his way of copying more of your notes.

When the class ended, you quickly gathered your things and tried to exit the lecture hall, but Rafe blocked your way. “I’m Rafe, by the way,” he introduced himself, letting out his hand for you to shake. You did, and he swore he felt electricity at your touch; you, too had felt it but mistook it for static. You quickly introduced yourself and tried to sidestep to get to your next class, but he was quick to block you again. “I just wanted to say thank you again,” Rafe said, trying to catch your eye, but it kept flying towards the door. You flash him a small and almost forced smile, “It’s just recitation. It’s no problem.” You said and finally looked him in the eyes. You felt your heart stutter at the smile that crossed his lips, and you once again mistook it for something else, anxiety, perhaps that you might be late to your next class that was all the way on the other side of the campus in a building without an elevator and your classroom conveniently placed on the top floor.

That was when you noticed that Rafe had still not let go of your hand, nor did he have the intention of letting you go too quickly. “I’m sorry, not to be rude or anything, but I really have to go to my next class,” you say, the tone of your voice a bit frantic so he’d buy into the guilt and finally let go of your hand. Rafe bit his tongue to prevent a grin from slipping his lips; you had the most melodious voice and the most adorable accent he heard while he stayed in your country. “Yeah, no problem… see you next week,” Rafe finally unblocked your path and let go of your hand, watching as you hastily walked out of the classroom, leaving him grinning at himself like a fool.

You were walking down the halls of your university the next day. Your headphones covered your ears and made you a tad oblivious to the surroundings around you. Rafe caught you by the side of his eye, and quickly ended the conversation he was having with his friends to get to you. He was calling your name, avoiding the sea of students who were venturing to their next class. Everyone’s head turned to him, their attention on him as he called for you, but you were oblivious to him. Rafe finally caught up behind you, grabbing the headband of your headphones to finally get your attention. You yelped in surprise at the sudden actions, turning behind you, ready to take the blow of your attacker, but you were only met with Rafe, who had an amused grin by our wide-eyed and startled state.

You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief when you realize it was not a complete stranger who had done that abrupt and rather rude action. You watch with a slight furrow in your brow as Rafe wears your headphones, momentarily listening to the song you were listening to. “What is this?” He asked with a confused look, “Patti Smith,” You answered as he returned to you your headphones. “Never heard of him,” Rafe shrugged, and you bit your tongue, “He’s a she,” You said and looked around the corridor only to realize that the two of you stood by the middle of it. Earning curious and even annoyed glances from other students because you and Rafe obstructed the pathway. You stepped to the side, and Rafe followed; you looked up at him in curiosity, “Did you need something?” You asked, wanting an explanation from him for startling you in the middle of the hallway.

“I…” Rafe trailed, not truly having a concrete reason for calling for you. “Uh… where are you going?” He asked instead, and you felt your brows twitch into a quick frown before you recomposed your expression. “The library,” you say, and he nods. “Come on, then,” He said, taking hold of the handle of your shoulder bag and carrying it for you. Your lips agape, not at all certain what is happening; you watch him walk a few steps forward, but he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “You might wanna lead the way; I’m kinda new here,” You bit your lip as you wanted to laugh. You nodded, and the two of you walked side by side on the way to the library.

“What’s your degree?” You asked him as you walked through the hallowed halls of your university. Rafe still carried your bag, and you could not help but notice the curious glances pointed at the two of you. “Finance,” you nodded but grew rather curious as to what he was doing in your literature class, so you then proceeded to ask him the question swirling in your mind. “Oh… I ran out of units; either I take that class or be underloaded,” he shrugged and opened the door of the library for you. “So you have no idea nor interest about what we were talking about the other day?” You asked and felt your stomach weirdly twist when he pulled out the chair for you and assisted you to sit. “Not really, no,” He said and took a seat across from you. “Thanks again, by the way, for giving me the answer,” Rafe said in gratitude once more. You flashed a quick smile and took your bag from him, taking out the readings for your other class. It took a few minutes of you reading your course material before you realized that Rafe was just sitting there, watching you. “Don’t you have any requirements to do?” You asked him, eyes locking with clear ocean blue ones. “Nope,” he shook his head, his lips popping the ‘p.’

“Then what are you doing here…?” You asked. Rafe refrained from letting his grin turn wider. He just shrugged and watched you furrow your brows; a cute little pout of confusion appeared on your lips. He was uncertain if you were truly oblivious or just pretending to be. What was supposed to be a productive day of reading and staying above your requirements turned into a day of laughing fits and jokes. You both tried to stifle your laughs caused by your random conversations and anecdotes, but it was proven impossible, resulting in both of you being ushered out of the library. “Oh god—“ You laughed as you recalled the stern look of the librarian as they pushed you and Rafe out. In other circumstances, you might have died in embarrassment for having to be escorted out of the library, but somehow, right now, you felt thrilled.

Rafe watched you as your laughs died down. His gaze studied the crinkle on your nose and the sides of your eyes, the way you would bite down on your lip to stifle them, but it would be to no avail because your melodious laughs still blessed his ears. “Do you want to go to grab lunch?” Rafe suddenly asked, and your laughs finally halted. You looked up at him, his expecting gaze on you, hopefulness in his ocean-blue eyes that you could not shatter. You smiled and nodded, your heart stuttering when he took the bag on your shoulder once more. His warm hand brushes with your skin, causing a jolt of electricity in you that you never thought could happen. You followed him out of campus, your mind in a hazy battlefield as to where this was leading.

You bit your lip as Rafe waved at you during their practice; you could barely make out his face through the obstruction of his helmet, but you would guess there was a boyish grin on his lips. It had been a week since the incident in the library, and quickly after that, you two found a deeper understanding between each other. You realize the cliche they insisted upon that said ‘you'll find love when you least expect it’ was quite true. You never expect to meet anyone like Rafe.

“There you are,” you hear your friend arrive, having him see you on the football field because he needed to brow your notes for a class. “What are you even doing here? I practically had to drag you here the last time I wanted to watch a game,” He asked in deep confusion, entirely uncharacteristic of you to be by the field. “Uhm…” you trailed, not having told him about Rafe yet. “I met someone,” You started, watching as his eyes grew wide in surprise. “A player?” He asked, and you nodded, “Which one?” He asked in great interest. You squinted your eyes and looked for Rafe’s number, not wanting to have to point. “The one from the States!? You’re dating a Yank?” He asked as if it was a scandal. “A Yank? Seriously? They’ve stopped calling Americans that for almost a century,” You said, trying not to laugh.

Rafe turned to you, surprised you were no longer alone on the benches. Instead, you were laughing along with some dude who sat a bit closer to you. It made him rather… curious. A good alternative feeling as he did not want to overstep with his emotions and admit to himself that he was quick to grow jealous. “Hey, good game, mate,” Rafe’s teammate complimented and clapped his back, and he returned the compliment, but he could not help but notice that his teammate’s gaze was flying over to you. “What is it?” Rafe asked as he removed his gloves, "Are you… with her?” He asked hesitantly, and Rafe turned to you, who was still enveloped in conversation with the man who was a stranger to him.

“Yes.” He said even though it was too soon and neither of you had a discussion about where the week of dates you two went on would lead. Rafe watched as his teammate’s brows shot up in surprise. “Do you know her?” Rafe asked, and his teammate nodded. “Yeah, I went to secondary school with her,” He said, and Rafe was in the midst of thinking another question to ask when his teammate spoke once more. “Good luck to you; the word is she has very high standards. A bit stuck up if you ask the other lads in our school.” His teammate and Rafe frowned in confusion. “What?” He asked, “Yeah. She was notorious in our school for being the girl no one could get. A lot of blokes fancied her rotten, but not once did she pay them mind. She was never in any relationships or flings, for that matter— and if I remember correctly, she did not even take a date to the balls.” Rafe’s teammate explained, his gaze flying to you, remembering how the boys at your school would always follow you around or try to get your attention, but you’ve always ignored them. “Anyway, congrats to you, I guess. Never knew her type were Yanks,” Rafe heard his teammate mutter and once again clapped his back before leaving.

You turn away from your friend as you hear Rafe approaching, flashing him your beaming smile that you only bestowed upon the most deserving of people. You’ve only known him a week, but you felt that your genuine smile was made to be pointed at him and as well be caused by him. “You ready to go?” Rafe asked, ignoring the presence of the guy who sat next to you because he knew himself, and if he acknowledged the guy next to you, his jealousy might shine through. “Uh… yeah, this is my friend, by the way,” You say as you see Rafe was a bit reserved at the moment. “Hey,” your friend greeted and stretched out his hand for Rafe to shake, “Hey,” he muttered and barely turned to your friend. There was a pause of steely, awkward silence that you were not certain the cause of. “I’m gonna go… thanks for the notes,” Your friend quickly excused himself, and you turned to Rafe. “Are you okay?” You asked, and you heard him let out a grieved exhale. “Uh, yeah, just tired,” he fibbed, not wanting to bring out the subject of his jealousy that was quick to stew.

“Oh, that’s a pity. My friend you’ve just met— he and his boyfriend are throwing a party tonight and I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come. But if you need to rest, that’s completely fine,” You said and watched as his lips agape slightly, “He… he has a boyfriend?” He asked slowly, realizing his jealousy was completely out of place. “Erm, yeah, why?” You asked and found it odd how the almost grumpy expression on his face quickly turned into a smile. “Nothing. Of course I’ll come with you to the party,” Rafe smiled and draped his arm around your shoulder as you two walked off the stands.

You came to the party with the thought that perhaps you could help Rafe mingle with the others in your year. He could find other friends in this foreign land, but as cliche as it was, you two were lost in each other. Everything faded, and all the two of you could focus on was each other. It was later in the night when you and Rafe’s close proximity was interrupted by your friend. “Come on, we’re going to play spin the bottle,” Your friend pulled at you, who reluctantly stood and stepped away from Rafe. “Spin the bottle? Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” You asked as you were forced to sit on the floor; Rafe was being led by your friend’s significant other to sit across from you. He flashed you his charming smile. You bit your tongue to not let the giddiness in you shine through.

“Rules first,” Your friend replied. “As always, whoever the bottle lands to, you must kiss that person, but if you do not want to, you can play for truth or dare. Your friend says, and all in the circle nod. “Okay then. Who goes first?” Rafe asked, and you turned to your friend, “Well, seeing you are the guest here in our lovely land, you get the honor to go first,” Rafe shrugged and smirked, leaning forward to spin the bottle and prayed that it would land on you, it didn’t. You turned to where the bottle pointed to a girl from your secondary school who licked her lips and looked positively excited at the prospect of kissing Rafe. You bit your lip and sat quietly in your seat, making sure that your face was rid of any reaction.

Rafe warily shifted his gaze between you and the girl, “I’ll do a truth,” he announced and saw from the corner of his eyes as the strange girl pouted and her shoulders deflated in rejection. “A truth it is,” Your friend said; there was a quick silence whilst he thought of a question. “Why did you choose truth?” They asked Rafe, and you fiddled with your fingers, raising your gaze towards the boy you had been seeing for the past week but had no label to call him. “Just… just didn’t want a kiss,” He shrugged, his gaze flying to you, who quickly avoided his. “Okay then, next,” Your friend said, and you waited for your turn, already knowing in yourself you’d skip the kiss part if it did not land on Rafe.

“Truth or dare?” You were asked and paused for a moment. Usually, you would quickly pick ‘truth’, not having the nerves to choose the other option, but somehow, right now, you were leaning towards picking ‘dare’, so that is what you had done. You hear ‘oohs’ from your friends, surprised by your boldness. “Dare, then. Okay… I dare you to kiss the person you fancy in this circle the most,” Someone cruelly said, and your eyes widened, cheeks blooming with color as you quickly regretted your choice. “No! I chose ‘dare’ to skip the kissing part! That’s unfair,” You countered, but they only shrugged and replied with “Rules are rules,”

You pursed your lips and looked around the circle. You already knew who you wanted to kiss, but you lacked the courage to do so. “Okay, everyone, close your eyes, and you pick who you want to kiss,” Your friend decided, showing you kindness, for he knew that the situation was quite too much for you. Rafe chewed on his cheeks, heart beating loudly in his chest, praying to anyone who would hear that you would choose him.

You took a deep breath and glanced as everyone had their eyes closed. You gathered whatever courage and nerve you had to stand from your seat and lean closer to Rafe. Admiring his handsome face for a moment before placing a quick, chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. You feel him twitch in surprise, and you quickly return to your seat as he opens his ocean-blue eyes. His lips were agape in shock, and he was being tugged into a wide smile that showcased his dimples. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at you, filled with romantic giddiness. The game went through a few more rounds until everyone eventually got bored, and you and Rafe were left in each other’s company once more.

The music was blaring; the chatter was loud, but not a single noise was heard by the two of you as you had been enveloped in conversation. You quickly grew entranced by how random your topics were. It could be a deep, philosophical engagement, one where you were both perplexed and engrossed by the subject, then the next, you were clutching your stomach because you were laughing so hard at one of his jokes.

“Where’d everybody go?” Rafe suddenly asked as he reluctantly rested his gaze on anything else other than you. Your lips agape as you saw the flat was cleared out, the remnants of the party and the mess it caused still present but not those who had caused it. You let out a bubbling laugh as you two were now the only ones present; not even the hosts of the party could be accounted for. “We should probably go home, huh,” You say, your eyes shifting between Rafe’s gaze and the floor that was riddled with confetti and spilled drinks. “Yeah, come on, I’ll walk you home,” He said as he stood, reaching out his hand for you to take as he assisted you to stand.

“Rafe,” You called as you two stood by the entrance of your flat. “Yes, pretty girl?” He asked with a grin, and you bit your lip to hinder yourself from grinning like a lovestruck fool. You took a deep breath before you spoke, “Not to sound so high school, but I… I really like you,” You confessed. You did not know how to relay how you felt seeing he was the first one to spur this type of giddiness in you. You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes twinkled with mirth and the smile on his lips widened. You held your breath as he leaned in and kissed your lips. It was a chaste kiss, just like the one earlier, but it was still capable of leaving you both grinning.

Your eyes alight with newfound affection as you and he stood below the pale moonlight. You sighed happily as Rafe placed his warm hand on your cheek, caressing your skin before ultimately leaning in to kiss you once more. A different, more fervent, and deeper kind of kiss than the first one shared. You feel your heart flutter and your body turn warm as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush towards him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him downwards to your height, feeling him smirk against your lips.

When you parted for air, you bit your lip as a wide, cheek-aching smile spread upon it. “I think like you more,” He said against your lips. You knew it was a line, a cheesy one at that, but your stomach flipped in violent delight, and you stood on your toes to feel his lips against yours again. “Do… do you wanna go in?” You asked him as your lips parted again, your mind spinning from the way he kissed you and pulled on your waist. “Yes,” he said a bit too eagerly, the tips of his ears growing red a he realized the slight desperation in his voice, but you simply found it endearing.

When in the privacy of your flat, you grinned against Rafe’s lips as he gently pushed you against the wall, his large frame flushed against yours. Your fingers reached to run themselves through his hair as his hands on your waist strayed hesitantly higher. “You sighed as his lips moved to place kisses on your neck, “I hope you know I didn’t offer to walk you home for this,” Rafe sighed against your neck, breathing deeply your scent as his need for you bulged painfully in his jeans. “I know,” You smiled and whimpered as you felt him nip your skin.

You were not certain if you should warn him of the truth that you’ve never done anything such as this and that you have never reached this level of intimacy with anyone. But you swallowed the words as you feared you would run him away. You gasped as Rafe effortlessly hoisted you on his waist. Your mind spun as he deeply kissed you and led you to your sofa, him sitting on the cushion and you straddling his waist. You panted as you felt his need against your core.

Rafe swallowed thickly as he gazed at you, your lips swollen and eyes filled with need for him. “I… I don’t have protection,” He sheepishly, regrettably said, and you could blink. “Oh,” Was all you could say, uncertain if you should move from the position you both were in even though your body screamed for you to stay put. “I’m sorry, I—“ He started to speak, and you shook your head, “No, don’t be,” You rested your palm on his chest and felt the erratic beating of his heart, a rhythm that matched yours. Rafe took in a deep breath and lowered his gaze as if in shame; you chewed on your lip and spoke. “Maybe uhm… maybe we could do something else?”

“Like what?” He asked hesitantly; you couldn’t really verbalize your intent, so instead, you showed it to him. Rafe’s jaw slacked as you started to grind your hips, your core rubbing against his length. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and placed small kisses on his skin as you tried to stifle your sighs of pleasure.

Rafe’s hands found home at your rear, guiding and aiding your movements. Rafe let out a hiss as he felt himself quickly be led to climax. You finally vocalized your moans as you, too, were on the precipice of your peak; your hand moved to grip Rafe’s dark blonde locks as you came, calling his name. Rafe moved to take your face into his hands and intertwine your lips as he came undone, his seed spilling out in his trousers. He never thought he could come undone so harshly with ought actually being touched by someone.

When your lips parted, and the hazy want in you subsided, you grinned widely at Rafe, who let out an amused breath. The both of you stayed silent, but Rafe’s thoughts screamed loudly in his head. Would it be cliché of him to say that he had fallen so quickly? That seeing you in the lecture hall was love at first sight, and now, even only knowing you for only a short time, he knew you were the one.

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rafesslxt · 1 day

Note

slytherin boys hc realizing they were to rough after an argument and comforting you?😭🙏

thank u for requesting, have fun reading <3

✧.*𝑺𝑳𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵 𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 | 𝑨𝑭𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑼𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻 + 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾

characters: mattheo riddle, tom riddle, theodore nott, lorenzo berkshire, draco malfoy

warnings: fighting, arguing, fluff, mention of make up sex, so a bit smut

Mattheo Riddle:

let‘s be honest, he would definetly take a moment to realize he actually hurt your feelings

his pride and stubbornness would be in the way at first

but when he sees the first tears rolling down your cheeks he slowly walks towards you giving your forehead a kiss while hugging you tightly and swiping your tears away with his thumb

"I am so sorry princess, I swear you‘re right. I didn‘t mean it like that, you know that, right? I love you so much I would never want to hurt you on purpose. Can you please talk to me again, baby?"

he would pull you onto his lap and rock you slighty while whispering sweet things into your ear telling you how sorry he is and that it won‘t happen again

Mattheo would just cuddle you for the rest of the night and maybe have make up sex with you If you‘re not too mad at him

"I‘m gonna show you how sorry I am princess." he would be a MUNCH and eat you out, never stopping no matter how sensetive you got.

"Want me to stop? Come on baby, one more just one more I promise." his tounge would flick relentlessly over your clit over and over again, his green ties around your wrists making it hard to protest.

Tom Riddle:

bro would try to manipulate you at first and tell you you‘re overreacting and too sensetive but when you leave the room and don‘t try to reach out to him for a few days..

you got his head spinning

maybe he would wonder why you‘re ignoring him until he remebers your fight which he almost forgot because it was so unimportant to him

i think he would try to get closer to you so you had to talk to him

but when you still wouldn‘t and he notices the hurt in your eyes, he would wrap his arms around you from behind and whisper in your ear how sorry he is

he couldn‘t believe he really spoke these words but you meant too much to him to loose you over an stupid argument he couldn‘t even remember at first

"How difficult was that for you?" you ask when your little frown on your fave disappears and is switched with a smirk. He rolls his eyes and presses you against him, still whispering in your ear.

"Don‘t try your luck too much darling." While his fingers squeeze your sides

100% rough make up sex where he would punish you for not talking to him

"Fuck you think you can just ignore me? Act like I‘m not there?" while he pounds into you from behind, pushing your face down into the pillow.

"What was that darling? Couldn‘t hear you over all the noises you make."

Theodore Nott:

I have a splitted opinion on Theodore to be honest

on one side he would be the sweetest and comfort you right away without thinking twice about it

but on the other hand I also see him giving you a cold shoulder, also too stubborn and ignorant to realize how much he hurt you

but on either side, when he then would notice how you ignore him he would so something romantic to make it up to you

I just see him with a picnic prepared outside at the lake with your favorite snacks and a plushy for you.

"I‘m so sorry cara mia you mean the world to me, I never meant to hurt you. Please let me male it up to you."

After the picnic and you forgiving him he would pin you down, not giving a fuck who would see you If walking mear by

"Theo! Everyone could see!" you struggle against his fingers on your clit. "hmm let them see how sorry I am principessa."

he would pussy your skirt up and eat you out like Mattheo but without the whole overstimulation

when you come for the first time he wouldn‘t hesitate or waste any time to pull down his pants and fuck you next to the lake

"Fuck we should argue more often If that‘s the outcome of it. Me pounding your tight little pussy amore." You would shoot him a glare but moan his name right after, eyes rolling back

Lorenzo Berkshire:

He would be THE sweetest ever

but also he‘s someone who try‘s to stay calm during fights but then when he is really mad, he just explodes without thinking

as soon as he sees the first tear rolling down your face he would walk over to you and hug you so tight you almost couldn‘t breathe.

"God y/n I am so so so so sorry I swear it will never happen again! Shit I‘m so stupid I don‘t even deserve you baby."

when you would forgive him and already forgot about the fight you two had, he couldn‘t stop thinking about it.

he was just so sorry he had to show you somehow so the first thing that came to his mind was buying you something you wanted since forever

a fucking puppy

"Enzo! Oh my god you did nooot!" you said in a whiny tone about to cry from happiness

"No no no princess please don‘t cry I can bring him back If you don‘t – " "What? No!" you take him out of his hands and look down into it‘s cute face "thank you thank you thank you!"

after the day went by and you two got everything you need for your new baby, you wanted to thank your boyfriend

"Oh – fuck yes." he‘d groan while you ride him, bouncing up and down "Bloody hell I‘ll give you a whole damn zoo If that‘s what‘s going to happen after." he says while gripping your hips and fucking right up into your thankful pussy

Draco Malfoy:

he didn‘t know what to do at first, your cold shoulder towards him felt like a knife in his chest even tho he knew he deserved it

he said some things to you in an argument he wasn‘t proud of, too ashamed when he knew you only wanted the best for him

The only thing he knew was showering you in gifts which would work with little things but not this. You wanted him to apologize with real words.

after days of giving you gift after gift he realized for himself that it wasn‘t going to work.

"Darling? Do you have a minute?" he would ask to which you just nod slighty

He would take a deep breath before speaking " I am sorry for what I said. I truly am. And I never should have said that to you or let my frustration out on you I‘m really ashamed of what vame out of my mouth when everything you wanted was just the best mor me."

It felt like a stone fell from his heart after speaking what he had thought for days and your happy face told him it was just what you wanted to hear

"Shit y/n –" he groans when you take him deeper into your mouth, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

"Just wait what we‘ll do after that pretty boy." you chuckled before taking him back knto your mouth and sucking him for dear life.

thank u for reading I hope u liked it 🫶🏻

taglist: @justarandomcanadiantransdude @helendeath @thatonepansexual2000 @imabee-oralizard @supernaturaldawning @sofa-couch26 @little-miss-naill @kolsangel @itsarajr @jolly4holly @hisparentsgallerryy @slytherinscreamqueen @mixvchelle @littlemadamred @ummmmmmm-username @jeannie-beannie @belle-blue @izriddle @danaeneocleous @sagetakami [if you wanna be removed tell me 💞]

xoxo sarah <3

388 notes · View notes

freyito · 1 day

Note

Hello! How are you?

I got an idea~

Can I request Boothill with the Vidyadhara reader (male, but if you want, you can use gn) ?The reader is always calm and quiet, but gets very nervous and blushes when Boothill flirts with him or hugs him (Secretly he just loves it) . The reader's tail wags nervously. And he also has sensitive horns.

If you don't like the idea, then feel free to skip my request!! (♥´∀｀)／

✭ pairing(s): boothill x male vidyadhara reader

✧ a/n: THIS IS SO CUTE!!!!!!!!! i got it the night before my job interview i think so i owe it all to you anon for getting hired on the spot. my last fic as an unemployed man... i got this job so i could whale for boothill tho. lol.

🗒 cw: male reader, vidyadhara reader, SMALL 2.2 SPOILERS, itty bit of lore building (made the vidyadhara look a little more like the yan siblings from arknights), just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.4k

ꜱᴄᴀʟᴇꜱ & ᴍᴇᴛᴀʟ

Being a Galaxy Ranger, Boothill is well-read on the species of the universe. Sorta. Given the lack of his education, a lot of what he learned was through word of mouth or having someone explain it to him, aside from text to speech.

Aside from the Galaxy Rangers and his home world, he is the most versed on the Xianzhou, seeing as they follow Lan, as well. But that doesn’t mean he won’t treat it like it isn’t a spectacle, and the Vidyadhara have always been intriguing to him.

He’s only met a couple, namely Dan Heng, and Lady Bailu, the latter only in passing. He’s sure he’s met another somewhere, and there’s surely a Vidyadhara Ranger as well. But none of them stick out to him like you do.

He’s only visiting the Luofu, there to pick up some information about the IPC from some shady courier. He doesn’t mind this, as long as it’s honest work, and he’s been in contact with this courier for quite a while. The benefit of becoming a cyborg is that when his contacts are long life species, he has a trustworthy ally for quite a while.

The problem was, the courier had told him to get it from a cycrane in Aurum Alley. Which was all fine and dandy, normally, Boothill remembered the Alley to be rundown and quiet, dead, even. But when he’s met with a stream of people like it’s a shopping mall (which it is), he was taken aback. How was he supposed to pick up information when the Alley is so… lively? The courier reassures him that it is okay, to not act suspicious, and boy, does Boothill mess that one up.

For the first time ever, he’s fishing out a letter from the cycrane’s box, sweating with the most guilty look on his face, like a dog that had just stolen some food off the counter. He stuck out like a sore thumb, as opposed to the business owners and recipients who frequented the roost. Paired with his outworlder appearance, it’s no wonder that a couple of concerned citizens came forward, even if it was just to watch.

Now, Boothill didn’t want to be considered wanted by the Xianzhou Alliance. Not at all, his deal was with the IPC and he’d rather not have the cloud knights tailing him whenever he visited. But all thought processes stop when he spots you. Whatever price the Cloud Knights puts on his head for this info is nothing in comparison to just how stunning you look to him.

He does his best to brush this incident off as not being able to find mail, and decides a couple more days on the Loufu wouldn’t be too bad. He spends the next few days attempting to court you, as he says. Really, it’s just over pretentious flirting. You do your best to ignore it at first, you think he’s just some awe-struck outworlder, but each day that goes by, your walls crumble.

You don’t return anything really, simply give him little looks and grin and bear it. But every time he says ‘Ain’t you a pretty thing?’ whenever you simply enter his line of sight, you start to feel your cheeks heat up.

Of course, Boothill notices. And he only increases his antics. You’d be attending to your duties in the skyfaring commission and he shows up to interrupt your shift, throwing all sorts of cheesy one-liners that make your head spin. There are times where you just can’t keep up and you blush so hard you fizzle out, your mind working on auto-pilot and making you turn away on your heels.

He starts to show up on your breaks, too. With food he’d think you’d like, (which is any food he buys on the Xianzhou, essentially) and the gifts start there. It’s… thoughtful, really. When he can, he shows up to Xianzhou with something in hand from wherever he’s been. It can be a rock to the most coat you’ve seen. Which, he learns, clothes aren’t exactly the thing to buy you. Not that you would look bad in them, but he decides that Xianzhou attire really does fit you. It is then that he notices the color that extends from your claws to your bicep, and he realizes that you’re ‘pretty all over’. (His words, which don’t fail to make you red in the face.)

When he starts giving gifts, that’s when your tail starts wagging. You curse your body for betraying your want to be calm and collected, which ultimately leads to a life bound by how easy it is to fluster you. Of course, Boothill notices. He thinks it is just too cute, and good Aeons, it takes him all his strength not to cup your face and say that directly to you, to make sure you hear him. Not that he won’t say it regardless.

With all of these instances, he only becomes more insufferable. And you find yourself falling for his charms. It isn’t so bad that you have someone to eat with on your breaks, and someone who’s so eager to see you when you’re working, (even if it disrupts your work Madame Yukong seems okay with it) even if he’s a very high-profile target.

And boy, he can TELL. You’re still a flustered mess around him, anytime he calls you cute, or handsome, or pretty, any silly little pet name like ‘buttercup’ or even just ‘darlin’’, your tail is wagging furiously. You do your best to hide your sheepish smile and your blushing face, but Boothill always finds a way around it. At some point, he starts grabbing your hands and pulling them away from your face, staring into your eyes. That is the death of you.

From then-on, it seems you two are semi-official. Boothill wants so badly to ask you to be his boyfriend, but he lays back with just how shy you are. He pampers you, takes you out on all sorts of dates, from just shopping to the most romantic little tea dates, where the artificial sun sets and it feels like it’s just you two. He loves it, he revels in your reactions. Ever time your cheeks are dusted pink, to where your tail won’t stop wagging that it feels like a hazard, he’s laughing it off and making it even worse.

He grows bolder with touching, too. He starts to greet you at your work with back-hugs, whispering little compliments in your ear while your tail wags, a distinct ‘wap, wap, wap’ sounding everytime it hits the leather of his chaps. He blows kisses at you when you have to focus on your work, he holds your hand any chance he gets, he plays with your hands, too. Compliments the color of your scales, traces your palm, anything and everything that can and will make you blush more. Doesn’t matter if you two are months into this flirting, he’s got you blushing.

The day Boothill plans to ask you to be his official boyfriend, he gets overly interested in your horns. Standing outside the Skyfaring Commission, he catches you before your shift starts. The artificial sun is just rising, and the streets are empty. He stands in front of the Commission, hat off and held to his chest. It’s like a scene out of a movie, really. He starts off with your name, slowly slipping from his tongue, his twang much heavier now, reaching out to you. It feels like his eyes are sparkling– like the world is sparkling, more like. He’s akin to a…. What's the name… Knight of Beauty. You heard the trailblazer talking about them with Yukong.

Your head spins, and all you can stammer out is a ‘y-yes!’ in the middle of his speech. You can’t tell if you can’t take it anymore with how warm your body is running, or if you’re just… eager. Both feel equally embarrassing. Before he can kiss you to seal the deal, he runs a steel finger against one of your horns. A jolt of electricity runs down your body, making you yelp and whine, and in the middle of that, he kisses you, holding his hat up to shield your faces from the few people out this early. It’s a soft kiss, just as romantic as his silly display of want, and he smiles against your lips. His hand comes down, slightly carding through your hair, to cup your cheek.

You try to walk off your embarrassment as you enter the Commission, taking note to text him later about what just went down. Of course, Yukong notices, but all she gives you is a soft chuckle and a smile. Thank Lan.

DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

#⁺◟freyito #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill hsr x reader #boothill x male reader #hsr x male reader #honkai star rail x male reader #boothill hsr x male reader

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asapeveryday · 8 hours

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SHOCK FACTOR ★彡PART 5

Prev. Next.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Summary: a lot of media attention and some solo time isn’t enough to keep paige away from you.

A/n: one more chap after this then we done 😛

YOU WAKE UP with a pounding headache, not as engulfing as last night but still enough to induce a groan as you lift your head from your pillow.

The hotel-white pillowcase is smeared with residual makeup and your hair feels tangled and unruly. It was surprising how well you slept, seeing as multiple things had happened the night before that should’ve kept you up till morning. You look around to see the hotel room is empty, then check your phone for the time. It’s 1:34pm, you’ve slept into the afternoon.

Your phone is absolutely filled with notifications.

JUJU-KINS😘

U up?

Coach is lit tweaking rn

U bouta be getting media trained FOR LIFE

ELAINEY 🤞

hey

can we talk pls?

ur only in town for a couple more days

it’s not as bad as it seems i swear

i was drunk

COACH

Call me when you see this message.

I hope you already know what you’ve done wrong so I don’t have to waste my time.

You’re smarter than this!

Collapsing on your bed again, you bury yourself in the sheets. Being in Connecticut had just turned out to be a nightmare, you’ve barely interacted with your teammates, your friendship with Elaine was ruined, you’ve had the most confusing relationship with Paige and you’ve made a fool of yourself online.

You shoot a quick text to Juju as well as some other teammates who’ve checked up on you, being sure to ignore Elaine’s texts. You find yourself re-reading your messages with Paige, thankfully your drunk brain hadn’t texted anything too out of pocket, and though you clearly remember her typing after your last message she hadn’t responded since then.

Your call with Coach was the most dreaded of all, you truly respected and feared her, so sitting through an almost half-hour phone call about your responsibilities, failures, expectations and repercussions was awful.

In short, you were to be off of social media until back in state, live privileges were fully revoked, if you were to be found partying and clubbing you’d be in massive trouble, you had to issue a statement on Instagram and twitter (which was pre-written by some professional), and the next practice you participate in will be the worst practice you’ve ever experienced in the history of bad practices. Most probably an insane amount of sprints.

You release your statements on Instagram and Twitter, but before deleting the apps you check out Paige’s comments. She’d obviously received a similar order. Her Instagram story consisted of a black screen and a small box of text, simply entailing how spreading love and positivity while uplifting other players is an obligation she intends to follow from this point onwards.

Her twitter had two new tweets:

paigebueckers1 : Me and (Name) have had some truly special experiences in college basketball. She’s an amazing player who is only gonna go higher and get better as she grows. When I was a junior I was stuck in crutches hoping for the chance I have now. (Name) as a junior herself is absolutely killing it on the court and I for one will always be rooting for her, competitive comments online or not. Keep doin what you’re doin @yourusername !

paigebueckers1 : God is good! 🙏

Turning your phone off, the only thing you’re thinking is ‘you’re so full of shit.’

You wonder if she wrote that herself or if somebody wrote it for her and made it seem like it was her own typing. Regardless, it didn’t matter anymore. You’d had your experience with the Big East Champion, and it was enough for a lifetime.

The amount of content coming out regarding you and Paige was insanely overwhelming. Debates online regarding your skills, looks, personality and basically anything the public can grasp were rampant. You and Paige had been a bit of a scandal ever since she shaded you on that panel, and the media had been seriously following you two back and forth between the seemingly friendly interactions and more hostile ones.

Eventually you stumble upon something different. A video of you and Paige in the background of KK and Ice’s live that day in the coffee shop. You can see yourself fumbling with napkins, and Paige approaching. It’s almost entrancing to see everything play out from another perspective, to see how her face eases into a smile at your smartass comments, to relive your own amused emotion at her stare, to watch Paige speedily write her number on a napkin before the camera shifts and the live ends.

You’re unsure how to react to all of this. No matter how close or far you could get with Paige, would it ever amount to anything? To the slightest bit of trust? Her lips were almost on yours that evening in the street, but just an hour earlier she had lied to your face about knowing Elaine.

You recall what Elaine drunkenly spat out during your argument outside the bar.

“N’ I’ll tell you what. She’s going to play your ass and you’re never gonna get over it, cus that’s what she does.”

Was this spoken out of experience, or a mixture of jealousy and intoxication? Had Elaine once been that girl on the street, inches away?

You can’t help but think it wasn’t the case. Paige bit her tongue around you to stifle a laugh or to hold back a rebuttal to your teasing. When it came to Elaine, Paige bit her tongue in a different way. A loathing way. You couldn’t explain it.

Plus, Elaine had said herself that you were not Paige’s usual type. If she meant you and her were not alike, that was the truth. You and Paige had more of a history, more similar lifestyles and experiences, more. At least you assumed so.

Finally, you decide you’ve done enough thinking for the day. It was time to line up some plans, maybe meet up with the team for a couple hours and then hoop solo in the evening. Anything to distract from the situation.

The sound of a basketball against the blacktop, the hollow bounce that always found itself back to your hand. It’s sustenance to you, it’s breathing.

Storrs had been blessed with a hotter Sunday then usual, even in your shorts and t-shirt you were sweating, shooting hoops the same way you’ve been doing since you were a child.

The court was empty and outdoors, perfect for you to hold the ball for a moment and admire the scenery, the changing colours of the sky as afternoon fades to evening.

You hear the bounce of a ball again, but yours is secured in your hand.

“Hey.”

You’re not surprised to see her. The sink in your stomach as you meet her eyes in almost predictable.

“What are the chances.” You scoff. “Don’t you have like, the entire UConn gym to hoop?”

“I come to this court all the time.” Paige narrows her eyes. “It’s usually peaceful.”

“I figured.” You say curtly, turning your head to see the setting sun. It was very peaceful, even with the impending silence between you and the blonde.

“How drunk were you last night?” Paige asks.

You spin around to give her a look. “Drunk enough to get on live,” You scoff. “but sober enough to read a text and send it without regrets.”

At the mention of your short conversation with Paige over text, you can see her cringe. She obviously hadn’t been expecting you to find out about her relationship with your friend, let alone be so upfront with it.

“I never fucked her in my car…just so you know.” She finally manages to breath out.

You almost bark out a laugh at this. “You think I’m mad cus you fucked her?” You ask, walking towards Paige and lightly dribbling the ball. She simply stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“Are you not?”

“Is the blonde fucking seeping into your head?” You snap, mentally celebrating as her lips forms a straight line. “If you don’t know, you better figure it out.”

Paige brings a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead as if it’s aching. Her eyes are wide and analyzing you, thinking of the best way to respond.

“Go on,” you tease her. “tell me why I’m mad.”

You’re close to her now, too close for comfort. You can see her smile lines, her plush lips, her silver chain glinting beneath the black long sleeve she’s wearing. The sleeves are rolled up, and you can’t help but noticed how veiny her arms are, how her long fingers are holding the basketball against her body.

Biting her lip, Paige finally responds. “You’re mad because I lied.”

“Smart girl.” You scoff, almost choking on your breath when her jaw clenches at your comment. “I’m mad cus you lied to my face. And cus you went on live and shit talked me again for no reason.”

You and her stare at each other for a long moment before she breaks a smile. “That was my bad.” She murmurs. “I was uh, Ion’ know. I was in sum kinda mood.”

“The mood to lie?” You raise your eyebrow. “Or the mood to be a bitch?”

“Don’t call me a bitch.” She scowls, and you’re reminded of the last time you called her that, at the end of your game against UConn.

“That’s what you are, Bueckers.” You say with a smile, eyeing her down and getting in her face just a little more. “Bitches lie, bitches make problems out of nothing.”

Her eye is fiercely trained on you, on the way your lips move as you degrade her. You can’t tell what she’s thinking in the slightest.

“(Name), I’m sorry.” She says softly.

Once again you two are staring in silence. The proximity is intoxicating, you can practically smell her clean clothes.

“Are you still fucking Elaine?”

“Hell no.” Paige shakes her head furiously. “That ended a while ago. We haven’t talked in like months.”

“She still has your location.” You grumble. “That’s how she knew I was with you at the restaurant.”

“Shit.” Paige groans, immediately pulling out her phone. “She interrupted us on purpose then? Psycho.”

You watch as she turns off her location for Elaine and blocks her before slipping her phone back in her pocket.

“We didn’t hookup for long.” Paige says, obviously feeling the need to explain herself. “Jus a couple times. I broke things off, she couldn’t accept how busy my schedule was.”

You shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Guess she couldn’t accept you and me either, huh?” Paige smirks, shooting you a ‘forgive me’ type look.

Ignoring the swell in your heart at the stupid comment, you just chuckle and shake your head.

“Do you wanna 1v1?” She asks almost sheepishly.

You think for a moment.

“You sure I’m on your level?”

Paige looks embarrassed for a moment, remembering what she said on her live. “Quit playin.” She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, show me what you got.”

You’d be lying if you were to say you knew the score.

Was she taking score? You and Paige were equally insanely competitive, but this wasn’t a true test of skill. This was a test of endurance. A test to see who would break first.

You knew this when her hand grazed your waist as she darted past you to the other end of the court, or when she stared you down, tongue between her lips as she blocked your shot. You retaliated yourself, letting your hand linger a bit too long as you helped her up from the ground after tripping her up, or whistling at her as she makes another three.

The heavy breathing, the piercing stares, the cold air as the sun disappeared. You were in a zone you’d never been in before, somehow equally focused on the game and the girl.

You manage to steal the ball from Paige in a swift moment, but suddenly she’s in front of you again. Her hands dart for the ball, attempting to smack it out of your hand. She almost manages to steal it back, but your grip tightens just at the right moment.

She’s stuck to you, her hands attempting to pry the ball out of your own. You can hear her breath, you can see the beaded sweat on her forehead, you can feel her blue eyes watching you, watching your chest widen and shrink with every inhale and exhale, watching your lips.

It’s a replay of the college game that started all of this.

You struggle for a moment longer before the tousle is not longer controlled, the ball slips between both of your sweaty hands. You and Paige both scramble to save it, but it bounces out of your grasps and away from the court.

Neither of you chase after it.

She’s still up close to you, face flushed from the game.

“What was the score?” She huffs, out of breath. Paige’s voice is raspy and tired. You feel something spark inside of you.

“No clue.”

Paige’s face breaks into a small smirk as her hands find your waist, uncertain and soft, just barely ghosting your frame. “That was my ball.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, your heart hammering at the feeling of her eyes exploring every part of you, lingering on your lips before she finally leans in.

Paige’s lips are rough against yours, but fit perfectly as if moulded for your own. She melts into you, her hands finally tightening around your body, her face tilting just right so she can finally taste you. It’s something you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. She kisses with a million emotions, with urgency, passion and the slightest bit of control. It’s electrical.

When you need to break the kiss to breath, you simply tug on her ponytail. You were not expecting the slight whimper as your lips part.

“M’ not done.” She mutters against you, catching her breath.

“I want you, P.” You whisper, looking up at her. Paige’s face immediately changes at this, lips tilting upward in an annoyingly charismatic way.

“I know you do, baby.” She murmurs. “Let me take you home.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #paige buckets #rpf #rivals to lovers #paige x reader #uconn women’s basketball #f/f #series

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bunkoos-mole-enthusiast · 2 days

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Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs:

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors:) Muse: You were someone that held Jungkook's interest. Clad in satin dresses with a hummingbird tattoo on your skin, you occupied his thoughts, consuming him with a curiosity that toed the line into desire. And so the story goes: a photographer and his muse. https://satnin-darling.tumblr.com/post/655726465013481472/muse-m-one-shot-jeon-jungkook-88k

Bicker: It’s after the Permission to Dance On Stage online concert and it seems that your boyfriend, Jungkook, had left out a few details regarding the performance under the guise of a surprise. Ordinarily, you were surprised, floored in fact, but this doesn’t stop you from bickering over the details https://satnin-darling.tumblr.com/post/666056010064166912/bicker-m-one-shot-jeon-jungkook-37k

Coquet: On your brother's wedding, you dread travelling to see your family whom you have successfully avoided for over a year after moving across the country for work. In an effort to save face, you hire an escort to get them off your back and perhaps even make your ex, who happens to be the best man, jealous. https://shina913.tumblr.com/post/685450287470854144/coquet-series-jjk

Gradation: On your wedding day, your fiancé leaves you at the altar. While reeling from the embarrassment and heartbreak, your best friend, Jungkook, wants to do everything that he can to help you heal. https://shina913.tumblr.com/post/669257860034723840/gradation-series-masterlist

Permission: You get more than what you bargained for during your friend's bachelorette party weekend. https://shina913.tumblr.com/post/710216388356227072/permission-jjk

Burning Bright: There are no secrets in the drift, if Jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he'd turn away from you. Pacific Rim au. https://snackhobi.tumblr.com/post/631929853435854848/pairing-jungkook-x-reader-word-count-74k

Just A Little: “What are you doing,” he asks, lips slightly pouty still, like they’re betraying him. “Just kissing you a little…” he can feel your minty breath on him when you say this. https://www.tumblr.com/soft4gguk/688764281930547200/just-a-little-jjk-drabble

Little Bean: Nothing has been normal for Jungkook since he moved to Seoul to become a trainee as a boy, and yet noticing a beautiful girl in a coffee shop is the most normal thing a young man can do. Asking her out, super normal. Falling in love, totally normal. Everything about Sasha makes him feel normal and important, and yet nothing can ever be truly normal when your relationship has to be secret. https://archiveofourown.org/works/27237484/chapters/66536458

Flux: Tour has ended but life only moves faster as Jungkook prepares for another album and Sasha gets exciting new career opportunities she just can’t say no to. What seems so pure and strong on summer vacation struggles under the onslaught of external pressures, internal demons, and missed connections. How can they ever find stability together when both their lives are so full of churn? And if the currents do tear them apart, how will they find their way back to each other? https://archiveofourown.org/works/33049219/chapters/82034974

Welcome To The Underworld: In a dark little second-hand shop downtown, stuffed in an alleyway you only stumbled into because you were lost, you found a charming antique radio. When you turned it on, it began to play what would become your favorite radio show, “Welcome to the Underworld”

**“Good evening, hellions and harpies, this is your host, JK. For those who are new here, do your best to hold on to the scraps of your sanity and Welcome to the Underworld” ** https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759436

#bts jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic recs #jungkook imagines #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #bts fic recs #bts smut #bts imagines

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koqabear · 2 days

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For the 2k event I would love to see football player!taehyun x cheerleader! Y/N and idc what the scenario is I would just love to see some spicy smut 🥵🥵 thank you!

[2K Masterlist]

"How not to scare off the stupid flirt that won’t leave you alone."

football player!Taehyun x fem!cheerleader!reader // wc: 5.7K // genre: college au, one-sided enemies to lovers, smut, MDNI.

warnings: i glanced over it does that count as a proof read, slight himbo tyun, (?!) mans a munch, switchy/kinda sub leaning service top! tyun (!!!?), switchy/dom leaning! mc, strength kink, degrading, praise, oral (f. rec.), dry humping, hair pulling, begging, bondage, creampies, overstimulation, lmk if i should add anything!

notes: went just a bit overboard rawr

Taehyun— star player of the football team, a total womanizer and flirt— has taken an interest in you.

It was only a matter of time before he set his sights on you, wasn’t it? The cute cheerleader who was nothing short of energetic and endearing, waving your pom poms excitedly and sporting a bright smile on your face that never ceased at every game— you were easily the smartest person there, given a full-ride scholarship and spending your weekdays cooped up in the library studying, a complete switch from the preppy persona you put on display for the students and families in the bleachers, never giving anyone the time of day and focusing solely on your studies— in short, you were entirely unattainable.

Which only served to entice Taehyun more.

You never gave in to any of Taehyun’s advances— every wave, greeting, or call of your name was strictly ignored; any attempts to be friendly with you were thrown straight into the gutter by a single glare of yours, and Taehyun found himself lucky on the days you would even look at him willingly.

Of course, your withering glares and upturned nose as you walked away from every approach would have any sane person tucking their tail and giving up immediately— but Taehyun wasn’t just anyone, and he found that it was quite fun to try and rile you up whenever he saw you— in and out of uniform— and it made his friends wonder if he was simply a masochist.

“Dude, she looks like she’s ready to blow you up with her mind every time she sees you,” Yeonjun told him once, recounting the way you sneered at Taehyun the moment he tried to interact with you after the game, yet another successful win under their belts, “you mean to tell me you’re into that?”

Taehyun never bothered to deny such accusations; why would he, when he felt himself smile a little wider every time you told him to get lost, or would feel himself eager to chase after you when you would simply turn on your heel and walk the opposite direction whenever you made eye-contact with him? And if he spent nights staying up and thinking about the way your bright smile lit up the stadium and the bow on your head would bounce cutely with each stunt you performed, that was no one else’s business but his own.

To Taehyun, you were the most refreshing part of every game; to you, Kang Taehyun was a stupid tick you just couldn’t get rid of.

All charming smiles and smooth flirty lines— you were warned of him by your team, you knew that he was nothing but trouble the moment the rumors of his reputation started swimming around from ear to ear— a cocky D1 athlete that couldn’t stick to a single girl for more than a few days.

So how is it possible that he’s still bothering you? He’s been after you since the season started, following you around dumbly and trying to get you to cave with even dumber lines you know he’s used on other girls. You never even bothered to bat an eye at him— you’ve never spoken to him past a snide remark telling him to get lost; you’ve shown negative interest in him, but even so, you still catch him staring at you with stars in his eyes.

“Hey,” Taehyun says, managing to catch you after the home game has ended; still in your full face of makeup, so tired that you haven’t even bothered to change out of your uniform yet— you sneer on instinct, turning on your heel and walking the opposite way you were heading, even if it meant taking the farther exit— but Taehyun simply runs after you, not fazed in the slightest at your behavior, “Great game today, right? You guys were awesome. Your routines were super cool.”

“They’re the same ones we’ve been doing for a while now.” you comment dryly, tugging your duffle bag’s strap over your shoulder more; Oh, you can hear Taehyun mumble softly— you wonder if this is the moment he decides it's no longer worth it to pursue you. But again— things are never that simple for you.

“Still, I just never get tired of watching you.”

You falter; Taehyun senses it, just like you sense his searing gaze on your face.

“You’re not supposed to be watching me,” is all you’re able to say, albeit softly, a lot weaker than your usual dismissive tone.

“I know,” Taehyun hums softly, tilting his head as he continues to watch you, analyzing your expression acutely, “it’s just hard not to.”

Alright, you find yourself thinking, coming to a complete halt the moment you feel your heart fluttering hopelessly, this has to stop.

“Wow. Smooth,” you say apathetically, pursing your lips in distaste and observing the man before you— his relaxed, cocky demeanor, the lazy smile that pulls at his lips, his head that tilts curiously, grown out hair covering his eyes and hiding what he might be thinking— and you scoff, voice dripping with distaste as you continue, “how many girls has that line worked on already?”

“None. One, maybe,” Taehyun quickly says, taking a step closer to you, until you’re able to smell him, the natural musk mixed with the fading scent of his cologne, “if she decides to give me a chance.”

Your lips press together, your face unimpressed; he raises a brow at you, as though asking for an answer— swiftly, you roll your eyes and ignore his silent queues.

“Not happening.” you’re turning around again, your pace must faster now, “go bother someone else who’s willing to be part of your roster.”

“I don’t want someone else,” Taehyun groans, jogging after you and placing himself in front of you, just so you’ll actually give him the time of day, “I just want you.”

“Oh really?” you laugh mockingly, entirely unconvinced by this act he seems to be putting up, “So if I fuck you, will you finally stop throwing a tantrum over something you can’t have?”

He’s stunned; with hands on your hips, you step closer to him, getting up in his face as you continue to taunt him.

“Are you gonna get bored and dump me after? Hmm?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and taking a step back— Taehyun remains bewildered. “You’re probably not even worth it, actually.”

Just like he did earlier, you raise a brow; mocking him, waiting for him to respond as you tap your foot impatiently— instead, he remains silent, eyes scanning your face, as though waiting for you to say something else— you roll your eyes and shake your head, more than ready to push past him and finally go shower in the comfort of your own apartment.

Your shoulder almost pushes against Taehyun’s body as you go to leave— but you’re stopped in your tracks before you can get the last say, a strong grip on your bicep keeping you still and turning your body around roughly— your duffle bag swings and the strap falls down your arm at the action.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Taehyun says, leering down at you with dark eyes— he’s irritated, teeth gritted and brows knitted together as he speaks.

“Awh, is your ego wounded now?” you ask, pouting and batting your eyes at him, feeling his fingers dig into your skin as a result, “does it hurt your big macho pride to get rejected?”

Taehyun doesn’t say anything to that— his eyes seem to do the talking for him, narrowed dangerously at you, but even so, you still don’t care to take the hint.

“Or— don’t tell me,” you make a point to lower your voice to a whisper, looking around skeptically for anyone else that could hear— but, the stadium was empty at this point, “did I hit too close to home? Oh no, are you that bad of a fuck?”

Taehyun’s jaw is clenched; he takes one look at your pouting, pitied face, at his fingertips that dig into the muscle of your bicep, and inhales slowly— and with one last glance around the area, he turns away and begins to roughly tug you along.

“Woah— hey– hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing—?!”

You’re yelling and bitching at him, slapping at his shoulder and calling him names he could never come up with himself— and yet, you stumble along, refusing to take your arm out of his loosening grip— your actions speak louder than your (abrasive yet creative, Taehyun will admit) words; you’re curious, and Taehyun can already picture the look on your face the moment he finally brings the two of you into the empty locker room he previously raced out of just to look for you.

“What the hell man?” you yell, allowing yourself to be tugged further into the room, straight to a secluded corner that you immediately get backed up in; his hands are on your shoulders as he presses you firmly against the metal lockers, your back arching to get away from the uncomfortable feeling— he’s got you caged in with his body, unable to do anything more than press your hands against his chest in an attempt to keep your distance. You reluctantly take note of how firm his muscles feel.

“What’s your deal?” you roll your eyes, noticing that he has yet to explain himself, resorting to glaring down at you with his stupid, big brown eyes, “Is this all you can do? Don’t know how to use your big boy words so you resort to force instead?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he suddenly says, his voice quiet and restrained as he eyes you carefully; your eyes widen, as though you weren’t actually expecting him to say anything, “all that talk for someone that doesn’t wanna be here.”

Your body heats up instantly at his words; you feel like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes, trying to find your rebuttal yet faltering under the heat of his gaze— he looks pissed, as though he’ll pounce on you the moment you say something wrong.

“I don’t,” you finally say, the words not as confident as you wish they were, “you were the one that dragged me here.”

“Really?” he asks, raising a brow at the way you scoff and glare at him, standing your ground even if you both know you’re lying; his hands fall from your shoulders and he takes a step back, watching as you simply remain there, shocked.

“Then leave.”

The look on his face is much too smug for your liking. He crosses his arms and smirks, taking another step back and nodding to the other side of the room, telling you that “the exit’s over there.”

You take a step forward, only to hesitate. Your eyes narrow at the sight of him, deep in thought before you finally kiss your teeth in distaste.

“God, you’re so fucking insufferable.”

Taehyun doesn’t get a chance to say anything to that because you’re all but leaping onto him after— you’re taking hastes steps to him and your hand reaches out for his nape, digging into his hair before pulling him in towards you for a kiss; to say he was expecting this would be a lie, but he’s more than prepared to melt into you anyway.

You’re nothing like the sweet and innocent persona you put up for the stadium; you’re insatiable, kissing Taehyun like you were starving, a hand reaching up to place itself on his chest, the feeling welcomed until he realizes something— you’re pushing him back, and before he knows it, he’s the one slamming back into the lockers.

His hand falls onto your hip, the other coming up to cup your jaw; his fingers wander endlessly, going from the pleats of your skirt to the elastic waistband, sly fingertips sneaking beneath before he’s pulling away and reaching down to cup your ass— he’s groaning into your mouth at the feeling, your teeth sinking in retaliation to him groping you like a bitch in heat.

Taehyun’s mind is racing a million miles a minute; he never actually thought he’d get here, but now that he did, he’s found himself to be feeling ridiculously antsy— he wants to feel you, take his time to memorize every detail of you, but he also wants to perform ever fantasy he’s ever had about you, bad.

And if he thinks he’s good at masking his desperation from you, he’s wrong. Very, very wrong. You could feel it from the way he kissed you back to the way his dick hardened in what you think is record time, his motions growing hasty as he couldn’t stop feeling you up, as though he’d die if he didn’t go from venturing up your shirt to grabbing at your ass, going back and forth and fucking up your balance completely�� at this point, Taehyun was only left against the lockers because you were full on leaning on him.

When you pull away from the kiss, lips swollen and entirely out of breath, Taehyun chases after you; his eyes are low lidded and dazed as he looks at you, confused on why you look at him as though you’ll start laughing any second now.

“Where’s that smooth guy from earlier?” you taunt, punctuating your words by pressing yourself firmly against him, listening to the quiet hiss you get in return, “you almost made me think that your reputation was actually true.”

God, he’s so predictable. You can barely hold back the smile that tugs at your lips, watching Taehyun’s reaction intently; it was like a light finally turned on in his head, glassed over eyes finally becoming conscious as he blinks at you, words registering in his head and grip slowly become harsher; his hand falls from your face and down to the small of your back, pulling you close and raising a confused brow at you.

“What reputation?” he asks, the faux innocence making you roll your eyes.

“Oh y’know, just some girls saying shit. That you fuck the living daylights out of them, or whatever,” your hand that was braced against his chest trails up, fingertips going to the underside of his chin to flick his head up playfully— his eyes are pinned on you the entire time, and you giggle mockingly. “But all I see here is a horny teen that gets hard over a little bit of kissing.”

You’re baiting him— it’s so obvious and you both know it, but that doesn’t stop Taehyun from biting the said bait shamelessly, dark eyes glaring daggers at you challengingly as stares you down.

It all happens too quickly for you to process; your positions are being flipped around yet again and your back is slamming into the lockers, letting out a small yelp at the feeling— but it’s all washed out by the sight of Taehyun falling to his knees, pushing your legs open before he’s settling himself between them comfortably— his eyes sparkle under the lights as he looks up at you, the crude contrasting bringing a wave of heat throughout your body.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this,” Taehyun rasps, grabbing your leg before he’s lifting it up, feeling your hand on his shoulder at the unexpected action; he merely chuckles, placing slow, wet kisses from your inner knee before he begins to trail in— once he’s at your inner thighs, he slings your leg over his shoulder leisurely, sucking and biting at the skin before mumbling against it, “fucking dreamed about this.”

His words are pathetically effective— your panties feel uncomfortably stuck to your cunt, and the anticipation of feeling Taehyun’s mouth there definitely isn’t helping.

“Bullshit,” you grit, your free hand reaching down to lace into his hair; your nails scratch along his scalp and pull at his roots, and Taehyun shivers at the feeling, “god, do your other hookups like it when you say this shit?”

Beneath your skirt, he shakes his head, fingertips digging into your thighs at the thought. You’re trying to provoke him, it’s obvious, yet Taehyun can’t help but get irritated at the fact that you seem to be focusing on everything but him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever talked to like this,” he says, pulling out from under your skirt to bring your panties down, dragging them slowly until they’re finally off— you note with wide eyes that he immediately pockets them. “I’m usually not much of a talker.”

“But if you hate it that much, I can be quiet,” he murmurs, beginning to go back to your cunt again, bunching your skirt at your hips so you can get a good view of him— his doe eyes flicker up at you, and you swear he must know what that does to you as he continues. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

The dry laugh you let out comes out shaky and breathy; his affect on you is so obvious, yet you still seem to want to hide it all under this persona of yours, digging your heel in his back and tilting your hips closer to his face— he oggles at how visibly wet you are, a soft hiss leaving his lips as you pull at his hair, not giving him a chance to react before you’re pushing him in to where you need him the most.

If you’re finally gonna give in to this stupid student athlete, it’s going to be on your terms. At least that’s what you tell yourself, a shaky moan escaping you and your grip tightening on Taehyun’s hair— he really doesn’t want to waste any time, you note.

His mouth feels like heaven; he’s quick to lick a stripe across your cunt, tongue digging at your needy hole before he comes up to your clit, licking at it teasingly until he finally hears you whine. His lips are soft and plump as he places messy kisses at your clit, his hands digging into your thighs in an attempt to stop you from shifting around so much— if anything, his bruising grip only serves to rip out another moan from you.

“S-shit, Taehyun— just like that, ah,” your moans are just as pretty as you— Taehyun feels like he’s in a daze as he presses closer against you, sucking your clit harshly and listening to the sweet whine you let out— he can feel his cock twitching pathetically in his pants, hips bucking at the air as his mouth moves down to your entrance.

“Fuck!” your eyes screw shut as you feel Taehyun’s tongue enter you, the tip of his nose pressing against your clit as he nuzzles into your cunt, as though he could get further inside your pussy. The sighs and grunts he lets out aren’t lost on your ears either, cunt clenching desperately against him as you begin to wriggle out of his grip without realizing.

“Mmmh, pretty face was meant to get fucked,” you groan out, the words slipping out of you without control. Your hips rock and grind against him, dazed eyes watching as his hold on you loosens and his tongue lolls out; watery eyes flicker back up to look at you, glowing from your compliment.

Taehyun thinks that he could die happily like this. Your cunt is so sweet, so wet, the glide of it against his face enough to have him throbbing painfully in his pants. His jaw aches and it’s getting hard for him to breathe, but even then he refuses to stop— the sight of you is like a dream come true for him to pull away now.

You’re so close— it’s evident by the way your hips start bucking against his face harshly, nails digging into his scalp as you push him closer, impossibly close— your mouth is left open, soft moans turning into curses as your leg tries to hook him in further, pressing against the firm muscles of his back— Taehyun’s eyes flutter shut, and before he can really second guess himself, he pulls away.

The wet sound of his mouth leaving your dripping cunt should have you curling away and cringing in embarrassment. Instead, the only thing you can muster is a cry of his name, the sound venomous and disappointed as you glare down at the boy.

“Sorry,” he says, voice broken and raspy, a panting and blushing mess, “I just— fuck, I need you.”

You’re left speechless at his desperation— but Taehyun doesn’t seem to mind, getting back up to his feet before he’s grabbing at your waist and leaning in to kiss you; you can feel how hard he is against you, and it allows you to snap into your senses as you go up to place your hands against his chest once more; pulling away, you push against him in order to get him to walk— he obeys immediately.

“Geez, you give a guy a chance and he starts acting like a little virgin,” you sneer, noting with a flip of your stomach that Taehyun only grins, unaffected by your jab. You’ve led him to the edge of the bench set in the middle of this small area, pressing down on his shoulders and getting him to sit down; he watches with stars in his eyes as you straddle his lap, sitting your dripping cunt over his bulge firmly. “Am I gonna have to put in all the work here?”

“I mean,” Taehyun trails off, his hands finding purchase on your ass and beginning to guide you to rock against him; his teeth sink into his lip and his eyes darken as he takes in the sight, drawing a gasp out of you as he bucks his hips up. Looking back up at you, his face is happy and sweet. “You really don’t have to. But it’s kinda hot to get bossed around by you though— just thought you were more into that.”

Your jaw ticks. Without warning, you push him down against the bench, hovering over him and placing your hands on his waistband as you begin to undo his jeans.

“Quite a weird way to try and play off that you’re my bitch,” you grit out, tugging at his boxers and watching his cock spring out— he groans, hips bucking up at the feeling, his tip a pretty pink that throbs and leaks pathetically.

Taehyun laughs softly, watching with awe as you spit in your palm and slowly begin to stroke him; his head falls back and his eyes screw shut, noting with coy satisfaction that your hand doesn’t fully wrap around him.

“Yeah, I’m your bitch,” he sighs out, his hands flying to your waist and getting him to sit on his thighs, “fuck, you’re too good at this.”

God, he’s so stupid; giving in to all your taunts without much of a fight, sucked in entirely by the feeling of your hand that pumps his length so slowly, tightening your hold on him and twisting, squeezing his tip teasingly— his hands reach up to cover his face before he can stop himself, pretty hands obscuring his heated face and parted lips that let out soft sighs of pleasure.

“Don’t hide from me now,” you say, reaching up to pry his hands away, his eyes fluttering open before locking with yours, “you look so good like this.”

His eyes widen, the tips of his ears reddening with a cute blush; your praise is so unfamiliar, yet it renders him weak and needy for more, reaching out to grab your waist to scoot you up more— your cunt is touching his length by the time you scold him to stop, though he doesn’t seem to care much for your orders as he begins to fuck his hips against you.

“C’mon, just fuck me already,” he groans, your eyes as big as saucers as he continues to whine and beg. “Aren’t you supposed to like, use me and stuff?”

This… is not what you were expecting from him.

You’re sure the words are written across your face too, the incredulous look you give him making him shrink slightly, as though he was just now realizing what he was saying.

But before he can backtrack and say something monumentally stupid to cancel it out, you grin, hovering over his lap and grabbing at his cock, lining it up with your entrance and taking in the way he visibly shudders.

“You sound so cute when you’re begging,” you say, running his tip along your slit, allowing it to collect your growing arousal, the sound loud to both of you, “y’know, I would’ve given you a chance much earlier if you acted all nice and cute like this from the start.

“That player persona of yours wasn’t really my thing.”

The head of his cock finally breaches your entrance; Taehyun moans at the feeling of you finally sinking on him, able to feel the way he stretches you out the further you take him in, wet and warm walls fluttering with each gentle push.

“Mmh,” your brows are furrowing at the feeling, not expecting him to be so damn thick— but you took him in regardless, putting on an apathetic front even if you were on the verge of melting on top of him— you can feel him twitch inside you, a weak whimper escaping you as his hands dig into your thighs, digging into the flesh cruelly once he finally bottoms out.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Taehyun breathes out, hissing through his teeth once you finally start moving; your hips are methodical, your movements cruelly calculated as you rise slowly, leaving him waiting for a second before you slam back down— his legs jump, your body bouncing from the motion.

You can’t help but laugh at the sight of him; he’s the definition of fucked out, sweat that beaded at his hairline causing strands of hair to stick to his skin, chest heaving and teeth digging into his lips with every bounce on his cock— when you start to set a pace, you note with annoyance that Taehyun just can’t stop trying to take over, his hands traveling to your waist to try and guide you, his hips fucking up to meet your pace. It’s endearing, for a moment, but then you find that he begins to get too handsy, his hands now lost underneath your shirt and trailing over your breasts curiously.

“Okay now, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” you chide condescendingly, stopping your pace and sinking onto him, your weight fully on him as you swat his hands off. Taehyun begins to protest immediately, groaning about how mean and unfair you’re being. His hands attempt to go back to your waist, but you slap them off again, giving him a glare that makes him pout at you.

Thoughts on how to get him to listen to you course through your mind, unsure of what to do until one hits you like a freight train.

Taehyun watches in confusion as you reach for your hair, unsure of what to make of the sly smile on your face— it’s only once he sees the pretty bow unravel from your head that his eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh no,” he mutters, your smile only growing wider as you reach for his hands— he retaliates, bringing his wrists together and just outside your reach, “oh hell no, c’mon!”

“Give me your hands,” you huff, lips pressing together in annoyance as he shakes his head and puts them over his head instead, just out of your reach, “give me your hands or I walk out right now.”

Taehyun knows how you are. You’re completely serious about that.

“C’monnnn,” he groans, reluctantly offering his hands out for you to take. He watches with a petulant look as you wrap the ribbon around his wrists, tying them together so quickly he’s barely able to process what you’re doing, “please, I just wanna touch you.”

You ignore him, adding the final touch with careful hands; the bow on his wrists is just as pretty as the proud smile on your face, he notes bitterly.

“Perfect,” you murmur to yourself, pushing his bound hands against his chest, holding onto them for leverage as you begin to move again; you can practically see all the thoughts leave his mind as he feels you around him, sucking him in and clenching with each prod against your sweet spot, hips angling so you’re hitting it perfectly.

With a cruel curiosity, you shift on top of him, a hand holding his wrists down while the other drags his shirt up— though expected, you can’t help but whistle at the sight, running a hand over his abs, watching eagerly as he flinches from the contact. Without much of a thought, you bend down to place a kiss on his stomach, laughing at the soft whine you get in return. Sitting back up, you go back to the pace you set before, satisfied by the flustered man you see beneath you.

Your nails are digging into his wrists; the orgasm he took from you is quickly building back up, your lips swollen and shining from how bitten they are— your cunt gushes around him, a ring beginning to form at the base of his length; Taehyun’s eyes roll back at the sight.

The pretty moans you’re letting out and the tight grip your pussy has on him is making it impossible for him to last— he’s only a bit behind you as you feel your knees begin to become weak, your pace inconsistent as you grind on him in search of more.

“M’close… fuck…” you breathe out, hovering over Taehyun and caging him in— the roles have been reversed now, your elbows on each side of his head holding you up as you press yourself against him, your pace agonizingly slow as you lean down to kiss him— it’s sloppy and neither of you are entirely in your right minds, pathetically moaning into each other’s mouths the closer to your peak you get.

It’s nice to feel the heat of your body against his, but what you’re doing now simply isn’t enough for Taehyun. And though he knows you strictly forbade him, he can’t help himself from reaching down to grab your side, startling you and forcing you to sit up in confusion.

“Sorry, I just— I’m so close, I need more,” he says, fingers digging into your side and thighs flexing beneath you— his brows furrow in concentration and next thing you know, he’s fucking up into you.

The yelp you let out only makes Taehyun’s cock twitch inside you— you sound so good like this, overwhelmed and ruined, unable to stop or control the way he bucks his hips up into you, his hands on your side forcing you to come down on him with every thrust— you’re falling forward and pressing down on his chest in an attempt to not lay on him entirely, and Taehyun thinks that he might’ve just gotten the sight of you bouncing on top of him ingrained into his mind now.

“Oh fuck, you keep fucking squeezing me— are you close? Yeah? I am too,” he moans, watching as you hang your head and dig your nails into his skin— you’re both soooo close, Taehyun can feel it— and before he can second guess himself, words spill from his mouth in a desperate haste.

“Can I cum inside you?” he asks, your eyes snapping open at the question— they meet his stupid, shiny round eyes, turned completely glassy as he tilts his head, his pace never ceasing for a second. “Can I, can I please? You’re so pretty, feel so good, c’mon, just wanna fill you up like you deserve—”

“Shit, yeah,” you whine, not needing much convincing in the first place to agree. “Fill me up, c’mon tyunnie, wanna be full—!”

The sound of the cute nickname coming from you sets Taehyun off instantly; his cock bottoms out and his hand slams your body down, your faint gasp barely registering in his mind as he finally cums— and it’s so much, spurts and spurts of warm cum filling you up and setting you off seconds after.

When Taehyun feels your cunt fluttering around him, he helps you ride it out; even if it means his eyes get watery and his cock hurts with every thrust into you. He still does it, the overstimulation a small price to pay for being able to watch you fall apart on top of him, moaning out his name so nicely that he never wants it to be said by anyone that’s not you from now on.

You’re an out of breath, sweaty mess by the time you finally come to your senses— well, kind of. You’d still rather not accept that womanizing student athlete Taehyun finally succeeded in getting in your pants. Maybe now he’ll finally leave you alone; you try to ignore the disappointed pang you get in your stomach from the thought.

Beneath you, Taehyun simply pants, eyes closed in a sweet bliss; when they open back up, he looks at you with such fondness you can’t help but startle.

“Can I take you out on a date?”

Your eyes widen, and you try to pretend as though the question doesn’t immediately lift up your mood. (Though the way your lips quirk up in an amused smile is definitely a giveaway.)

“You ask this now?” you say, crossing your arms and letting out a soft tsk, “I feel like it’s supposed to go the other way around.”

Taehyun smiles, and you can’t resist the contagious sight.

“I know. Sorry for being so irresistible.”

Your smile drops.

“Just for that, I’m saying no.”

“Waitwaitwait—” You make a move to get off Taehyun, but are stopped immediately with his hands on your side, forcing you to stay put the best you can— he tugs you back into him, cradling your face and ignoring your protests to let go.

“I lied, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry,” he coos, smiling at the way you continue to glare at him; so cute, he thinks, unable to stop himself from craning his neck up and placing a peck on your lips— you melt instantly, giggling softly and placing a peck of your own on the tip of his nose.

“I’ll see you after practice then.”

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #taehyun smut #taehyun ff #taehyun imagines #taehyun oneshot #taehyun x reader #taehyun fanfic #taehyun fanfiction #[2K event!]#[the mic is yours]#[nsfw]

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touchtheinvisiblestars · 1 day

Text

Imagine going through relationship issues with Spencer and a scare at works sets you both back on the right path

This had been the eighth night in a row you'd slept alone. Opting to sleep in the spare bedroom of the place you and Spencer had bought together. Waking up hurt and sad with your partner was an exhausting way to live, and it was getting to you. The team had been back at the main office for the same amount of time. Having a big bust up on the aftermath of a case meant the journey back on the jet was awkward for everyone involved.

When he hadn't agreed with the way you dealt with the unsub, on top of you both disagreeing on when to start trying for a family. Had left you feeling put down and attacked both in work and in your personal life. Feeling like you couldn't do anything right, and that you were holding him back.

It was made worse by his lack of enthusiasm when you attempted to make amends. Wanting to talk about the issue, but finding it difficult when your boyfriend was a stubborn lump. Shrugging his shoulders and seeming totally disinterested.

After the fourth day of you trying to get through to him. You gave in. Telling yourself that if he wanted to make amends he would. Or he'd realise once it was too late.

Today though, you had a meeting with Garcia, she was going to show you an easier way of accessing some files. The way she does it. Getting yourself up and ready. The house sounded eerily quiet. Spencer did have a habit of impersonating the invisible man when he was home. But still, it was cold and felt empty.

Making your way downstairs, you called out for him, but got no answer.

Realising he wasn't even home. You felt another pang in your chest. Maybe he was done? The thought made your eyes sting. But on checking the time, you would be late to meet Garcia. You grabbed your breakfast out the fridge and grabbed your bag and keys.

Once in the office, you passed the bullring to see Spencer at his desk. Nose deep in some files.

"Hey, what time did you come in? We could have come together." You asked, approaching his desk.

"Early. Didn't want to wake you."

Nodding, you still wanted to push for you both to make up, "did you want to grab lunch somewhere? Would be nice to spend some time with you."

"I'm busy."

"Well I didn't mean right now. Later. When you're free? I'm in Garcias office if you-"

"Y/N, you're here!" Garcia squeaked, "for a moment I thought you were standing me up."

Realising he still wasn't ready to have a decent conversation with you. You gave up, again.

"Never." You smiled at her, before giving Spencer a sad look as he continued to read his papers.

You sat down in Garcias office and fully immersed yourself in the training. Pushing Spencer to the back of your mind.

Around lunchtime you saw Spencer walk past the room and you felt another wave of sadness wash over you.

"So, what's up with you and Sir Smarts-a-lot?" Garcia asked you while you were taking a break.

"There's not really much to tell. We fell out over some serious and not so serious things. I've tried to patch things up. He doesn't want to know. Been trying for like 4 days now."

"I'm sorry. He does seem particularly cranky since you came back from that last case."

"Yeah. Happened while we were out there. I don't even-"

You were interrupted by the sound of shouting from out in the main office. Both you and Garcia looked at each other and wondered who the hell fell out with each other so bad they had to have a screaming match.

Both getting up and wandering down the hall. You just about turned the corner first. But froze in your tracks seeing two people, one with a gun, the other with a briefcase. The woman, with the gun, had the few people that were in the bullring huddled together.

"Shit Garcia go back to your office and lock the door. Call Spence and tell him to stay away. Now!" You whisper shout at her.

"Hey! Put your hands on your head. Get in here Miss now." one of them shouted at you. Not having noticed Garcia as she backed away to her office.

When you didn't move. The seemingly unarmed intruder marched towards you and attempted to grab onto you. As you went to defend yourself. He pulled out a knife and threatened you with it.

"Think very carefully about what you do next." He said lowly.

"What do you guys want. I can help you."

"No you won't. You'll just try and talk me down and I won't let them down again. Get in here or I'm going to make you. And it will hurt."

"What's your name? I'm Y/N. Why are you here? There's no weapons or money stored here. Are you looking for someone?"

"Shut up!" He yelled, you let out a gasp at the sharp pain in your side.

Looking down the blade he was holding embedded in your side. Crumpling down to the floor, you watched as the deep red soaked into your blouse. Spreading across your side.

"What the fuck Darren. You weren't supposed to hurt anyone." A woman came up to the guy and yanked him by his shoulder. "We need to set these charges now and go. Now!"

Charges, that meant explosives.

The pair rushed off and left you bleeding on the floor. Giving you the opportunity to make an escape.

Making it back to Garcias office. You burst through the door, scaring the life out of her.

"Y/N! Oh my god why is there blood. There's a knife hanging out of you."

"Did you speak to Spence?" You asked locking the door behind you.

"Yeah he's in the armory now. They-"

"Call him back! Tell them to abort. Do not come up here!"

"OK, what-why?" She spluttered while calling him back.

"Garcia? Is everything okay. We're just planning how we're going to do this." He answered. You could hear the sound of kevlar being secured. You managed to stumble your way across the room to Garcias desk before your legs gave out.

"Spence, where are you? Do not come up here. And keep people out of the lifts. Do not use them." You panted.

"Y/N are you okay? We haven't left yet. What's going on?"

"I'm fine. I just met the intruders. They're setting charges. Evacuate the rest of the building."

"What? They're going to blow up the building?" Garcia asked, her face paling.

"How big are the explosives?"

"I didn't see. I just managed to get away from them. I did see it was only a small briefcase though."

"That could still be enough to wipe out the whole floor. You need to leave now. Use the far stairwell."

"Garcia, you should go."

"What? I'm not leaving you."

"Both of you go. Now!" Spencer raised his voice.

You shared a look with Garcia, knowing you weren't moving anywhere fast enough.

"We should be okay here," Garcia nodded, "I'll stay with her."

"You're hurt aren't you." Spencer spoke quietly.

"A little bit yeah. Spence, I love you."

"Don't do that. I'm coming to get you."

"No do-" and then the call rang off.

Garcia came and sat next to you. You rested your head on her shoulder.

"I don't get what they were talking about. They said about setting charges. But when the woman saw I'd been stabbed she said they weren't supposed to hurt anyone. How does that make sense." You mutter, starting to feel woozy from the blood loss.

"Unless what they're trying to destroy is paperwork not people," Garcia mused.

"Hotchs office, he keeps loads of important documents in there." You guessed.

"That makes sense. He always takes Sunday's off. So he wouldn't be in there to get hurt."

"Garcia you really should go. Maybe you can get some help." You said quietly. Feeling very lightheaded.

Garcias phone started ringing, answering it she put it on loudspeaker.

"Go ahead. We're just sitting here awaiting our handsome prince's to rescue us."

"Garcia." Spencer answered, "how badly is she hurt? They won't let us get in yet. Not if there's a bomb threat. The whole buildings on lock down. They aren't holding hostages. The other guys from the office have run out already. Are they still there?"

"Woah, woah, woah. One question at a time. Y/N isn't doing great. I don't know what to do Reid. I'm not a doctor. But she's still bleeding."

"What? What happened."

"She got stabbed by one of them. It's still in there but it's-"

"We have to get in there Y/Ns been stabbed. Please. I volunteer to go in. Come on Hotch." He sounded desperate, it made you smile slightly. The irony that it took a near death situation to get him to act like he cared again.

A deafening boom shook the office, jolting you awake.

"Shit was that the-?" You asked.

"I think so." Garcia nodded. "We're okay. Spencer can you hear me?"

You slumped down against Garcias shoulder a bit more. Fighting the urge to fall asleep.

"We saw it. Blown the windows out of Hotch's office as well."

"Tell him..." You trailed off falling into unconsciousness.

Garcia looked at you, panic washing over her. "Y/N? Spencer she's passed out. I don't know what to do- I know I shouldn't take the knife out."

"Is she sat up or laying down?"

"She's sat up, do I lie her down?"

"Yes, don't knock the knife though- I need EMTs with me right now- Garcia, I need you to check if she's breathing." Spencer sounded out of breath, "I'm coming to you as fast as I can."

"Okay, she's laying down. And yes she's breathing."

"You're doing well Garcia. We're seconds away now."

Garcia still let out a scream when the paramedics burst through the door. Stumbling away from your figure, she bumped shoulders with Spencer as the experts dealt with you.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Garcia asked him.

"I don't know. But I feel like a prized jackass now. What if she's not? She will have died thinking I was mad at her."

"I don't know what to say Reid. She was trying. She thought you'd stopped trying."

"The argument was stupid. I was more annoyed us arguing had ruined some plans I had."

"Plans? What do you-ohhh." Garcia cut herself off as she clocked onto what Spencer meant.

He quickly pocketed the small jewellery box as the EMT turned to the pair of them.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid

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fyorina · 1 day

Text

ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.

(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone

It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation.

The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been.

The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.

“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.

Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.

He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.

When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.

Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs.

You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.

You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.

His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.

He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.

He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.

He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it.

But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely.

Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.

“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”

He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.

“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.”

Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them.

“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”

I love you.

He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.

You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.

“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”

He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.

“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”

Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.

He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?”

He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.

He does.

“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”

Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.

“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.

Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.

“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”

Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.

He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.

You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty.

“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”

Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.

“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”

You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.

He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours.

Then you ask:

“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”

Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches.

Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.

He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.

“Yes.”

“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.

Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.

You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.

You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”

He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.

“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yes.”

Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”

He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state.

He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.

You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.

“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?”

Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.

As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.

“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”

“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”

Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”

“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.

“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”

His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.

“You did,” you confirm.

Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.

“Truth,” he murmurs.

You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”

“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette.

He voices his first lie, “No.”

You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.

He refrains, if only barely.

You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.

“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”

“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”

Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”

If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.

The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh.

“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”

He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”

The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.

He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.

He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.

Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.

But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”

Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?

Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.

Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?

He knows his next question.

“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”

He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.

You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.

“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”

He halts.

His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.

Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.

So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”

He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?”

You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”

“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”

“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.

“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”

“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”

Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.

“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?”

Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.

He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.

“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”

He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.

“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”

He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.

“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”

His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”

Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”

Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty.

He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.

“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.

Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya.

Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.

After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills.

For better or for worse, you’re not most people.

In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”

Dazai snorts.

“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”

“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”

“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”

Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”

“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”

Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”

“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”

You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die.

“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”

“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”

“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.

“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”

Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.

He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.

He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.

After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.

“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?”

He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”

You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.

So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.

But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?

“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.

There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.

He forces it out anyway.

“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.

A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…

Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”

“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”

Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”

“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.

There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”

Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”

Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.

So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.

No.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.

��You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.

You don’t.

The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.

God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.

His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.

There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it.

All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.

He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.

Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall.

His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”

Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.

Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven.

You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”

He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.

Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him.

“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?”

You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.

“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”

“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar.

“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?”

“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.

He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.

He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.

He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking…

Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.

It was a very lonely four years without you.

“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.

“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.

This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.

“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.

You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”

His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand.

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”

“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”

“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.

Dazai gags.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.”

“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”

You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.

“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”

“How-”

“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”

Okay.

Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”

It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”

Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.

“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.

He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.

The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”

Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.

It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.

No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.

His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.

But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.

But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.

He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”

He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you.

Unfair, he thinks mournfully.

“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”

“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”

“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.

“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.

Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous.

You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-

And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”

A trick.

Dazai knows it.

You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough.

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening.

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you.

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s.

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers.

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

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scarletlizzard · 9 hours

Text

Inked Desires - Part 3

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Pairing: gp!Natasha × fem!Reader

Tags Minors DNI: natasha has a dick, miscommunication, unprotected sex, breeding, cheesy shit

Masterlist

A/n: Thank you to everyone who stuck around for this part, and thank you for 1,000 followers! 🥳 There are no more parts to this, but I do have some drabbles I'd like to write for it if y'all are interested 🫶 Please leave some feedback, and thank you again for reading ❤️

Art Creds for the first 2 pics: @sweet--escape17 (Please go check out their art, it's amazing!)

Also, shoutout: @oolsen (Thanks for helping me with the plot when I get stuck!)

****

Your eyes glaze over as you stare at the screen of your phone, looking at the same messages that had been sitting in your conversation with Natasha for the past week. You replay the events from the last night you saw her at Joe's bar, wondering where you went wrong. An entire week, gone, and not a single text. No 'Good Morning'. No 'Have a great day'. No ridiculous smiling emojis attached to an even more ridiculous joke. Instead, a one-sided conversation with yourself:

Y/N: I had so much fun last night!

Y/N: Have a good day, baby <3

Y/N: Maybe we can get together soon? Kate told me about a fair happening nearby next weekend. I think that might be fun!

Y/N: Hey, is everything okay?

It wasn't like Natasha to not text you back. The two of you had practically talked every day since meeting, and when you hadn't, she always had a good reason for not replying. Most of the time, it had been you that was too busy to text back... but now the quietness of the empty chat in the palm of your hand allowed an eerie loneliness to seep into your chest, along with a feeling of guilt.

***

"Come on, it'll be fun! " Kates voice rings in your ear from your phone. A sigh spills from your lips as you shake your head, knowing she can't see you.

"I don't know, I'm just not really in the mood..." You mumble into the speaker and silently thank the man who opens the door for you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee enters your nose, a small sense of comfort filling the cracks in your chest.

"Well, you don't really have a choice. You already know I'm dragging you with me... Plus, you can't be in a bad mood when you're eating caramel popcorn," You can practically see the grin on Kates face, knowing how much you loved the simple fair treat. You can also hear movement from the other side of the phone, raising an eyebrow as Kate shuffles around.

"Alright then, fine. Only for the popcorn," you sigh again as Kate cheers. She tells you goodbye as you walk up to the counter to order your usual latte. You pay and move to the opposite side of the counter to await your drink, when you spot a familiar red head in the corner.

Your eyes widen, chest bursting at the sight of Natasha. The feelings hit you all at once, guilt, anger, confusion. Overwhelmingly at the top, happiness. Her brows pull together in concentration at the paper, headphones rest atop her head as she sketches away in a notebook. Her short sleeve shirt reveals her inked skin, and you feel the familiar desire for her all over again.

You give yourself a second longer to stare, a second longer to mentally prepare yourself for what you want to say. Where have you been? Why haven't you texted me back? But as you step closer to the table, and her kind green eyes move away from the paper and to your not so composed stature, your mind seemingly empties.

"Hi," you say with a small smile after she removes her headphones. Natasha clears her throat awkwardly. You want to kiss her red cheeks.

"Y/N, hey," the smile she gives you back doesn't seem genuine, causing your own to fade.

"I've texted you a few times. Is... everything okay?" You ask, a small tilt of your head.

"Um, yeah, you know. I've just been busy?" She avoids your eyes, her body language distant as she crosses her arms with a shrug. You glimpse at the notebook open on the table, an intricate design of lines and shapes, before she closes it abruptly. "I actually have to get to work," Natasha sighs and throws the notebook and pencils into her bag. You don't miss the fact she's not wearing her work shirt.

"Right." You click your tongue as she stands, the tension in the air killing both of you.

As badly as Natasha wanted to pull you into her arms and kiss the worry off of your face, she couldn't. She couldn't deal with the fact she wanted more and that it was reciprocated. She couldn't deal with the fact that she wanted late night talks and laughs, while assuming you only wanted late night hookups. She couldn't deal with the fact that she liked you more than she thought she would, while assuming your interest in her was not on the same level.

"Look, can we talk?" Your soft tone surprises her as she stands, her tall frame towering over you. "Maybe tomorrow we can get together and just... talk. Huh, baby?" The term of endearment slips your tongue, and in a last ditch effort, your hand reaches out to softly touch her bicep.

Natasha finally meets your eyes again, and the two of you still for a moment, the coffee shop fading around you. She almost gives into you once again. She was weak against you. You feel her muscles tense in your grip, and the sound of your name being called by the barista takes her attention away from you. She takes a step backward and pulls on her pierced lip with her teeth.

"I uh, I'm hanging out with Yelena tomorrow," she rubs the back of her neck, attempting to sooth her nerves. You only stare up at her, feeling defeated. "Maybe next time."

You frown up at her, the feelings of confusion and anger rising to the surface as she refuses to look you in the eyes. "Sure. Next time."

Natasha opens her mouth to speak again, but no words come out. Instead, she turns her back to you and walks away, leaving you behind.

***

The next day, you found yourself once again staring at the empty conversation on your phone. You had typed up a million different messages, none of them sounding good enough to send. All night, you had tried to come up with the words to say to her. Ranging from paragraphs of you confessing your feelings to a simple, 'Hey, I like you. What are we doing?'

She had said she wanted more, didn't she? Why were you suddenly getting the cold shoulder?

You sigh aloud as you walk into your apartment building, calling Kate for the fourth time since you got off work early. In a rush this morning, you had forgotten your key, and you desperately hoped she was still there to let you in. Trudging slowly up the stairs, you get her voicemail - again.

As you walk up to the familiar sight of your door you knock hard, "Bishop, you'd better have a good fucking reason for not answering my calls," you joke and continue banging on the door. The lock clicks, and the door swings open. "I'm so glad you're home I-" you stop mid sentence, a now unfamiliar sight standing before you.

"Kate saw she had missed calls from you, I think she's hiding," Yelena laughs and steps back inside the apartment as you walk in behind her.

"Yelena.. I- what are you..?" Your heart picks up for a moment, assuming Natasha would be here with her.

"Oh, Kate invited me over for a movie day," her accent is thick as she speaks, and she gives you a friendly smile. Apparently, she was unaware of the current state between you and her sister.

"Aren't you hanging out with Natasha today?" You ask with a tilt of your head. Yelena raises an eyebrow and shakes her own head.

"No?" She questions and returns to her seat on the couch amongst a pile of pillows and blankets.

Your stomach drops. Natasha had lied to you. Why would she lie to you? Your mind begins to spiral at the list of reasons as to why she would. Kate walks out from the bathroom in the hall and sees the furious expression written on your face.

"Uh.. hey, you got off early!" Kate strides across the room towards you. "Everything okay?" She asks.

"Everything's great." You give her a bitter smile, making her eyes widen. "I'm sorry to interrupt your movie day," you look behind Kate to Yelena.

"Well, maybe since you're here, we can call Natasha over?" Yelena looks back to the now wide, sarcastic smile planted on your face.

"You know what, that's actually a great idea," you mutter and walk past Kate towards Yelena, who was already grabbing her phone.

"Y/N," Kate starts, but you quickly silence her with a glare.

"Oh, she finally answers!" Yelena laughs into the speaker and looks to you, blind to the situation unfolding in front of her. "Where are you at? Of course you are, that was a stupid question. Look, I'm at Y/N and Kates, we are having a movie day! Why don't you quit working out for 2 minutes and come over?"

At Yelenas words, you quickly walk to the kitchen counter where your key rests, grabbing it. She was at the gym, of course she was. You don't need to see Yelenas face change as you hear her English switch to fluent Russian. Natasha was finally filling her in. Kate gives you a look that you ignore as you leave the apartment and prepare yourself to make the 5 minute walk to Natashas gym.

The two of you passed by it any time you hung out, always pointing out the fact it was so close to your place and how you wondered why the two of you had never met before her party. Your footsteps are heavy against the sidewalk, and you don't give yourself a second to think about your current state. Still in your work uniformed shirt and slacks, hair a mess, eyes dark underneath from lack of sleep. It didn't matter. You were set on finally confronting her.

You walk inside to see Natasha standing by the weights, an unsurprised look on her face as she watches you move swiftly amongst the workout equipment. Your heart races in your chest, an uneasy feeling as Natasha begins to tower over you the closer you get. You try your best to ignore the tight black tank top she wore, along with the tight black shorts that showed off her toned and tatted thighs. You forced yourself to look only in her eyes.

"Y/N... let me explain," Natasha begins. You roll your eyes and ignore her words, anger bursting from every crack.

"So what is this then? You're just going to fuck me in a dirty bathroom bar then ignore me? Lie to me?" It leaves your mouth faster than you can think about it. Natasha meets your gaze at the words, a hurt expression on her face. Gone are the soft eyes once reserved for you, replaced with the cold stare everyone else receives.

"Are you kidding me? That's funny coming from you, Y/N," she scoffs, tone laced with venom.

"What the fuck does that mean?" You raise your voice, watching as Natasha steps forward towards you.

"Lower your tone," she commands, looking around the gym. You suddenly feel small. "I mean, that's all you want from me, isn't it? Look, I told you I wanted more of-of this," she motions between the two of you. "You don't, and that's fine, but stop trying to text me every time you need to get off." The last part is said in spite, and you feel as if you'd been pushed back. Natasha wanted to take it back as quick as she'd said it, but maybe being harsh was what she needed to get rid of her growing feelings towards you.

"Is that what you think I am? Just some slut trying to use you?" You spit back, watching her face twist in confusion.

"I never said that, Y/N."

"No, but it's implied."

"Unless the words leave my mouth, don't you dare put them in yourself."

"Is that seriously what you think?" You huff out. She nods, standing straight and crossing her arms.

"Well, yeah?" Her voice is unsure as she looks down at you. You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers.

"You are a fucking idiot," you say with a shake of your head. Natasha face contorts as you look back up.

"Excuse m-"

"Why do you think I text you all the time to hang out? Why I invited you to hang out with my friends ?" You ask her in a serious tone, seeing her body language soften. "You want to talk about putting words in mouths? You don't get to say if I do or don't like you - and for your information, I do. A lot," you sigh as you finish your ramble.

"You do?" Is all she says, and you don't know if you want to slap her or kiss her.

"Of course I do.. I thought that was pretty obvious." It's your turn to cross your arms as she brings a hand up to rub her inked neck, her cheeks turning red to match the hair braided behind her.

"It's just - I thought maybe - You didn't -" She stumbles over her words, suddenly with a nervous demeanor.

Natasha wasn't prepared for this. She was prepared for an argument and then to never see you again. She hadn't given it a thought that you actually did reciprocate those feelings. And now here you were standing before her, in her mind, looking as beautiful as ever. She was putty, again.

"You didn't say anything that night back, so I just assumed.." her voice is soft to match her eyes, and you feel that guilt again, seeping out of you.

"Baby.. I'm so sorry. It was only because I was so excited that you felt the same way I did, I didn't know what to say," you reply just as soft and step forward. Natashas eyes spark with life at the use of her favorite word, leaving your lips, and her arm instinctively flexes as you touch her forearm. "Maybe next time, give a girl a moment to gather her thoughts?" You say with a small smile. Your heart leaps at the smile that spreads across her lips.

There's a moment of silence between the two of you, and just like before, the world seems to quiet and blur around you.

"Hi," Natasha chuckles, and you roll your eyes at the familiar game.

"Hi," You giggle back and reach up to cup her cheek. She leans down with a strong hand resting on your hip, lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

The two of your pull apart, but her large hand continues to rest on your side as you stand in front of her, now letting your eyes admire her toned muscles that were on display. The black lines on her skin move with every flex in her arm.

"Tell me more about this fair... will there be caramel popcorn?" Natasha asks. Your eyes shoot quickly up to hers as a warmth spreads through your chest.

You hadn't told her about your love for the snack. You lean up and kiss her again, ignoring the confused look on her face and letting yourself melt against her.

***

Lights of all colors of the rainbow seemed to flash around you. The sounds of laughter and screaming of people on the rides filled your ears. Your eyes search the area around you, watching as couples and families walk from stand to stand. A few teenagers run by, and a loud ringing and a cry of, "Winner!" catches your attention from next to you.

"Holy shit!" Kate laughs and taps your arm, showing you the brown teddy bear she won. You can't help but smile at the sight.

"Only took you about ten tries," you laugh along with her, reaching out to check out the bear. As you hand it back to her, you notice her eyes trail above your head. Then, a pair of thick arms wrap around your waist from behind. You can smell the familiar scent of the fragrance she wore.

"Well, well, what have we won?" Natasha asks from behind you. You lean back against her, smiling widely as she leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. "Pretty girl.." She mumbles in your ear, fingers tracing the material of your dress.

Things had been going great with Natasha since you talked about your miscommunication. Her morning texts returned, along with nightly chats over the phone until one of you fell asleep. She took you on dates, and you even went with her to the gym. Though, that mostly consisted of you shamelessly checking her out while she blushed gorgeously. You were happy, truly happy. One thing that had been building between the two of you was a certain... tension. The last time you both were intimate was the night at the bar. Since then, there have only been a few heavy make-out sessions and teasing between you. It seemed neither one of you wanted to be the first one to give in to those oh so familiar desires.

"Kate finally won a teddy bear, twenty dollars later," you cough out the last part jokingly and rest your hands on top of Natashas that stayed wrapped securely around you.

Kate groans and rolls her eyes playfully, "You know what? I'm not sharing him with you anymore."

You scoff, feeling Natashas chest rumble as she laughs along with Kate. "Yelena is at the ticket stand, by the way," Natasha says with a small smirk on her lips. Kates eyes widen a bit.

"Oh?" She says with a slow nod. "You know, actually, I think I need some more tickets!" Kate pats her pockets innocently with a shrug and gives you a smile. "Meet you later?" She asks, and you give her nod before she walks away.

Turning in Natashas arms, you finally get a good look at her, and you could drool at the sight of her in her white shirt and blue jeans. Just as always, you can see the pops of color peaking out from the seams, dark lines visible through the thin fabric. Her crooked smile lets a chuckle slip through.

"Alright?" She asks, raising an eyebrow as you continue to gawk at her.

"More than alright," you clear your throat and step back, letting your hand take hers. "Now, are you going to win me a teddy bear, or do I have to do it myself?" You poke her side, and she laughs.

"Step aside, I've got this," Natasha leans down to kiss your forehead, taking out her wallet and handing money to the man in charge of the booth.

"Three shots to knock down the bottles, and it's all yours!" He cheers loudly to gain the attention of others, showing off the teddy bear in question. Natasha takes the ball in her hand, and your eyes are glued to her broad shoulders as she winds up. She throws the ball, missing completely.

"That was just a warm-up," she turns back to look at you, clearing her throat. You stiffle a laugh and purse your lips, nodding.

"Of course, baby! Just a warm-up."

"Two more shots!" The man cries.

Natashas gaze changes from playful to pure concentration, eyes focused intently on the stacked bottles in front of her. She throws again, this time knocking two of the three bottles down. You can't help but let out a giggle this time at the proud expression on her face as she turns to you once more.

"One shot, and it's all yours!" He says loudly, shaking the bear next to her.

"Piece of cake," Natasha says with a laugh. She takes the last ball and winds up again, only to miss completely.

"Ohh, out of luck!" He says with a shrug and moves away. "Who's next?" He yells.

Natasha turns to you with red cheeks, "So maybe I'm not so good at this?" She rubs the back of her neck, and you only shake your head.

"Step aside," you repeat her own words to her, brushing against her as you hand the man money. He goes through his same shpiel and hands you a ball. Only when you go to throw it, the ball hits the bottles perfectly. All three go down instantly.

"Winner!" He yells loudly, handing you the stuffed bear. You smile widley as you take it and return to Natasha, a stunned look on her face.

"But.. how did you.." She shakes her head.

"Here you go, princess," you tease and hand her the bear, giggling as she rolls her eyes but accepts it.

"Alright now, at least let me buy you some popcorn," Natasha laughs along with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walk.

The two of you spend the next couple of hours riding the carnival rides the fair had to offer, walking around aimlessly, laughing and smiling, teasing each other. You had never felt happier. As you stand there, finally eating your favorite sweet treat, you look at Natasha stood next to you, the sight making you smile. You take out your phone and step back, ignoring the questioning look from her and snap a picture.

You giggle at the image you got of her, the stark contrast of her heavily tattooed and pierced body whilst standing there holding a teddy bear and a box of popcorn was a sight to behold.

"What was that for?" She raises an eyebrow, trying to look at the picture you took.

"Nothing, I just wanted a good memory of this," you smile and put your phone back in your pocket quickly, grabbing another handful of the caramel popcorn. Natasha smiles back. Before she can say anything, a raindrop hits her face.

"What the -" She starts, looking up at the dark night sky. The drops start coming faster, hitting harder as the rain begins to pour. All around you, people begin walking quickly to canopies, attempting to stay dry. "Come on," she says and grabs your hand.

The two of you make your way through the crowds of people, rain pouring down as she leads you out of the fairgrounds. The bright lights and loud music begin to fade as you run behind her, seeing her car just across the lot. Once you reach it, Natasha opens the passenger door for you.

The small act has you swooning as she stands there, waiting with a smile for you to get in. That even in the pouring rain, she was just the type of person to open the door for you. Instead of moving past her, you reach up to take her face in your hands, stepping on your tiptoes to kiss her.

The darkness is thick around the two of you, rain drowning out any nearby sounds. Natashas hands move from the door to wrap around your back, letting you down on your feet as she leans down to deepen the kiss. The cold rain is unforgiving as you melt into each other. A shiver runs through your body as her tongue slips in your mouth, a groan leaving your throat as the two halves spread to engulf your own. At your shiver, she pulls away breathlessly.

"We should get in," she utters against your lips. You nod feverishly.

"Backseat," you say, earning a groan from Natasha. She quickly pulls you away and opens the back door, letting you climb in. She follows behind, and as soon as the door is shut, you are climbing into her lap, lips colliding with hers again. The kiss is messy, tongues sloppily licking at eachothers mouths as you make out.

"Do you have any idea how crazy you drive me?" Natasha moans as your lips travel to her neck, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every nip. At her words, you grind your hips down in her lap, feeling her growing bulge. "F-fuck," she whimpers, bucking her hips up as you grind against her. "I need to be inside you, now," she groans. Her large hands move to your thighs, lifting your dress above your hips.

"Desperate, are we?" You purr, bitting down hard against her neck. She moans and nods, letting one of her hands move up to grip your jaw.

"Y/n," the soft look in her eyes is replaced with dark lust. "I need to fuck you. Now," she reiterates, grip on your jaw tight. Her thumb slips into your mouth, and as you suck on the digit she moans.

Your hands move to the bottom of her shirt, lifting the heavy, wet fabric over her head, along with her bra. Your fingers trace the tattoos that litter her collarbone, nails scratching lightly. You couldn't deny you were just as desperate for her. Natasha lets you up slightly to undo her jeans, pulling them down past her knees along with her underwear. She winces as you return to your previous position in her lap, hard cock rubbing against your still clothed pussy. She could feel you soaking through the thin material.

"God, I've missed this," you mumble as her lips reconnect with yours. You feel her fingers pull your underwear to the side, the tip of her cock rubbing against your aching cunt. Your hips hover over her length before slowly taking in a few inches.

The two of you moan loudly in the small car at the feeling, windows already fogged from your breathy groans.

"My pretty girl.. fuck," Natasha hisses as you lower yourself all the way down, feeling her thick cock stretching you out completely. "You were just made to take me," she moans again, hands resting on your hips. Your hands grip onto her shoulders, nails digging into the side of her neck. Her hands guide your hips to move, and you begin to ride her. Your eyes screw shut as she splits you in two, euphoria filling your veins with every movement of her own hips slapping up to meet your bounces.

"Look at you riding my cock, such a good girl for me," Natasha grunts as she watches your lips part, head thrown back in pleasure. "Taking every inch, fucking yourself on me," she pants out.

The coil in your stomach was building quickly, and as your legs began to grow weak, Natasha held tightly onto your hips, thrusting up into you harshly. Your mouth met hers again, and she swallowed your moans as you kissed her. "Baby I-I'm gonna cum," you moan out, whimpering as she shakes her head.

"Hold it. You cum with me or not at all," Natashas voice is stern, and your head falls forward into her neck. Your chests press together, and you can feel the piercings on her nipples rub against your dress as her arms wrap around your back to hold you in place.

"I wanna feel you soak my cock, god just listen to your pretty cunt make those noises," she moans. You can hear your wetness with every thrust, mixing the the rain hammering onto the roof of the car. The two of you are wet, sticky, and messy. Natashas primal urges to fuck you sending you closer and closer.

"Ohh, Nat, please I need to cum! Fill me up, baby," your moans turn higher pitched and she knows you won't last any longer, and neither will she.

"That's it, pretty girl.. cum for me. That's it, soak my cock, fuck, fuck!" Natashas mouth let's out a string of curses, fucking up into you mercilessly. The coil in your stomach snaps at her words, and you feel your orgasm hit hard. You moan her name loudly, body trembling as you feel her load fill you up, your hot walls swallowing every drop. Natashas hips finally slow to a stop, and you're left limp in her arms as the two of you pant against each others skin.

"So good, so good... my pretty girl..." Natasha whispers against your neck, holding you tightly. You stay like that for a while, head resting against her shoulder and just holding onto each other. The cool piercing on her lip brushes against your skin as she peppers kisses up to your face.

You lift your head to meet her soft green eyes with a smile, feeling her fingers brush your messy, damp hair out of your face. Before Natasha can even think to say it, you open your mouth.

"Hi," you giggle, earning a breathy laugh from the red head.

"Hi," she gives you a toothy grin and kisses your head.

****

The sunlight creeps through the windows, warming your skin. It was late in the morning, when you habitually reached out to grab your phone. Your heavy eyes barely peeking open as you check the screen. For a moment, in your sleepy morning haze, you looked for a 'good morning' text, but saw none.

It was then a pair of inked arms wrap around you from behind, and you smile to yourself, feeling Natashas body wrap around you protectively.

"Good morning," she mumbles tiredly against you, breath fanning the back of your neck. You chuckle and let yourself melt back into her hold, hands holding onto her arms as you drift back to sleep.

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