late-night-secrets

[late-night-secrets]

ᡣ𐭩 IN PAPER RINGS AND PICTURE FRAMES!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai has never been a true believer of murphy’s law, not until today at least. he swears the world is out to get him, all he wanted was to give you a nice valentine’s day... and maybe something a little extra special. (wordcount: 6.7k; sfw; very brief mentions of dazai's attempts, fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: valentine's day fic for my sweetest boy

“What do you mean I can’t have the day off?” Dazai cries out, staring down at his phone in abject horror. A pillow is flung at his head and Dazai sputters out an apology to you before lifting his phone back to his ear, making a point to lower his voice as he says, “Kunikida-kun, it’s Valentine’s Day. Not even you can be this heartless.”

“Dazai!” Kunikida says, voice stern and sharp, and Dazai knows that the man is serious because he’s not spitting out insults about Dazai’s laziness and lack of drive to do anything but lounge around and avoid work. “Trust me. It brings me no joy to make you come in today—not for your sake, but for her’s. But we have to finish up the final preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission before they leave for Kyoto tomorrow morning. Get to the office now.”

“Kunikida-kun,” Dazai complains, feeling a bit more panicked, “but I-”

“Maybe if you had actually done your work the past few days, I could’ve covered for you,” Kunikida spits out angrily. “But we have double the workload to finish by tonight because you’ve been slacking off the past week. Anyway, you shouldn’t be calling the day of asking for a day off. Be to the office asap.”

Kunikida doesn’t even wait for Dazai’s response, hanging up the phone and leaving Dazai standing in your apartment staring at his phone with parted lips and wide eyes, unable to comprehend what just happened. A noise escapes his lips, something caught between a scoff and a whimper, and Dazai thinks he might cry. He feels like a wounded puppy as he turns his attention over to where you’re still curled up in bed, eyes barely cracked open as you watch him with furrowed brows.

“Bella…” he pouts, making his way over to you so he can sit next to you on the bed. “They’re making me go into the office.”

You only roll toward him, eyes heavy with sleep, barely able to hold them open, and Dazai’s chest feels tight and warm with a lovely feeling that he’s only ever experienced with you. He reaches out to cup your cheek, fingertips grazing your skin—your lashes flutter as your eyes droop back shut, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of someone seeking out his touch, trusting his hands as if they aren’t rotted and blood-stained.

“Then go,” you say with a yawn, leaning into his touch and pulling the dark comforter back up around your shoulders from where it had slipped down your body.

Dazai pushes his lip out even more. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to spend the day with you. You took off today too.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and Dazai wants to tell you that it is decidedly not okay but he can’t tell you that because you’ll ask why and he can’t tell you without ruining everything. “I’m tired anyway. Someone decided to keep me up half the night.” 

Dazai can hardly even muster the vulgar smile and dirty joke that should have come to him with ease, and evidently, that’s proof enough to you that something must be seriously wrong because you crack your eyes back open and peer up at him, concern slowly eclipsing the tiredness. Another thing he’ll never be used to: having someone genuinely worry over him even over the smallest things. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him softly, yawning again as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. The comforter slides down from around your shoulders again, revealing the smooth skin of your bare shoulders and collarbone, and Dazai wishes for nothing more than to slip beneath the sheets with you, wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your chest.

Instead, he lets himself lean into your touch for a moment, eyes falling shut as he basks in the feeling of your fingers carding through his dark locks, nails gently scraping his scalp. He thinks he could stay in this moment forever, but alas, the serenity is utterly shattered when his phone starts buzzing again.

Dazai lets out a heavy exhale, dark eyes dragging from you to where his phone is laying on the bed next to him, seeing Atsushi’s name flash on the screen—surely having been told by Kunikida to follow up and make sure that Dazai is actually going to show up at the office. 

“I just wanted to spend the day with you,” he says, a bit of a white lie, but he can’t tell you the real reason why he’s so disappointed. “He’s had it out for me ever since we got together. He’s jealous. This is his way of getting one over me.”

You smile lightly at him, pulling his face down a bit so that you can press your lips against his. Dazai sighs into your mouth, eyes sliding shut again as he kisses you, hand coming up again to cup your cheek as his lips move against yours. The kiss is slow and intimate, but far too short for his liking. You pull your lips away from his and Dazai gives you a wounded look when he tries to chase your lips only for you to dodge with a giggle. 

“Go, Osamu,” you tell him and Dazai lets out a groan, letting his head drop to your chest. You toy with his hair and Dazai wants to tell you that doing that is only going to make him want to stay even more but he also doesn’t want you to stop so he decides against it. “The faster you get there and get your work done, the quicker you can come home.”

Home. Another word he might never get used to, his chest feels warm and fluttery as he tilts his head to the side so he can peer up at you. “Or I can just not go in at all and deal with Kunikida’s righteous fury tomorrow.”

“No,” you say firmly, tugging at his ear and making him yelp. “Go, Osamu. Don’t be ridiculous. Let me sleep.”

Dazai sighs, rising to his feet and letting you curl back beneath the covers. He wants to tell you that it’s not that simple and that he has a whole plan and he needs to follow it strictly otherwise he’s scared that everything will go wrong, but there’s no way of explaining that to you without having to tell you why which would ruin everything. Lamenting to himself, he shrugs his coat onto his shoulders and leans down to press his lips between your brows as you start to doze off again, brushing your hair behind your ear and letting his eyes linger on your face, skin glowing gently beneath the early morning sun. 

It takes all of his willpower to step away from you and make his way out of your apartment, the ring in his pocket weighing more heavily with every step he takes.

•••

Dazai is really trying his best not to let his frustration spoil the night. The sun has already long set. What should have been a short day at the office finishing up paperwork ended up with him working overtime because of an emergency mission on the far side of the city concerning an ability user who could mimic appearances. Everybody else is still at the office trying to finish up preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission in Kyoto but the President had taken one look at Dazai’s abysmal expression and told him to go home and be with you.

And Dazai should appreciate that, honestly, otherwise he’d be stuck at the office until god knows when, leaving you at home alone all day and all night on the one day he was planning to spend the whole day with you, but he’s so bitter that he can’t even summon the appreciation he should feel. You’re taking it in stride, of course, telling him that it’s okay and you’re not mad even though Dazai insists that you definitely should be. He called you while on the train with Kunikida, curled up in a seat pouting as he shot his partner dirty looks and mourned his shitty luck because of course this would happen on the day he was planning to make the biggest decision of his life, and yours.

Not that he could tell you that part, obviously.

Kunikida had been rightfully guilty, apologizing to Dazai for the day taking as long as it did and continuously shooting him ashamed looks, but Dazai couldn’t even bask in the knowledge that Kunikida is actually apologizing to him for making him work because he’s so frustrated about how the day has gone compared to what he had planned.

It’s still salvageable, he reminds himself, glancing down at his phone. The reservations he placed for the restaurant aren’t for another hour and a half. He has plenty of time to walk back to your apartment and change so he can take you out for the night, and the thought of taking you out for the night makes all of the frustration he’s feeling absolutely disappear, entirely overshadowed by the giddiness tingling through his limbs and the nerves that tighten his chest. 

Tonight.

He twists his hands in front of his body, eyes catching on a convenience store at the corner of the block, a wide range of chocolates and flowers on display at the main window. With only a moment’s hesitation, he speeds up his pace, flinging open the door to the convenience store and beelining right to the dwindling Valentine’s Day display, weathered down by other frantic partners who were late to get their beloved gifts.

He lets out a relieved puff of air when he sees that your favorite flowers and chocolates are still available, although he’s a bit irate because the flowers aren’t as healthy as they should be, but he supposes it’s his own fault. Of course they're not going to be in perfect shape after being on display all day—if he wanted perfect flowers, he should’ve bought and brought them to you first thing in the morning.

Which he could have done if it weren’t for Kunikida, he thinks bitterly, deciding to place all of the blame on his coworker instead.

He drops the flowers and chocolates at the cash register, where an older man is working, and Dazai pulls out his wallet, flipping through to grab a few yen and place them on the counter.

The older man lets out a bit of a chuckle as he scans the chocolates and the flowers. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you, boy?” he notes. “Can’t have a happy lady at home, I know mine is angry as a bull. Hope you have more than this to appease the girl.” 

Dazai winces and then mutters, “She’s not angry, I got pulled into work. She understands.” 

It sounds pathetic even to his own ears. The man finds it amusing, evidently, from how he has to smother another laugh as he gets Dazai his change.

“Mine said she was fine with it too,” he says, “but I know I’m coming home to the cold shoulder. They never say what they mean, son.” 

Dazai’s mood falters again, the giddiness and nerves slipping away into something colder because he’s feared since he left this morning that you would be bitter over him having to go into work today. And he knows deep down that you’re not like that, that if you say it’s fine, it really is fine most of the time, but a part of him can’t help but wonder if you’re only saying it because you don’t want to stress him out even more, because he’d made it abundantly clear this morning that he wasn’t happy. 

“There you go,” the older man passes over his change and the flowers and chocolates. “Good luck.”

Dazai can barely even bring himself to give the man a proper thank you, making his way back out of the convenience stores with the flowers and chocolates in hand. His eyes flicker down to his phone again, catching the time before he continues down the street—the pit stop had only taken a few minutes, but Dazai is doubly anxious to get back home to you now. Not just because he’s worried that you’re not quite as okay with it as you’ve made yourself out to be, but also because he misses you and just wants to get back home to you, this day has been too long and it’s been especially hellish and jarring because he woke up this morning thinking he’d get to spend the entire day with you.

He’s ready to get home to you. He’s ready to take you out to dinner. He’s ready to take you down to the gardens and he’s ready to-

God, he’s ready to propose. After all of these damn years, he’s finally ready and he will not let a shitty day at work ruin that for him. He still has the whole night, and that’s what’s important because…

He stares at his hand, where a droplet of water had splashed against his skin. A dreadful feeling arises, dark and slithering as it spreads through him. He turns his gaze up to the dark sky—dark because the sun has set, yes, but he realizes now, with a pit in his gut, that it’s also because storm clouds seem to be gathering above the city. He hadn’t even noticed them in his pitiful spiral, nor had he noticed the way the wind had picked up. 

He hardly has time to react before the rain comes down. Hard. Torrential. He stands on the sidewalk, too riddled with shock and disbelief to even move for cover. He stares ahead, wondering just how much more terrible this day can get. He’s never been a believer of Murphy’s Law or any of those other dubious, paranoia-induced “laws of nature,” but he’s severely starting to question his standing on it because of all days, of course it’s today where it seems that the entire universe must be against him.

He stares at the drenched flowers he had just bought you, crumpled and ruined from the force of the rain—he can’t even bring himself to feel frustrated, if anything he’s starting to feel a bit numb with exhaustion, half-certain that there’s a god up there sabotaging him. He tosses the flowers in a nearby garbage can along with the soggy box of chocolates in his other hand, and almost robotically, he makes his way to stand under an overhang, pulling out his phone to call you.

You pick up after the first ring, you always do.

“Osamu?”

“Can you pick me up?” Dazai asks, voice hoarse and empty.

“... Of course. Where are you?”

•••

The car ride has been damningly silent and Dazai feels bad because you’ve tried to make conversation with him but he can’t bring himself to speak. You’ve given up by now though, resorting to just focusing on the road, occasionally sparing him concerned glances. His head is starting to hurt and he fears that if he says something his voice might crack, so instead he just leans his head against the passenger seat window, letting the cool glass spread through his brain and ease the pain as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“We’re never going to make the reservation,” Dazai finally decides to speak up, voice sounding cold and distant even to his own ears. He nearly flinches—he would’ve preferred it to crack than sound so frigid and aloof. 

The rain pouring down is torrential, lightning webbing across the dark sky and wind howling outside. Already, there’s been road closures, the twenty minute drive from the Agency to your apartment has taken twice as long as it usually takes and you’re still stuck in bumper to bumper traffic trying to take the long way around to the complex. The reservation is set for forty minutes from now, and it’ll take nearly as long to get to your apartment at this rate, and then Dazai still has to dry off and change from work, and then you have to drive to the restaurant which would've taken another twenty minutes without traffic. 

Not that it matters anyway, the storm has already destroyed his plans for after dinner, which was the whole point of the dinner anyway, but still, he would have at least liked to bring you to a nice dinner for Valentine’s Day.

He wonders if this is all meant to be a sign, and the thought makes his chest ache because of course when he finally thinks he’s ready to take the next step in his relationship with you—one that he knows you’ve been waiting patiently for four years now but his own hangups about himself have stopped him from ever doing anything about it—this happens. And you’ve never pressured him about it, you’ve never even brought it up to him because you know the topic makes him uncomfortable, but he’s seen the way you look at all of the happily married couples who come into the cafe when you meet him there for his lunch break and he’s seen the way you sometimes glance down at your own empty finger and Dazai thinks he’s ready. 

Against all odds, he thinks he’s ready—he bought you a ring, he planned out the whole proposal. Anxiety has been eating him alive all week as the days led up to this and now that the day is here, everything just goes wrong. He was going to bring you to the aquarium, because he knows you love to watch the dolphins and the penguins but that was ruined because of work. He was going to take you out to dinner at Le Normandie in Naka, because he’d seen you looking at the menu all longingly a few weeks ago, but that was ruined because of the road closures and traffic. And then he was going to bring you down into Yamashita Park, over to the flower gardens where there was supposed to be a band playing, because they always do on Valentine’s Day, and he wrote up everything, a long and flowery speech about how you’ve shown him what it’s like to really live, what it’s like to be human, but that was ruined by the storm. 

All the preparations he made, all of the plans he had, all of it gone to ruin. Just like that. 

And now he’s doubting how ready he actually is.

He really does wonder if this is a sign, a warning, even—higher powers telling him not to condemn you to a life with him because what sort of sane person would want a future with someone who’s spent most of his life trying to kill himself? Dazai has more issues than he’s worth and he’s still half-convinced that you don’t know what you’re getting into even though you’ve been with him for four years and have seen some of his most egregious lows. You’ve had to cut him down from the noose, fight him for the blade he held against his skin, and Dazai doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fully free himself of the dark thoughts tearing apart his brain. 

And you deserve better than a future with someone who’s fickle about living and unable to effectively combat the dark thoughts that plague his mind. This is the world’s attempt at reminding him of that before he makes a mistake.

You draw him from his spiraling thoughts as you squeeze his hand gently, lifting his hand to press your lips against his knuckles and Dazai feels even worse because why are you comforting him when he’s the one who ruined your Valentine’s Day. 

“Let’s order takeout then,” you say easily, giving him a warm smile that should have made him feel more at ease but instead it only makes him feel worse because you shouldn’t have to settle for takeout on Valentine’s Day, especially when he planned such a nice day out. “I’m craving pizza. We can curl up on the couch and watch a movie instead.”

Dazai is unconvinced.

“Don’t give me that look,” you complain, but you’re still smiling and Dazai is finding it hard to keep up his sullen attitude with you looking at him like that. “There’s a new horror movie I wanted to watch, it’s available for streaming now.”

“This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go,” Dazai murmurs, finally intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing a circle with his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“Let’s make the most of it anyway,” you tell him, giving him another radiant smile, and Dazai feels a bit like a fool—he’s never listened to the warnings from higher powers before, so why the hell should he now? When you give him another reassuring squeeze as you rest your joined hands back down on the console, turning your attention back onto the road, his chests lighten and the creeping doubts start to trickle away. 

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all work out anyway.

•••

It takes less than an hour for his slim hopes to be crushed yet again.

Dazai stares at the food in front of him, too numb to even think to go chase after the delivery driver and tell him that he got the order wrong. You’re standing somewhere to the side, looking even more concerned—not because of the food, because of him, and Dazai knows that he should reassure you and tell you that everything is fine but he can’t even muster the strength to speak the words. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, reaching out to grab his hand. He doesn’t even intertwine his fingers with yours, but you’re undeterred, clutching his hand tightly, and he knows he’s being unfair to you but he just doesn’t even know what else to do. “Osamu, it’s fine, really. It’s just some food.”

“You don’t even eat any of this food,” Dazai says, voice tight and more than a bit frustrated. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take, the morning had started off so nice waking up to you fast asleep on his chest and every passing second since then has just gone further and further downhill. “Not one thing has gone right today, and they can’t even get one order done correctly. It’s not fine, I-”

Dazai’s eyes flutter shut when you reach up to cup his cheeks between your hands, squishing his face gently before leaning in to press your lips against his. He sighs against your lips, the frustration slowly starting to dissipate as you rest your forehead against his, stealing one, two, three more kisses before finally pulling back a bit to speak.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him again, and Dazai thinks he should be the one reassuring you because it’s your Valentine’s Day that has been utterly ruined but he only relaxes into your touch, soaking up all of the comfort you offer him. “I have pizza bagels in the freezer, we can throw them in the oven. Honestly, I’ve been tempted to make them all day, anyway, but I wanted to wait for you. It’s not a big deal.”

“... Yeah?” Dazai asks quietly, and you give him that soft, soothing smile that always puts his nerves at ease. He lets out another puff of air, nodding. “Okay, I’ll put them in.”

He steals another kiss from you, and then another, and the tension in his shoulders finally begins to melt when he feels you giggling against his lips, shooing him away to go put the pizza bagels in the oven.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, that maybe the night is still salvageable, he reaches for the door to your freezer and as his fingers curl around the handle, the power goes out. Thunder shakes your apartment complex, lightning webs the sky outside, and the wind outside becomes even more treacherous. And with it, the ability to use the oven to make the pizza rolls you want disappears.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. Dazai thinks it should be comical at this point but he can find no humor in it, his throat tight and clogged with a million unwelcome emotions. He swears there must be someone up in the heavens laughing at him, finding entertainment in his misfortune and misery, and maybe he deserves it for all of the sins he’s committed in the past but he wishes that they wouldn’t drag you into this. 

He casts a miserable look in your direction, unsure if you even notice because you’re already at work trying to fumble to light a few candles, and Dazai is so tired that he thinks he might die. All he had wanted was to take you on a nice day out, ending the night with dinner and a stroll through the gardens at Yamashita before finally gathering the nerve to get down on one knee in front of you, showing you the ring he’d been so nervous buying and-

And then he pauses.

Where is the ring?

The thought dawns on him so damningly that he feels physically ill, realizing that he hadn’t felt the familiar weight in his pocket earlier when walking home from the Agency, nor had he noticed it when he slipped his jacket off and laid it on one of the kitchen chairs. He rushes over to where he had left his jacket, panic spreading through him so intensely that he can hardly think straight, ignoring how you call his name, worried.

His chest tightens, blood running cold as he fumbles through the pockets of his jacket trying to figure out which one he left it in only to realize that it’s not snugged safely in any of them. Dazai thinks he might throw up, wondering if it had fallen out when he took his jacket off at the office, or if it had fallen out while he was walking to work, or when he stopped at the convenience store and pulled out his wallet, or when he was walking home. If it was the latter three, the ring is gone and he’ll probably never see it again, and he probably should take that as a sign from god to not condemn you to a life with him.

“Osamu?” you ask, voice soft and cautious as you make your way over to him, obviously sensing his distress. 

Dazai wants to cry. Or maybe he wants to laugh. He can’t tell. He leans his elbows onto the counter, hiding his face in his hands, and then he decides to laugh, or maybe he’s crying, he’s not sure honestly, but his shoulders are shaking and you’re wrapping your arms around his waist. Dazai wants to melt into you and he wants to tell you just how abysmally terrible this day has been but he can’t without telling you what he had planned and that only makes him more miserable. 

You coax his face out from where it’s hiding against his hands as you stroke his hair, pressing your lips to his shoulder, and then his temple, and as soon as he turns his face to you, you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness streaming down his cheeks, and he realizes distantly that he must’ve been crying. God, when was the last time he cried before this? He doesn’t even remember. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, keeping your voice soft as if to not startle him. 

He doesn’t want to answer, so he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck, hiding himself from view again. As always, you take it in stride, wrapping your arms around him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head and hold him close, lips pressing against the top of his hair. And Dazai is still so frustrated—he’s so frustrated and upset with himself and upset with the world, but as soon as he’s wrapped tight in your arms, it becomes increasingly hard to remain focused on all of the negative thoughts.

“I’m so tired,” is all he can say, voice hoarse and cracking, blunt nails digging crescents into your back as he clings to you desperately. 

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He’s so tired. He just wanted this to be a nice day, and he wanted to finally push himself into giving himself to you entirely, because it’s what he wants. It’s what he wanted. He wanted to be yours and he wanted you to be his. Officially. But if the world really is trying to warn him against it, he’s thinking that maybe he should heed its warnings for once—for your sake, because he’s sure that anyone tied to him must be cursed. 

“Let’s go lay down,” you tell him softly, carding your fingers through his hair gently. The motion is so soothing that it nearly makes his eyes droop shut, exhaustion seeping deep through his bones. “Os-”

There’s a harsh knock at your door. 

Dazai’s eyes slide shut again, frustration coming back tenfold because he can’t even have a single moment with you without it going horribly wrong. You sigh as you break yourself free from him and Dazai longs to be back in your arms instantly, the weight of the day bearing down on him twice as heavily without you there to share the burden with him.

“I’ll go get the door,” you tell him, leaning up on your toes to press your lips to the corner of his. “Go lay down, I’ll join you in a second.”

“No,” Dazai says, capturing your lips in a real kiss briefly before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll get the door. You go change into your pajamas.”

“You sure?” you ask him, concern clear in your eyes as you look up at him.

Dazai only nods, pressing his lips to your forehead before ushering you off into the bedroom. You cast him one more worried look but Dazai shoos you away pointedly before making his way over to the door, frowning a bit because who the hell is showing up at your door this late? He thinks that if it’s the restaurant that sent the wrong food, then Dazai might just slam the door in the delivery man's face because the damage has already been done and Dazai is feeling petty.

But no. It’s not the delivery man standing outside your apartment with the right food this time. Rather, it’s an anxious looking Atsushi and a stressed Kunikida. Dazai’s eye twitches a bit—as if his day hadn’t been ruined enough with work, he swears to god that if they're about to bring even more to him on top of dragging him away from you all day, someone might die. 

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi sounds absurdly relieved at the sight of the man but Dazai’s expression doesn’t budge, waiting for them to explain why they were interrupting his night with you. “We were just leaving work and-I wish I’d seen it sooner, I’m sorry-I would’ve come sooner but-I mean we tried to call and text but-”

Dazai has no idea what Atsushi is talking about, so he drags his eyes from the anxious boy up to Kunikida, waiting for a proper explanation. Kunikida’s lips twist when Dazai looks at him and Dazai thinks the man has no right to look at him that way after being the root cause of how awful his day.

Suddenly, Dazai catches sight of the familiar velvet box sitting in Kunikida’s hand, and he’s not sure what amalgamation of emotions rocks his body—fear, relief, apprehension—but he doesn’t like it, reaching out to snatch the box from Kunikida and cradle it to his chest, watching the two of them uneasily.

“You moron,” Kunikida snaps, careful to keep his voice low, but not low enough because horror shoots through Dazai when Kunikida continues with, “why didn’t you say you were-”

“Lower your voice,” Dazai says, panicking, casting a glance back toward where you’re still getting changed in the bedroom.

“Why didn’t you say you were proposing?” Kunikida finishes in a whisper, voice still a sharp hiss. “If you’d mentioned that I would’ve-”

Dazai feels flustered, and he does not want to answer and admit that he hadn’t thought it would make a difference. Luckily—or maybe unluckily, he concedes—he doesn’t have to answer because he hears you making your way out of the bedroom.

“Osamu?” you call curiously, “Is that Kunikida-kun and Atsushi-kun?”

Dazai’s eyes widen when he realizes that he has nowhere to hide the ring as you come around the corner from the hall. He promptly slams the door in both of his coworkers’ faces without even the sparest thank you, ignoring their surprised yelps as panic begins to spread through him, doing his best to hide his hands behind his back when he turns around to face you.

And then-

Then he hesitates. 

The excuse on his lips about last minute mission briefing or Dazai having to sign off on a time-sensitive report dies when his eyes fall upon where you’re standing, dressed in your fuzzy pajamas with your arms wrapped around your waist and a confused expression painted on your face. The only lighting in the room is the few dim candles that you set up once the power went out, and the soft ambience casts an ethereal glow over your face. He thinks, not for the first time, that you might be heavenly, an angel sent to guide him on the path of good because how could he ever allow himself to fall back into his old, tainted habits without tarnishing you as well, and tarnishing you is simply unacceptable. 

All of the doubts that have risen throughout the day wash away as he looks at you, and he wonders, briefly, how he could’ve ever had any doubts? Dazai, for all of his insecurity and fears of commitment, wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He does. He knows it so thoroughly that he can feel it in his bones; he doesn’t want anyone else, he doesn’t want to be alone, he wants you. He wants to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night, he wants to lounge around on the weekends because you’re both too lazy to get out of bed and do something productive, he wants to be there for your lows when you’re so overwhelmed with work that you can hardly think straight much less properly take care of yourself and god, against all odds, he wants you there for his too, when he feels like he’s being consumed by his own thoughts, spiraling down a dark and never-ending train that might not be as dark and never-ending with you there as a light to guide him out of it. 

“Marry me,” he says, breathless, voice laced with desperation.

You stare at him, eyes wide. He stares back, frozen, unsure of what to do because this was not how this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be extravagant, romantic, like you deserve, not some half-assed spur of the moment proposal. The words hang heavily in the air between the two of you, but he forces himself to push forward, too far in deep to back out now. 

He fumbles as he tries to shift the velvet box into one hand to bring it in front of him and show you. He drops it. Of course he does. Everything else has gone wrong today so why not this too? But still, he pushes forward, kneeling down to scoop up the ring box and prop himself up on one knee in front of you, throat swollen and tight as he opens up the box to show you the ring inside of it. He’s holding it backwards. Of course he is. So he fixes it promptly, swiveling it around with trembling fingers, waiting anxiously for you to respond. Or even just react. 

You haven’t budged from where you’re standing a few feet away.

What if you say no? God, the thought hadn’t even crossed his head but now his heart starts to sink from his chest down to his feet because you’re not moving and you’re not saying anything and he doesn’t know if you’re just processing his words or if you’re trying to figure out the best way to reject him. 

He starts to fumble out words. “This was not how this was supposed to happen,” he admits, speaking so quickly that he can barely understand himself. “It was supposed to be a nice day, we were gonna go to the aquarium to see the dolphins and penguins, dinner at Le Normandie and then go down to the gardens at the park, and there was supposed to be a band and flowers and I had a whole speech ready and it definitely was not supposed to be like this but everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong, but I want to marry you and I don’t want to wait anymore, and I’m sorry that this is a shitty proposal, you deserve better than this. And I’m probably making it worse, I should have just waited for another day, but-”

But please say yes, he wants to say, but he can’t force the words out; he can only stare at you, expression more open and vulnerable than he thinks he’s been in his entire life. And he realizes, a bit horrified, that you could ruin him right now—he’s laid his heart out on a platter and it’ll only take one swift motion for you to crush it in hand and he thinks he’s terrified but-

All of the air is ripped from his lungs with a harsh oof. In an instant, his back is to the floor and you’re on top of him and Dazai is staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, trying to figure out what exactly happened.

“You’re so stupid, Osamu,” you cry out and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that you’re crying, hands propped up on his chest to brace yourself up, tears pooling in your eyes and streaming over your cheeks and dripping onto his own face. “Is this what you’ve been so upset about all day? I don’t need any of that, all I need is you.”

Oh. Dazai can’t breathe, and it’s not because you’re on top of him it’s because your words are processing and he’s realizing that-are you saying that-

“Of course, I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, a puff of air that he does not have in his lungs, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling—elation, relief, exhilaration, all of the above—but he does know that he’s never felt anything like it before and he doesn’t want it to go away. Ever. Dazai swears he sees a flash of a camera from the window, and he swears doubly that he hears Yosano let out a hoot of a cheer and Kunikida hushing her, dragging her away, but he can’t even bring himself to care. 

 Yeah, Dazai thinks to himself, eyes sliding shut as he rests his head back against the floor, the first genuine smile of the day tugging to the edge of his lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, clutching at his shirt, sniffling and hiccuping over each breath. He wraps an arm around your waist, using his free hand to slip the ring out of the box and slide it onto your finger. You cry harder. He kisses the top of your head, wondering how he could ever have any doubts or hesitations. 

He could definitely spend the rest of his life like this.

#<3

[late-night-secrets]

forever and always insane about the fact that haunting means "heimsuchen" in german which literally translates to "homeseeking". a haunting is a search for a home you can never return to

#me (se görman) never realizing this before #<3

[late-night-secrets]

❱ ִֶָ⋆ http:˚ nie ♡ presents! ˚ˑؘ  ·˚

 . . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 BAD INFLUENCE, PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME ; an osamu dazai fic. ❞

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . nope, sorry, no part two will be there.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . tw ; fem!reader, troublemaker!dazai, richboy!dazai, nsfw, public sex, getting caught, dazai has a choking kink, food play, dry humping, going in rough, begging, dazai is a tease, needy!reader, needy!dazai, desperate!dazai, desperate!reader and that's all i remember.

there aren't 'two kinds' of people in the world to be frank. sure, the ideal includes having two different personalities which are a contrast to each other but those were the foundation upon which many branches were created from.

the 'good' and 'evil' are just the original trunks through which many branches sprouted -- all different in some way and similar in other ways.

the leaves of the branches stick together and that is what's normally referred to as a 'clique'.

dazai knows you and him are different people but he can't help but return the smile you offer him as he waves dismissively at the professor who is screaming at him for entering the class after fifteen minutes since it's start.

the brunette thinks the professor should be glad that he even decided to attend it and the reason why he did so is simple really, the teacher is in great luck to have you in his class because by now it was a known fact in the very back to the very front of dazai's brain that wherever you are, he will be too for even getting as much as a glance at you once is enough for him to be content for the entire day.

"sir is screaming at you." you point out in amusement, eyes trained to stay on the man who is now shooting daggers at dazai through his eyes but does the latter really care?

no, he doesn't. what he does care about and feels grateful for is the unexpected friendship --- no, rather it's an acquaintance type of relationship that you two share for the only time you two talk is in this specific class or sometimes outdoors as well if you two end up bumping into each other -- that he found himself developing with you.

"he can't make his wife scream so he does it instead." dazai joked to make you smile like he always does as soon as he enters the class, he likes to think you sit with him at the last bench in the last row is due to his ability of making these boring lectures fun by his side comments.

you snicker quietly as you shift to make space for him and he smiles at you, plopping down on the space next to you but making sure to be as close to you as possible.

"thanks sugar," he muttered to thank you for saving him a seat. this is why you like sitting next to him. to be as close as possible while making it look like it's natural, it's necessary.

dazai had this habit of placing his arm on the back of the chair and you had a habit of discreetly leaning on it a few minutes later after you make sure he is paying attention to the on going lecture. he then proceeds to rub his thumb on the space between your two shoulder blades and that would be the routine. well it used to be.

dazai's eyes glances downwards and even if this isn't his first time seeing you in a skirt, this is his first time seeing you in thigh high socks. the way the socks bring out the essence of your thighs out more has him gulping.

dazai is a man of power and of great patience but he is a human after all and humans are weak infront of their desires.

so he really shouldn't be blamed when he continued to cast his eyes downwards to observe in every detail of your thighs through your ridden up skirt. he gulps once as he is almost tempted to run his hand over your thigh but stops himself when he feels the professor looking at him.

straightening up immediately, the troublemaker smirks at the professor with a raised eyebrow as if asking him the reason of making dazai his centre of attention. said teacher sighed before shaking his head as he muttered something under his breath, probably curses at dazai.

"dude, what did you do to him? he seems to hate you with a passion." dazai tilts his head to look at you who mumbled, a amused smile playing at your lips as you stare up at him before cocking your eyebrows up.

"guess he can't stand seeing someone as good looking as me, hm sugar?" dazai grinned at you cockily and you felt your heart beat escalating, you hum as you glance at the professor to see his back turned towards the class as he looked at a stack of papers on his desk. you took the chance, looking at dazai and eyeing him before you cross one leg over the other as you know really well how the action would make your skirt ride up.

hook up culture isn't something you are fond of but one night with this man is all you ask for, like a virgin maiden had you opened your arms to the sky as you prayed to the entity above before taking this very big step.

you felt your heart beat a particular thrust which made even you acknowledge its beat when you make dazai's eyes trail down to ogle at your exposed midthighs and those thigh high socks which makes your thigh look oh so grabby.

the notorious man found himself leaning in closer towards you just a bit as he smirked charmingly and raised his hand to drum his fingers against your temple.

"or maybe that old bastard is scared of something else which he knows i am capable of doing." he whispered. you were about to turn your head to stare at the front again had it not been for his other hand which immediately your jaw to hold you in place.

"capable of doing what?" you whisper out as you realized you had no choice but to stare at him, dazai smirked as he winked.

"let's play a game? if you win, i'll tell what i'm talking about to you." he offered and the maiden always found herself tempted by the devil, you nod.

"good girl sugar. this class is boring anyway." he brings your hand towards his cheek and leans on it and you playfully scoff, giving your professor a scared glance to see him not noticing what you two are up to, you look at dazai,

"oh hush now, not everyone is a genius like you dude. some of us actually gotta study like hell." you playfully poke his cheek.

dazai shrugs as he chuckled before leaning down to get something from his bag, you curiously peek at what's in his hand and seeing you do so, dazai decided to help you by opening his palm and you raised your eyebrows in curiosity and wonder when you noticed a pack of gummies in his hand. you look up at him, face painted in amusement and confusion and oh, how did he stop himself from leaning in and kissing your lips right now? even he isn't aware but he has always been a man of great self control and pretence.

dazai only grins to cover up the urge to bite his lip and thoughts which are urging him to push you on your knees right now and have you take him, even the thought itself makes him poke his inner cheek with his tongue while he tears the packet open and picks up one of the gummies between his index finger and thumb before he extended his hand to push it past your soft glossed lips as he lets the pad of his index finger linger a little on your upper lip to feel it's softness before he pulls his hand back to himself and smiled innocently as if he isn't imagining choking you on his dick.

he side glanced at the front of the class to make sure no preying eyes are being entertained, leaning near your ear to breath out and let his hot breath collide with the shell of your ear, dazai feels ecstatic to see you try to cross your legs discreetly. "is it good?"

the words sound lewd to you as you repeat the three words but imagine yourself in a completely different scenario, the tricks played on you by your inciting fervor for the male sitting next to you. you gulp before nodding.

dazai slumps down on his seat as he placed his arm around your shoulder to bring you a bit closer to him, his hands gripping your forearm and he whispered,

"say whatever you want to but isn't this class just a little too boring?" he whispered near your ear, a smirk on his face and if possible, said smirk only became more cocky when you nodded immediately as if not even aware of your own actions.

the gummy swirled in your mouth and you could feel it's flavor bursting into your tongue but all you could focus on was the desk infront of you as you realised that if you tried to move a bit, you could be against dazai's body. his words are a blur but his voice is prominent as always.

teasing, seductive and hot.

"why don't we play a game? i'll give you your answers if you win and i'll have a source of entertainment in this boring class, okay? see, this is a win win situation for the both of us." dazai shrugged, feigning innocence but when you nodded, he couldn't help but smirk devilishly.

devilishly in the sense that when you turned your head to look at him and you saw him staring down at you, the smirk on his face made you shiver as it made you realize how powerless you are against him and his intellect.

"the one to give up first loses." is all he said, didn't bother to explain the rules as he thought it would be better to show you how the game is played. because something about the fact of having you trust him without knowing what he has in store for you is addicting and pleasurable. to have you trust him blindly makes him feel giddy.

dazai picked a gummy from the packet and after a glance to the front to make sure no one is looking as you two are still in a classroom, he places the gummy on his collarbone before grinning at you.

"eat it." he mumbled. you widened your eyes for how is this man sane when he is asking to play this game which could be seen as nothing but sexual in a classroom full of students? doesn't matter if you two are situated at the very back of the class and the taller students sitting infront are towering and hiding you two barely.

"you must be joking." you muttered but all dazai did was shake his head, a cocky grin on his face.

"i can assure you that i am really not joking right now. what, you scared?" dazai teased and if possible, the cockiness dripping from his grin only increased as he looked down at you from his position.

you scoffed as you raised your eyebrows at him, you quickly looked at the front to make sure no one is looking before you leaned towards his neck. dazai snickered, the way you anxiously made sure no one would look behind was too adorable for his heart to not squeeze in fondness. he hooked his finger under his collar before pulling on it to make his collarbone and skin more visible and available for you.

you gulped as you leaned near the gummy and parted your lips which came in contact with his skin and dazai shuddered at the feeling. even though the touch was barely felt, it still has an effect on dazai who closed his eyes when he felt your lips press against his skin more as you gently bit on the gummy, leaning back with the gummy between your teeth had given you the opportunity to look at the way dazai's chest slightly heaved up and down and the furrow of his eyebrows.

as he opened his eyes and tilted his head with a smirk, you ate the gummy while taking another one from the packet and looking down your body as you tried to think of a spot which would get him just as flustered as you but then you pause, sparing a glance at the man who continued to watch you contemplate with a mocking pout on his face and you wonder, is it possible to make the dazai osamu flustured?

with a defeated sigh, you place the gummy on top of your thigh high in such a way that half of the gummy laid on your bare thigh skin and the other half on your sock.

you did not, even in your dreams, ever expect the man who could walk and have the trail of footsteps he left be crystallized and worshipped, to bite his bottom lip while a slight and and faint blush leaves its stamp on his cheeks.

"if you keep on staring, the lecture will be over soon." you taunt but in a playful fashion due to not being able to sit still under his intense and trance like gaze and dazai knew his actions and their effects on you.

"what a tease." he muttered as he extended his hand to pinch your thigh while leaning down leisurely and as his tongue passed his lips to swipe the gummy off your thigh, his hand slipped between your thighs to grab a handful of your flesh and squeeze it -- all just to elicit a very faint whimper from you which would reach only his ears.

"you really shouldn't be the one to utter that." you mumble, clearing your throat as you pull the gummy from his lips and twisted it between your fingers before you toss it in your mouth, covering your mouth with the back of your palm as you looked at the front just in time as the professor looked back and he, upon seeing dazai stare at you while biting his lip as he tried to restrain a smile from spreading onto his lips, shook his head.

it's not like he can actually correct the behavior of the brunette who comes from a family under whose feet money and people alike falls.

money speaks volumes to the public more than education ever did after all.

"what are you so scared for?" dazai began as he proped his elbow on the desk and leaned on it, staring at you with an obnoxiously attractive and smug grin but when you do not look nor speak to him in fear of getting caught by the professor, dazai puffs his cheeks a bit before he picks another gummy from the packet.

he shoved the packet into his pocket before he leaned forwards, a grin comparable to a mischievous child on his face as he drops the gummy between your breasts and he leans in to immediately scoop it between his teeth as well as moving his hand to grip your thigh again.

the reaction elicited was one dazai would remember and smile over for days for how could he not when you jumped slightly in your seat when you felt the gummy dropping on your chest and immediately feeling his breath on your skin, the way you looked down at the back of his head with widened eyes when you felt him lick a strip towards the gummy, you felt your legs clenching had it not been for the hand of his which is holding your one thigh and not letting it squeeze against the other -- for dazai needed to know what his limitations laid.

but what he did not know is there are no limitations you hold when it comes to dazai for how could you when your free leg crossed over the one dazai was holding so that he has no choice but to sit for the entirety of the lecture with his hand between your legs.

dazai raised his slender fingers to hook around and pull down on your top, he nibbled the top of your breast where the gummy laid before picking it up between his teeth and as he sat straight, the cocky smirk he showed wasn't meant for you but for the professor who was discreetly looking at you two and curling his fingers into fists, what a bad influence you are dazai.

"don't try to ignore me, you are breaking my heart and making me loose faith in romance." dazai scoffed playfully, faux sadness on the pout he displayed and you looked at him with the same playfulness he carried as you mockingly pouted too.

"why aren't you dead yet?" you teased and watched as the man let out a small and breathy whine, taking advantage of this playful and comfortable mood between you two to get even closer, laying his head on your shoulder and tilting his head to brush his lips against your neck which made you shudder.

"if sir catches us and if i get in trouble, i will make sure you pay for it." your warning is nothing but a joke and he knows it but even if it wasn't, it wouldn't have been much of a problem for he knows what words to use to make you go all shy and giggly.

"you won't get in trouble sugar. i'll make sure of it. but it's amusing how you are scared of sir catching us rather than focusing on the fact that a guy is extremely close to you to do whatever he wants to." dazai breathed out and watches how after his breath hitting your skin makes it a tourist destination for goosebumps.

in response, you squeeze his hand (still sandwiched between your thigh he is gripping and the back of the other one) hardly but it only makes him hum as he parted his lips to let his tongue out and moisten his plush, bottom lip.

"not afraid?" dazai whispers. you shake your head as your eyes fall on him and you smile.

"you don't give me a reason to be." you whisper out as it felt right to be quiet in such a vulnerable moment shared and when you looked into his eyes, how were you supposed to look away from this man who makes everything so breathtakingly beautiful whenever he is doing it?

"good, let's keep it that way." dazai mumbled yet his eyes fell on your lips and you knew he shared the same thoughts, desperation and feelings with you. you knew you aren't the only one feeling suffocated from not being able to just lean forwards and capture his lips in a kiss.

dazai's lithe fingers slipped into his pockets and into the gummy packet from which he picked one and raised it towards your lips, your eyes shakily followed as you tried not to make your unstable respiration visible but when has something ever been hidden from the man who is the master of hiding?

your lips part as dazai gently pushed half of the gummy into your mouth and when you tried to look to the front to make sure if anyone had turned to look at you two, you found your movements restricted by the man whose hand came to grab your jaw while the other (still sandwiched between your thighs) squeezed your thigh.

you let out a confused hum and to hear more noises leaving the temple of your mouth for dazai to worship is his wish as a human bounded by his desires, to have the maiden kiss his feet after he fulfills her wish is his desire as the devil, lulling you into him. so why won't he do what he did when his hand which was grabbing your jaw pulled you forwards and he tilted his head a bit to take the other half of the gummy between his teeth.

his hand immediately left your jaw to grab both of your hands and place it on his crotch, pushing them down onto it and letting you feel as his cock hardens a bit under your palms. the intensity of the situation making your eyes close shut.

a breathy whimper leaves your lips and it makes dazai hiss as he presses your palms harder onto his crotch and as a result, you squeeze his hand tighter between your thighs in an attempt to cross your legs and not feel how his actions are affecting your cunt and hormones.

"dazai osamu." the name called in a very cold and strict tone is what made you to immediately pull back. much to dazai's displeasure as he made sure to keep your hands still above his crotch and with a bored gaze, turned to look at the professor.

"yes sir, how may i help you?" his voice is overcoated with sugar and sickening honey as he blinks innocently yet the grin on his face just makes it clear how 'innocent' he actually is. dazai stares into the professor's eyes, not shying away from making direct eye contact.

you, on the other hand, gulp when you notice most of the class turning their heads to look back at you and you just hope they don't find this position weird or suspect anything as dazai refuses to leave your hands, instead, he guides your hands to squeeze his dick and your breath almost hitched at the small and barely audible whine he let out. does money make one so brave or does he truly have, like he claimed, a trick up his sleeve which makes him one step superior to the professor?

you try to appear normal and not flustured but how can you when the constant movements of the man's hand makes your own to squeeze down on his cock and the way his thighs jerk or he lets out short intake of breaths meant to show how much pleasure he is gaining from all this is constantly reaching you, so, how can you appear normal?

"please do stay back after class and let's have a small tea party." the professor speaks sarcastically and his words weren't meant for you, you knew yet still your ears burned in shame when the class snickered or straight up giggled but so did dazai.

dazai giggled sweetly, pretending to be flattered and shy as he replied back, "my my, is this a date between us two sir?"

you look down to try to muffle the snicker that was to leave your lips at the humorous words of the man and the sight of you being affected by his words like he hoped to, made dazai's heart fuzzy and and his cocky smile to widen.

so it really isn't much of a surprise when dazai is seen happily making his way to the professor's office, behind said authority figure, but what is surprising is you walking alongside dazai. you aren't in trouble and your professor made that much clear when he told you he had a departmental meeting to attend and wouldn't trust dazai in his office alone. as a fairly well performing student and sometimes making small talks and jokes with the professor, he thought you will make a good choice (also considering that you are one of the few people the troublemaker seems to get along with) to be the one to supervise over dazai and said troublemaker was overly ecstatic too with the professor's choice.

however, you weren't. not even in the slightest to be asked to stay back after lectures and you made it known to the joyful troublemaker next to you by walking with slumped shoulders and furrowed eyebrows which said troublemaker found adorable.

but he couldn't have you sulking, can he?

so dazai takes a step closer to you and at the same time wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer, your eyes widening in surprise; flattered, and it made his heart flutter when you let out an almost inaudible gasp as you feel his fingers teasingly lift the hem of your skirt, dazai almost giggled but to stop himself from doing so and risking the professor looking back at you two, he tilted his head down to nuzzle his face against the crook of your neck and then he smiled, in your shade.

"you don't look pleased. am i that displeasing for you to look so bothered?" his words were provocation and he knew you didn't know of so and this is why he continued on with this act when you furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him ; you shook your head as you felt panick begin from your toes and raise towards your lower abdomen, you looked down at his hand on the side of your thigh as it played with the hem of your skirt and when the panick reached till your chest, you grabbed his hand and clasped it tightly as you looked at him, eyes wild in panick.

panick of loosing this tension created and of things going back to the way they were because you really can not tolerate going back to being casual deskmates after playing such a dangerous game which had desire and self control as its two rules.

dazai felt the ends of his lips curl up into a satisfied grin when he stared right into your eyes and watched you bringing his hand towards your mouth -- towards your lips specifically and he practically leaned on his toes when he felt the faintest touch of your lips on his hand before you pulled his hand more near and bit the skin of the backside of his palm.

dazai, in return, bit his lip as he looked away with a smile and when you freed his hand from your grip, he looked down at the pink skin and teeth mark left by you and smirked.

he leaned his head on your shoulder again and this is when you mumbled , "someone was being all cocky and saying they wouldn't let me get in trouble. what happened to that?"

dazai snickered quietly at the teasing tone and hummed, tilting his head up to slightly lick your jaw before he whispered against it, "isn't trouble worth it if it's with me?"

when you do not reply but only look at him with a cocked eyebrow, dazai puffed out his cheeks yet again to let his displeasure be known as now he sulked, yet unlike him, you didn't try to make any efforts in making him feel better.

"i hope you don't hold me asking you to stay here after lectures against me --" your professor began and you immediately separated from dazai, nodding at the man and the way you took a step forwards to listen to your professor better had dazai poking his inner cheek with his tongue, not liking it at all.

for when the devil sees one fearing his own kind more than him, he feels humiliated, challenged.

dazai osamu never liked feeling second to someone else but he stays put and doesn't do anything except glare at your back and if only you could turn your head to look at the ferocious glare he has, maybe you would drop on your knees right there and then and maybe he knew it too and this is why he continued to glare at you yet a cocky smirk slowly crept to his lips like a snake slithering towards its unsuspecting prey.

"i will be back in thirty minutes or before, please keep an eye on that troublemaker and i'll make sure to give you extra credit for this." your professor promised and who were you to refuse?

the maiden found shelter in the priest and his vows yet a shelter is different from a home.

a home.

dazai.

no one else.

. . . is it understood?

maybe it was your naivety to not notice or find anything wrong with dazai's unusual quietness as you two entered the professor's office.

or maybe you knew it damn well and still decided to go for it because the maiden grew greedy and wanted more, to make a deal with the devil.

dazai's sharp eyes followed when you sat on the leather chair next to him and he watched your eyes scanning over the office before you hummed, impressed.

yet he also watched the stack of papers on the professor's desk which caught your attention and how you immediately approached it while saying something along the lines of, "these must be the class test papers. do you want to see your paper too?"

"not really, go ahead." dazai muttered lowly and he felt his finger twitch when you only hummed. is his voice not seductive? why are you being so nonchalant?

did you ever wonder why the devil approached the pure maiden? maybe it is the devil that got seduced and not the other way around and maybe this is why the devil wanted to make a deal with the maiden so he could keep her all for himself.

you leaned down a bit on the desk as you searched for your paper among the many others and found it after a great deal of effort being used and this made you a bit tired to have to go through all the different papers to find your's and then arrange them back in the pile. you looked down at your paper with a slight excitement mixed with a slight anxiety but when your eyes fell on your mark, you raised your eyebrows in awe.

not bad. most of your answers were correct but they weren't what you were interested in, you were more interested in seeing the ones you got wrong and so to make yourself more comfortable, you leaned on the desk.

dazai gritted his teeth and looked away when he saw your breasts being squished between the glossed wooden table and your body and slowly, oh so slowly, his eyes trailed to your lower body to see your skirt riding up (due to leaning and practically laying on the table).

dazai stared long enough to make out the colour of your panties and if he stared a bit more, he could make out the outline of your cunt and he did. for if he hadn't, then he wouldn't have seen the wet patch on it and gotten the courage to do what he did next.

dazai knew it was too weird for you to not have any effect because of his flirting but now that it is clear you were only putting on an act of nonchalance to hide your obvious reaction to him, he felt his deflating ego rising from the bottom to take lead of him again.

like an eagle, he stood up from the chair he was sitting on to approach you and made his presence very obvious to you. your breath refused to leave your windpipe when you could easily make out dazai's crotch pressing against your ass, his legs on your's and when he leaned down, you could feel his chest against your waist.

your hands holding your quiz paper shook slightly and he smirked upon seeing so as he raised one hand to run it down your back.

"show it to me, sugar." dazai muttered lowly against your ear and lord, oh lord, the gravel tone he spoke in made you want to beg him to take you at the very moment but self restraint is a humorous thing and it won't let you submit till it broke in half.

you do not reply but lick your lips which suddenly got really dry, shakily raising your hands to let him have a clear view of your paper and you looked down, staring at the desk you are inappropriately laying on.

"next page," dazai ordered when the first page showed no incorrect answers and when you failed to listen to him, he gently pinched the back of your thigh which made you to slightly jerk forwards at the unexpected action yet what followed it was his crotch being pressed against your ass.

you whimpered at the touch as the more he pressed his crotch against you, the more you felt the wet patch of your panties rubbing against your wet folds.

"hey, i asked you to do something so why won't you? wasn't i clear?" he hissed down next to your ear and you wondered why is he so worked up?

but how would you know when your forehead is pressed against the desk and your forehead is all sweaty? how would you know how his eyes didn't even glance up to see you pathetically trying to turn the page with shaky fingers and failing.

"what are you even gonna do after seeing it? you don't look even a bit interested in it." you try to speak but your voice comes out as a whine which makes dazai close his eyes. he hummed, moving his hips back before he pushed his crotch against you again to elicit the sound from you one more time. he felt as if didn't hear it right, didn't savour it right the first time.

"what are you --" you mumble when he humped against you again but soon found yourself missing the touch and rhythmic thrust when he stopped and the way his hard on cock could be felt between your ass cheeks.

"-- no, please don't stop." you begged softly and with such fragility that it was evident how your arousal and attraction towards the man behind you is playing with your mind. but when the man only snickered, refusing to move and fulfill your wishes, you took matters into your own hands and pushed your ass against his crotch.

as he hissed, you were made very aware of the hard and clothed dick pushing your skirt and panties between your folds and it made you let out another needy whine

you hide your face against your arms, forehead pressed on the desk after dazai grabbed the paper from your hands and carelessly tossed it on the stack of other papers ; he humped against you again and released a deep breathy sigh.

"ah . . . fuck, fuck, fuck." dazai cursed lowly under his breath as each curse was accompanied by a thrust which left him breathless, his throat felt dry while your legs felt hot and so did your core. you had to spread your legs for him but you didn't find the energy to do so and neither did dazai who has no greater urge then to rip your skirt off but all he could do at the hands of the one who now has him in captivity, is to let out whimpers and curses as he pathetically dry humped against you.

why he felt at such a loss of energy could be explained with great simplicity, really. he felt so because he is in a great state of euphoria, more then what his body and heart could handle and so he feels overwhelmed.

"please, please let me -- ahh, please? fuck, gotta fuck you. need to feel your preety pussy sucking me in, please let me sugar. please." needily he whined as he leaned down even more to bury his face against your neck and whisper against it. his pleas were answered with you grinding against him as short breaths, gasps and whines were all that left the castle of your mouth and through your lips.

though he isn't dazai if he doesn't turn the odds to his favors soon.

"let me fuck you? gotta fuck you. maybe then you'll realise what you did wrong." he rapsed but as if it's a secret between you both, you and dazai knew he wasn't referring to the quiz paper but to something else which was revealed with his next action.

and it seemed like he wanted a verbal answer for your nod had no effect on him and didn't push him to go through with his next course of actions.

dazai's lithe fingers found access under your skirt and he ran the back of his index finger along the plush of your ass while he whispered, "why don't you cling to me instead of that old professor sugar?"

his voice was between a whine and a growl and it only made you to grip the edge of the table at the tone he spoke in only made you aware of your own needy state.

"come on, you know i'm better than he could ever be, right?" dazai whined against your neck and to get a response from you other than the short breaths you let out, he nibbled at your skin while at the same time, in perfect coordination, his hands moved towards the waistband of your panties as he pulled it and stopped, eyes looking down at the table you are squished on with wrath,

"gonna fuck you on this table yeah? old hag needs to know he isn't better than me," dazai tilted his head up towards your ear as he whispered out, "and definitely not a better choice for you." he licked your earshell.

the movement of his crotch rutting against your ass stopped as he moved a bit back only to smile arrogantly when you whined out loud, hooking your ankle around his in a pathetic and quick attempt to stop him from taking a step back.

"please . . ." you opened your eyes and leaned up to look back at him, sweat drops forming on your forehead and lips almost swollen from how hard you were biting down on it, ". . . fuck me. put your hands all over me dammit!" you whined, irritated at the lose of touch.

"yeah? why should i?" dazai raised his eyebrows as he stared down at you for a few seconds before he crumbled, his arrogance being bullied around by his arousal and he found himself leaning forwards to grab your breast, squeezing it harshly as a demand for a response.

". . . please, please? fuck, please, i just need to -- you can't do this to me after riling me up so much . . . hah, seriously? fuck. stop looking at me like that." you mumbled because your arousal froze when you stared at his brown pupils, the ones bearing many secrets and plans, many fortunes and tragedies and how on earth can even lust bow down to admire someone's beauty?

the way his hair sticked to his sweaty forehead and he stared at you with an obnoxiously arrogant smirk yet the pink dust spreading onto his cheeks gave it away how he, with an overbearing beauty, is affected by his hormones and feelings and emotions and lust and why aren't you playing along with him so he could just fuck you?

no. he don't want to just fuck you. when the one who never had anything handed to him with love finds someone he wants to invest his love in, no matter in which shape or form it is in, he won't be satisfied with normality.

he will torture you and himself till he gets what he wants.

for who do you think he is? isn't he the one who walks so even the demi-gods and goddesses can admire and feel envious for feeling threatened and admiration for a mere mortal whose ecstacy comes from being in situations where his heart accelerates and he is hanging on the thin line between life and death.

"why should i when this is how you look at me during lectues?" dazai breathed out and his raspy tone could ascend you to the deepest pits of pleasure and then push you to the cliff of greed and desperation for more. dazai who still has your breast between his fingers, squeezed it as he glared down at you, "always looking at me so prettily and giving that old hag more of a chance to pick on me --"

he leaned a bit towards you as he extended his other hand to twirl your hair strand, "-- do you do it on purpose? knowing i won't focus on shit?" dazai muttered lowly, voice seductive and smooth like honey flowing through a honey comb and luring a man towards its, hiding its danger behind its tempting look.

"that's not my problem." you scoff yet the arrogance laying in your eyes at the sudden fact is not something he will let go so easily.

dazai pulled on your hair to pull you closer before he peppered small kisses along the curve of your jaw, you felt his lips extremely close to your own but before you could feel even the lightest touch of his lips on your own -- he moved back.

"then you being a needy mess isn't my problem as well." he squeezed your breast again before leaving it but before he could pull his hand back to himself, you grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand towards your breasts again. he could feel your legs shaking as you looked at him with a slight frown, desperate to do anything to please him so he could do so in return. this chance won't be coming again and so it should not be wasted at all.

dazai's hand grabbed the flesh of your breast, continuing to squeeze it and with each squeeze, the next one got prominently rougher and harder while he stared into your eyes. something about the sweatbeads on your forehead, bottom lip being sucked in as you pursed your lips and bit them and the especially tempting,  pure and desperate flashing in your eyes had his breath increasing greatly.

and a few and very dragged out seconds, dazai lets out a shaky and frustrated breath before his hands left your breast and hair strand to grab the curve of your body and turned you around so you were once again facing the table. dazai leaned forwards to hide his face against your neck while one of his hands left their initial position to slither down towards under your skirt to your ass.

"you are being such a brat. why are you being a brat? can't you just be good for me sugar? let me fuck you like a good girl?" he whined out and as his frustrations grew by the way he seemed to torture only himself by teasing you, dazai gently bit your neck and you hissed out at the sudden action but with each second passing, the intensity and force in his bites increased till he was biting you hard enough to leave his teeth marks.

you shuddered a bit when you felt his index finger drag down your ass till it reached the waistband of your panties, his cold fingers provided an oddly addicting sensation but it soon disappeared when he pulled your panties down and let them pool by your ankle. and he impatiently grinned against you again, this time, however, the only thing separating his clothed cock from your bare ass is your skirt.

his sneaky hands found a path between his quick and continuous humping to pull your skirt up to your waist. he stared down at your ass with a hungry stare and he would've loved to go on his knees and just have a taste had it not been you fueling his sexual frustration and neediness with the way your whimpers and soft whines only accelerates his frustration further and his frustration pours the spotlight on the growing arousal he needs to get relieved of now or else he won't be able to feel the same pleasure he could feel at this moment if he tried to pleasure himself later, he knew.

"fuck, be a good girl already sugar so I can just fuck you already." dazai whined loudly, pulling down at the sleeve of your top to move his lips against your shoulder to plant a soft kiss before he parted his lips to let his teeth sink into your shoulder, biting it hard. you yelped.

was this not your breaking point with the way his teeth teased you and brought you pain yet the humping against your naked ass brought you pleasure? the heat from his body behind your's and the slight shake of his body with each whine and whimper he released only made you break further. and you did.

your head was buried between your arms on the desk as you loudly begged, "please please please -- ah, i need you, I want you, please!" you raised your voice in sexual frustration.

the man behind you who played a dangerous game by playing with your and his lust finally felt satisfied and hence why he was quick to unbuckle his belt with the flick of his hand down the buckle of the belt.

you raised your head and looked over your shoulder, licking your lips as you began to rub your thigh together and watched him pull his belt out and as much as dazai enjoyed watching the fat of your ass move with your leg movements, he could not let you pleasure yourself -- not when he is there.

he raised his knee to push it between your thighs and to stop your movements and you pouted again, as you stared at him but he had no mercy as he took his belt and leaned forwards to wrap it around your stomach and pull it along your back, tying it and gripping the leftover part in his palm.

you saw him pull down his zipper with haste before he pulled his jeans and boxers down to his knees. he used the belt he tied around your waist and stomach as a controlled of sorts, jerking it to tell you to look forwards and he leaned in, placing his hand on the edge of the desk and next to your hips.

with the other hand, he grabbed his cock and stroked and pumped it thrice (you knew cause your eyes refused to leave him and devour in the sight of him), he guided the tip wet with precum towards your inner thigh and rubbed it against it twice.

"'i'm sorry! sorry! sorry! please dazai, don't be like that. fuck me! fuck me!" you whined out loud and dazai snickered at the way you were so fucked up by his teasing that you didn't even realize you were apologizing to please him when the situation isn't even asking for it. he could feel his cock twitch at your willingness to please and flatter him.

"yeah? you are? not gonna be a brat now, are we?" dazai taunted but at the moment even his taunts are so sexy to hear so you comply, nodding.

"yeah, i'll be good. promise, dazai! for real!" you whine again as you feel him increase the pace of rubbing his tip against your inner thigh. dazai hummed as he spreaded your cheek with one hand and grabbed his cock again, pushing it against your inner labia to collect some of your juices to guarantee a smooth entrance for him and mostly you.

"yeah? but sugar don't you realize where we are right now? what if sir walks in?" dazai smirked as he raised his eyes to stare at you staring at him with wide eyes and a pout as you shook your head quickly, arching your back and trying to push your ass against his crotch but he stopped you by pulling at the belt again.

"we will be quick! trust me, please? i will go mad if you don't touch me right now." your whines, the more he heard, the more he desired to hear more.

dazai fauxed hesitance as he looked at you with faux uncertainty but you knew of the act he is putting on immediately as his actions heavily contrasted his words ; he slowly pushed only the tip of his dick inside your hole.

"i mean i'm up for it sugar but what if we get caught? you'll get in trouble too." he teased, mocked your patience even when he saw how transparent his lack of care for getting himself or you in trouble is, he has the sources to get out of trouble anyway so why would he be afraid?

he warned but then why is the danger himself lurking closer to your breasts before slithering upwards towards your neck as if poison spreading through your veins?

but then again has temptation and lust ever been less dangerous than actual poison? one who kills you physically or one who messes with you mentally and emotionally and then physically?.

temptation has always been the devil's strong weapon, his pride and his charm.

"but didn't --" oh the man whose fingertips spreads temptation and adulterous thoughts into your head, why would you not even let the girl infront of you, bending for you, to complete her sentence?

rudely thrusting into you to break a moan out of your vocal chord is what he did and hiding your face in your arms is what you did.

"were you saying something sugar?" dazai smirked, you know he did cause it was evident with the edge of arrogance in his words but you took advantage of not being able to look at his face to speak up or else you would've surely stuttered and stumbled on your own words.

"for someone claiming they won't let me get in trouble, you are awfully going back on your own words a lot of tim -- dazai!" you yelp out his name but surely you'll wonder later if your words weren't what dazai seemed as interesting for he intrupted you everytime with a thrust.

but this one had you screaming out his name ; bare and skin to skin, warmth and wetness, clamping down and penetrating were all simulations you two felt at once.

"yeah? welllll," he dragged on, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue before he jerked the belt and pushed on your back to make it into a perfect arch and began thrusting at a rapid pace after dragging out his teasing for too long and he rasped out in between, "guess i gotta keep my word. can't go back on them now, right sugar?"

dazai asked but when he didn't get any reply other then filthy moans from you, he tutted in what seemed like faux disappointment though its hard to hear his voice over your pleasure filled one.

his hand went down to graze and grab your knee before he pushed it up on the desk, leaning his head near your neck again to whimper against it while pounding into you.

his cock penetrated in and out of your walls before but this new position had given him an opening to graze the tip against the one spot which made your b shiver upon it being disturbed but once you didn't feel the head of his cock grazing against the spot as he pulled back (before thrusting in again just two seconds later), you found yourself missing it and so, you tried to meet his thrusts ; you moved your hips back at the same time as he thrusted forwards. a breathy moan left you as you digged your nails on your elbows (due to having your arms folded on top of the desk).

"fine, if you won't answer me then make sure to scream my name out as loud as you can." he muttered in between whimpers and whines, he could feel sweat drops dripping down his back and forehead, the way your walls sucked his dick in as if promising to not settle for anything other then drowning it. this is what lead to his quick thrusts as he wanted to feel the feeling again and soon.

the desk began to move with each movement and if only you were conscious and rational enough to worry about the stack of quiz papers falling down, you would've raised your head to look at it and would also be curious to look back and that's when you could've seen the hand holding onto the belt around your waist and how tightly he was holding the ends. hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

your eyes barely stay open as you feel dazai tug you closer using the belt around your waist and you probably heard him take a step forwards as well but you aren't sure when his hand reached down towards your core to push against your inner thigh, making you spread your legs a bit more.

your eyes close and you rely on your other senses as your hardened nipples find pleasure in the friction created by your clothed breasts moving against the desk with every thrust dazai makes.

over your own pleasure filled voice, it is hard to hear anything else but due to the close proximity and dazai's lips moving against your skin, you felt and somewhat barely heard his whimpers and unstable intakes of breaths.

the hand on your inner thigh slithered upwards when he felt his balls tightening and your walls clamping around him even tighter to the point the man felt his knees growing weak.

dazai let out a shuddering breath as he leaned his chest against your back, squeezing you against him and the desk as his fingers traced around your wet outer labia.

"dazai!" a scream ripped through your throat when you felt it clearly ; the way his cock hitted your g-spot. your scream made him caress your outer labia using a bit of force, your back arched and dazai's lips peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder, pulling down on your top sleeve using his teeth to continue marking your shoulder with his bite marks.

dazai's eyes rolled back as your walls squeezed him tighter with each hard thrust to your g-spot and he stopped pushing and tracing your outer labia. he raised his hand and head to look at the glossy coating on his fingers and with a smirk, he brought his finger near his lips before smearing your juice all over his lips and licking it.

a high pitched moan left his lips as he tilted his head back at the way he is teasing himself. closing his eyes to hear the erotic sound of his dick slamming in and out of your wet cunt, his balls hitting against your ass with each slam and your moans and whines -- this all pushed him over the edge more but he wasn't satisfied with this much and wanted more so, dazai traced his hand along his chest before raising it towards his neck and slightly choking himself.

he raised his head to look at your fucked out stare and still arched back, a very faint red blush began to spread on his cheeks as his eyes narrowed. curling his toes and digging his nails in the base of his shoes to obtain any kind of stability, he began to move even faster and you chocked on your moans.

"can't really let you cum here sugar. you'll ruin the professor's desk." dazai smirked and relished when your breath hitched and you shook your head, loudly begging.

"no! please no! don't be so mean to me dazai!"

"but i am only being considerate of our professor sugar." dazai snickered and you had to bite down on your lip before you parted them to speak out again,

"w-what a mean guy! you don't even kiss me but say all kinds of romantic things! you go around teasing me but when i try to do the same, you act like a fucking virgin. i make you loose focus in class? yeah as if --" you stop to moan as he licked a spot on your neck before sucking on it,

"-- what about you and your sneaky touches? always teasing me! making me so worked up and hot. and now when you are finally fucking me, you deny me of my orgasm!" you squeal when dazai pulled hard on the belt and all the while, his thrusts never once lost their velocity.

"you wanna kiss me sugar? i am a mean guy tho." dazai teased and squeezed his neck a little harder, moaning lowly at the pleasure surging through his body.

"yeah." you moan out as you decide you can't reply with a witty remark as you feel the knot of pleasure being pulled in two directions ; one by dazai's dick and the other by the rubbing of your squeezed breasts against the desk.

"soon. yeah? gonna kiss you really soon and really good." dazai uttered a promise and once again dropped his face against your neck, abandoning the belt to wrap both of his arms around your waist and under your stomach to lift your ass up a bit for even more easy access as he panted.

one thrust to your g-spot had sparkles flying inside your entire body. your knot of pleasure was reaching its limit as he pulled at it even more.

the other thrust made him gasp as your walls squeezed down hard onto him.

the third thrust made the desk to inch forward, rocking it and along with it you felt the friction hitting your hardened yet clothed nipple and it spreaded a very raw ounce of pleasure behind your chest and towards your back, making it arch.

the knot grew weaker and weaker and was barely holding on.

the last thrust was followed by him whimpering out your name and your knees went weak, you would've fallen on your knees if it weren't for him holding you up.

the knot broke and cum flowed down his dick making it hard for him to thrust in and out without his dick slipping out and so he stopped to allow you both to catch your breaths.

". . . can i kiss you now?" dazai slowly mumbled when he felt you calming down from your high and a hiss left your lips when he pulled his still hard dick out of your hole.

you chuckle breathlessly, "lord, you are unbelievable."

yet you still try to support yourself on your arms before realizing dazai still has his arms wrapped around you and so he lifted you before turning you around.

your back hits the desk, cum dripping down your thigh yet your focus is on his still hard dick even when dazai cupped your jaw in his palm and raised it to capture your lips in his, your eyes immediately shut close yet your hands travel down to grab his dick, stroking it once using your index finger as if to feel it.

this had dazai gasp against your lips. you wrap your hands around his dick before beginning to pump it and dazai shows his appreciation to your action by moving his hips as well, thrusting into your hands.

you part your lips when you feel him part his but you are taken by a pleasant surprise when instead of letting his tongue explore your mouth, he tilts his head in such an angle that he can nibble on the side of your bottom lip as well as move his lips below your bottom lip.

your grip on his cock tightened when you sense his thrusts become faster yet you still remain unaware of how dazai's eyes are opened and boring holes into the ones of the one on the door who is flabbergasted, shocked ; the professor.

dazai winked at the professor before tilting his head up to capture your lips in a kiss again, mouth parting open and shamelessly moaning into your mouth when your last pump made his cum to shoot out and stain your hands with it.

dazai's arms wrap around your waist again, close to your waist as he makes sure your skirt is covering your bare ass before reaching towards your cunt to swipe some of it on the pad of his index finger and pulling his hand up to show it to the professor.

you feel dazai's lip attack your upper lip, kissing and sucking it before kissing you again, saliva mixing with your's and a filthy wet sound being produced which he is sure the professor heard.

you pull back from the kiss, panting as dazai used his other hand to push your head against his shoulder, mouthing the words with a mocking and cocky smirk to the man whose presence you are unaware of,

"tissues," he mouthed and when the professor began to glare at him again, about to shout, dazai looked down at you again before leaning in to kiss you again.

━━━━━━━ 💋 end.

[late-night-secrets]

*feels deeply but cannot explain*

[late-night-secrets]

oh, hey, it's me

Intrinsic Warmth News (+ Sappiness from Me)

THE BIGGEST INTRINSIC WARMTH NEWS EVER GUYS GUYS GUYS

THERE IS A FANFIC OF MY FANFIC YOU GUYS I HAVE BEEN FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS PLS PLS PLSP LS

Sunday September 7th, 2014 – 1:43 a.m.: Lovely, lovely ao3 user late_night_secrets has written Satoru’s POV for the beginning of the latest chapter of IW; it’s truly so so so so so cool and I am literally never going to shut up about this. Please please go and read it. Please please please. It’s such a beautiful brief insight into his head at that moment and I’m in love with it. One of my favourite lines, when Satoru tries to call out for Hebi: “What was it? Had it been so long that he had forgotten to pronounce her name?” GODDDD IT HITS IT HITS

This is properly such a huge thing for me. It’s crazy and I’m not sure how many of you have noticed/checked out other works I’ve written, but the first thing I ever published to ao3 was a fanfic of a fanfic; I wrote it based on ‘Spite’ by wellitcouldbeworse3, the best Levi x reader I’ve ever read. I will sing its praises forever—as well having a full ballad for wellitcouldbeworse3’s praises; she’s an incredible author, please go and read her stuff, tell her I said hi. She’s amazing, updates weekly (!!), and is currently releasing a Levi x reader Alice in Borderland AU. With ‘Spite’, I read it weekly since like the tenth chapter (of 50), commented every week until comments took me literal hours to write (you’ll be able to see our correspondences in the comments section; I was deep into my Eng Lit A Level at this point), and I wrote my fanfic of a fanfic because of how brilliant ‘Spite’ was.

Writing IW has been insane, because I’ve been seeing all of the things I’ve done as a reader done to my fic, with me now as an author. I did get a little emotional, but it’s because I started on ao3 writing what I have just received, now based off my own writing. Thank you everyone for reading and interacting with IW, and thank you again to late_night_secrets for writing this; everyone, please go read it, please. Thank you <3

#omg senpai has noticed me #i'm so sorry i have absolutely no idea how to react to this on tumblr #but i am soooooo glad you like it thank f*cking gosh #your ao3 comment made me cry a little i will respond tomorrow #oof i genuinely don't know how to convey feelings here sorry #or in general rl i suppose #intrinsic warmth

[late-night-secrets]

you’re not evil girl you’re just lonely and no one has cared for you in a while and its making you crazy can you go get a fucking chai latte or something

#... i'll take a matcha thanks

[late-night-secrets]

I JUST READ YOUR PM DAZAI X PM READER AAAAAAA YOURE SUCH A GENIOUS AND IT BEING FROM HIROTU’S POV I LOVE YOU

Thank you so much!! <3 I'm glad people like it, I'm still figuring out if I do ^^'

#ask lns #anonymous

[late-night-secrets]

alright, folks, i posted it

Ok but what if i wrote a dazai x reader where they both are in their teens and therefore in the port mafia but it's from a third person's perspective like the black lizard's commander so one can fully grasp the bizarre personas of children who have to do an adult's job

[late-night-secrets]

!! tw: mentions of torture !!

**********

As Hirotsu steps closer to the room, the screams grow louder. A man’s voice, distorted by pain and agony. Whatever is happening to him, it’s stripping him of his humanity and lays him bare to what he truly is: a dying animal. It makes Hirotsu’s hair stand on end.

Closing the distance to the door that separates Hirotsu from the suffering creature, he can make out more than the screams: more voices, two of them; one deeper than the other. A man and a woman.

No, a boy and a girl.

They boy’s name is Dazai, and he is, despite his young age, one of the Port Mafia’s executives, meaning he owns a higher position in the chain of command than Hirotsu. The girl, on the other hand, is fairly normal. As far as Hirotsu’s knows her ability is not worth mentioning. And yet she is a well-known person within the Port Mafia, just because of her acquaintance with Dazai. No one really knows how they have gotten close, Hirotsu suspects it’s simply because they share the same age. It’s not easy to find peers in a criminal organization like the Port Mafia.

Contrary to the screamer, these two seem to talk calmy with each other; so soft that Hirotsu cannot make out any words.

He pays the guards next to the door no mind and knocks. Unfortunately, it drowns in another bloodcurdling shriek that makes Hirotsu shiver internally. Patiently, he waits until the cries quiet down to pathetic whimpers before he knocks again. Yet, it seems he remains unheard. The muffled voices are still too quiet to understand but given their speed and intonation, they appear excited.

He fears he will have to enter without announcing himself beforehand.

“Please, excuse me,” he apologizes as he opens the door and enters in a humble bow.

Another scream.

“This one was good! You get the hang of it!” Dazai’s voice chirps encouragingly.

“Thank you,” the girl replies. “He still didn’t talk though.”

“Oh!” The boy makes a sound as if he suddenly remembers something important. “We haven’t asked him a question in a while, have we?” He chuckles at their silliness.

Hirotsu understands that his presence hasn’t been noticed, so he straightens himself to look at the room in front of him. It’s a dimly lit, almost empty place. There’s a chair in the middle, and on this chair sits a man.

Or what’s left of him. He’s still alive – his misfortune – but if Hirotsu hadn’t heard his agony before, one glance at him would be enough to get that death is mercy compared to this. Some parts of his face are swollen, probably where he has been hit. And there’s blood, a lot of it. It’s streaming down his face, dripping onto his dirty shirt. It’s also streaming out of his fingers, out of his naked toes. Some of them distorted in such a way that they have to be broken.

In front of the man stand the other two, the boy and the girl, two teenagers. They are both wearing bloody aprons and gloves that reach to their elbows. Their backs are turned to Hirotsu, facing the man on the chair and currently chatting with one another. The girl loosely holds something in her hands that Hirotsu correctly identifies as pincers.

“Oh, we forgot,” the girl realizes and has to giggle.

The man groans in pain. “Please…”

“Well, it’s not like he has any valuable information that we don’t know already.” Dazai places his hands on his hips as he speaks. “This is more of a training session than a proper interrogation in the first place.”

Just recently, the girl has joined Koyo’s unit, making her a part of the interrogation specialists. However, she hasn’t had much experience in the Port Mafia’s questioning methods which is why Dazai has offered to help. A surprise if simply given his position, but the bond their share is not unknown within the organization. Quite the contrary, everyone knows or at least suspects that they are fooling around – nothing unusual for their age – and yet no one dares to say it out loud. Of course not, this involves one of the Port Mafia’s executives! Still, sometimes Hirotsu feels like just once he should step out of the mafia’s hierarchy only to make sure that two young people understand the consequences of being too careless… After all, an infant is the last thing the mafia needs right now.

“Now, I think we can move on,” Dazai decides with a very reasonable tone and lets Hirotsu snap out of his thoughts. “What do you suggest we should do next?”

The girl ponders for a moment, so he decides to help out. “You have said something earlier that would be good idea now.”

She gives him a confused look. “Cutting of his limbs entirely–?”

The man on the chair groans at that.

“– But you said it’d cause too much blood loss,” she finishes ignoring their victim entirely.

Dazai chuckles. “Yes, it would. I’m not speaking about the limbs. Think again. What did you say even before that?”

A moment of silences passes as she roams through her memories. For some reason, Hirotsu doesn’t dare to interrupt. This whole conversation gives him chills.

“What did we say where it’ll hurt the most?” Dazai gives her a leg up. Hirotsu notices that he’s uncharacteristically patient. And cheerful, too.

Her face lights up. “The mucosa!”

The man groans again, louder this time.

Dazai nods at her proudly. “Exactly! You can give me these.” He reaches out for the pincers and takes them to a table at one of the walls Hirotsu hasn’t noticed before. He returns with several smaller, sharp objects. They look like needles, the older man thinks.

“Now, there are several places to reach the mucosa,” Dazai lectures her with a small smile. “For instance, mouth, nose, genitals.” He gets closer to the man, placing his legs on each side of the chair. If he lowered himself, he’d straddle the victim’s lap. While doing so, he never breaks eye contact with the girl. “My personal favorite are the eyes. They are especially sensitive.”

The girl nods and watches him curiously.

It’s then when Hirotsu realizes why he feels a little nauseous. They’re discussing torture. And whereas that is nothing new to him or to the Port Mafia in the first place, it’s a little different with them. They are just two teenagers spending time together, one helping out the other. Their whole demeanor is so casual and relaxed while there’s a man dying right next to them. Hirotsu dedicates his whole life to the Port Mafia and the Boss but right now he’s looking at two people who are still almost children, who have never known a life outside of all this violence and death. Briefly, he allows himself to ask the useless question whether people like them have any morals in the first place.

The next quiet moment comes – not counting in the man’s pleading – as Dazai leans forward to pull their victims lower lid downwards until the pink flesh of his mucosa becomes visible.

Hirotsu decides he has waited long enough. He’s clearing his throat and falls into a small bow. “Please, excuse me.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees both of them turning to him. The girl immediately bends at her waist to pay her respect, “Mr. Hirotsu. My apologies, I didn’t notice you coming in.”

“Neither did I.” Dazai doesn’t move. Out of the three of them he’s the highest in command, he won’t bow. Hirotsu notices how his tone has become sharper; they boy is in full mafioso-mode now. “Since when are you here?”

“I’ve just entered,” Hirotsu replies, his head still slightly lowered. “I tried to call attention to myself several times, but it appears I haven’t been sufficient enough.”

“My apologies, I’m afraid I was too busy to hear you. It won’t happen again.” The girl is still bowing. Dazai seems to notice, too. He muses at her, “No need to be so humble. The old man won’t hurt you.”

‘Especially as long as I am here.’ He didn’t say it out loud, yet everyone’s heard it anyways.

She is hesitating, clearly torn between the Mafia’s hierarchy, so Hirotsu says, “Please, stand straight, young lady.”

As she complies, Dazai continues the conversation, his tone distant again, “So, why are you here?”

Even though the boy is excellent at getting a hold of himself, Hirotsu does notice his mood shifting. He seems to be irritated. Perhaps because he has been interrupted. “The Burreau’s representative will arrive shortly. Your presence has been requested by the Boss. We tried to reach you via intercom but did not receive an answer.”

“Oh, yeah, I took it out because it was bothering me,” he answers bluntly. He hasn’t moved yet, clearly not wanting to go. But Hirotsu knows that he’s no idiot, he’ll comply to the Boss’s orders. Dazai stares at the man in front of him, his gaze cold – so different to when he was talking to the girl – as he seems to think. Eventually, he steps back from the man who visibly exhales in relief and calls out the girl’s name. “It seems like we have to postpone the rest of the lesson. Unless you want to finish on your own.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure if I can.”

Dazai turns to her, his features as well as his voice softening. “Of course, you can. You’re a fast learner.”

Hirotsu notices the flush appearing on her cheeks and clears his throat once more. “Actually, the presence of both of you has been requested.” He turns to the girl. “Ms. Koyo suggests you join this meeting as an observer. In order to learn.”

She bows her head again. “That is incredibly kind of her. I will gladly join.”

Dazai sneers, “Look at you, being all polite. Such a good, obeying mobster, aren’t you?” He lifts his hand in order to squeeze her cheek in a playful manner, but she immediately flinches back. “Ugh, stay away! Your gloves are full of blood!” she shrieks. Dazai laughs at her reaction.

And again, Hirotsu gets reminded that these two are just young people who barely have any mutuals to spend time with.

Lucky to him, the two don’t need another reminder as they start to put the tools away and get out of the aprons. Certainly, they take a little longer than necessary since they keep joking around with the man’s blood, yet Hirotsu doesn’t comment on it.

Without paying the man on the chair another glance, the three of them leave the room. The two of them continue their banter – they are discussing whose fault it is that Dazai has gotten blood stains on the bandages covering his eye – on the way to the meeting while Hirotsu follows them close. Giving the chain of command, the girl is actually supposed to walk behind him but he decides to turn a blind eye. Even though they seem a little more rigid in Hirotsu’s eyes, knowing they are being watched by him, he realizes he wants them to be young just a little longer. They will have to go back to being members of the Port Mafia soon enough.

Hirotsu tries not to pry but he can’t help but notice how they are different around each other; especially Dazai. Their facial expressions usually stoic masks, change, shift, display various kinds of emotions. It relieves Hirotsu a little to know that they haven’t turned into complete machines yet. But if he thinks back to the scene with the suffering man just know… He wonders if they might lose all what’s left of their humanity. Perhaps being around each other will keep them sane… Or, perhaps all hope is already lost.

**********

masterlist

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs ff #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #pm!dazai #pm!dazai x reader

[late-night-secrets]

familiar strangers to lovers, gojo is an opportunist lol, inspired by this fic by vera!, modern!au, happy birthday bf 🫶🫶

the train is late again.

it's been about seven minutes (he thinks?) since the mechanical clogging of wheels was supposed to ride down to the station, but unfortunately for him and the other two strangers at the block, the only thing that lies on the tracks is a blanket of snow and disappointment.

satoru makes the list of pros and cons in his head rather easily.

the cons: he's going to be late to work. it's not the first time he's been late this week either, but it's not like he really cares so it doesn't matter—what's more important is just how freezing it is in early december. even with his wool coat (un-cropped, much to his dismay) and thick pants, his skin burns against the winter chill, his numb fingers brushing against the wool of his gloves, the frost that blankets the air dampening both his mood and the gray skies above him.

the pros: nothing really, except for you.

if suguru were here, he'd be making fun of him. "down bad for a stranger, 'toru?" he can imagine him saying—but suguru isn't here right now, he's down at the office with a car that can make it more than ten minutes without breaking down spontaneously, so in satoru's mind, he's free to be as lovestruck as he wants to be.

he stares at the sign that marks the stop; it's covered in graffiti and stickers, slightly bent and messily lopsided to one side (you made fun of it the first time you met him)—he forces himself to smile as he exhales, watching his warm breath mix with the cold air in a puff of vapor.

for just a second, he wonders in mild horror if you've decided to drive to another station to get to your workplace, abandoning him in the freezing cold for a train that honestly doesn't even seem like it's coming, but like a winter miracle, your car swerves into the parking lot. your tires slide against the black pavement as you pull in, a thick inch of snow still on the roof of your car as he's blessed with the worst parking job he's ever seen.

well, now he can't stop himself from smiling.

satoru pretends not to see you hurriedly get out (it's far too early in the morning to be a creep already), putting his earbuds in and clicking his phone open as you open the back door to grab your bag, doing his best to play coy while you make your way to the tracks.

his peripheral catches you just before you tap his shoulder with the knuckle of your pointer finger and he quickly realizes he has to feign surprise—he takes out his right earbud, looking at you with (what he'd imagine to be) the appropriate amount of surprise and bewilderment.

"hi!" you sound slightly out of breath as you beam down at him, and his heart beats faster.

is he blushing right now?

"hey!" he forgets to pretend not to be too excited, "i was wondering when you were gonna get here."

"my car wouldn't start this morning," you pout as you pull your coat closer to your body defensively, your fingers flexing in the cold air and a pout on your face, "i'm just gonna assume the train hasn't come yet?"

"...yeah, it's been a bit," he makes a half-hearted attempt at a shrug, sliding over on the bench and patting the place he sat two seconds ago, "here take my seat, i warmed it up for you."

you look slightly taken aback for a moment but it quickly turns into a grateful smile, the frost nipping at your face as you bow before taking his seat; it's slightly warmer than the rest of your environment and you take the chance to poke fun at him, "thank you for your sacrifice."

he says something along the lines of how brave and valiant he was taking the bench from a middle schooler (he clarifies afterwards that he's joking) and you snicker at the thought, puffs of warm breaths escaping your lips as you breathe.

you met satoru three weeks ago during the cool autumn season after the schedule for the bus lines changed without letting you know. both of you ended up coming early, leaving you scratching your heads at the confusing schedule; you became tentative bus buddies after that, but this is the first time you've had to sit with him without the loud background of teens blasting their music without headphones and stressed workers seething into their phones—it's just you, him, and the snow.

you smile shyly, akin to the snowflakes that begin to speckle the hazy sky, "you think your workplace will be mad at you for being late?"

"i mean, not really," the only person who could be mad at him is suguru, but he likes to think that this is karma for not letting him borrow his car, "it's commission-based so i'm my own boss when it comes to that."

"uh-huh." you smile playfully; he can tell that you don't believe a word he said (as you should), "and what do you do for work again?"

he decides to joke, "i fight demons."

"really?" you gasp, playing along, "like exorcism?"

"we're actually called —um— sorcerers," he smiles easily and adds on the afterthought, "and i'm the strongest. obviously."

"obviously," you're quick to agree, nodding as you tuck your fingers into the sleeves of your coat, "and i imagine you have a sad backstory to match?"

"awfully sad." he grins, pausing to exhale warm air into the palms of his hands, "incredibly tragic and devastatingly miserable, i was just born super strong and incredibly handsome, it's a tough life to live."

"you probably had a best friend," you shake your head sympathetically, "he died and that left you reeling from what you knew."

"or he turned to the dark side! like darth vader!"

he can definitely see suguru as darth vader.

you giggle (he melts at the sight), and he shrugs dramatically, running his gloves through his hair, a small pout playing on his lips, "i never really was the same afterwards, y'know? you can't make fun of that."

"and that's why you have some boring office job on the side?" you look at him with a humorous glint in your eyes, "as a cover-up so you can enact revenge on those who wronged you?"

"exactly!" his lips form a thin smile before he digs into his pockets, his gloves prodding around the thick clasps of his winter coat, his nose red from the chill, "here, you should come visit me sometime."

you have to smooth out the crumpled business card he gives you with your frozen fingers, blinking at the rather professional font that spells his name. he's an art director (not very boring in your opinion) for the gallery just a couple blocks down the street where your actual boring office job lives.

"no pressure, of course!" he quickly adds, "only if you want to."

"i would love to, are you kidding me?" your eyes widen in excitement at the thought of going to an art gallery, a museum dedicated to paintings and sculptures beyond your wildest imagination just a few feet away from you.

"awesome!" he inwardly pats himself on his back, sighing in relief, "it'll be really fun, there are tons of crazy things there."

your smile grows wider. "it's a date, then."

satoru freezes, blinking owlishly at the ground—you look surprised at what you said, biting the inside of your cheek in embarrassment. you fidget at his silence, your lips pressed together, flustered as you turn away slightly, moving your hand up to fix your necklace.

oh, he's definitely blushing now.

"y–yeah," he curses himself for stuttering, "um, it's a date."

you look even more embarassed, nodding in approval, your eyes innocently examining your surroundings, blissfully unaware of the fact that he feels like he's recovering from a heart attack.

the train comes soon afterwards, the familiar incessant beeping of the crossing gates lowering and the screech of the wheels scraping against the tracks eleven minutes later than it should've.

satoru estimates that about four of those minutes were the best minutes of his life.

he lets you enter the train first when the automatic doors slide open; he counts his blessings when it's less full than it usually is, if he had to stand next to you in a crowded train with your shoulder against his chest—

"you should skip work." he says the words louder than he meant to, earning a couple of curious gazes from the other passengers as the doors close again; he clears his throat in his embarrassment, feeling his face turn red as he sinks slightly lower into his coat, "i mean, you're already late. might as well."

"you're funny," you roll your eyes, and at the sight of his head tilted to the side with a peering look, you flush. "wait, you're being serious?"

"would it help if i told you that my birthday is tomorrow?"

"you're lying," you gasp, "i don't believe you for a second."

"december 7th," he confirms, a certain sparkle in his eyes, "and let's be honest, this train isn't gonna move anywhere. not in this snow."

"you’re very pushy, y’know."

"i like to think of it as opportunistic!"

"as much as i would love to," you lean against the pole (and you really would love to), "i can't ditch work unless it's an emergency or something—"

"attention passengers, because of unforeseen circumstances, the train will be delayed here until further notice. thank you for your patience."

satoru stares at you expectantly as the intercom clicks off, a cheesy grin still on his face, as the doors slide back open.

the train explodes in groans and swears as people begin to mutter and complain about the weather and jusy how cold it is, and you sigh in resignation.

"let's go." is all you say before you grab his hand; you two are near the doors anyways so you don't need to shuffle past too many people (not that it would matter anyways, all satoru can focus on is how warm he feels on the inside).

"someone's eager," he stares in delight as his face hits the crisp air again—the snow is falling faster than it did a couple minutes ago, and even as the white haze blinds his eyes, he knows that he doesn't mind having your hand in his.

"...just don't make fun of the coffee spills on my passenger seat."

there's no wind, but your voice sounds uneven anyways, and satoru smiles to himsel, picking up the pace to walk next to you, his gloved fingers wrapped fully around your own.

"no promises!"

gojo would be very happy as an art director i think

#ayo this is beautiful <3 #trains like in germany istg

[late-night-secrets]

♡ 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — 𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ♡

“tokyo station.”

the doors open, you and gojo enter. your eyes scan the train, finding one last empty seat and immediately, both you and satoru rush towards it. you win by a second of difference, giving him a smug grin as he has to hold onto the holding strap.

satoru sticks his tongue out at your smirk, “i let you have that. i know grandmas can’t stand upright for too long.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, gentleman.”

the train gives a slight shake as it starts to move, the doors whirring as they close.

you rest your head against the window, closing your eyes. your uniform hugs you uncomfortably, the sweat on your forehead a testament to the long day of training you’ve had. satoru, to his credit, stays quiet for once, choosing to watch over you silently until the next station approaches.

the doors open once again, a hoard of people filling up the train. you open your eyes to check if gojo had gotten lost in the crowd when your eyes fall on an old woman, standing unsteadily on the train. you get up immediately, offering her your seat as she gives you a grateful smile in return.

you hold onto the ceiling strap, looking around for mop of white hair when a familiar voice sounds in your ears, “since when did you become a saint?”

you turn around to find your target. “ever since i thought i had done the world a favour by getting rid of you in this crowd. how unfortunate someone hasn’t kidnapped you yet.”

“as if i would ever deprive you of my charming presence. i’m not that mean,” he winked, which you could barely see under his sunglasses.

you opened your mouth, retort ready on your tongue when the train jerked to a stop and you fell forward, straight onto a certain sorcerer’s chest. satoru wrapped an arm around your waist instinctively, curling around you protectively.

the two of you stayed still for a moment, you reeling from the shock of falling and him from your body, before he coughed loudly.

you tried to pull back but the arm from your waist went up to your shoulders, holding you close.

“i told you, grandma.” he grins, trying to hide his warm cheeks with cockiness. luckily, you’re too embarrassed yourself to notice it, “shut up.”

and he does, taking a moment to slow his quickening heartbeat. satoru’s touched you before—flicking your forehead, wrestling with you for ice cream—but this time feels different. and he’s not sure if it’s in a good way.

he thinks about how you’re right underneath his chin, his breath blowing out above your head and his hand tightens on the handgrip above him. he feels warm and sticky, like he wants to push you away to save himself from this feeling but also pull you closer, trap you in his arms forever and never let go.

why was he thinking about that last one?

you clear your throat, breaking his thoughts. “you’re going to treat me to food after this.”

he’s a little too overwhelmed with this thoughts to go back to teasing you, “sure.”

you grumble, trying to defuse the atmosphere, “i have to stand this close to you for the rest of the train ride. that’s punishment enough. i deserve a treat after all this.”

satoru doesn’t disagree; he thinks its a punishment for him too. still, he doesn’t say anything.

if you’re allowing him to hang out even after this train ride, satoru thinks he might not be the only one feeling the giddiness bubbling in his stomach.

#<3

[late-night-secrets]

Doing c.ai in public transport is a new kind of adrenaline kick istg

#nothing weird going on in my chat i just feel exposed #character.ai #c.ai #c.ai bot

[late-night-secrets]

Ok but what if i wrote a dazai x reader where they both are in their teens and therefore in the port mafia but it's from a third person's perspective like the black lizard's commander so one can fully grasp the bizarre personas of children who have to do an adult's job

#i'm thinking about this for three somid days now #and i have finals tomorrow smh #anyways i jinxed it so i most probably won't write it #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs imagines #dazai x reader #port mafia dazai

[late-night-secrets]

you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <3

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe. 

and you think you’ve done a pretty good job. all these comforting sensations bleeding into each other; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes, blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a bit like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber. a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in. 

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly. 

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace. like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car. 

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

(when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.)

— and the world wakes up.

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position. 

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself. 

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted. 

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.” 

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.” 

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it. 

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes. 

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about. 

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street — 

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit. 

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings. 

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week. 

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings. 

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —” 

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin. 

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red. 

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek. 

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes. 

”or do you need me to call shoko?” 

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting. 

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things. 

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best? 

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber. 

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares. 

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close. 

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings. 

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace. 

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin. 

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do. 

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you? 

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before. 

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice. 

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee. 

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself. 

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.” 

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question. 

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you. 

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?” 

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell. 

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours. 

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick. 

then he’s leaning forward. 

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything. 

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him. 

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you. 

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.

#<3

[late-night-secrets]

i was born to be a girl who is so in love with everything and yet so incredibly afraid of everything at the same time

[late-night-secrets]

kinda wanna make out with mentally unstable men

#yk like dazai or dabi #or unhinged gojo #i'm a bit drunk rn

[late-night-secrets]

someone please give me a boyfriend and some grass to touch, my pinterest widget of today is a pic of oikawa (you know with the glasses and his blue jacket) and every time i see it i smile and giggle like the idiot that i am

#send help #staying delulu is NOT the solulu #heavens i'm 24 #oikawa #haikyuu