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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 23 hours

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5 times you and Miguel walked away from each other and 1 time you didn't

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader notes: brother'sbestfriend!Miguel, soccerplayer!Miguel, college au, slow burn, somewhat mutual pining but written from reader's perspective more exclusively, SFW - only slightly suggestive (worst thing is probably a boner), fem reader (pretty neutral though), saying soccer instead of football felt so dirty but oh well, thank you for reading!! word count: 5.9k

You’re having your first lazy day in forever. It’s the first day in recent memory that you didn’t have something to do or somewhere to be. You’re just going to hang out in your apartment and watch your favorite shows or read for fun for once or whatever else you feel like doing. Because you don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t even take a shower, opting to stay in your comfy pajamas, not bothering with any makeup or hair effort, as you lounge around.

You have the place to yourself now, but you share it with your twin brother Alex, the two of you lucky enough to go to the same university.

When you eventually hear his keys scratching at the door, you’re sprawled on the couch reading a novel you’d left half-finished for ages despite actually really enjoying it. School really had a way of making you not read. Or at least never full books.

As Alex opens the door, you’re surprised to hear him talking to someone else. You see his unexpected guest a moment later from your spot on the couch, your college apartment rather small after all. And you’re mortified. Miguel. Alex’s best friend, university soccer team superstar, ridiculously attractive Miguel.

God, why did Alex not warn you he was bringing someone over? All it took was a quick message, for fuck’s sake. And Miguel of all people? Ugh. Well, it wasn’t like you could tell him. “Hey, brother dear, I have a huge crush on your best friend, so can I please get a warning next time he’ll be around? You know, especially so I’m not looking like a total mess when he shows up?

He’d been coming over a lot recently actually. He and Alex were both on the soccer team and happened to share a few classes too, so their schedules really lined up. Usually, it was nice to get to see him. It’s not like either of them paid that much attention to you when they were hanging out, but Miguel was nice to look at. Even now, they seemed like they were coming back from a casual soccer match or something, and he still looked amazing. His thick, dark hair was messy in the way that made you want to run your hands through it; his t-shirt hugged his unreasonably broad chest and shoulders perfectly, and his sweatpants — fuck, his sweatpants — his ass looked miraculous as he turned to put his gym bag down.

Miguel’s looking at you as he and Alex step into the living room. “It’s Saturday, Y/N, and the weather’s finally fucking nice. Why’re you reading a book? You’re such a nerd,” Alex snaps as he plops onto the couch next you, pushing your legs off to make room.

“I’m a nerd because I’m reading a book? Am I am tomboy because I’m not wearing a dress, too, or are we keeping it to one stupid superficial stereotype?”

Miguel chuckles as he sits on Alex’s other side. “Cut him some slack, Y/N, he took a soccer ball to the head today. Might be making him even more of an idiot than usual.”

You can’t help but worry; you love the idiot after all.

“You okay? Was it bad?” you’re asking as you run your hand over his head looking for bumps. “I’m fine, mom,” he mocks, pushing you away. “And you? You asshole,” he accuses Miguel playfully. “‘Took a ball to the head’?” he repeats, then turning to you adds, “It was him that kicked it!” Miguel starts laughing.

“It was the perfect setup, man. Not my fault you were distracted.” “Whatever,” Alex says as he reaches for the video game remotes. Knowing them, it was time for FIFA.

You’re eager to hide with how you look right now anyway, so you get up to head into your room. “We didn’t mean to kick you out,” Miguel starts kindly. “ You don’t have to go; you were clearly comfortable here.” “Clearly comfortable”? God that sounded bad in your head. He was “super hot”; you were “clearly comfortable.”

“Thanks, Miguel. It’s fine. I was going to —“ but you don’t finish your excuse as you trip on the remote’s charging wire as you step across, falling unceremoniously to your face right in front of them.

“Mierda!” Miguel yells.

Alex immediately asks, “You okay?,” but it’s Miguel who’s up and over you in the same instant.

“You alright?” he asks softly as his hands grab your hips to help you up.

His hands on you were the last thing you needed right now. So much for composure. “Fine. Really,” you say, your breath shaky. You’re kneeling on your living room floor; Miguel’s squatting in front of you, close; his hands haven’t left your body even though you’re no longer prone. He just watches you closely, eyes beautiful and concerned. You stare back into them, and after a couple more shaky breaths finally manage to stand up and step away, looking anywhere but at him. “‘M fine,” you repeat. You turn away hurriedly and go the few steps to your room. Once safely behind closed doors, your face scrunches and your stomach sinks at the sheer embarrassment.

It’s been days since Miguel was at your apartment, and part of you is happy for the lack of pressure but another part of you still gets a funky feeling in her gut at the idea that the last memory of you he had was of a clumsy mess. He and Alex have a game today, and pretending to convince yourself that you just felt like it today, you make yourself up more than usual for it. You’re actually pretty happy with your look as you head out to meet some friends at the match.

They win. Miguel scores. Twice. Alex’s defense is probably the main reason for their clean sheet.

So, hyped up on adrenaline and victory, they’re laughing and messing around with their teammates as a bunch of people approach the sidelines to congratulate them. Alex spots you and makes a goofy face, always so playful when he’s happy. He jogs over to you and gives you a huge hug.

“Stop, you’re so sweaty!” you squeal. He just holds you tighter and rubs his sweaty hair on you, laughing. When he finally pulls away, Miguel is standing right next to him, smiling at the two of you. “Do I get a hug too?” he teases. “I scored two more goals than he did!”

You’re not sure if he’s kidding, and you’re sure the chuckle you give in response is somewhat tense.

But, stepping toward him, you just say, “Congratulations,” and wrap your arms around his shoulders without getting too close. Damn, they were like boulders. Miguel wraps his arms around your waist and closes the distance you’d maintained, giving you a surprisingly intimate embrace. You’re struck by the feeling of him around you. He’s sweaty, too, and you can smell his musk, but instead of off-putting, you find it incredibly arousing. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing where your chest is flush with his. He’s so warm, and you just want to breathe him in and trace every ridge of his body. But the hug is already lingering too long to be normal, and you pull back a bit awkwardly. Miguel is still looking at you, a subtle smile on his face.

He seems about to say something when a high pitched squeal right next to you startles you.

“Miguel!” a very pretty girl yells at him as she approaches, unabashedly jumping onto his back. She’s in a cheer uniform. “Oh my god, you were so good!” Miguel’s so sturdy, her jumping on him didn’t throw him off physically, but his face looks a little flustered. “Uh, thanks,” he says politely, putting her down. She just giggles and grabs his arm as she compliments him again.

You feel so awkward watching this, so you just turn around and walk away. You don’t see Miguel looking after you.

You’re at the after party with a couple of your friends. The soccer team was quite popular, and the victory parties tended to be good. You’re mostly having fun, but you can’t help but keep looking over to where Miguel is. Man of the match and man with that face, he was obviously the center of attention. People were coming up to congratulate him left and right. He handled it all so graciously. It shocked you how there was no arrogance in his demeanor; he was just the easygoing life of the party.

You wanted to go talk to him too, but you’d already congratulated him and didn’t know what else you would say. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself again. You could go talk to your brother, who was right next to him, but he was busy flirting, and you didn’t want to ruin it for him.

A bunch of people are dancing in the open space between you and Miguel, and the chaos lets you sneak long looks at him without his noticing. But when your friend leans over and asks, “Who do you keep looking at?,” you realize you have to be less obvious. “No one, just curious who Alex is flirting with,” you lie, proud of how quick you were with it.

“You a jealous, protective sister type?” she laughs.

“No, just curious.” “Is he?” “What?” “Protective?”

“Um, sometimes, depends. Why?”

“Because that guy over there keeps checking you out.” She nods toward an okay-looking guy chatting with someone on the edge of the dance floor. A second later, he was indeed looking over at you. “You should go talk to him!” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so interested.” “Why not? He’s hot! I’m pretty sure he’s on the team too. You don’t have to marry him, Y/N, just go dance! You’ve been weirdly tense all night.”

You look over again, and your eyes meet. Before you can do anything else, he makes the decision for you, walking over to you.

“Hey.” “Um, hi.” You exchange names and pleasantries, and he asks you if you want to dance. Without thinking about it, you glance toward the person you really wish you were dancing with. To your surprise, Miguel is already looking toward you. He looks less happy than before. You look back at this guy quickly, hoping neither of them noticed.

You feel slightly bad thinking this, using this guy you weren’t super interested in, but you couldn’t help but feel it’d be nice if Miguel saw a side of you that might make him think of you differently, not just as Alex’s sister. It’s just a dance anyway, so, you accept the offer and head to the dance floor.

You fall into a rhythm with the music, with the guy. The dancing is fun; the guy is fine. Your back is to Miguel, and you can’t resist spinning to catch another glimpse, doing it seamlessly as you keep dancing. Your breath catches when your eyes meet his.

Miguel watching you from across the room is doing much more to turn you on than anything your current dance partner is doing, but you channel your new energy into your movements. It’s not a well thought out decision, though in the back of your mind you know who it’s for, but you start moving a bit more suggestively. You let your hips follow the music, let your hands come up to your hair as your body rolls rhythmically. Feeling especially bold, you even manage to meander closer to where Miguel is, giving him a better view.

Unbeknownst to you, this unfortunately also makes Alex, now unoccupied, notice you for the first time. You don’t hear him leaning over to Miguel and saying, “Gross. I hate seeing my sister with random guys. Let’s go get more drinks.” He drags him away, and Miguel, unable to come up with a good reason not to follow, does.

The next time you spin, all you catch is the backs of their heads.

The following week, you’re coming home from classes, and all you can think about is eating. You’d had to skip lunch to finish an assignment and couldn’t wait for dinner.

When you enter your apartment, you find Miguel sitting on your couch.

“Hey,” he greets. “Hi.” He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa closest to you, and he adorably shifts over to make room, as if you couldn’t just go around. You weren’t planning on sitting anyway, but now that he’s wordlessly extended an invitation, you do. “Where’s Alex?”

“Went to take a shower. We’re gonna play a couple games when he’s done.” He gestures toward the video game console. “Are the remotes charged?” you joke. “I hear it’s a hazard to have the wires across the living room floor.” Miguel chuckles lightly at your self-deprecating humor. He’s turned toward you, sitting in the middle of the couch, his elbow on the backrest as he occasionally messes with his luscious hair. “I felt so bad that day. Taking over your space and tripping you. When you looked so peaceful when we got here.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you laugh, amused but also masking your stirring feelings at the fact that he had thought about it at all. “I was just a mess that day. And I wouldn’t call my pajamas peaceful, just comfortable. In my defense, though, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I liked your pajamas,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “What? I did! I’m all for comfy clothing; have you not noticed 90% of my wardrobe is gym clothes?”

“Yes, well, you can get away with it. You’re a guy, and you look like that,” you say, gesturing at his body before you really realize what you’re saying. You tense as soon as you do. It just slipped out, the conversation getting weirdly easy and comfortable with him. “Like what?” he asks, but he’s smirking, knowing what you meant. You just roll your eyes again. “No, c’mon, chula, like what?” He lifts his eyebrows in challenge, mirth in his eyes. You’re too busy reeling from the pet name to have mental energy to come up with a retort. You’re grateful for what would’ve otherwise been embarrassing: your stomach grumbling. Miguel looks at your stomach and giggles. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, taking the escape route and walking to the adjoining kitchen. He follows. “You can get away with it too, you know,” he says nonchalantly. You think you know what he means but look back at him questioningly. “The clothes. You always look good.”

You’re glad you’re not facing him, your expression probably revealing your excitement. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” He leans on your counter. “So what are you having?” “I don’t know, whatever we have. Haven’t had time to go to the store.” You’re rummaging through your cabinets. “I can make you something,” he offers. You stop and look at him. “What? I’m a great cook,” he shrugs defensively. “Have you never had my tamales?”

“It’s not about you being good or not,” you giggle. “There’s no reason you should have to cook when you’re just here to hang out.”

He just shrugs again, but there’s a tinge of shyness in his typically confident facade.

You turn to open your fridge, and he comes up right next to you. “Oh shit, you guys have jarritos. Can I steal one?”

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh. “Grab whatever you want.”

You didn’t think he would immediately… As you bend over to grab something from the drawers, Miguel reaches up to grab the soda, leaning forward. Both of you moving simultaneously, your ass presses firmly against his crotch. You both freeze in panic, prolonging the position, before you jump up at the accidental contact. His and your “sorry”’s and “I didn’t mean to”’s get jumbled together in the colossally awkward moment. Miguel looks down, then back up again looking startled. He scurries around to the other side of the counter, it now separating you. “Jesus, Miguel, I didn’t do it on purpose! You don’t have to put a barricade between us; it’s not like I’m gonna jump you!” “No, no, it’s not that! Fuck, it’s, uh, fuck…” He looks lost for words. His hand comes to his face, covering it in resigned embarrassment. His voice is a mumble through his obstructing hand, “I’ve a bd’ve uh sitch-ation.”

“What?” He uncovers his face with an exasperated sigh. “I have… a bit of a… situation,” he whispers, looking down.

“Oh… oh!” you say, realization hitting you. Probably largely because of the awkward tension, at least partially at the idea of you giving Miguel O’Hara a boner, you start cracking up. He just stares at you, deadpan, his hands coming to his hips. “It’s not funny.” “It’s a little funny.” His glare cracks the tiniest bit.

“Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Alex asks nonchalantly, coming out of his room, lazily drying his hair.

“Nothing!” you and Miguel say simultaneously.

“Okay… should I just pretend that wasn’t really suspicious?”

“Yes,” you tell him. “It’s nothing, really. Just me being clumsy again.”

His eyes are still skeptical, but Alex just chuckles and nods, letting it go at the look on your face. He heads to the couch with an easy “C’mon, man” at Miguel. Miguel follows, giving you a sideways glance and tense smile. When he sits, he immediately puts a cushion on his lap. You grab the first thing that looks edible in your fridge and head to your room.

Two weekends later finds you at another soccer team party. They’d lost this time, 2-1. Miguel scored their sole goal, and the other team’s second had been a sketchy penalty. If the victory parties were good, the defeat ones were wild. Most of the players, Miguel and Alex among them, were drowning their sorrows, especially after such a disheartening defeat.

You weren’t a player, but you had your own sorrows to drown, and you weren’t stopping yourself from doing just that. You’d hardly seen Miguel in almost two weeks, and the few times you had, he’d been cold, keeping interactions mainly to greetings and goodbyes. You didn’t know if you’d done something wrong, if he was still caught up with your little awkward encounter, or if you were just making it up, your feelings for him needing some outlet. Making up stories by constantly obsessing about him was as good as outlet as you could get sometimes. Alcohol was a better one now.

A while into the party, you’re at the bar for your… you lost count… numberth tequila shot. You down it, lick the salt off your hand, and stick the lime in your mouth, cringing.

Your eyes are still closed when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You open them and see Miguel standing beside you. “Maybe switch to water, huh, guapa?” he tells you.

“Why? M’fine,” you slur.

“Maybe, but you won’t be if you keep this pace up.” “And how would you know?”

“Just noticed,” he shrugs.

You squint your eyes accusingly at him. You didn’t know what you’d feel next time you talked to him, but you hadn’t expected to feel this angry.

“You notice me enough to watch how much I drink but not to say more than two words at a time to me for weeks?” He looks surprised. “Y/N…”

You cross your arms and lift your eyebrows in an implied “what?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you just walk past him. You end up walking through the dance floor, and though it wasn’t your plan, you kind of like moving to the music. You’re drunk enough to the lack the inhibitions to just dance alone. You’re enjoying yourself, not even bothering to look back and see if Miguel was still there. A bit later though, you startle as you feel a hand on your ass. You turn and find a random guy you’ve never met before, smiling at you disgustingly drunkenly. You’re taken aback, your mind already a bit slow from the alcohol, so you haven’t decided yet how to tell him to fuck off by the time Miguel is in front of you shoving him away. He’s not overly aggressive but, even drunk, easily moves the guy away from you with an angry “What the hell, man?”

The other guy looks seriously scared and just lifts his hands with a pathetic “sorry, Miguel.”

“Fucking better be, what the hell is wrong with you?” The other guy stumbles away. Miguel turns towards you, and his expression melts from frightening anger to warm concern in two seconds. “You okay?” he asks, his hands carefully grazing your shoulders. You nod and lean into him. At your seeming comfortable, he lets his arms come around you.

“Thanks,” you whisper in his ear.

“Of course,” he whispers in yours, and it sends a shiver down your entire body. You stare into his eyes, your hands resting on his chest.

“Miguel?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna dance with me?”

They don’t call it “liquid courage” for nothing.

Miguel considers you for a moment, but a soft smirk is whispered across is sharp features. He nods slowly, and his hands move slightly further down your back. You close your eyes at the sensation of his hands running along your body. You run your hands up his chest slowly and wrap your arms around his neck. When you open your eyes, you see his crimson ones boring into you.

You start moving a bit more as you focus on the music to relieve some of the tension you’re feeling. He follows your lead, and soon you’re dancing together much more easily. As a couple of songs go by, you’re both moving freely, staying close to each other the whole time.

You’re so exhilarated, and he seems as enveloped in you as you are in him, so the next time the beat calls for it, you let your body twist rhythmically in his grasp. Your back is now flush with his chest, your ass on his crotch, your hand reaching behind you on his neck, in his hair. His hands are firm on your hips, and when you roll them against him, you hear his whispered “Fuck, mami” in your ear and feel his arm come around your middle, pulling you into him. His hips move in rhythm with yours. You’ve probably never been so turned on in your entire life. You keep this up for a delicious while. You can feel Miguel is hard through his jeans, but he makes no sign of being embarrassed, just continuing to dance with you with expert hip movements that make your imagination go wild. Of course he’d be an amazing dancer. Of course you’d imagine what else his hips could do.

You twist back in his embrace, coming to face him. He holds you close, and you bring a hand to his face. He leans into your touch. You move your face up slightly, and he seems to be following, moving his down. You’re so close, even think you feel your lips graze his, when someone bumps up against you, making you stumble.

Miguel’s strong arms catch you, but the moment is gone, and a second later, he looks startled.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back a bit, speaking loudly to keep his distance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure, but he seems off.

“Let’s get some air, huh?”

You follow him outside, the sudden change in ambience making your head spin a little. You lean against the wall, and he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” You nod but don’t say anything, maybe a bit drunker than you thought, trying to ground yourself. He leans on the wall next to you. His body is warm where it grazes your side. You can feel his gaze intermittently on you. You get a little dizzy again, and you lean onto his shoulder. He just lets you, and you stand like that for a while.

His fingers graze the back of your hand.

“Want me to take you home?”

You nod into his body. He wraps a firm arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the party.

You’re home before you know it, the whole journey a blur dominated by his warmth by your side. When you reach your front door, you lean on it and look up at him. His subtle smile elicits your full one. “Thanks,” you whisper. “’S no problem,” he shrugs. “You’ll be okay?” “Yeah,” you nod. You’re already sobering up. “You?” He chuckles and nods.

“I wasn’t the one downing tequila shots like water,” he teases. Your cheeks warm, and you look down as you chuckle.

“Wasn’t that many…”

He laughs.

“It was, cariño.” Again with the pet names.

“I’m still surprised you noticed.” “I always notice you,” he responds without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to his, and you see the longing there.

You stare at each other for a heavy moment, then, drunk more on the sensations of your earlier almost-kiss than on alcohol, chasing that feeling, you lean up to try again. Your lips are a breath away from his when he looks down, effectively rejecting your advance. You pull away, mortified.

“Sorry, I… sorry,” you stutter as you scramble for your keys. You turn to your door. “Y/N,” he whispers, his hand holding your wrist softly. “It’s okay,” you say, looking back him, wiping tears from your eyes. “You don’t have to say anything; sorry I misunderstood.”

You quickly go inside and close the door. You lean on it, crying. Miguel, eyes closed, fists clenched, rests his forehead on the opposite side.

Miguel doesn’t come around for a while. Even as days pass, you can’t stop thinking about your night together. Confusion, sadness, embarrassment — all mixing together into a terrible cocktail.

Another match day rolls around, and you can’t stomach the idea of watching Miguel play, of potentially having to talk to him after. You tell Alex you’re really sorry to not support him this time, but that you’re not feeling well. He worries over you a while, unhelpfully but adorably emptying your medicine cabinet onto the kitchen counter, looking through stuff, suggesting this and that, telling you to text him anything you needed that he could bring you after.

A while later, you’ve just slumped down onto the couch, when your stomach sinks at the sight you’re met with. There, at the corner of the room, lie his cleats. He’d been cleaning them the night before and had clearly forgotten to put them back in his gym bag.

“Fuck.”

You lift yourself up, grab them, and head over to the stadium.

When you get there, you pound at the locker room door, and it opens — of course, you couldn’t catch a fucking break — to Miguel O’Hara’s gorgeous face. Though he looks at you intently, you can’t quite read his expression. Then he yells over his shoulder, “Ale!”

Alex jogs over and, upon seeing you, lets out the biggest sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God. I fucking love you.” He reaches for the cleats you’re holding up to him and gives you a bear hug. “Saved my fucking life, Y/N/N. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. “You don’t look as sick. You’ll be okay?” He’s clearly in a rush to get back but wants to make sure you’re alright.

You nod and playfully shove his chest, pushing him back into the locker room. “You’re the best!” he yells over his shoulder as he saunters back. Miguel is still just standing there, all geared up for the match. It crosses your sick mind how good the uniform looks on him.

“You’re sick?” he asks.

“Nothing I won’t get over.” You offer him a weak smile. He’s nodding slowly, considering.

“Stay for the match?”

“Miguel, I —“ “Please.” You’ve never heard him plead before. You’re head is nodding before your mind can catch up. He just nods too. “I’ll find you after.” And with that, he jogs back into the locker room.

You’d never known ninety minutes could drag on for eternity, with a half-time’s worth of eternity in between. You’re sure you’re heartbeat was elevated the entire time, your mind and emotions reeling. What was Miguel going to say to you after the match? You had absolutely no read on him during your short interaction before. Then again, apparently you weren’t always great at reading him.

Minute after minute trickles by. At the end of the second half, your team up a goal (yes, Miguel’s), the ref announces an unusually large number of minutes. You moan with everyone else, for your own reasons. What was a potential leveler compared to the leveling of your heart?

Slowly, the minutes pass. The other team builds a mounting attack; they get a good attempt; they miss. The whistle blows; the crowd cheers, and you, you’re frozen in place.

You thaw yourself slowly as the players shake hands, go to their respective huddles. By the time they’re roaming the sidelines freely, you’ve only just managed to leave your seat.

As you descend the bleachers stairs, you catch sight of Miguel. He’s obviously searching, halfheartedly ignoring the congratulations coming from all sides. His eyes eventually meet yours, and as soon as they do, he’s running over to you, meeting you much closer to the bleachers than the field.

He comes to a stop right in front of you and just watches you. You just watch him. “Congratulations,” you say. He chuckles, lightly shaking his head.

“Thanks.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Y/N…” “Yeah?” “I…” “Miguel!” you’re interrupted. “Congratulations! Way to pull it out!” “Thanks, yeah, thank you,” he says hurriedly, looking back over to you. “Listen, I just, I wanted to clear things up after how we left them.” You nod, worrying your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around you defensively.

“I didn’t want you to think that —“

“Congratulations, Miguel! Did it again, man!” And a slap on the back.

“Uh-huh, yeah, thank you,” Miguel responds, turning away, approaching rudeness. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, much more softly. “C’mere.” He grabs your arm and drags you around the bleachers, stopping when you have a semblance of cover. He’s looking around to make sure no one else is about to talk to him, and his worried looks right after he’s just won makes you laugh. The sound draws his attention fully back to you. He smiles at seeing you smiling.

“Where can a guy get a little privacy, huh?” he jokes. “Probably not still by the field where he just scored the winning goal, I’m guessing,” you tease. He chuckles. Then he takes a deep, sobering breath. “Listen, Y/N…”

His tone sounds apologetic, and it makes you immediately think the worst. He probably just didn’t want you to be embarrassed. Wanted to fix things so they wouldn’t be awkward if he hung around, which he’d obviously want to do given Alex was his best friend.

Already fighting back tears, wanting to beat him to the punch to save face in whatever way you could at this point, you cut him off. “Miguel, you don’t have to explain anything or anything. I’m sorry I made more out of a good time than I should have. Please don’t let me keep you from hanging out with my brother even if I’m around, and I hope we can still be friends.” “What? No, that’s not… This isn’t about Alex. I mean, well it is a little bit.” He’s looking unsure. “Just keep things how they were before. It’s all fine.” “Is that what you want?” He looks serious. “What do you mean?” “Is that what you want? To keep things how they were before? To still be friends?”

“I… well… it’s what you want, isn’t it?” “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to. I tried to kiss you, and you pretty much said no to that. Twice.”

“I didn’t. Well, once, yeah I did, but it was only because I was worried you were too drunk. I didn’t want to take advantage of you. And, also, maybe a little bit because I panicked, okay?” He sounds more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him yet. “I was worried it’d be weird with Alex or that I’d fuck it up with you, and I just, I don’t know, I panicked. And the other time wasn’t my fault. I was going to kiss you if you hadn’t stumbled.” “Someone bumped into me!” “I’m not blaming you! I just, it just, it made me remember you were drunk, and I didn’t want to be like that idiot guy I’d had to push away a while earlier.” “You’re nothing like that guy,” you say sternly. “I…” He’s started to look frustrated, unable to find the words. He runs his hand over his face, takes another deep breath. “What if you try now?” “What?” “I don’t know how to tell you. So maybe I can just show you. Try again, and no one will bump into you. I won’t panic, and I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong. I’ll think of how I’ve been feeling since that night. Absolutely fucking miserable. It’s been eating away at me; all I could think about was making it right with you, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know if I should. But I can’t take it anymore, and if you feel the same way, then, fuck, let’s just stop getting in our own way.”

“Miguel…” “Yeah?” “That was pretty good for not knowing how to tell me.” Your face forms the slightest teasing smirk, your eyes lighting up at the realization of what he’s telling you. “Shut up and kiss me already,” he says, rolling his eyes, unable to help his bright smile, pulling your body to his and bringing his lips onto yours.

You pull him into you, reciprocating eagerly. He moans into your mouth, and you feel his towering body sink onto yours. His arms are tight around you, one hand cupping your head, bringing you close. His kiss is fervent, desperate but concentrated.

You run your hands in his hair, and he chuckles gruffly, the sound muffled by your chasing mouth. You lose yourself in his embrace. You grip him tightly, breaching into his mouth, wanting to kiss him as much as wanting to be kissed by him. You could feel the beginning of a beautiful push and pull as your mouths move together, your bodies mold into each other’s.

You want to kiss him forever, but some loud cheering nearby startles you slightly apart. Miguel is looking deeply into your eyes. He kisses you again, lets his forehead rest on yours when he pulls back. You’re smiling when you say, “You should probably get back. I’m sure people are looking for you.” He groans dramatically and hides in the crook of your neck. He kisses it before saying, “I just want to be with you.”

You giggle, nuzzling his face with yours, holding him close, your hand in his hair.

“Yeah, me too.” He hums into your neck. He plants another kiss there, and one on your cheek on his way up, as he lifts his head again. His rough hands caress your face tenderly.

“This is good,” he says simply. You laugh and nod. “Fuck ‘em. I’ll go over there at some point. Let’s just stay here a little while longer.”

“Okay,” you smile.

Miguel leans back into you, kissing you and kissing you and kissing you.

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel ohara fluff #miguel ohara angst #across the spiderverse #spiderman #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fanfiction #slow burn #mutual pining #bbf!miguel #soccerplayer!miguel

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yuckydraws · 4 months

Text

(Click for better quality)

Healing & Growth

(gif made by my friend @robanilla-arts is below - slight warning for flashing! Thanks again, Rob!)

#if you feel like reading it - I'm gonna ramble in the tags.#Don't really feel like having it attached to the post for forever... cause what if i just wanna reblog some fairysona art??#anyways #this year sucked a lot. in a lot of ways. but im grateful for it.#healing is stupidly hard and annoyingly enough? not linear in the slightest. Yet infuriatingly - it is worth it.#I am far from done with healing. I've barely scratched the surface.#but im learning and connecting with myself along the way.#The biggest step I've taken this year is working on my people pleasing ways. it's a bad habit birthed from a lot of different traumas.#but it no longer rules my life.#I am not passive anymore - and surprise! that doesn't make me a horrible or evil person.#my kindness is no longer a weakness. its still a part of me and always will be. i won't let go of it.#but it is no longer to a fault #there are people undeserving of my kindness... i realize that now. I know what i will and will not put up with in every kind of relationshi #im still learning and exploring - and i've said a lot of goodbyes this year. I'm sure i will say more.#but that's okay.#some relationships are forever - some serve you for a while and teach you a lesson when they end.#and some relationships stick around and don't *have* to have a deeper connection #and that's also okay.#I didn't think I'd make it through this year in all honesty. I was very close to ending it all on multiple occasions.#But. for what it's worth - as of now im glad im here.#i will continue to struggle and have my hard times. im not naive enough to think depression just goes away.#but im okay for now and im moving forward.#there will be pauses and abrupt stops and likely some good ol' rotting involved. but when i can - ill be moving forward.#i will not speak a word of 2024 because no matter what it will have it's ups and downs.#but i will continue to keep working on myself. and that's all anyone can do in this weird life.#if you made it through all of that... uhhhh wow you got a crush on me or smth? /j/j/j/j #but fr - if you read this far... thank you. i hope you're faring well and that you have a happy celebration tonight.#sleep well and dream well when it comes to you #yucky draws #my art

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marshmallowgoop · 2 years

Note

Aaaaaajjshdgshdgkeyboardmashinhajsjjs

Okay so I don't have particularly anything insightful to say atm but I just wanted you to know that I love your longposts and analysis. Heiji nation unite

P.S. agree that Conan thinking in Shinichi's voice is a GOATed dub choice. Jerry Jewell 😳 like tbh jewell probably is a bit too smooth and confident for a geek ass dork ass like shinichi but I like it anyway if that makes sense?

Aawfsafsadfasfsafda thank you!!

I hope to get more analyses done one of these days. Especially about Heiji! I have so much to say about Episode 479, for example, but how does one say it...? Essay writing really doesn't come very easily to me, so it's reassuring to know that the posts are appreciated 🥺

And yes!! Conan thinking in Shinichi's voice is such a good choice. I know the German dub and French dub also do this, and I will never not be upset that the modern English dub ditched the practice in favor of being more accurate to the original Japanese version. Sometimes alterations are good!!

Jerry Jewell as Shinichi was a fantastic choice, too. Hearing him deliver those dorky lines all smoothly is great. I think it works really well for the character? Because Shinichi certainly thinks he's cool!

Miss FUNimation's dub every day, for real....

#replies #magmatickobaian #gifs i made #not to be too personal on main but i've been having a real hard time lately so thank you this was really appreciated #i keep thinking about one of my hate mail messages--well before it really became hate mail i guess #'what is your aim with your posts? is it to make friends in the community or to convert people to your way of thinking?'#i feel like i come off as forceful and cold and unfriendly and i really don't mean to...#and this was said to me in 2019 lol the fact that i'm still so bothered by it makes me wonder if i'm really cut out for social media #trying to be healthier about things but...#well i don't want to go off here ^^;#but i fell down the stairs at work last week and tripped on a curb this week and got these big bruises and scratched up my ipod #which i know is a meme these days but i still use an ipod! i don't like using up phone juice for music!#don't use the ipod nano anymore because it doesn't hold a charge for like more than 10 minutes so i got a new model last year #and now it's all scratched up... i know it's my fault for not putting it in a case but what a bummer....#been a bummer time so. a nice message really helps thank you :')

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garoujo · 7 months

Text

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — sometimes satoru uses his technique to tease you, even though he’s the one who always seems to give in first.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ contents! fluff, just satoru being a menace, some smooches! that’s all me thinks! ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! he’s been on my mind so often, i’m being attacked with all of these thoughts of him <3

“satoru i swear, put it down!” you whine before you frown up at your ridiculously tall boyfriend, he’s wearing a lopsided grin and you’d take great delight in kissing it off of his stupidly handsome face if you could get passed his even more stupid infinity technique.

“oh? you can ask nicer than that, sweet girl.” gojo goads as he leans over you, deliberately close because he knows you can’t close the distance. he liked teasing you like this, liked seeing the way you would pout and groan whenever he did, he liked the way you wanted to touch him— to kiss him, to love him. so he took great pride in seeing you get a little wound up in your want for it.

“satoru!” you hiss as you push into him again, a little closer than last but still not enough to feel the warm press of his skin against yours. he tilts his head as you call his name, his crystalline gaze narrowing as he scratches at his snowy hair, and you give him another sharp frown before you stomp over to drop yourself on the sofa instead.

“come on~ can’t you just tell your good looking boyfriend you want a kiss, hm? just gotta ask.” gojo hums as he follows you, only needing a few long strides before the cushion next to you is dipping under his weight and he’s letting his arm rest behind you— so close yet so far.

“you’re so annoying.” you huff again as you turn to face away from him, refusing to make eye contact this time because you know he’s wearing one of his more handsome grins, one that you know he does deliberately to lure you in— to make you crave the press of his lips with yours. just so he can take it away so rudely.

“don’t be like that. my lips feel so cold, i’ll die here.” gojo��s pouting now, like it’s not his fault he’s still not gotten his kiss. he lets his head fall and rest back against the couch as he groans, whining about how cruel you’re being, hurting his feelings and rejecting his love like this.

“yeah well so do mine!” you retort back quickly and you feel a vein pop when he chuckles, trying to hide it behind another smirk when you shoot him a sharp look from over your shoulder, inching yourself further away on the couch.

but gojo can only resist your adorable little frown for so long himself.

“hm? then you know what to do, let me hear you..” his words take a lower sort of drawl as he follows you along the space, easing himself into your side until you can finally feel the warm press of his skin— finally releasing his technique enough for him to be able to press kisses along your shoulder blades.

but you’re far too petty to give into him now.

gojo groans when you keep yourself facing away from him, his lips making their way from your shoulders, to your neck, then across your jawline before he’s peppering a few sweet kisses to your cheeks and giving you a soft look from underneath his pretty lashes, “..or are you gonna leave me here to suffer?”

“can i have a kiss, satoru.” you mumble between your lips, giving him an inch when you feel his hands press into the dip of your waist— his touch so warm you can’t help but melt into it as you feel him smile against your skin, smugly you’re sure.

“oh, didn’t hear you, baby. little louder f’ me.” you groan at that, and gojo squeezes you closer— pressing you into his chest as he leaves a soft kiss at the corner of your lips, so close to where you want it, to where he needs it. he’s held out for long enough, he’s pretty satisfied with his teasing now.

“can i please have a kiss, satoru.” you finally give in and he’s on you immediately as he presses his lips to yours, exhaling like he’s been starved of you for months. your lips part and he takes that as an invitation as he pushes his tongue between them, groaning when your own comes to meet him and he already feels lightheaded as he closes his lips to suckle languidly.

another few moments, blissfully dreamy moments with your lips on his— his hands are on your hips now and your fingers are in his hair, pressing deeper into eachother as your mouth moves with his. he pulls away to breathe, as much as it pains him, despite the way hes kiss drunk and flushed— already leaning in for more.

“see? was that so hard? always holding out on me. so mean~”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you

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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 year

Text

cry baby

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 7.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** smüt, ed*ging, overstimulation, crying during s*ex, mentions of flushed cheeks, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, lapslock.

a/n: this is arguably one of my absolute fave fics i've ever written. she is near and dear to my heart :') i've provided the link for ao3 if you prefer to read it there! it's originally posted in two parts but i've combined them here. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

“the boys are running late,” natasha informs you when you make your way to the table she’s conquered in the busy cafe. “sam texted a couple minutes ago and said he and bucky got stuck in traffic.”

it’s the second tuesday of the month, which means it’s brunch day. it’s a running tradition that’s stood for the four of you since your college days. the time and place has changed over the years, but everyone does their absolute best to attend every time. these tuesdays are your favorite, naturally.

you plop into an empty chair across from her with a heavy sigh. “good, that means i have time to bitch about how fucking horny i am before they get here.”

she snorts, taking a delicate sip of her latte. “what’s new?” she wonders sarcastically.

“you don’t understand,” you begin, leaning into the table, gripping the edge tightly. “it’s been months, and not like, a few, i mean it’s coming up on a year.”

natasha’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “a year? what about that guy you went on a few dates with a while back? didn’t anything happen with him?”

“no,” you grumble, sitting back in your chair and crossing your arms. you huff. “and even if something had happened, i doubt it would have been satisfying. i can probably count on one hand the amount of times sex has been even kinda pleasurable for me.”

“sounds like you’re picking shitty partners.”

you scowl. “i know that, but it’s not my fault. all these stupid men keep promising they’re gonna fuck me ten ways to sunday and not a single one of them can even get me to wednesday.”

natasha laughs. “you poor thing.”

“you’re really not helping me here,” you whine with a pitiful pout on your lips. “you are getting routine dickings, you have sam! i am not so lucky here.” you notice her attention flicks to somewhere behind you, but you’re not finished with your rant. “nat, i’m serious. all of my sex encounters are the equivalent of asking someone to scratch my back and then they scratch literally anywhere but the spot that itches. i want to be fucked so good that i cry, just—completely reduced to tears. is that too much to ask?”

nat is hiding her smile behind her hand, amusement painted across her sharp features. someone clears their throat behind you and you pinch the bridge of your nose. sam and bucky occupy the empty seats, sam next to natasha and bucky next to you. they’re both sporting wide grins, looking far too pleased about stumbling into this conversation.

sam opens his mouth, no doubt to make a smartass comment, but you cut him off before he can get a good inhale in.

“not a fucking word,” you grouse with a finger pointed in his direction.

he presses a hand to his chest, expression offended. “i would never make a joke about your truly tragic excuse of a sex life.”

bucky snickers quietly, but turns into a cough at your glare.

“i’ll murder you,” you promise.

“leave her alone, boys,” natasha says, rolling her eyes, though she’s visibly biting back her own laughter.

you huff, digging your wallet out of your purse. “i hate all of you,” you announce before getting up and going to stand in line to order.

bucky follows a moment later, coming to stand at your side and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“that bad, huh?” he asks.

you don’t have to look at his face to know he’s probably smirking right now.

“fuck off,” you retort, not bothering to push his arm away since you know he’d only put it right back.

“aw, come on, don’t be like that,” he jests, “you know we just like to poke a little fun.”

you roll your eyes, throwing him an exasperated look. “yeah, but that was something only nat was supposed to hear. i hate talking about sex with you and sam because you two wouldn’t understand.”

“that’s not true,” bucky insists, which makes you roll your eyes again. “it’s not!”

“first of all, sam’s got natasha, so we both know they’re more than satisfied.” bucky tilts his head in acquiescence. “and you don’t have to worry about if you’re gonna have an orgasm when you hook up with somebody. men have it so easy.”

it’s probably not the best thing to talk about in line of a busy cafe (especially since you haven’t decided between a blueberry muffin or the ham and cheese croissant, and there’s only one person ahead of you now and you’d really rather not be discussing your lack of sex in front of an innocent barista) but it sort of feels good to get this off your chest, even if it’s to bucky.

“okay, definitely not true,” he replies with a frown. “i’m not always guaranteed an orgasm.”

you give him a skeptical glance. “i find that hard to believe.”

this time, it’s bucky who rolls his eyes. “whatever, whether or not i come when i have sex with someone isn’t what i was gonna talk about when i came over here.”

the person in front of you finishes their order and then you’re stepping up for your turn.

“hi, what can i get you today?” the young barista asks with a smile.

“a large mocha iced coffee with sweet cream and a blueberry muffin, please.” you pause, contemplating, then add, “and a ham and cheese croissant.”

if you can’t get fucked within an inch of your life then food will become your lover, you reason.

“just a black coffee for me, please,” bucky tells the girl, taking his wallet out of his back pocket and handing over his card to pay before you can stop him.

“i could’ve paid for mine,” you mumble.

“you also could just say thank you,” he replies with a short laugh as he ushers you to the side to wait for your order.

you pinch his hip, pouting. “thank you.”

“why does your gratitude come with violence?” he asks, rubbing the sore spot.

“you know how i am when people do nice things for me.”

“you should be used to it by now,” he points out.

“well, i’m not,” you huff. “anyway, what did you come over here to talk about then?”

bucky reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy all the sudden. “uh, well. i dunno, i just thought… you know, since you’re not—i mean, not that you couldn’t be, just—you haven’t been, so maybe… fuck.”

“spit it out,” you say with a giggle, wondering what in the world’s got him so tongue-tied.

“why don’t you let me?” he blurts, averting his gaze immediately after.

you tilt your head in confusion. “let you what?”

he sighs heavily, working his jaw in frustration. “you know…” he begins, digging his thumbnail into a knick on the countertop in front of you. “let me fuck you until you cry.”

“what?”

just then, your order is called. bucky quickly grabs it and turns to make his way back to the table, but you grab his arm to stop him.

“i don’t think so, you come back here right now and explain yourself,” you demand.

his eyes lift heavenward. “it’s just an idea, okay?”

“bucky, you’re talking about crossing a huge line. you can’t just throw that out all willy nilly!”

“i know,” he replies earnestly. “and it’s not—“ he grimaces at the phrasing, “willy nilly. you’re one of my best friends. i wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything, and i wouldn’t offer this if i thought that it could. this is something that’s obviously affecting you negatively in your life and i’m willing to help. i trust you, and i’m pretty sure you trust me, yeah?”

“of course i trust you,” you say, frowning.

he shrugs. “so, then it’s just… a friend helping another friend.”

“you make it sound so simple,” you muse in wonder.

“think about it?” he implores.

you swallow roughly, biting the inside of your cheek. “fine. i’ll think about it.”

he nods and walks back over to the table where sam and natasha are waiting. you hesitate for only a split second before following.

needless to say, you’re distracted for the rest of brunch.

***

you: what even makes you think you could fuck me until i cry anyway?

it’s been nearly a week, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re actually considering taking bucky’s offer. it’s all you can think about since he brought it up. you can’t lie, you’ve always thought bucky was attractive, but ever since you were gently but firmly placed in the friend category back in university, you never allowed yourself to think of there ever being more between the two of you. he’s a wonderful friend to have and you’d have been an idiot to pass it up. bucky is kind and generous and just enough of an asshole to keep things interesting without it being a problem.

but this… this has left you reeling. why would he make such an offer after only ever keeping things strictly friendly and platonic in your relationship? and more importantly, where does he get the confidence to think he could follow through?

bucky: experience?

you make a face at your phone, furiously typing your reply.

you: ew. do you realize how douchey that sounds?

bucky: well, it’s not douchey if it’s true.

you: says you

bucky: and a few other people :)

bucky: you’d know it too if you’d let me fuck you

you exhale harshly through your nose, tapping your foot on the floor anxiously, carefully thinking of what you should say next.

you: it’s apparently a tall request, and thus far, nobody’s been able to deliver. you can understand my skepticism…

bucky: if i don’t leave you shivering and twitching with aftershocks of pleasure, in a mess of sweat and come, and tears stained on your cheeks, then i will have failed you.

your thighs squeeze together at the mental image that brings you. jesus christ, if he’s half as good at fucking as he is dirty talking then he just might do as he’s promising.

bucky: so? what do you say? wanna give it a try?

biting your lip, you give yourself a moment to weigh the pros and cons in your mind one last time.

it doesn’t take you very long to make your decision.

you: okay. we’ll try.

***

it’s a slightly overcast sunday when bucky comes over with the direct intention to fuck you. it should be weird, but strangely, all you feel is anticipation. maybe it’s because you know him so well and know that, no matter what, he’d take care of you.

(or, maybe it’s because those repressed college-aged feelings are doing their best to resurface, even though you steadfastly continue to ignore them.)

you’d taken a thorough shower earlier to ease the little bit of nerves you had when you’d woken up. cleaning up the small mess your apartment gathered over the last couple weeks helped, as well, and soon you found yourself standing in front of your lingerie drawer with your lips pursed.

you weren’t sure if you should even bother with it, but it felt you wouldn’t be putting in any effort into this encounter if you didn’t at least pick out nice underwear. so, with a pleased nod, you settle on some simple black lace panties and a matching bralette. not too much, but enough to satisfy yourself, and hopefully bucky. you pick out a simple sundress to put on over it, since you won’t be wearing much of anything once bucky gets here. that thought has you flushing, but you ignore it to put on some makeup, just to freshen up your face.

by the time he knocks on your door, you’ve already finished a glass of wine and are pouring yourself a second.

he smiles when open the door, a bit boyishly, greeting you with a quiet, “hi.”

“hi,” you return, just as soft. you open the door wider. “come in.”

he walks passed you, stopping to toe his shoes off and hang his jacket on one of the hooks.

“do you want a glass of wine?” you ask as you head to the kitchen to retrieve your own from the counter.

bucky follows, stopping in the entryway with his hands in his pockets. “no, thank you.”

you nod, taking a sip from your glass, trying to figure out what to say. the air feels a little awkward and you’re not sure how to fix it.

“nervous?” he wonders curiously.

you shake your head. “not really.”

he quirks a brow. “then what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know,” you murmur. “i guess i’m just worried we’re making a mistake.”

he hums. you take a larger sip of your wine.

with cautious steps, he comes closer to you. “what if i promise that things won’t be weird after?”

“you can’t really promise that, though.”

“sure i can,” he says, smiling. “it’s me and you. we’ve been friends for so long. plenty of people have sex and stay friends after.”

you’re not just ‘people’ to me, you think.

you sigh, frustrated with yourself. you can’t deny how badly you want this. it’s all you’ve been able to think about since that day in the cafe. but the thought of losing bucky is heartbreaking, and you don’t want your stupid horniness to be the reason that you ruin a friendship, even if he was the one to offer sex.

“why don’t we go make out on the couch for a little while first?” he suggests after a moment’s pause.

you snort, in spite of your thoughts. “like a couple of teenagers?”

his eyes crinkle on the sides when he grins. “yeah. we’ll just see how we feel about that, and if it leads to more, then…” he trails off, shrugging.

“that’s not a bad idea,” you concede.

“great! finish your wine.”

you laugh and do as you’re told, downing the little remaining wine in one go, sitting the glass down on the counter resolutely as you swallow.

“let’s do this,” you say, determined.

bucky huffs a laugh, grabbing your wrist and tugging you behind him as he makes his way to the couch. he settles slightly facing you as you tuck your legs under you beside him.

“do you wanna talk, or do you want to jump straight into it?”

“if we talk anymore i’m gonna change my mind. just kiss me already, bucky.”

“yes ma’am,” he sasses before doing exactly that.

he cups your cheek with one hand as the other is placed on your knee. he guides your face to his and kisses you chastely. you’re not sure where to put your hands at first, but you tell yourself to quit being a goober about it and place them on either side of his neck, your thumbs brushing under his jaw.

it’s an okay kiss, you have to admit, but it’s not really doing anything for you yet. he has soft lips, softer than you thought they’d be. you’re beginning to wonder if maybe this confirms you shouldn’t go any further when he tilts his head, and… hm.

he parts his lips, taking your bottom one between his, kissing it, then nipping it. you wouldn’t say the sound you make is a gasp, necessarily, but it’s close. his tongue lightly caresses the seam of your mouth and you don’t even think before you open up for him, letting his tongue sweep in, flicking against yours. you hum, scooting a tiny bit closer to him, chasing the feeling. his kisses turn insistent then, teeth biting at your bottom lip and tugging, soothing the ache with his tongue. he kisses you like a man quenching his thirst, like you’re the best goddamn thing he’s ever tasted, and it’s leaving you dizzy. you sway more into his space and he pulls away from your mouth.

“c’mere,” he whispers, gripping behind one of your knees to drag it over his hips so you’re straddling him. “much better.”

you don’t have a chance to process anything about the moment, his mouth back on yours in a blink. your fingers wind themselves into his hair, getting a good grip on it as you lick into his mouth. he lets out a soft noise at that and you try your damnedest to pry it out of him again, pressing your chest to his so there’s not even a sliver of space left between you.

his hands travel, down the sides of your torso to your thighs, back up to your hips where he holds on tight. it doesn’t take long after that before you find yourself grinding into him. you both moan at the same time, breaking the kiss to pant for breath.

you swallow roughly. “okay,” you murmur, “i think it’s safe to say this could work.”

bucky laughs quietly. “yeah? wanna move to your bed then?”

your squeeze your thighs around him, shifting minutely on his lap and feeling the beginnings of his erection beneath you. “yes,” you breathe.

quickly, you rise from your position and step back, allowing bucky to stand, then grab his hand and lead him to your bedroom. once you’re standing beside your bed, you turn to face him. he meets your halfway, pulling you into another, filthier kiss. you reach for his belt buckle, unfastening it and sliding it through the loops, tossing it to your floor. next are the button and zip of his jeans, shoved down his legs until he steps out of them and kicks them and his socks aside. he obediently lifts his arms when you slide your hands under his shirt and begin pushing it up, breaking the kiss to nearly yank it off, making bucky huff in amusement. once it’s tossed with the rest of his clothes, bucky grabs fistfuls of your dress and pulls you into him.

“my turn,” he says against your lips.

carefully, bucky helps you out of your dress, eyes raking over every bit of new skin shown to him. he bites his lip when he sees your lacy underthings.

“you got all dolled up for me?” he asks.

shifting under his stare, you nod. “wanted to look nice,” you admit.

he hums. “beautiful.”

he kisses you again, a little softer than before, but no less passionate. the urgency returns as he backs you up until your thighs hit the mattress. gently, he guides you onto your back, never breaking the kiss as he follows you down and settles over you.

you soon find yourself in need of air and pull away with a gasp. bucky is undeterred and instead presses his kisses down your jaw, to your neck where he decides to bite and suck until he’s left a mark you’ll have to reprimand him for later. he licks his way up to your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, drawing a whine out of you.

“bucky,” you whisper, hands gripping his sides as you squirm below him.

“hm?”

you close your eyes tightly when he makes his way back down to your collarbones.

“please,” you whimper.

“please what, sweetheart?” he asks, pushing himself up to look you in the eye.

“t-touch me,” you beg, cheeks flushing.

his lips quirk into a smile. “i am touching you.”

“bucky,” you whine.

“where do you want me to touch you, hm?” he wonders. one of his hands trails across your shoulder and down the center of your chest. “here? or… here?”

when his fingers glide, barely there, over your pebbled nipples, you push into the touch eagerly.

“or…” he continues, his feather light touch making a path down your stomach. your breath quickens in anticipation. “here?” he murmurs as his fingertips stop on your pantyline.

“yes, there, anywhere,” you agree hastily, “just —please. please, bucky, don’t tease me.”

he kisses you again, deep, full of promise. “you beg so prettily for me.”

he rearranges your positions until he’s between your spread thighs, sweeping his hands across the inside of them. he nods to your panties.

“may i?”

“yes, please,” you reply, lifting your hips to help him take them off.

he doesn’t give you a chance to close your legs in shyness, firmly grasping your knees in each of his hands and spreading them once again. the way he’s looking at you makes you feel unbelievably desirable, has excitement crawling up your spine.

“don’t forget,” you remind him, making his eyes flick up to yours in question, “you better make me cry.”

a slow, dangerous smile graces his lips. your stomach swoops eagerly.

a whine, high pitched and drawn out, escapes your lips. after you unwittingly challenged him, bucky took it upon himself to torture you—with sex. so far, he’s only used his fingers on you, in you, thrusting them steadily but never enough to bring you to climax. he’s taking his time and being a smug prick about it. you go to complain, again, hoping if you beg enough he’ll let you come, but before you can do more than open your mouth he’s quickening his pace.

“oh!” you gasp, clutching the sheets in your hands.

bucky slides his hand down your thigh, bringing his thumb inward to swipe around where his other fingers are buried inside you to gather your wetness and using it to rub circles on your clit. your back arches, head thrown back against your pillows as you feel your orgasm build. it’s not tears, but damn, it feels good enough.

just as you start to clench around his fingers, legs spasming, he stops.

your eyes open in a hurry, brows furrowing in confusion. “no, please, don’t stop,” you plead.

bucky smiles. “i gotta get the right build up.”

you groan in frustration. he laughs quietly and lets the inferno burning within you simmer down to embers, then starts inching his way down until he’s lying on his stomach, mouth poised above your pussy. the feel of his warm breath makes you shiver, and with no warning whatsoever, he leans in and sucks your clit into his mouth.

“fuckin’—oh my— bucky!”

you’re pretty sure you black out for the next several minutes, the only thing you’re aware of is the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears and the feel of bucky’s mouth on you. you’re lost in a mindless haze of pleasure, unable to think or feel anything else. you feel your orgasm cresting for the second time, and just as before, bucky pulls away before you can succumb to it.

“why,” you hiccup on a moan, wanting nothing more than to just come already, but he’s not letting you.

he shushes you, softly kisses your knee. sitting up to take his underwear off, bucky keeps his eyes on you, expression hungry.

“gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he promises. “just a bit more. you’re being so good for me, yeah?”

“please,” you whimper, feeling completely pathetic.

he makes quick work of putting a condom on and then settles between your thighs. you sigh in relief when he wastes no time and pushes in, being careful not to go too fast. once he’s fully inside you, he pauses, wanting to give you time to adjust, but you’re back to whining.

“bucky, please, please just—fuck me,” you beg, squirming beneath him.

he takes mercy on you, finally, and sets a hard pace. your hands fly up to push against the headboard, moaning and gasping from his harsh thrusts, loving the stretch of him inside you. his thumb is back on your clit and you cry out, clenching hard around him, but his thrusts don’t falter. all too soon, you can feel yourself getting close. you hear your own voice chanting please, please, please, mixed in with bucky’s grunts and the sound of him fucking you.

you whimper, eyes squeezed shut as your climax hits the point of no return, crashing over you in waves. you think you might scream, but it’s hard to pay attention to anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. part of you thinks this’ll be it, bucky will come now and then you’ll have had one of the best orgasms of your life and he’ll be on his merry way home. but no, that’s not what happens.

instead, bucky keeps thrusting relentlessly into you, dragging out your pleasure to the point of oversensitivity.

“s’too much,” you breathe, gasping for air.

bucky shakes his head, face contorted in concentration. “one more,” he tells you, voice gruff and deep.

unbelievably, you feel tears beginning to gather in the corners of your eyes. bucky’s still rubbing your clit, still keeping a steady rhythm of his hips, and fuck, he’s so beautiful. you watch him fucking you, wondering how the fuck you got to this moment, how you got lucky enough to bear witness to the sight of bucky fucking, let alone be the one he fucks. his body is ridiculous, looking like it’s carved from marble. you know how much strength it holds, as well, know that if he really wanted to, he could probably fuck you against a wall.

it’s with that thought, with the added bonus of the way bucky touches you, looks at you, like you’re something treasured and gorgeous, giving you such intense pleasure, that the tears threatening to spill over finally fall from your lashes.

bucky notices, because of course he does, and he thrusts into you just a little faster, a little harder, and your body seizes up and then you’re falling into another orgasm. it spreads through your veins, slow like honey, making sure this one settles deep into your bones. bucky groans as he, too, reaches climax, hips twitching into you in aftershocks until he stops moving altogether.

you both pant for breath, sweat gathered in every crevice on your bodies. you think you won’t be able to move for the rest of the weekend.

“need to pull out,” bucky says softly, breaking the moment.

you nod and he carefully pulls his hips back, grunting. you poorly suppress a whimper and close your legs, already hating the empty feeling.

“well,” he starts, plopping himself on his back next to you, “i think i deserve some kind of reward.”

when you turn to face him with an exasperated look, he’s got his arms crossed behind his head, a smug smile across his lips.

“how about i don’t kick you in the balls? how’s that for a reward?”

“i literally just did the impossible.”

“what, made me come twice? i can do that all on my own. you’re not special,” you retort with a huff.

he scoffs. “i fucked you so good you cried.”

“you can’t prove it,” you say to the ceiling.

“keep up this attitude and i won’t do it again,” he threatens, poking you in your side.

you wiggle away from the ticklish touch while trying to tamp down on the hope bubbling in your chest.

“oh, we’re doing this again, are we?” you say as casually as possible.

he rolls his eyes. “of course we are. now,” he sits up in your bed, stretching his arms as he stands and picks up his underwear, “i’m starving. wanna order takeout?”

well, you guess if you’d been worried about any kind of awkwardness before, you shouldn’t have. this is bucky, your best friend. he’d never let things change between you.

***

except, things kinda change between the two of you.

it’s not very noticeable at first, changes so subtle you miss them, until one day he showed up at your apartment and greeted you with a kiss. you stood frozen in your doorway as he rambled about how stressful his day had been as he kicked his shoes off. it was only when you heard him calling out from the kitchen that he was gonna eat your leftovers that you snapped out of it, yelling back that you’d kick his ass if he even touched your dumplings.

another day, he facetimes you and asks if you want to go to see that new movie you’ve been talking about.

“oh,” you’d said. “are nat and sam coming, too?”

he’d given you a funny look, replied, “no, i thought it would just be us two.”

“oh,” you said again. “okay.”

so you’d gone to the movies, let him buy you buttery popcorn and peanut m&m’s and a soda bigger than your head. he shared with you, despite your protests, and halfway through the film you felt his hand settle on your thigh. you blinked and stared at it for a beat, turning to him in question. he only smiled at you briefly before focusing back on the movie.

in between all of this, you continued calling him over for sex. honestly, how could you not? as much as you didn’t want to admit it to him, he was the best you’ve ever had. and if he’s so willing, why shouldn’t you take advantage while you can?

a week ago, though, you’d texted him and asked him to come over, replying to his question of what time and then started getting ready. you’d purchased a new piece of lingerie, a periwinkle babydoll nightie, that left very little to the imagination. it had a matching pair of panties and felt soft and luxurious on your skin. you’d taken extra time to do your hair and makeup, wanting to look like sex on legs, and you’re pretty sure you succeeded.

but when he got there and you answered the door in your sexy outfit, he didn’t see it right away. in one hand he held his phone, typing something on it, and in the other hand he held a grocery bag that you eyed curiously.

“i brought stuff to make spaghetti—“

when he did finally look up, his eyes widened and traveled the length of your body several times. you bit your lip, trying and failing to hold back your smile.

“how about we skip dinner?” you’d said, fisting his nice button-up shirt and dragging him inside your apartment. you grabbed the grocery bag from his hand and sat it on the floor, absently noting he was wearing his date jeans.

whoops, you’d thought, hope i didn’t pull him away from someone important.

you hadn’t let yourself dwell on it, standing up on your tippy toes and kissing him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. he’d returned the kiss, licking into your mouth, drawing your tongue out so he could suck on it and made you moan embarrassingly loud.

“wait,” he’d murmured, “we should eat first.”

“or, you could eat me,” you’d retorted with a giggle.

he groaned like it pained him to say no, gripped your hips hard and put a tiny bit of distance between you. the look in his eyes had made you want to find the nearest flat surface and bend over.

“why don’t you be a good girl for me, hm? let me cook dinner for us and after we eat i’ll fuck you however you want me to. okay, sweetheart?”

you whined, but ultimately agreed, knowing he’d make it worth it.

and then there’s tonight, where he came over unannounced, armed with groceries again and promising to cook you the best meal you’ve ever had. to say you were confused would be an understatement, but you also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

it’s just… well, bucky’s not really acting like a friend with benefits. sure, you hung out alone with him all the time before, but he never once cooked you dinner, and he certainly never helped wash dishes after. you guess the hello kisses could be explained away as part of the new aspect of your relationship, but something about that didn’t sit quite right with you.

after a truly delicious dinner, you find yourself on the couch with bucky as he scrolls through netflix to find a movie to put on.

“what do you want to watch?” he asks.

“mm,” you mumble, shifting closer to start kissing his neck, “don’t care.”

as he narrows down his decision and finally picks one, you make your way up to his jaw, sucking a small mark into the skin there.

“baby,” he protests softly, “let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”

you pull back, confused. first at the pet name, then at his words. he’s never denied you before, which isn’t to say that he can’t, it’s just that he’s always seemed on board. and, you know, you thought that was kind of the whole point of this thing.

“okay,” you reply after a moment.

he gives you a smile and a sweet kiss, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side to cuddle. you can’t help but frown, feeling like you’re missing something, but not knowing what it could be.

it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to creep up on you. before he showed up, you had planned on probably ordering out for dinner and going to bed early since you’d had a pretty rough day. in fact, you remember texting bucky about it just that afternoon. your eyelids get heavier and heavier, finding it harder to keep them open as the seconds pass. your head droops and in the next blink, you’ve fallen asleep.

you’re not sure how much time has passed when bucky wakes you, but you groan, pouting and burrowing into his shoulder more.

he huffs a laugh. “c’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.”

“don’ wanna move,” you mumble tiredly.

“i’ll carry you,” he offers. “up you go, baby.”

you half heartedly argue about being jostled, but let him carry you to your bed where he carefully places you, helping you out of your sweatpants and pulling your blankets up around you. you sigh in content, feeling yourself already drifting back into sleep. you hear bucky shuffling, but think nothing of it until the bed dips beside you, then feel his warm body slide in underneath the covers and press in close.

“goodnight, darlin’,” he murmurs.

you’d ask him what in the word he’s doing, but sleep is just far too enticing to ignore. you fall into slumber with bucky’s warmth along your back, his arm draped over you.

the next morning, you wake to the feeling of his fingers playing with the tiny bow on the front of your panties and his lips placing gentle kisses on your shoulder. you hum, eyes still closed, in the back of your mind thinking this is a nice way to wake up. at the sound of you, his touches get firmer, more insistent.

“good morning,” he rasps, breath tickling your ear.

you don’t really get a chance to reply. he dips his fingers into your panties, making you inhale sharply, moaning as you buck into his hand. he fingers you for a while, kissing along the column of your throat, biting and sucking marks into the skin there. when you’re begging him for more, he relents, eases your panties off and lifts your leg to slide in from behind. the angle is so nice it has you gasping.

you clutch the sheets weakly, burying your face in your pillow and muffle your whines and moans. bucky keeps a slow, lazy rhythm, acting as if he’s got all the time in the world to draw this out. it’s good, so good, and you can’t hold back your whimper when he kicks up the pace a little, tells you to touch yourself. you come seconds before he does, shuddering through it and humming happily.

as you both lie there and catch your breath, awareness trickles into your mind. you swallow roughly, staring blankly at the wall as you realize your feelings have grown far too much for this to be only casual anymore.

bucky kisses your shoulder again. “i’m gonna go make breakfast, okay? i’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“okay,” you whisper, blinking rapidly to keep tears from forming.

hearing bucky bustle around your kitchen makes your heart clench with want; want for something you can’t have.

***

bucky: dinner tonight?

you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the text. you know you need to cut things off with him before you get anymore hurt than you already are. it’s not fair to either of you if you continue with this arrangement when you’ve caught real feelings for him. you have to tell him, and soon. with that thought in mind, you type out a reply.

you: sure. what time?

bucky: reservations are at 8pm, i’ll pick you up by 7:45.

reservations? where was he taking you? you get another text before you can ask.

bucky: dress nice ;)

with a sigh, you text back an affirmative and try to start mentally preparing yourself for the conversation you dreaded having. you could only hope and pray that he agrees to still be your friend after.

by the time there’s a knock on your door that night, you’ve worked yourself up into an anxious mess. you open the door to see bucky standing there with a single peach colored rose and a bashful grin.

“hi,” he greets, leaning in to kiss you on your cheek. “this is for you.”

he hands you the rose and you feel your heart crack in your chest. you muster a small smile.

“thank you. let me go put this in a vase and we can head out.”

he nods and waits patiently at the door. as you fill a vase with a little water, you take a deep breath, giving yourself a mental pep talk.

this was going to suck.

the drive to the restaurant doesn’t take too long, and when you see where he’s taken you, your eyebrows shoot up. this is one of the nicer places in the city, definitely not on the affordable side. he helps you out of the car, leading you inside with his hand on the small of your back. you’re led to a small booth in a far corner with overhead lighting that feels too intimate. maybe you’d have to wait until you left to tell him…

conversation is light, a bit surface level, and you get the feeling that bucky is a little nervous. you wonder if maybe he’s gonna let you down gently first, hoping that he doesn’t, because you’d rather not cry in such a fancy restaurant.

after the waiter takes your drink orders, bucky sighs.

“okay, let me just… get this off my chest.”

oh fuck, here it goes.

“i know i’ve never really come across at the most romantic guy, especially since i’ve never felt the need to be.” he runs a nervous hand through his hair. “you’ve always been so important to me, and this last month has been so, so wonderful.”

“bucky…” you trail off, attempting to somehow stop him, but he powers through.

“i just—i never thought i’d find somebody, you know?” he says, earnest, gaze locked on yours. another crack in your heart. “especially not somebody who was my friend first, that i already had a solid foundation with. the attraction had always been there, but the friendship meant more to me, and finally allowing that to blossom into this amazing, new, fun relationship has got to be the best decision i’ve ever made.”

did he start dating someone and not tell you? oh god, has he been sleeping with someone else? at the same time? your stomach turns, eyes burning, hating yourself more and more as he speaks.

“so, i guess what i’m trying to say is,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself and smiling, “happy one month anniversary, sweetheart.”

you blink, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “what?” you croak, beyond confused.

bucky, however, looks concerned. “baby, why are you crying?”

“i…” you blink some more, eyes flitting around the room as if you’ll get some kind of clarity that way to the situation currently happening. “what?” you repeat.

“did i come on too strong?” he asks, looking embarrassed now. “i wasn’t sure if you’d even want to celebrate, but i’ve just been so happy with you—i’m sorry, baby, i should’ve asked.”

“bucky, what are you talking about?” you finally manage, unable to keep the bewilderment out of your tone. “anniversary?”

bucky frowns. “i didn’t get the date wrong, did i?”

“no, i—this isn’t—i’m not talking about—ugh, i mean, when did we even start having an anniversary to celebrate?”

bucky’s face goes blank, sitting back in his chair. your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, so fucking confused, so fucking hopeful.

“we… we’re dating,” he says, slow, unsure. “aren’t we?”

“since when?” you ask probably too loudly, cheeks flushing.

he opens and closes his mouth a couple times. “when i asked you out?”

“bucky, oh my god, you’re gonna have to be more specific before i lose my goddamn mind. when did you ask me out?”

he huffs, his own cheeks flushing. “at the cafe! a month ago, at brunch with natasha and sam.”

your eyes widen in disbelief. “when you asked if you could fuck me until i cried?” you hiss, ignoring the scandalized look on the waiter’s face as he brings your drinks over.

smiling apologetically, you thank him and wait until he’s gone before sending a glare bucky’s way.

“that’s not how you ask a person out,” you seethe.

“i asked if you wanted to give this a try and you said yes!” he replies desperately. “i’ve taken you on dates!”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking of all the times you thought he was being too romantic, more-than-friends type of behavior. you’re a fucking idiot, but god, so was he.

“at no point did you say anything even remotely close about us starting a relationship. i thought we were just fucking, bucky, i didn’t realize it was more than that!”

“you don’t—“ he starts, then stops, looking down at the plate in front of him. “you don’t want to be with me?”

“i didn’t know it was an option,” you say carefully.

“well, it is.” he meets your gaze, cautious. “i just spilled my guts to you. you know how i feel now. how do you feel? about me?”

you lick your lips. “bucky, i… i was planning to end things with you tonight.” his expression drops, even though he tries to mask it, so you’re quick to explain. “not because i don’t like you, but because i do like you and i thought you wouldn’t want anything more than just sex with me.”

“it’s never been and never could have been just sex with you,” he replies, quiet and relieved. he reaches across the table to take your hand in his. “i meant it when i said you’re the best decision i’ve ever made. i want this—the sex, the dinners, dates, all the gross and sappy shit i never wanted before… i want it all with you, if you’ll have me.”

you can’t fight the smile spreading across your lips. “of course i’ll have you, bucky.”

he smiles in return, a laugh bubbling out of him, which makes you giggle, until you’re both laughing so hard and loud that patrons from other tables are sending dirty looks your way, which only makes you laugh more.

“do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, laughter dying down. “there’s pizza and sex calling our names, i think.”

bucky moans dramatically. “i knew i liked you for a reason.”

he leaves money on the table and then the two of you quickly make your way through the restaurant, giggling and holding hands the whole way, even in the car.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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d0youc0py · 3 months

Note

heyy - 🍄

Can you write something with 141 reacting to the reader going to sleep alone in another room? like just the reader wanting to be alone or they fought. the way you prefer

Hurt/comfort ♥️ your writing is my favorite

Hi! 🍄Thank you so much! I absolutely loved this prompt!

He thought you were being dramatic. Too sensitive. And he made sure to let you know.

“It was just a joke, sweetheart. Nothing more. I’m a light sleeper, you know that.” His voice was careful, yet firm.

Even though he had assured you he hadn’t meant anything by it, here you were, staring at the ceiling as pm turned into am. He had his arm snug around you, tucking you under his chin. Normally this position had you out like a light, but now you were just focusing on trying not to breath too hard.

Earlier that day the two of you were relaxing on the couch when you commented on his yawn.

“You’ve been yawning a lot, Si. Should put you to bed early.” You snickered.

“Your fault.” He yawned again. “Movin around every five second.” His tone was teasing. His fingers even brushed up and down your foot that was resting in his lap. Despite this, your heart dropped. Were you really that uncomfortable to share a bed with?

Laying in bed was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Your side ached from you spending too much time on it. Your nose hadn’t stopped itching and it took everything in your power not to scratch it every five seconds. Even your quieted breathing felt like it was shaking the bed. The guest room was sounding more and more inviting. You’d be able to flip over whenever you wanted. Scratch that nose of yours, all without having to worry about stirring the sleeping giant behind you.

You carefully gripped his arm and squirmed your way out from under it. He woke up halfway, holding his arm up for you.

“Sorry, Si.” You whispered, guilt already tugging at you.

“Don’t even think about it.” He assured in a groan. He watched with curious eyes as you disappeared down the hall, instead of going to the bathroom like he assumed you were. You must be getting water.

One minuted turned into three, then three turned into five. He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face, your side of the bed already growing uncomfortably cold. His socked feet sunk into the plush carpet as he made his way down the hall. The kitchen light wasn’t on, but the guest bedroom that was normally shut was wide open. Even in the darkness he could make out the lump of your body- already asleep.

The realization was instant. And it hurt.

“Sweetheart.” He knocked at the open door. He didn’t feel too bad about waking you up. He needed to. You gasped awake, your head springing up from the pillows. It seemed even your absence kept him awake. “What do I have to say for you to get out of that head of yours?” He hummed, plopping down next to you. He leaned over you, pressing a slow kiss against your forehead.

“I just feel bad knowing I’m constantly waking you up.” You murmured, rubbing at your eyes.

“Sweetheart, waking up to you isn’t something to feel bad about. It’s nice, being woken up just because someone wants to be closer to you. Now we are going to knock it off with all this ‘afraid to wake me up shit’ and go back to our bed, you hear me?”

You did hear him.

“John, enough! I’m tired of arguing with you, I’m ready to go to bed.” You growled. He followed closely behind you towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his white dress shirt.

“Yeah, let’s just go to bed and forget all of this happened.” He mumbled from behind you. You began tugging off your clothes, throwing a glare his way.

“Don’t do that.” You chided, throwing you clothes on top of his in the hamper.

“Do what?” He gruffed back.

“Mumble things under your breath.” You explained. He tsked and rolled his eyes at you. The action caused another flare to ignite in your stomach. He reached into his dresser and pulled out a nightshirt, tugging it over his head. He reached back in and grabbed one for you, holding it out to you expectantly. It was your favorite shirt of his to wear.

“I’m not wearing that.” You spat, turning away from him. You marched to your shared bed and grabbed your pillow, beginning to make your way down the hallway.

“Where are you going?” He stopped you. His large frame taking up the whole doorway.

“John”-

“Love.” His voice was calm and you hated it. He should be more upset. Upset that you were upset with him. “Don’t go”-

“Why should I liste”-

“You need to stay in bed with me. That’s where you belong.” He said it as though it was a fact. “I know you’re not too happy with me right now, but you aren’t sleepin away from me tonight, honey. Now let’s go brush our teeth.”

*this is so dramatic*

Johnny had fucked up. He admitted it too. Yet it seemed no matter how many apologies flowed from him- you were determined to put a rift between the two of you. At least that’s how he saw it.

You yawned next to him on the couch, your hand brushing some hair out of your eyes.

“Gettin sleepy?” He hummed. You smiled softly, nodding your head.

“Should probably head to bed.” You yawned, stretching as you stood.

“You remember where it is?” It was a snotty comment. Distasteful. You had been sleeping in the guest bedroom for the past week. He was able to choke down his hatred for it the first few days, but after you referred to it as “your room” all grace had been lost.

“You just can’t help yourself can you?” You growled, not bothering to wait for an answer.

“Just don’t understand why you’re so hell bent on punishing me.” He shouted after you. You stopped, turning on your heels.

“Punishing you?” You snarled. “The only one getting punished in this situation is me John. I know to you I’m being dramatic but I really don’t know how I can trust you after all those shitty things you said to me.”

His chest twisted and his hand scratched at his shirt.

“I don’t know what else to do, sweetheart.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft and it made you feel worse than you already did. “I’ve apologized in more ways than one and I’m still not getting through to you. I’m not saying I’m giving up, I just miss you. I know lashing out at you isn’t the answer.” He sighed rubbing at his face. He was exhausted- that was evident just by looking at him. You were his safe place- his favorite person in the whole world and he hurt you. “I made a mistake saying nasty shite to you, but I hope you remember everything before that. We’ve been together for years and I hoped I’ve showed you just how much I love you in that time.”

By the end of his speech tears were rolling down your cheeks.

“Dammit, Mac.” You huffed. You moved forward quickly, practically flinging yourself at him. He reciprocated immediately, wrapping his arms tight around you with no intention to let you go. He wouldn’t let go till you forgave him.

You woke up to two arms wrapping around you.

“Ky.” You grumbled sleepily.

“You took so much medicine, I didn’t think you’d wake up.” He whispered back. You were sick and the last thing you wanted to do was get Kyle sick. He rubbed his hands over your stomach, the action already lulling you back to sleep.

“I just don’t want to make you sick.” You murmured. He ‘tsked’ at you, pulling you even closer to his warm body. You wished it was easier to stay away from him. He was the perfect temperature for your chilled body and he smelled like vanilla and coffee.

“I’d wear it like a badge of honor.” He smiled against you. You rolled your eyes.

“You just always find a way to make everything romantic don’t you.”

“Well I had to get you to fall for me one way.”

“Are you going to be this cheeky when you get sick?” You hummed.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but challenge accepted.”

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pupcuck · 12 days

Text

PAWFECT !

ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. hybrids, they’re treated like dogs so power dynamics, spaying, creampie, p in v, smut, daddy kink, fluff, pussy inspection

note. SHUT UP. all nyxs fault all her doing. og4 leon btw it wouldn’t work otherwise!! ignore typos n just bad fic over all I was tweaking .. omg forgive me . honestly just snippets of leon n his puppy girl!! super short

“Baby,” Leon says, it’s the closest to cooing he’ll ever get, “smile for me, baby, c’mon.”

You blank him, rolling over to stare at a small hole in the wall. The refusal to do what he says is a stab in the heart.

“What happened to my good girl?” He hooks his fingers in your mouth, forcing your lips into a grin as he bares your half-formed canines. “There it is, look at that.”

For the first time in your docile existence, you bite Leon. You bite your daddy and he yelps like a little girl—This has one of your ears twitching, the urge to run to his aid is likely strong but you stay put like the stubborn little bitch you are.

The vet said your grudge would last a day or so. That puppies can be temperamental creatures, but they’re soft at heart. A nice way to say that dogs are dumber than a box of rocks - you included. You’re the stupidest of them all and that’s what Leon likes about you.

Your grudge lasts two days, then three, then four, then five—A week long extension. And it’s not just the cold shoulder. It’s the food bowl that sits on the ground covered in a film of dust, out of use. It’s the side of his bed that remains empty as you burrow into your pink doggy bed that you outgrew long ago—There was never any use for the thing, you started to sleep in Leon’s bed the night you came home with him. Man, he used to hate when you whined at the bathroom door while he took a shit, but now Leon would do anything to have that back.

Worst of all, it’s the lack of sex. Leon did this for your good—You like playtime, it’s your favourite part of the day, even better than breakfast or lunch or dinner. You also love being bred, like the warmth, makes you sleepy. No more heat cycles, no more condoms. It’s a win-win. Call him cruel all you want, the shit makes you go insane—He got through, like, twenty rubbers in a day. Think about all those costs, then think about a single procedure, weigh ‘em up and you’ll see what led him to tie your tubes.

Leon makes a call to Rebecca, she comes with a stethoscope and Claire in tow. He’s in for an earful. Hybrid rights activist his ass, you’re his pup and Leon can do what he wants with you. An endless supply of creampies is what his girl dreams about, and he only does what’s best for you—He knows you, when you get over this slump you’ll appreciate all he’s done for you.

“And where does it hurt?” Rebecca’s eyes soften as you place a hand over your heart, blinking up at her with big eyes for added effect.

Oh, baby—Oh, honey— Both of them kneel by your side, scratching behind an ear each, showering you in enough affection to last a century.

“She’s acting,” Leon informs them, only to be met with outrage, “I regret it, swear on my life,” says Leon, who does not.

“You should, look at this sweet girl, what if she wanted to be a mommy.” Claire rubs your tummy, pads of her fingers digging into the pudge, your foot thumps against the floor as your body goes lax. When you look for affection from Leon, he rubs your clit instead of your belly.

“She doesn’t go outside, not gonna be a mommy either way.”

“That’s not the point, Leon, it’s cruel,” she argues, “she’s not a sex doll, are you baby? No, no, you’re not a sex doll, you’re a good girl, yes you are.” He fucking hates the baby voice. If you wanna get knocked up so badly, you should be spoken to like a big girl, but you can’t even make it to the potty on time so how is Leon meant to trust you with a litter?

“It makes it easier to deal with her cycles, I mean, she won’t get them at all now—“ Rebecca’s actual scientific evidence is shut down by a single glare from Claire.

“Get rid of your balls, how would you like that?”

“She likes my balls, can’t do that to her—Anyway, there’s no space for kids,” Leon says shortly, “I’d have to sell ‘em and she’d get all depressed.”

“She should have the choice, Leon, an option at least.” Claire doesn’t know that you can’t pick between dry food and wet food, that you break down when you’re given a choice, even if presented gently.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late.” And hooray to that.

“You’re mean,” she tells him, and he knows, he’s so mean—So selfish. Doing what’s best for his pup is so mean of him. Big Bad Leon crushing your puppy dreams in the palm of his hand like a page out of a diary.

“Mhm, okay, bye now, Claire, you should get going—Thanks for coming, Becca.” Leon escorts them to the door, he gives Claire a gentle push over the threshold and slams it in her face. “So fuckin’ annoying, tellin’ me what to do, and you just let her say that to me baby.”

Your face is indifferent, devoid of the usual warmth you carry in your expression. Dopey bitch. Don’t even know left from right and you think you know what’s best for you?

“So you’re gonna be like that?” Leon asks, and you blink at him, gaze steely. Fine. Two can play that game. He gets his dick out and twiddles it like his thumbs, your mouth waters the moment it comes into your eye line. “Baby, you could’ve held out a little longer.” He laughs quietly when you come to nose at his cock with shining eyes. “Yeah, you’re my greedy little bitch, aren’t you, baby? Yeah, you are.”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He strokes your head tenderly as you mouth at his cock, slicking him up in thick drool from tip to base, icing him like a goddamn cake. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it—Are you listening?” A whine slips from the base of your throat when he redirects your attention to his face.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, baby, you wanna play ball, don’t you?” That gets your tail wagging. “Yes you do, I know you do, c’mere—“ Now he’s doing the fucking baby voice as he deposits a ball at a time into your wet mouth, your teeth scraping the sensitive skin of his sac, tracing your tongue along the seam.

This is forgiveness he supposes - you choking on his balls like you’re trying to swallow them whole. Peace is restored wholly when he fucks you that night. “Daddy can do this now,” Leon tells you as he fills you with enough seed to stock up a sperm bank.

You don’t like Ada because Leon likes her, and you don’t like Ashley because she likes Leon. Girls bring out something feral within you, a strain of rabies that has been dormant in your system, waiting for anger to thaw your veins—You ruled out Claire, Rebecca and Jill as threats the moment you gave them a sniff.

Ada left his apartment with a ladder in her stockings and the indentations of puppy teeth in her ass cheek. She was on top - it was a no brainer to go right for her ass. Leon gets it, he wants to sink his teeth into her the same way. She squealed like he’s never heard before and he thought for a minute he fucked her real good. He didn’t even get to cum, she hopped off and made a beeline for the door and you scampered after her, one of her red heels chewed into a sopping leather mess in your mouth.

(Ada doesn’t like dogs, but she likes Leon.)

Ashley waltzes in. “I’m so good with dogs, Leon! I love them, I used to have this great big Labrador, he was so good, Leon! Like he even sat and rolled over when I asked him too—He reminds me of you, actually.” Then she bends over to pet you on the head, but the close proximity between her and him is not to your liking so you bite the hand that saved his life a couple times, a hand that is worth more than his D.C apartment - furniture included.

“Told you she’s tricky.” Leon lifts you up, tosses you over his shoulder so you’re no harm then he finds himself missing your sweet face so you’re swung back over to be cradled in his arms like the big baby you are.

“Ouch, Leon, she’s really mean.” Ashley soothes the pain by flapping her hand in the air, a fruitless endeavour, the cold air from a nearby open window causes it to sting.

“Nah, she don’t bite that hard, do you, baby?” He pushes a finger into your mouth and you nibble on it with a significantly decreased bite-force. “See? Just teething.”

There’s Sherry, you love Sherry more than she does Leon, you run around her in circles and situate yourself on her tiny lap and lick at every inch of her tiny face. You let Leon give you a good scrub before Sherry comes over, put on a fresh set of clothes that aren’t his old t-shirts with ragged collars from all the teething you do. Heck, he even manages to put you in some cute undies.

They come and go, but you stay. And each time a woman leaves his place, you sit your pussy on his face and scoot around— He asks you: “What the fuck you are doing, baby?” Muffled into the fat of your pussy of course, but you never respond. He brushes it off as you scenting him—Whatever pups do when they’re feeling territorial.

And who is he to complain? Your pussy makes him happy. Leon sucks your clit into his mouth, reaches around to pinch the base of your wagging tail between his index and forefinger, stroking up and down to have your thighs tightening around his head.

You circle your hips into him, drool pooling in your mouth and dribbling down your chin as you chew on your favourite stuffed toy, whimpering into the spit-soaked fabric while Leon works your drippy hole open with his tongue. The tip of his nose grinds into your swollen clit, and you only budge once you’ve waterboarded him with your squirt.

Then you very generously provide him with a clean-up service, lapping at the sticky wetness coating his cheeks and suckling on his nose. That always makes him laugh. More often than not it’s a gradual transition into a play fight, you nip at his fingers and your ears twitch, a playful smile brightening your face.

The two of you roll around and Leon, being the bully he is, pins you to the ground, holding your wriggling body down as he slides his sweats down and slots his cock right into your twitching pussy. He grabs your tail to pull you back on his dick, and you might be one stupid bitch, but you’re cock-smart—You know what he wants and push your ass back against his thighs, wet skin smacking as you pick up the pace, faltering only when Leon takes ahold of your ears and uses them as fucking handlebars.

He can’t help himself, they looked too cute, flopping about all over the place. Looked like fuckin’ Dumbo. It doesn’t hurt you—No, it’s the opposite, you cum so hard you pass out in a heap the minute he lets go.

“Thank you, baby.” Leon pats your head as you shove two pussy-wet fingers into his mouth. “That’s so sweet, baby, can daddy take a look at what you’re doing?”

You smile at him shyly, like you didn’t just force-feed him slick, he catches the shape of your tail wagging low between your thighs, then you roll over onto your belly—Leon gives the fold of your tummy a sweet kiss first, then you turn over, taking your hand out of your panties to let him take care of the rest.

The seat of your panties is basically pasted to your pussy, strings of slick breaking as Leon peels them off. “What’s got you worked up, baby?” He spreads your ass, dipping his nose into your tighter hole as his tongue runs along your slit.

Leon raises his head, he parts your fat lips with his fingers and your cunt clicks when he digs a finger into your tight hole, it pulses around him, begs for more, for something thicker. The hood of your clit is pulled back by his thumb and prodded with his tongue, and your labia is parted by his nose, dragging up and down your soaked pussy. When he’s done messing around, Leon lays his tongue flat on your pussy, licking fat stripes up and down the centre of your cunt, dusting kisses on your throbbing clit until you gush down your thighs.

Man, you don’t even need a heat to get you wet. See, it all worked out in the long run, he’s pretty sure you don’t even remember what went down merely a week earlier.

“Come sit on it, princess,” he hums when you lick into his mouth, sucking on his tongue sloppily, a steady stream of drool slicking up the bottom half of his face. You’ve got a lot of love to give and he’ll take it.

You’re well-trained when it comes to cock and not much else, easing down on Leon’s dick while you brace your hands on his shoulders, pussy tightening when he scratches behind your ears. He plants his feet on the ground, lifting off his heels to fuck up into your plush cunt, squelching every time he bottoms out, cute tits bouncing as you sit pretty on his cock like a pencil topper.

The absence of a knot is always a bother to you. When he cums, you wait expectantly for his cock to swell and stretch you out beautifully, tear your pussy in half—It never comes so you paw at his face to express your disappointment, like you’re telling him to do better.

Maybe there's surgery for it. There’s one for everything these days. From cropping to defanging - a manufactured knot shouldn’t be out of the question. He’d do it for you, he would, even if it was a dodgy procedure in the same alley as coat hanger abortions and junkie meet-ups.

Not really. Leon wouldn’t really. He quite likes his dick how it is, and once you get over the initial anticlimactic flop of his knotless cock, staring out the window like a disillusioned star - you’re back on it less than a minute later.

A lack of understanding for his refractory period causes Leon discomfort as you force yourself down on his soft dick, he sits through it to make up for all the places he falls short. You rut your hips into him, trembling with excitement as he hardens inside of you, cock shaping your insides into something pretty. Then you show him that you love him via a spit shower, which Leon is not too fond of, your pussy on a platter would be ideal, but he doesn’t stop you.

Sometimes you suck his cock till your tongue feels like sandpaper. Sometimes you sob so hard when he leaves for work you throw up and he spends half an hour scrubbing mushy kibble out of the carpet. Sometimes you eat things you aren’t supposed to, and sometimes you are one nasty piece of work, but Leon loves you anyway. ‘Cause you’re his piece of work.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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sherewrytes · 19 days

Text

Ms. Good Grip

Inspired by this song

If you know you know. If you don't know how you know. Wanted to drop a fic with a more Caribbean inspo.

C.W : smut, Caribbean dialect, overstimulation, Caribbean black reader. Dom ony. Y/N be actin out

Your fav cousin wedding reception was in full swing. Drinks pouring, shots passing, weed smoke in the air all elders already left. You knew your boyfriend Ony wasn't used to Caribbean style parties. The pacing was completely from the usual parties he's used to. He was faded and tipsy, hands gripping your hips catching every whine you threw his way. You were completely bent over, if it wasn`t for your updo your hair would be touching the floor with how far you were bent over. You both took a break from dancing to get some drinks and more food before everyone's greedy ass ate it all up.

The song changed to Alkaline's on Fleek. As soon as you heard,

Whooo gyal yo pum, pum Gyal, yuh pum pum, Gyal, yuh pum pum on fleek.

You joined your other wild ass cousins in the dance circle and began whining. You made sure to position yourself right in front of Ony. You were secretly putting on all this show for him. All the weed and drinks had you wanting him. He looked so good in his semi casual fit You whined slowly at first slowly going lower to match the intro of the song staring him dead in his eyes while he smoked a joint with a bottle of Stag beer in his hand. His shades resting slightly lower on his nose. You watch him beckon you over with a finger, but you ignored him only because you loved riling him up at times, it makes the sex better.

You felt a hand grip your waist; you knew instantly it wasn't Ony's, but you decided to give the guy a lil dance. You cousin Shanice side eyed know mothing " Aye, you always lookin' for problems. You know how Ony's gonna react." You laughed saying "Oh well, small thing."

(Small thing- Trini slang for No big deal)

You heard the Dj scratch and the song changed to Spice's Jim Screechie

You were singing the song loud and clear while throwing it back on the random guy.

"And your gyal a watch you hard, but me no matter that Hold me tight and don't let me go Whine with me and me a whine with you"

You were giving him a wicked whine knowing for a fact that kinda whining is reserved for Ony but you thought "Oh well." The guy had one hand on your hips pulling you back against his hips while almost dry fuckin you on the makeshift dance floor. You felt a hand grab your wrist and pulled you. You looked up and saw it was Ony pulling you off the makeshift dance floor away from everyone.

"You got me fucked up; you know that. Are you goin out of your head or sum." Ony said his voice gruff with annoyance. You on the other hand were turned on by hearin' him this way. You smirked "It's just a dance Ony. I know you're suffering from not accustom. You bein' a black American I know you won't know much about my culture and shit."

You watch Ony's eye widen with annoyance "Oh really, you really wanna go that route with me. Imma give you a last chance to take that shit back." You rolled your eyes and giggled. "Still just a lil dance Ony." You attempted to walk away big mistake.

You knew it was your fault you were now in this situation. Your hands pressed and pinned against the toilet door with your back arched. Ony was feeding deep, hard strokes. You had to way to move, one of his hands pinned your hands against the door while the other was between your spread thighs rubbing your clit.

You felt your wetness run down your thigh, you were making a mess of yourself. You were coming again. You were pleading with him to take it easy on you "Ony 'm sor-sorry...please I can't"

"Nah, you can't, you weren't whining out there on him like you couldn't so nah you gon' take this dick. It's what you wanted right."

You were panting, moaning moaning his name as fucked you harder. You were now pressed against the door, his hand now pressed against the side of your neck. Between the hard slaps of his hips against yours and the song blaring in the background, you were losing your mind. You came twice already and feeling the third one fast approaching. He was rubbing your twitching clit. Rubbing so fast, your squirt was coming out faster than you realized. Your lust filled sobs were shaking your body and his, it only made him want to fuck you harder.

"Ony! Ony! Ouuu fuck I'm sorry 'm sorry please please please slow down." He stopped only to turn you over so you can be face to face as he lifted you up and pinned your back against the door again. You were both face to face. Ony's eyed still red from smoking.

"You always tryna test me and push me Y/N huh. You don't fuckin listen....actin up and showin out for WHO. that dude..playin' too much."

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your stomach clenched, you saw Ony smirk and slid his hand between both of your bodies and press down on your stomach. Your eyes widen while tears brimmed the corner. "Ouuu fuck! shit Ony..didn't mean to do it. why you fuckin me like this."

Ony tried to reign in his anger but her couldn't he felt it coming back, only pushing him to thrust deeper and harder "Don't play dumb with me Y/N you know I'm actin' like this."

Between Ony tearin your shit up and the music thumping in the background, you were close to another orgasm, tears now running down your face. Ony's hips practically pinning you between him and the door. Ony leaned in and kissed your tears away.

Ony finds your silence a bit annoying. After what felt like minutes, his hand gripped your throat. Through your teary eyes you could see you pushed Ony a bit to far but then again he knew how you were. He loved you for it.

Ony felt your body shivering against his. He kept feeding you deep, hard strokes which you were sure if the music wasn't loud as fuck everyone could hear. He felt his vexation simmering in his veins.

"Ony..please..I love you. I...Ony!" you pleaded. Ony rolled his eyes tired of hearing the same things over and over again come out of your mouth.

"Nah, love me, that's crazy Y/N. Do you really love me Y/N?" "I do Ony! I do. I won't do this shit again I swear...just.."

You were gripping around his dick so tightly he could feel his balls twitching and he fucked you against the door harder. He knew you loved pushing his buttons as much as you loved him. he wrapped your legs tighter around his hips, trying to go deep as he possibly can. You were so overstimulated you were shaking while pressed between the door and him.

"Fuck Y/N you're squeezin' me Gonna nut" you felt him fill you up groaning into your ear. You knew the amount he just came in you would leak out.

Ony sat you on the bathroom counter, helped you clean up then he cleaned up himself. You cleaned your face with make up wipes you had in your bag and reapplied your make up Ony smirked "You gon behave now my love" "Yes Ony I will"

You went back out the wedding party holding hands and smiling.

#black tumblr #aot onyankopon #aot x black reader #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x black y/n #black reader #aot x reader #aot x you #aot smut #aot scenarios

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lalunalando · 15 days

Text

The Love You Want - LN4

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warnings: 18+! minors dni! smut, fluff (may make you cry a little), angst, swearing, slight degradation, thigh riding, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap)

songs referenced: The Love You Want - Sleep Token / Granite - Sleep Token

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2 years.

It’s been 2 whole years since the love of your life walked out your front door after telling you it was over, he couldn’t handle the relationship alongside his career anymore, and that he never actually loved you.

So imagine the surprise you felt when you stepped out of your apartment elevator after returning from a long day of work, only to find him sitting at your door, a basket of dog toys and a bunch of your favorite flowers in hand…

“Lan? Wha-When did you get here? What are you even doing here?” You asked, shock evident on you face as you stood frozen like you’d seen a ghost.

“Oh thank god you didn’t move! I was hoping I wasn’t waiting outside some random apartment and about to scare a stranger” he chuckled, the sound that once felt like home to you now leaving your stomach feeling instantly nauseous.

“Lando, don’t avoid the question. What are you doing here?” You huff as you brush past him, opening your apartment door finally and stepping inside to put your belongings down knowing this probably wasn’t going to be a quick conversation by any means.

“Do you mind if I come in? This really isn’t a talk I want to have out here in the hallway..” he asks awkwardly, gauging your reactions and movements, expecting you to even slam the door in his face after the last time you both spoke. He deserved that, he knows it, but he really hopes you’ll let him in because he has so much he wants to say to you.

You move out of the doorway to let him through with a sigh that doesn’t go unnoticed, twisting at his heart knowing he’s at fault for how this is making you feel.

After closing the door behind him, you turn around and nod towards the dog toy basket with a confused look.

“Oh, I was hoping the pups were still here to give them to, I miss our kids…” he says as he looks down at the floor, suddenly wondering if it was still okay to call them “ours” as if he didn’t walk out on you all.

“They do, they’re just having a play date with the neighbors while I was at work, they’ll be dropped off in an hour” you respond as you head to the fridge, suddenly the bottle of wine in the fridge is seeming very tempting to crack open… “so Lando, I’m going to ask one more time, what are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can get out in the moment, he knows there’s a million other things he wants to say, but he froze, and that was the basis of why he was here anyway.

You freeze, halting the glass of wine you were currently pouring, and just stare at him blankly.

“Right, yeah, I should probably explain a little more than that” he laughs nervously while scratching the back of his neck. “Alright, well, I fucked up. I should never have walked out back then, I should have never said you were too much of a distraction to my career to be with and more than anything I should never have lied and said I never loved you.”

“Lan, it’s been two years, why now? Where is this suddenly coming from after two fucking years of no contact whatsoever? And why do you think I want to even hear it? What if I’ve moved on.” It all comes out before you can even stop yourself, the hurt and anger you’ve been keeping in since that day making you see red.

“I never stopped thinking about it, about you. I thought I couldn’t handle being away from you all the time and that you wouldn’t want to wait around for me all the time, but after every race I still just want to come home to you. And I know you haven’t moved on because the love we shared was once in a lifetime, I’m still full of the love you want, please just let me prove it to you. You can tell me you don’t still love me and I’ll leave you alone for good, and maybe you believe that in the end you will be better off that way, but I’m begging you to give me one more chance and I’ll be full of the love you want, no matter what, forevermore.”

By the time he’s done speaking, you both have tears in your eyes.

It was never truly over, you knew you could never stop loving him, no matter how much it hurt you.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re rounding your kitchen bench and closing the space between you both.

Desperate to feel his lips on yours and make up for the two years lost, to show him the love you harbored for him never left.

And boy, did he feel it all.

You needed more of him, you knew it was pathetic of you to fold so quickly but you’d already lost two years and didn’t want to waste any more of it, and when he wore that god damn playboy hoodie you always said you loved seeing him wear, there was no point denying how much you wanted him still.

“I hate that you still have this affect on me, I hate that I never stopped loving you, but most of all, I hate that you’ve still got me in a chokehold”

That confession is all he needed from you before he’s picking you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you down the familiar hallway to your room that he’s traveled so many times before, but with a newly found appreciation for all the pictures along the walls that you could never find it in your heart to switch.

As he throws you down on the bed and climbs over you, eyes blown and full of lust and longing, you can’t help but to admire him.

The gorgeous everchanging eyes, his adorable freckles and moles, and a slight beard he was finally able to grow after years of being teased by the other guys on the grid.

His lips are instantly back on yours, taking all the air out of your lungs and replacing it with his own as if it was the only way you could both live from then on.

You tug at the hem of his hoodie as his hands slide up your thighs to the edge of your skirt, both not ashamed of how fast you need the others clothes off.

Only pulling back for a second to take his hoodie off, his lips are immediately back on you, only finding their way down your throat this time.

Biting just hard enough to make you yelp, he’s instantly soothing the pain as he laps his tongue over the spot, causing you to whimper like the desperate little slut you always were for him.

Hands continuing their mission up your skirt, an almost animalistic growl comes from his throat as his fingers find the lace of your thong, completely drenched for him already.

“Always so ready for me baby, god you couldn’t be more perfect, you were made for me just like I was for you.” His voice filled with lust and love, reminding you that you will always be his.

Flipping you both over and settling you on his lap, he can’t help but want to draw it out a little longer, tease you a little more, make you beg for him.

You grind down on his lap, desperate for even a little relief, because as much as you hate to admit it, no one in the past two years has made you feel even remotely the way he does without even trying.

You’d had your fair share of fixes throughout the two years, using many men to your advantage to try and get over him, but none of them even came close to making you forget. No one did it as good as him.

“Someone is still just as needy and desperate as always huh?” You can feel the smirk even though his lips are against your neck, making you whimper again, just proving his point. “Do you want to show me just how much you missed me too? How good you can be for me?”

“Please Lan, need you, will do anything but I need you”

He laughs, and you know he’s got something sadistic and borderline humiliating in mind, but you don’t care because he knows you’ll do anything for him, you always will.

“Such a good girl, can you straddle my thigh for a second baby?” He says with a smirk you know means trouble.

You do as he says, and shift over to his thigh, giving him a look of confusion as you wait for his next instructions.

“Now baby, I want you to ride it.”

You gasp, this was new for the two of you but you couldn’t deny that it excited you a lot to try.

“I want to see how desperate of a slut you can be for me, I want to watch you get yourself off with nothing but my thigh.” He breathes into your ear as his hand hold your hips, helping you find a stable rhythm.

You can’t stop the sounds coming out of your mouth, and he wouldn’t want you to even if you could.

If Lando could listen to one thing on repeat for the rest of his life, it would be your sweet moans that only he can get out of you time and time again.

As you get louder and start stuttering your rhythm on his thigh, he knows you’re getting close.

“That’s my girl, come on, cum on my thigh and I’ll reward you for behaving so well baby”

That was enough to send you over the edge for what would be the first of many times that evening, screaming his name loud enough that you were sure the whole of Monaco could have heard you.

Still coming down from your high, he doesn’t give you a second to recover before he flips you back down onto the bed as he rids himself of his now ruined pants before pulling your own ruined panties off and climbing straight back over you, claiming your lips once again.

He doesn’t want to wait anymore, watching your angelic face as you came around his thigh was almost enough to make him finish right then and there. He couldn’t lie, he’d obviously been with a few women as well over the last two years while he tried to forget you, but he could never forget you, no one could ever compare to his girl.

Leaning over to your side drawer to find a condom where he knows you both used to keep them, he comes up empty and a little confused.

“I got rid of them, I never brought anyone over anyway.”

And it was true, you always went to your flings places instead, you couldn’t stand the thought of them ruining the memories shared between you and Lando in that apartment, in that bed.

“Do you want me to go grab some, i can run down t-“

“You don’t need it, i trust you.”

He stared at you in shock, he could count on one hand the amount of times you’d allowed him to go in raw before, and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

He didn’t have to think much longer, your hand reaching down to tease his already painfully hard cock was all the confirmation he needed that you were serious about it.

Swiping his tip through your wet folds to help lube him up, he lines his tip at your entrance and slowly pushes in.

Seeing you slightly wince as you readjust to his size, he’s quick to worry.

“If you need me to stop at any point please just tell me” he says in a hurry.

“Just need a sec Lan, i forgot how big you are…” you said with a whimper, not missing the smirk that flashes across his face.

After a few seconds to get comfortable again, you’re urging him to move and he doesn’t hesitate for a second.

Slowly fucking you with more and more of his cock with each thrust until he’s bottoming out, he can’t help but moan at how you feel around him.

“Baby I’m not going to last much longer if you keep squeezing me like that, feel so warm and tight around my cock, this pussy was made for me”

This has you clenching around him again, drawing out the most feral growl you have ever heard from the man.

In an instant, he’s pulling out of you much to your disappointment, only leaving you feeling empty for a moment while he flips you over onto your front and pulls your ass up, digging his fingers into your hips so roughly that you’re sure there are going to be bruises in the morning.

Good thing he knows you love being marked up by him.

As soon as your ass is up, he’s quick to shove his cock back in, not giving you a moment to adjust as he starts mercilessly pounding you from behind.

This new angle somehow hits deeper, feeling him hit your cervix wall over and over again, mixing pain with pleasure and making you scream for him.

“That’s it angel, scream my name, tell everyone who’s making you feel this fucking good”

As he continues his brutal punishment on your pussy, winding a hand around your front to use his always skilful fingers to rub tight circles on your clit and help you chase your high, he feels your walls start to tighten again as your legs start to shake and knows his won’t be far behind.

“Where do you want me to finish princess? I want you to cum on my cock like the good girl you are but i won’t be able to last much longer” he grunts as he continues his rough pace, getting sloppier with each thrust as you tighten more and more with each one.

“Fill me please, need to feel you inside of me, this pussy is yours and only yours” you pant out, only fueling him to get rougher and faster, pushing you over that edge.

“Scream for me baby, i want all of Monaco to know who you belong to” and with that, you’re seeing stars. His name being the only word on your lips over and over again while you clamp around his cock, feeling his release only seconds after your own as he bites your shoulder to muffle his own moans.

You lay there for a while in pure fucked-out bliss, Lando having moved to be beside you and move your head onto his chest while his arm is around you playing with your hair.

“So, what does this mean for us now?” You have to ask, as the doubt starts creeping in again.

“I know i have a lot to make up for but if you’ll have me, i want to be yours again. I want to stay over whenever you’ll have me here, i want to fly you out to races with me when you can, but mostly, i want to show the world how much i love you, show them what I’m doing this all for at the end of the day”

Tears start welling in your eyes, and all you can do is nod before kissing him again, showing him all the emotions you can’t verbally say right now.

Just as the kiss starts heating up for another round between you two, a loud knock on your front door interrupts the moment.

“Cunt” is all Lando can say in frustration, making you laugh before getting up and pulling your panties back on and chucking his playboy hoodie on to cover you so you can answer the door to the intrusion.

As he lays there and waits for you to return, he can’t stop smiling and thinking about all the ways he plans to make everything up to you.

Maybe a ring in the near future, to show how serious he is and always has been about his angel…

Before he can think much longer, your two puppies come bouncing into the room looking for him, having smelt his familiar scent the moment they got home.

He can’t stop the wide smile from forming on his face, this was it.

This was home, and he never planned on leaving again.

As you stepped back into the room, you couldn’t help the smile forming on your own face.

The boy you loved with every fiber of your being, squealing while being attacked with kisses and jumped on by your fur babies. Your joint fur babies. Your little family was whole again.

Walking over to him you stop before him on the bed, him reaching out to pull you down onto his lap as you sigh happily.

You turn to look him in the eye and hold his face gently, you were glad he was back.

“What are you thinking now babe?” He asks, seeing the all too familiar look in your eyes

“I was more than just a body in your passenger seat, and you were more than just somebody i was destined to meet. I see you go half-blind when you’re looking at me. I love you Lan.” Kissing him again, sealing all your feelings and fate, giving yourself over to him for good.

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kentopedia · 11 months

Text

i miss when we first met

FEATURING. dazai osamu x f!reader & f!reader x chuuya nakahara — wc: 15.1k

SUMMARY: you'd always been in love with Dazai, but you started to doubt that he'd ever cared for you in return. chuuya, though, had never shown you anything but true affection.

CONTENTS: nsfw 18+ ONLY, pm!dazai, pm!reader, mostly dazai x reader but…, unhealthy relationship dynamics, voyeurism, cheating, manipulation, smut, degradation, guns, angst, dazai is very bad at expressing emotions, pet names, horrible communication, unrequited (?) love, the list goes on bc they’re in the port mafia just be warned

note: this took me like 4 months to finish & i am so so nervous to post it lmao. i wanted to write something different & this is very outside my comfort zone! :) but it's dazai's birthday so i figured i might as well share it today

You rolled onto your side away from Dazai, still breathing heavily as you came down from your high.

Beside you, he had shifted onto his forearms, moving up against the headboards to sit up straight. The covers fell off of him, revealing the marks that you’d left all over his body, the scars from a life lived in the mafia.

Under the red silk sheets, you were silent, your head settling into the pillow as you stared at him.

He’d deny it, but he was beautiful, a tempting, alluring creature that you couldn’t get enough of.

But you also knew Lucifer had once been God’s most beautiful angel, and it only made sense that Dazai Osamu would hold the same kind of exquisiteness.

Dazai closed his eyes, rolled his neck as he leaned back, stretching out all of the stiff muscles. He didn’t touch you again, kept a distance as he wiped the sweat that had dried on his forehead, the fluids that had stained the sheets between you.

He used to talk to you, after something so intimate. Used to hold you in his arms and trace your skin with a gentleness you didn’t know he possessed. He hadn’t always been cruel when he fucked you, hadn’t always put his own needs before yours.

Of course, Dazai had never loved you. That was something you were certain of in your very core. But he’d held at least some shred of respect for you before becoming the head of the Port Mafia. Now, you didn’t think he saw you as anything more than a means to an end.

It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter that Dazai spoke to you minimally when you two weren’t alone, that everyone in the Port Mafia knew you were nothing more than the woman who slept in his bed.

It didn’t matter because you loved him. You’d stood by his side since the beginning, since he’d recruited Chuuya, since he’d lost Oda.

Since he’d killed Mori.

You’d been with him through all of it, seen every horrid side to him, and you’d never once wanted to escape. Dazai had his claws in you, and he had them in deep. The thought of being anywhere but with him had never crossed your mind.

“Akutagawa told me what happened yesterday.”

You blinked, snapping out of your haze as Dazai regarded you with cool, condescending eyes. He was peering at you from over his shoulder, picking his dark button-up off the floor. The skin on his back was red from scratches, the lines dragging through his taut skin.

“Did he?” you said, looking down at your nails. You hadn’t expected anything less. Akutagawa did everything in his power to get exaltation from Dazai. “I’m sure his report was thorough.”

Dazai’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed, a darkened tint flashing in them. “That’s all you have to say?”

His voice was unamused, icy, and it reminded you that no matter how many times you crawled into his bed, let him use you however he wanted, he was still your boss. He was Dazai Osamu, the man whom everyone in Yokohama feared.

You swallowed. “I’m sorry.” Your gaze twisted away from him, unable to meet his hardened expression completely. “I was distracted. It was my fault entirely.”

Dazai made a noise in the back of his throat as he moved out of the bed. He sauntered across the room, so quietly and cat-like, and you buried yourself deeper into the mattress, wanting to sink into it completely.

“You’re lucky, then, that Akutagawa was able to deflect the bullets.” He began replacing the bandages that had slipped off of his face, covering his cheek with disgust.

He let you see him completely when it was just the two of you. It took every ounce of your self-control not to read into that, to wonder if it was just a habit leftover from when you were younger.

“I am lucky.”

Truthfully, you’d only hesitated for half of a second, momentarily lost in your own loop of suffering, and your opponent had gotten an edge on you. They’d shot at you, then the bomb, nearly prematurely blowing up the building.

“After decades of work, I would’ve thought you’d know better by now.” Dazai sighed wearily, like your presence irritated him. It probably did. “I’ll consider moving you. I’m sure there’s a place for you where you can’t get yourself killed if you fuck up.”

“Dazai—” you swallowed, a horrid tasting stinging your mouth as you remembered your time with him had come to an end. He was back to being Mori’s underling, the man who looked at the city like it was nothing but a chessboard. “Boss,” you remedied quickly, all too used to addressing him differently. It was difficult, sometimes, to recognize where Dazai began, and the Port Mafia’s boss ended. “It was a stupid error. In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever done something like that before?”

Dazai hesitated momentarily, before tensing his shoulders. He didn’t answer your question. “Don’t let it happen again.” A warning was in his eyes when they met yours through the mirror. “I don’t have the patience to find a replacement for you, and Akutagawa’s too valuable an asset to lose to a seasoned professional’s careless mistake.”

You exhaled, looking back down at your hands. The ones that had already been stained in so much blood, wrought with crime and bad intent. “Understood.”

You finally climbed out of the bed, missing the warmth that it gave you, even though Dazai’s cold body always sucked it away. He laid so stiffly next to you most of the time. You remembered when he used to sleep with his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.

As you dressed, Dazai kept his eyes on his work, never paying you any attention. You felt discarded, useless, and you wanted to hate him, wanted to hate yourself for longing to wrap your arms around him, hug him from behind.

“I’ll send you with Chuuya tomorrow,” he said, scanning reports and assignments that he’d thrown aside lazily last night. “An easy assignment outside of Yokohama. Think you can manage that?”

“Just give me the job.” You snatched the paper out of Dazai’s hand, and he didn’t say a word, only watched as you perused it. It was, really, the simplest task he’d given you in the past few weeks. You’d felt like he’d been overworking you just to avoid you. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

Dazai’s smile widened, sinister, and wicked. He brushed his hand delicately over your shoulder, against your neck before patting you on the head. “I trust you won’t let me down.”

Going against every sensible atom in your being, you smiled wearily. His minimal display of affection warmed you, a deep pang settling in your soul. “Have I ever?”

“No.” He held a sort of awed fascination, twisting a part of your hair between his fingers. “How lucky someone must be to be my greatest enemy. To get the kiss of death from an angel is not such a bad way to die.”

He held your cheek in his delicate fingers, and you were putty in his hands, wishing that his eyes would soften, even by a fraction. That his hand would cup around his cheek like he meant it.

Instead, he pulled away, and you felt cold, cold, cold, drowning in your own emptiness.

You scoffed, trying to regain some power in the situation. “I’m no angel.”

“Hm,” Dazai hummed, dropping his head in his hands, resuming a spot behind the desk, the deep red chair much too similar to the one in his office, the one that Mori had inherited from the previous boss. “Perhaps not to others.”

And you grew hot, feeling that, maybe, Dazai was giving you a compliment.

It was at times like these that you saw the semblance of your previous relationship. When you could tease him without feeling the weight of his superior rank looming over you. When you could kiss him without tasting venom. When you didn’t have to wonder if it would be appropriate to touch him, or if you should keep your distance.

You wanted to quit him. Really, you did.

He was a horrible, loathsome person.

You’d never be able to stop loving him.

“I could never be any sort of heavenly creature, Dazai. My spot in hell was sealed the moment I sided with the Devil.”

Dazai laughed, the sound raw and dry, so humorless. “I hope you don’t mean me. Flattery will get you nowhere,” he tsked, the tip of his tongue scratching against the back of his white teeth.

You certainly hadn’t meant that as a compliment.

“Should I say goodbye before I leave?” you asked wryly, doubting that he’d even want to see you again. His image burned against the back of your eyelids, and you drank him in, hoping that when you died, his face would be the last thing you saw.

Dazai didn’t grace you with a simple yes or no. Instead, he glanced up briefly, his one eye exposed, mere centimeters of skin uncovered. “Goodbye.”

You nodded; lips pressed tightly together as you accepted the dismissal. With a sigh, you were out of the room, wondering why you hadn’t just showered before you left. Most of your clothes were in Dazai’s closet anyway.

You didn’t see him again before you left.

The assignment Dazai had given you was a few cities over, a task of infiltrating an enemy organization who’d gotten a little too close to the Mafia’s boundaries. It was simple enough, especially with Chuuya at your side, though the whole ordeal had you away from home for a weekend, and far too much time with your own thoughts.

Dazai had set the two of you up in a suite, one with two separate bedrooms and a shared living space. It was much more luxurious than you even needed, with a view overlooking the entire city and an extensive bar in the kitchen. The furniture was a deep, black leather, every accent dark in color.

It was conspicuous, but you’d grown too used to extravagance after being with Dazai. You allowed yourself to indulge in it.

A silly notion, really; the place you slept every night was much more lavish.

You scrubbed the blood off your face, your hands, and stared at yourself in the mirror without recognizing the person before you. The water at the bottom of the shower was a macabre shade, staining the tiles as it swirled down the drain.

Shivering, you tried to reconcile all of the things you’d done, shelve them away before you could wonder if all of it was really worth it. If Dazai was really worth it.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, your skin rubbed raw, Chuuya was sitting at the bar, a freshly cracked bottle of wine before him. His back was tense, muscles strained as he regarded you with weary eyes, the darker shade under them obvious and alarming.

“Took you long enough,” Chuuya snorted, pouring himself a glass. The bottle was aged and dark, the label faded. He must have brought it along with him; it certainly hadn’t come from the hotel. “I was getting bored.”

You made a face, taking the seat beside him. “Well, there was a lot of blood.” You reached over to snatch the bottle, pressing it to your lips before he could protest.

“Help yourself, then,” His expression was sour, but his acerbic tone held a hint of amusement. “Do you know how expensive that is?”

“No.” You shrugged, taking a sip. Money had stopped meaning anything to you a long time ago. “Should I care?” The liquid warmed your throat on the way down.

“Probably not. You’ve surely got enough cash behind you to buy me another one.”

“Right.” You snorted and wondered how much of that stuff you’d have to drink before you’d stop feeling a thing. Thoughts of the crumbling bond that you and Dazai shared wouldn’t leave you alone. “And you don’t?”

Chuuya laughed, twirling the glass in his gloved hand. There was a hardened edge to him that you didn’t like. Opposed to Dazai, Chuuya had always been much more open with you, more willing to share his thoughts. “Well, we can’t all be Dazai’s favorite. You’ve got the keys to the kingdom, my dear. Whatever belongs to the Mafia belongs to you too.”

“Favorite?” You spat out the word, darkening at the mention of Dazai, the man who never seemed to leave your brain. It was always Dazai, Dazai, Dazai. The youngest executive there had ever been, the one who’d become the head of the Port Mafia just a few years later.

You hated him. Wished you could burn the memory of that haunted man entirely.

“Hm?” Chuuya leaned forward like he hadn’t heard you.

A bitter flavor blossomed on your tongue when you thought of saying his name out loud. “I don’t want to talk about Dazai right now.”

You brought the bottle to your lips again; it was starting to feel lighter.

“Why?” Chuuya’s eyes dimmed as he stared at you, looking for something hidden in your irises. A secret that wouldn’t be there. You’d always been too easy to read. “Did something happen?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about Dazai, and you immediately think something’s wrong?”

He blinked. Hesitated. “Well, I spent my teenage years listening to you talk about him like a lovesick fool. The subsequent years watching him stare at you in the same way.” He took the bottle away from you, tipping his head back. “Something must be wrong.”

You felt a flush at your neck, the skin itching with sweat. It was cruel of Chuuya to allude to any emotions from Dazai, when you knew they weren’t there. “That’s not true.”

Chuuya sighed. “Isn’t it?”

Although his temper had always been much worse than yours, you felt the same sort of anger claw at your back. The urge to scream at him became almost insuppressible. “Dazai doesn’t care about me like that.” You flopped down on the bar, alcohol fuzzing the edges of your senses. It felt nice, warm.

Maybe being away from the Port Mafia was better for you than you thought.

“Don’t be stupid.” Chuuya’s eyes had narrowed when your head fell forward, his fist clenching around the bottle.

“Stupid?” You immediately sat up, blood rushing straight to your head. Who was Chuuya to come and tell you everything he thought he knew? It was laughable, really. “He doesn’t care, and I think I’d know. Fuck you, Chuuya.”

You slammed your fist down on the table, hurt. You didn’t understand why Chuuya would side with Dazai when he knew how much the situation troubled you. How often had you bared your soul to him, told him how Dazai’s aloofness had hurt you over and over again?

His eyes softened, an apology immediately leaving his lips. “I’m sorry—”

“Are you?” The words were vehement. Chuuya was shamelessly against your relationship with Dazai, always coming up with one reason or another to get you out of it. Now, it seemed, he was trying to defend it. “Dazai cares or he doesn’t. You can’t keep changing your mind based on the situation.”

“Dazai does care.” Chuuya said the words like they pained him to leave his mouth, each one dragging a dagger against his chin. “You think he’d keep you around if he didn’t?”

You did. You knew that you had use outside of Dazai’s feelings, just like Chuuya, just like Akutagawa. Just like every menial grunt who had a shred of value for the Mafia.

“He cares that I have value to him.” A sigh left your lips, and you sunk your chin onto your palm, feeling like nothing more than the dramatic woman in a Shakesperian tragedy. Really, you couldn’t remember when you’d become so pathetic. “What will become of me when I can’t sink a bullet into the skull of his enemies anymore?”

Chuuya frowned, the wrinkles deepening on his forehead. “No one can predict what Dazai will do.” He let you steal his half-full glass of wine, keeping the bottle safely tucked away from you. “Would it make much difference to you if we could?”

“I suppose not.” You’d grown tired, the subtle buzz of alcohol coming in quick on your empty stomach. “Nothing matters much anymore. I’ll never leave the Port Mafia.” Saying the words out loud made it more real than you’d intended, even though it was a fact that had sunk deep into your bones the day you’d met the dark-haired, suicidal bastard. “Why do I have to love him, Chuuya? Why can’t I love a good man?”

You thought, why can’t I love you instead, and left it unsaid. The words might have been too cruel. You knew the pain of unrequited emotions.

“Because you’re in the Port Mafia. Good men would know to stay away.” Chuuya drummed his fingers against the countertop before reaching out, contemplative. Though you remained unmoving in your seat, his hand still retracted before he touched you, as if burned. There was caution in his movements, every action calculated—Chuuya was usually the opposite, as intelligent as he was. “Besides. You’ve never tried to let Dazai go. You don’t want to.”

“I want to,” you said defensively, though even to your own ears, the statement was weak. Dazai was an addiction, and you’d go back to him time and time again. Even when, sometimes, you weren’t so sure there was anything good about him. “I just don’t know how. What would I do out there in the world without Dazai?” You laughed, amused. A normal life didn’t seem possible—you’d have no idea where to start.

Chuuya’s face pinched in disgust. “Take over the Port Mafia. Kill him and run it yourself.” He huffed, running a hand over his eyes, exhausted. “There’s a solution. If you really want to get rid of him.”

You blinked back at him. A moment passed; you’d forgotten he was looking for a response.

“I suspected as much.” His shoulders slumped, defeated, as you drew back in shame. “How long will you talk yourself into this endless cycle of torment? Dazai isn’t the same man that you fell in love with, and he never will be again.” He met your eyes, cold and guarded. “There’s nothing to be done about that. If you want Dazai so badly, put up with every single part of him. I’m tired of listening to the same grievances, time and time again.”

Chuuya made to stand, but you stopped him, grabbing his wrist lightly. He glared at you from over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to convey your apology sincerely. “You’re completely right. I’ve never tried to let Dazai go, and maybe I can.”

You didn’t give Chuuya time to formulate a response. Before he could understand what was happening, you leaned forward, catching him off guard, and planted your lips on his.

For one singular moment, Chuuya had kissed you back, tasting your mouth in its entirety, before he shoved you away, scrubbing his skin like he’d been burned.

“Don’t do that.” He had a hand in your face, scolding you like a child. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

You stared at him; his dark eyes were full of an emotion you had never seen before. “Why not? You said I should try to let him go.”

“Not by kissing me, fucking hell.” Chuuya hissed, his voice just above a whisper like someone else was listening in. Something vile had been unleashed in him as he gesticulated around wildly. “You’re Dazai’s.” He scoffed. “Do you think any smart man would do anything with you, knowing you sleep in that monster’s bed every night?”

You sniffed, sticking your jaw out. Maybe, you’d been wrong all this time. Chuuya was like everyone else, wasn’t he? Holding you at a distance because you cared for the wrong person.

“I’m not leaving the Mafia. I’m not leaving Dazai.” You reached across the table, grabbing one of his cold hands. “I just want to be someone else for once. To know what it’s like for someone to care about me so completely.”

“It’s not going to be with me.” Chuuya yanked his hand away, laughing mirthlessly. “I never thought you’d try to manipulate me like this. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.”

Your eyes flashed, infuriated. Chuuya looked at you with some kind of betrayal, like he wasn’t the exact same way, like he wasn’t the same kind of vile person that you were. “I know you’re in love with me, Chuuya. I know you’ve looked at me since we were sixteen years old, wished so badly I would look at you the same way.”

His jaw clenched, the anger giving way to something else. “Don’t start.”

“You’ve wanted me all this time, haven’t you?” It was a genuine question; one you’d always been too scared to voice. Chuuya was the only person you considered to be a friend and knowing that he felt that way about you would ruin your friendship completely.

Though you had one sip too much of alcohol running through your veins, and you’d spent two days wondering how you could stop feeling a single thing for Dazai. Rationality had left you entirely.

Chuuya was silent, still watching you with hesitance.

“You’re the only person in the Mafia who really cares about me, aren’t you?” you said, softer, wondering if you could lure him in. Spring him into a trap you’d both be certain to regret in the morning. “You’re the one who talks to me about everything, who watches out for my well-being. Who’s never looked at me like I was anything but the prettiest girl in the world.”

And though Chuuya still didn’t trust your actions, his eyes had softened just a hair, his body releasing the tension. “You are.”

You smiled, but his compliment made you feel nothing but guilt. “Then why won’t you let me kiss you, Chuuya?”

“Because.” He scraped a hand over his face, breathing heavily like it was taking every ounce of his willpower to resist you “Dazai will kill me, you understand? He’ll kill you.”

“Wouldn’t you at least like to know?” You invaded his personal space. Each word you spoke cracked him a little bit more. “I know you’ve imagined me spread out before you, entirely exposed to you. How I’d look with my hips arching off the bed, crying out your name—”

“Stop it.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You felt like you were losing your mind. Something had cracked in you, and you couldn’t come back from it. Things would never go back to the way they were after those careless words had been tossed into the world. “You’ve always wanted me, so why, when I’m giving myself to you completely, won’t you accept?”

Chuuya swallowed. His voice had grown thick with desire. He raked his eyes over you cautiously. “You’re asking a lot from me, baby.” He held your cheek, grazing the bone in the gentle way that Dazai had forgotten. “Believe me, I want to. But you’ve had a lot to drink.”

“I haven’t,” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away. The touch of another person felt so nice against your icy skin. “I’m okay. I’m not drunk.” You weren’t—the alcohol had just made you brave enough to ask. “Please, Chuuya.”

He swallowed thickly. “He’ll kill me.”

“And he’ll kill me. Just as you said.” You met his eyes completely, wondering why you couldn’t care for this man in the same way, why his lips weren’t as alluring as Dazai’s, why his voice didn’t set a blaze deep in your stomach. “Do you really care whether Dazai thinks of me as his?”

His cheeks were flushed, eyebrows pinched, and you spotted the moment he began to draw back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t.”

Then, you panicked, eyes becoming glassy as he released you, turning to retreat back to his bedroom, and you scrambled for another way, a way to bring him back to you.

“Chuuya, please,” you said, desperation in every syllable, and when he turned around, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. “I just want to know what it’s like with a person who loves me. Can’t you give me that?”

That was it. That was all you had to say. When Chuuya bowed his head, you knew he’d given in.

“Why do you think I can give you what he can’t?” Chuuya’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m not that kind of man. I’m not the kind of man you’re looking for.”

“No,” you said. “You’re not that kind of man. You’re Chuuya. The only person that’s always been there for me.”

He hesitated, momentarily, before sweeping you into his arms, his touch the softest you’d ever felt. “Are you certain that you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if Dazai kills me.” Chuuya spoke into your mouth, carving the words into your aching heart. “You were always going to be the death of me, anyway.”

His lips were upon you again, kissing you with the hunger of a starved man, and you gave him back as much as you could, which was the despair of a lonely woman. His touch was one of loving hands as guided you back into the bedroom tenderly.

When your back hit the bed, he asked if you were okay, asked if everything was comfortable. The concern in his eyes had rarely been seen in Dazai’s own—you couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken care of you first.

“I’m fine, Chuuya,” you promised again and again, and you smiled, caressing the soft skin of his jaw.

His lips pulled back in return, and then your shirt was thrown over your head, carelessly tossed towards the corner of the room. Though, no matter how many articles of clothing you lost, the necklace that Dazai had given you still rested against your collarbone.

You cupped your palm around it, trying to avert Chuuya’s gaze as he stared down at the precious metal, something conflicting in his cool irises.

“It’s okay,” you said, doing your best to distract him. You wouldn’t take the necklace off. It didn’t matter how much Dazai had hurt you; you needed the reminder of the absolute infidelity you were committing. “Keep going.”

Feeling more anxious than you had before, you kissed Chuuya, trying to dispel the bile that gathered in the back of your throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” Chuuya said, kissing every inch of your face, his hands hovering over your chest. “I could look at you forever, and it wouldn’t be long enough.”

Chuuya’s sentiments warmed you, but words weren’t enough. You pulled his vest off, then the buttoned-shirt and every other intricate article of clothing he wore.

It felt wrong. His height was wrong. His skin felt too warm under your palm.

“When did you fall in love with me?” you asked, breathing heavily. Desire pooled in your abdomen against your will, your own heart betraying you. Still, it was nothing more than the most basic reaction of human nature, raw and primal, unaffected by the organ that was jailed within your ribcage.

Chuuya was surprised by the question, and he paused, his face just inches above your stomach. “I think I realized when I was seventeen.” He huffed out a laugh, inhaling your perfume. “It was the first time I saw Dazai kiss you. I thought I was going to be sick.” He continued kissing down your body, sliding your pants past your hips. “I’d always wanted you. I guess I just didn’t realize until then.”

You exhaled, feeling tears spring to the corners of your eyes, ones you suppressed.

Dazai had given you flowers that day. You remembered how they smelled, the rainy spring breeze. The way the sun reflected in his brown irises, melting them into candied honey that brightened his entire complexion.

“Then take me, Chuuya. If you’ve wanted me for so long, then fuck me like you mean it.”

His dark eyes flashed, but his gentle caresses never turned rough, never sped through a single moment you had together. You smiled, your expression peaceful and open when he finally slid your panties off, your cunt throbbing as his finger brushed against your swollen clit.

Chuuya took his time with you, singing praises that you hadn’t heard in a long time, and you came once around his slender fingers, the ones that were much less skilled at knowing every place you enjoyed being touched.

When he finally sunk inside you, you still felt empty, unfulfilled. You tried to lose yourself in his mouth, in the taste of wine and Chuuya, and dug your fingers into his back.

“Feel so good around me, baby.” Chuuya whispered into your skin, imprinting the words into your neck. He was careful not to leave any marks, though he wanted to, wanted to claim you as his own. “Taking me so well.”

You tugged on his hair as he kissed down your collarbone, between your breasts, his breath hot and heavy. Though you cried out, you kept your voice quiet, still fearful that someone might hear, might know exactly what kind of betrayal you’d committed.

Chuuya thrust into you slowly, so much gentler than Dazai, hitting the spot deep inside of you that had you arching off the bed. “Fuck,” he said, choking on his own breath. “You have no idea how you make me feel.” He was full of desperation, his hands digging into your hips.

“Chuuya,” you said, holding his head between your palms.

He gave you the brightest smile in return, sad and meaningful. “I know. I can feel you squeezing me tighter. Let go for me, doll.”

His hair was just as soft, but it wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t short enough. His kiss didn’t feel the same, and you felt tears blurring your vision as you realized you’d never wanted him, you only wanted Dazai, and this was all wrong.

Still, you came around him, as he was buried deep inside you, but his name never left your lips, not even as a breathy whisper, because the one that was sitting there was Osamu.

And when he pulled out of you, you stroked him with practiced laziness, moving your hands in the way you knew Dazai liked, even though Chuuya felt so much different in your palm.

Chuuya kissed you as warmth flooded into your hand, and then he was breathing heavily, collapsing onto the bed next to you. He kissed you over and over, holding you tight, and you smiled, satisfied, because at the least, you knew this was what love felt like.

You’d never get it from the man you wanted, so you’d take it from Chuuya, even if it made you feel rotten inside.

The room smelled like sex and betrayal, and Chuuya took care of you, carried you out of the bed for a bath, and gently rinsed away the sweat and grime.

You were silent for most of the time, only reassuring him when he asked if you were alright.

For the first time, maybe you were. You imagined a future where you could learn to love Chuuya, a future where you were finally able to rid yourself of Dazai and start over again.

But it was nothing more than a delusion, a dream that would never happen. Dazai was a part of your soul. You knew that and Chuuya knew that, even as he closed his eyes next to you, the woman that would never give her love to anyone else. Your heart beat and bled for Dazai Osamu, every inch of your being meant for him. It would kill you to let him go, and if he died, you’d die right alongside him.

You turned away from Chuuya, burying your face in your hands, completely unaware that he’d left the bed to sleep in the other room.

You didn’t talk to Chuuya the next morning, not when you took a private car back to Yokohama, not when you stepped foot back onto the Mafia headquarters. Things between you had soured, just as you’d suspected, and you didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t think there was any way to go back from what had happened.

Higuchi was waiting for the two of you when you walked in the door, her blazer perfectly pressed, and her shirt tucked. She greeted you with a half-smile—gesturing towards the stairs. “The boss wants to see all of us for a meeting. He said you two would be arriving at this time.”

You nodded, and Chuuya scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand his superhuman ability to know what’s happening all of the time.”

Swallowing, you followed Higuchi, trying not to hear the foreboding nature of Chuuya’s statement.

Most high-ranking Mafia members were in attendance, with Dazai at the head of the table, the dark wooden chair beside him eerily empty and welcoming. You took a seat, and Dazai’s eyes ran over you, smoothly and hastily, before a small smile appeared on his features. “No injuries?” he said, and though his tone was professional, you could hear the slightest bit of concern.

“None,” you said, and something in your voice cracked, ever so slightly.

You were such a fool. You’d never be able to hide something like this from Dazai.

He eyed you suspiciously, before sliding his glance over to Chuuya, who was as cool as usual. His face was shadowed by his hat, hiding any evidence of a sleepless night.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, tucking his palm into his hand. “Debrief.”

Your partner gave Dazai every last detail, summarizing as best he could, and sliding in the occasional sarcastic remark as he leaned back casually in the chair. Dazai listened with boredom in his expression, drumming his fingers against the table until Chuuya’s monologue was complete.

He turned to Akutagawa, who bowed his head an immediately launched into his own assignment.

You blinked—you hadn’t realized that Akutagawa’s squad had been sent elsewhere. It made no sense for Dazai to send you with Chuuya when your own division had a separate mission.

The meeting wrapped up quickly, and the members scattered, going their own separate ways for the afternoon. Chuuya refused to meet your eye as he got up from the table, one of the last to leave the room.

As you stood, Dazai closed a hand around your wrist, his thumb brushing your pulse.

“Was the hotel alright?” he asked, his head titled curiously. “You look tired.”

You took a sharp breath.

Fuck.

“It was fine, Osamu,” you said, and when his name slipped easily from your tongue, something in him changed. He loosened the hand on your wrist before releasing it entirely, the bandaged palm falling into his lap. “Thank you.”

Dazai nodded, turning away from you, and you’d forgotten that there were still other people in the room. Akutagawa, who lingered with morbid curiosity, and his sister, who had always sort of pitied you for your tumultuous relationship, bore witness to the brief interaction.

Behind them, Chuuya stood tense, his back straight as he crossed the threshold, sparing you only a glimpse before exiting into the darkened hallway.

“Alright,” Dazai said in a hushed voice, his face schooled back into the usual, guarded expression. “I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t much of a response, and he didn’t elaborate, keeping his steely eyes ahead as some low-ranking members trudged in for a meeting with their boss. He’d be busy all afternoon, it seemed.

You swallowed, and left, knowing that it was fruitless to try and keep a secret from him.

Chuuya waited for you outside, his arms crossed as he regarded you with a contempt that hadn’t been there before, such a contrast to the loving man you had seen last night. “This changes everything, you know?”

“I know,” you said, your voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Chuuya.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he scoffed. “I was the fool. I made my choice.” Chuuya sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I meant what I said, though. Yesterday. It was all true, and if you need anything, I’ll be here.”

You felt a chasm open in your chest, and you wished the floor would’ve swallowed you whole. You were losing everyone, it seemed, and maybe, Dazai really did have a point with his talk about suicide.

When you stepped into the bedroom, Dazai was sitting on the edge of the bed, the setting sun casting a shadow of his own reflection. He was twirling a pistol around his pointed finger, staring at the wall with blank eyes.

You shut the door quietly, your hands shaking against the golden knob.

Though you hadn’t made a sound when you walked through the door, Dazai’s gaze was on you immediately, sensing your entrance.

You’d never been able to slip past him.

“You’re back early.” Those were the first words that came to your mind, your voice breaking the uncomfortable silence. He was regarding you with disdain, his jaw set coolly. His hair turned bronze in the evening rays, loose strands scraping against the bandages.

“I am.” His jaw clenched, examining you with a singular, dark eye. You felt exposed under his gaze, laid bare for him to see no matter how much you shrouded yourself with. “You sound like you’re unhappy to see me.”

Dazai ran his finger along the trigger like he’d never held such a weapon before, the gun becoming an object of morbid fascination.

You exhaled. There was so much space between you, a distance you weren’t sure you’d ever cross again. Though you thought you knew Dazai better than anyone, in that moment, he was unreadable—a chapter of pages that had been torn out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, standing tall. Despite your nerves, you were fixated on Dazai, always drawn to him like a moth to a flame, desperate to uncover the very thing that could kill you. “I miss you every time we’re apart. You’re no stranger to my feelings.”

You could offer him that, at the very least. An undeniable truth before everything between you shattered.

Dazai stood, his dark coat billowing out behind him as he finally came to face you, suddenly seeming much taller than you remembered. And with one look, you knew that he knew. He’d always been too smart for his own good.

“I’m not certain of that any longer,” he laughed, though it was a bitter sound that clawed its way up his throat. “Why don’t you tell me the truth, instead.” Dazai stood before you with a smile that was so sweet it was almost sinister. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you did?”

You weren’t sure which one of you would blink first, caught in some deadly staring contest. Most people would’ve surrendered to him by now.

“Why?” you jutted your chin out, refusing to give in to him in any way. If you were going to die, and you were, you would make sure Dazai knew everything you’d never told him. “You already know.”

“No.” He poked the gun into your cheek, right beneath the sharp bone. He’d clicked the safety off moments before. “I want to hear you say it. You betrayed me.”

When you refused to say a word, Dazai hissed and cocked the gun. He pressed it to your temple, the metal cold against your delicate skin.

“Say it.”

You sniffed. He wasn’t giving in, and instead, stood there silently, unmoving until you finally caved. There was something about the color of his eyes. No matter how much they hardened, you still remembered the young man he used to be. The one who wasn’t quite so cold, who picked you flowers, even with blood dripping down his arm.

“Fine.” You narrowed your eyes. “I fucked Chuuya.”

Dazai blinked. Then, he started laughing. Crazily, maniacally. You saw too much of your old boss in him that it made you sick.

“Shameless.” Dazai took a step back and dropped the gun to his side.

“What?” you sneered, pressing yourself up against him, refusing to be intimidated by the man that had been yours for years. “Should I be ashamed?”

Dazai’s eyes flashed, his jaw clenching. “Yes,” he said, fists curling at his sides. “After everything I’ve done for you.” Dazai grew quieter, flicking a strand of hair out of your face. “Do you feel no remorse?”

“You can’t be serious. What have you done for me, Dazai?” You grew still, grabbing his wrist before he could touch you again. “You’re not upset I was with another man; you’re just upset that it was Chuuya.”

You poked him in the chest, a hot stream of air exhaling through your nose.

“I gave you everything, didn’t I?” The two of you spoke at each other, avoiding the answers, never acknowledging what the other had to say. Around and around you went, an endless circle until one of you finally conceded. “I’ve given you the world, and you still wanted more.” Dazai finally broke free of your loose grasp, stroking your cheek. “What can Chuuya give you that I can’t? I ask for nothing but honesty.”

There was no jealousy in the tone, no sorrow; it was the most genuine question he’d asked you in months. The inquiry of a man who’d lost sight of himself in the past few years, and who’d somehow, over time, forgotten what it meant to care for another.

“You gave me nothing,” you said, but somewhere along the way, your cheeks had grown wet. You’d been struck by the sudden affection in his voice, the softness harsher than a slap to the face.

He was a horrible man, the worst kind of man. Yet, you couldn’t imagine a life without him, a world where you existed alone.

The truth rested at the edge of your tongue. It wouldn’t solve much, your affection for him never had solved much, but at least he would understand.

“This was never about wanting more. I never wanted Chuuya. You’re a fool if you think that.”

Dazai was silent. You pressed on.

“I wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted you. I’ve devoted my entire life to you. I do everything you ask.” You were breathing heavily, big gulping breaths that contained minimal oxygen. “I asked for nothing in return. Nothing but for you to care about me, and you never did.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai laughed humorlessly.

You ignored him, your confession leaving on one heavy breath, a string of words incomprehensible to your ears. “But Chuuya loves me. He always has, and he made certain I knew that.” You paused, averting your eyes. The entire city could be seen from the window over his shoulder. “He told me all of that, and you know what I thought the whole time?”

Dazai scowled.

“I wished that he was you instead. I wanted it to be you so badly, I wanted it to be you saying those things to me, kissing me like I was the most important thing in the world.” You took his wrist again, pressing the gun back to your temple. The cool metal was almost soothing against your skin. “Please, Dazai. Give me this one last thing. I’m begging you to kill me. I can’t take this any longer.”

His finger rested on the trigger.

“I want it to be you. I’ve never wanted to die at anyone’s hands but your own.” His hand felt just as it always had in your palm, his fingers much longer, but his skin so soft. It was almost comforting, how familiar he was, and you longed to be a part of him, to bury yourself deep within him and wear his skin as your own.

Dazai’s expression twitched, and you smiled at him, the taste of salty tears spilling into your mouth.

As you closed your eyes, you prepared for the noise, hoping your blood splattered on Dazai’s coat and stained it, the proof of your existence inerasable. You hoped that Dazai would grow to regret it, would realize that your love for him was close to unconditional.

But the violence never came. The cool metal fell away from your skin, and when you opened your eyes again, Dazai’s shoulders had slumped, the very image of defeat.

“Do you honestly think I can bring myself to kill you?”

“What’s the matter?” you asked, blinking your eyes open. You reached for the gun again, but he drew back, as if stung. “Afraid to lose your best assassin?”

“No.” Dazai’s eyes were hard, his frown set deep into his face. “I’m afraid to lose the woman I love. The most important person in the world to me.”

You stared. Blinked. Then, the worst kind of emotion washed over you.

You swallowed over and over, trying to get the bile out of your throat. You’d wanted to be done, wanted to escape. And yet—

“Don’t say that.” you shook your head, backing away as Dazai inched closer, too close and you felt yourself getting sucked back in, remembering that you’d loved him for years, and you’d never love anyone else. “Fuck you, Dazai. Stop toying with me, and just kill me."

“I love you. I thought you knew that my darling angel.”

You were crying harder, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you. You don’t care about me.”

“No?” Dazai had grabbed your wrist again, but it was so soft. “I thought you were smarter than that. Did you think you were partnered with Akutagawa at random, and not for the sole reason that I knew he’d do everything in his power to protect you? Did you think I moved your seat next to me at meetings because you were nothing more than my stupid whore? Bought you everything you ever wanted because I couldn’t stand you?”

“Yes,” you said, sniffing, feeling yourself melt where he touched you, itching to reach up and pull the bandages off his face, see the beautiful features beneath them that he hid from the world. “You don’t care about me."

“I do care,” he said, fingers grazing your chin. “I’ve killed for you. I took over the Port Mafia so I could give you everything you wanted. Why wasn’t that enough?”

“Because I never wanted that. I never wanted any of this. I wanted you, Dazai Osamu. That was all.”

Dazai frowned, and then he bowed his head, kissed your neck, then around your earlobe, and it was the softest you’d ever felt in your entire life, a gentleness you hadn’t known he was capable of. When his hands snaked around your stomach, pulling you back against him, you were lost in his adoration.

“You never said anything,” he said, kissing your shoulder, breaking the tension in the muscles. You were his, in every lifetime, you’d be his. “I thought you were… happy?”

“How could you think that? I’m not happy, Dazai. I’ve never been less happy.”

“Not even when I tell you that I love you?” he kissed your knuckles.

“Do you love me enough to be a better man? Do you love me enough to let me sleep in your bed and see your whole heart instead of the fragmented pieces that you sliced up just to hide?”

“Yes.” The word was resounding, resolute. “I love you enough to forgive you.”

You held him at a distance, lips falling apart easily. “But I don’t want to forgive you.”

“You will.” Dazai smiled, that irritatingly knowing smile of his that you’d fallen for in the first place. “You will because I mean it this time.”

“You never apologized,” you looked away, trying to find the strength to move. You were enraptured, in every fiber of his being. “You never will. You never do.”

“I never knew anything was wrong,” he frowned, and it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, and you had him so close that you just wanted to forget anything had ever changed. “How was I to fix it if you never told me?”

His words were full of poison, but his voice was so soft you couldn’t help but fall back into him. Perhaps, you should’ve said something. Maybe your actions had never been enough.

“How long have I been at your side, spent hours listening to your every word, even when they didn’t make sense to me? You should’ve known, Dazai. I shouldn’t have to tell you something like that.” Your words were losing their bite, and his lips quirked up, knowing that you were slowly coming back to him, clearing you of the sins you had committed.

He was hesitant, thoughtful, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. And perhaps, that was the final straw in your resistance, his gentle kiss enough to set your soul on fire.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Dazai said, his lips ghosting over yours, handing over the apology like a gift. “Won’t you give me a chance to fix it now?” It felt like a bad idea. Dazai wasn’t deserving of any more chances; you’d already given him years of second chances, had always given him the benefit of the doubt.

“You expect me to believe you’ll let us off scot-free?” you said, your face deadly close to Dazai’s. “What about Chuuya? Will you kill him in my place.”

“You’ve got me in your hand, love. If you want me to punish Chuuya, just say the word. I’ll kill him if that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t. That was the farthest thing from what you wanted, but you worried that if you sounded too enthusiastic, he might just follow through with it.

Instead, you pulled him to you, grabbing the dark tie that he wore around his neck. He grinned into your lips, his saccharine smile seeming much too deadly to be all that sweet. “Do you honestly think I believe a word that you’re saying?”

“You want to,” Dazai said, curling his hand around your jaw, his fingers brushing your ear. “That’s what matters the most.” He kissed your lips, and you could taste the difference, all the love he poured into it this time. It wasn’t like kissing a statue. “It’s all true, anyway.”

You broke away, breathing. “I won’t do this anymore, Dazai.” You finally had his hand in your own, placing the gun back to your temple. “You’re not the man you once were, and you’ll never be him again.” The smile that graced your lips was sad, though it was knowing. Things were always going to end this way.

Dazai’s face wrinkled as he tried to decipher all the words you’d never spoken. “I’m not the same man, that’s true, but my affection for you has never died.” He cupped his other hand around your cheek, hesitantly keeping the gun to your temple, squinting with his head bent.

“You’re the leader of the Port Mafia, and such a ruthless man wouldn’t let a betrayal go unscathed.”

There was a wave of silence while the two of you stared at one another, sifting through the situation with hardness in your jaws, the tension palpable within the air. Dazai straightened, clarity in his irises as a smooth smile burned onto his lips.

“Is that what you want?” he said innocently. “You want to be punished for your insurrections?”

Your mouth grew dry, but you held your ground firmly, swallowing back all the uncertainty. Perhaps you didn’t want to die. Perhaps you did. You just hated the gaping hole inside of you that never seemed to leave. “I want you to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Dazai laughed, then the hilt of the gun was against your temple once more. He held your chin steady between his forefinger and thumb, regarding you with thinly veiled disgust. “You’ve never wanted that before. Not when I asked you to die alongside me, to follow me far into the afterlife.” He sighed, releasing your chin before cocking the gun. “This isn’t about death at all.”

“What—”

“You want me to claim you, is that it?” He clicked his tongue before leaning forward, sneering. “Perhaps it’s that other way around. You want everyone in the Mafia to know I belong to you, hm?’

You blinked, though you began to feel weak in the knees, the eyes that you knew so well suddenly intimidating. “I never said—” but even then, your voice wavered, unsteady and uncertain of the immediate heat that had swirled under your skin.

Dazai’s mouth curled, a gruesome smile there. “I know you better than anyone. I’ve always known exactly what you want. Even though I shouldn’t forgive you, I can’t help myself.”

You swallowed, and Dazai had taken a step forward, pushing you with him, the gun still swaying at your temple, even when the backs of your thighs hit the bed. You fell onto the mattress, and he was on top of you, his finger caressing the trigger as he collapsed.

Dazai had never scared you, not even when he was a child you’d barely known, the teenager shaped in Mori’s image. Though, now, the unreadable expression on his face was alarming you, and you wondered if all this time, you should’ve been fearful.

Still, even with your underlying hesitance, you felt a wave of desire crash over you at the sheer need in his eyes. It wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with, but there was something else there. Maybe it was the love you’d just never noticed.

“Osamu,” you said in a quiet voice, not afraid, but not confident either. Your finger brushed the point on his wrist—it was the same heartbeat you’d always recognized.

“What?” he said, taunting you menacingly as he towered above you. “You were so bold just a second ago? What happened, darling?”

Unable to do anything but blink back at him, Dazai brought his thumb to your lips, brushing it across the plump skin before dipping it into your mouth.

Unprepared, you nearly choked, eyes blown wide as you stared back at him. Though, there was a command within his eyes, and you obliged, sucking as you watched the saliva drip down to his palm. Dazai pulled it away from your mouth with an obscene pop, giving you a sweet smile from his position above you.

Despite your humiliation, you shifted your hips on the bed, bringing your thighs together to provide you with a fraction of relief. Dazai’s eyes flashed at the movement, his smirk widening with an amusement.

“You’re nothing more than a dumb slut, aren’t you?” Dazai’s hand ghosted of your stomach, settling on the inside of your thigh momentarily. You ached with need, swallowing your pride and any demands that you could make of him. “Had Chuuya all to yourself this weekend, and still expect me to fuck you senseless.”

Your brow furrowed, and you opened your mouth before shutting it, lips still covered in your own spit. “Osamu,” you began, attempting to diffuse the situation, to explain that what had transpired between you and Chuuya meant nothing, but he never gave you the opportunity. “It wasn’t—”

Dazai’s gaze hardened, the adoration disappearing the moment you dared to speak. His fingers deftly wrapped around your throat, thrusting you into the mattress with enough force to quiet you entirely. “Shut up. If I want to hear you speak, I’ll ask. Understand?”

You could do nothing but nod, hating yourself for the ache that had grown more and more intense in your core, desperate for some sort of contact. Dazai, distracted with his own task of tearing your top off, had failed to notice the breathing that had grown heavier, the flush of heat that spread on every inch of your body.

His slender fingers finally removed the confining pants, a task he did skillfully with one hand still wrapped around your throat. Then, his fingers were against your aching cunt, and you twitched, letting out a heavy sound from the singular movement. You could feel yourself pulsing against nothing, desperate for his fingers between your legs.

“Pathetic,” he said, his fingers lazily dipping through your folds over your underwear. “I’ve barely touched you. How can you be this fucking wet?”

“Please,” you said quietly, your own hand aching to take over, if only to provide yourself that relief that he refused to give you. Every time you shifted into his hand, he brought it away, taunting you with the release you so craved.

“Please?” Dazai was mocking, cruel, every bit of the person people expected him to be. The one he never had been with you, not until recently. “You’re nothing more than a greedy little whore. Must have been why you fucked Chuuya without a second thought, huh?”

You were silent, staring him down with a clenched jaw. Your brain was twisting, betraying you, turning into empty cells within your skull, and you weren’t sure how to handle the accumulation of emotions that you felt for the man before you, the one who’s love had always been purposeful and merciless.

“Well?” he said, tightening a hand to close off the air to your lungs, trapping you with his strength. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and when your words sounded choked, when you clawed at his wrist, he loosened his grip just a hair, the only indication that the man you loved was in there at all. Still, your hips acted of their own accord, shifting further into his hand. “I’m sorry, Osamu, I am.” You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he finally slipped his fingers under your panties, rubbing your aching clit. “I wanted you; I needed you and you were never there, but Chuuya was, and—”

You were a stammering mess of desperation and regret, feeling unglued under Dazai’s hands, like the words you’d been meaning to say could finally come out. He was the only one who’d ever listened to you completely, who you’d felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with. Yet, it had been so long since you’d let yourself be open with him, and now that the opportunity arose, you were too weak to deny it.

“I was always here,” Dazai said harshly, and you were almost certain that his anger was genuine, the tone breaking in his voice a result of true sadness. “You never came to me, and I thought that’s how you wanted it to be.” His fingers sunk into you, and you threw your head back into the pillow, moaning sinfully with the lewd sound of him sinking in and out of you, the wetness collecting with every movement.

“You never showed me you cared,” you cried out, certain that there were tears streaming down your cheeks, and you should’ve been humiliated. It was humiliating—the way you were clothed in nothing, crying as Dazai laughed at you, taking full control over your body. How he could’ve done anything to you in that moment, and you would’ve let him, because that was just how much you wanted him.

“And Chuuya was the solution?” He grabbed your cheeks with the hand that had once been around your throat, pinching them to make you look at him. “You going to pass yourself around the rest of the Mafia, sweetheart? Who’ll get a taste of you next? I’m not so certain even Akutagawa would pass up the opportunity.”

His words were senseless, meant to hurt you, and you still couldn’t stand the anguish that was in his eyes.

“No,” you said, and you leaned up, wanting so badly for his lips to be on yours, to feel some semblance of the connection that you’d always had with him. “I wouldn’t, Dazai, I’m yours.” You choked on the sounds of your own moans, your thighs shaking with every change in pressure. “I’m yours. Please, I need you.”

You were certain there were marks on your neck from his fingertips, and Dazai ghosted his mouth along the delicate skin there, biting at the soreness from before. You jerked, digging your nails into his back as you drew closer and closer to your climax.

“Don’t make demands.” Dazai leaned back, and you missed the closeness, the sharp scent of him lingering in your space. “Chuuya hasn’t been a part of this conversation yet. Should we get him up here? I hadn’t considered what to do with him, but this might suffice.”

Dazed and drunk on the feeling of his hands all over you, it took you a moment to process what he was saying. His hand was already swiping through his phone, picking the number of the man that you least wanted to see.

“No, Osamu, don’t—” you cried out, and yet, you made no move to stop him. Instead, you remained pliant on the bed as he sunk another finger into you, his thumb moving in agonizing circles against your clit. He tucked the cellphone under his chin, smiling at you maliciously, controlling you with every blink of his lashes.

You had always had trouble resisting him. Now was no different.

Chuuya answered as you released another moan, and Dazai was grinning wickedly, as if some larger scheme had finally come together, the culmination of everything he was plotting. “Boss?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, and you flinched, locking gazes with his deep brown irises, the color so alluring and beautiful, a shade that had darkened with each misfortune you’d endured together. You hated him, you did, but there was a fine line between the two, and your love for him would die with you, would transcend whatever simple rules the afterlife placed on Earth. “How quickly can you make it up here?”

You could hear the hesitation on the other side; Chuuya didn’t say anything for a moment.

“A couple minutes, I think. I haven’t left the building.”

“I’ll give you a couple minutes then.” Dazai’s words were clipped as he hung up the phone, throwing it to the arm chair a few feet away from the bed.

His attention was back on you completely as you let out a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure before Chuuya came into the room. Though it was so hard when the pools in his irises were pulling you deeper, locking you into a heaven that you’d never been able to reach.

Dazai pulled away briefly, his soaking fingers leaving your body to alleviate his cock from the confines of his dark pants, hovering before you.

You swallowed, not able to remember the last time your desire for him ached this badly. Your eyes trained on the very part of him that you wanted inside of you, the tip flushed so beautifully. There was nothing on your mind but him, how you wanted every part of him, even if it meant enduring misery after misery, and Chuuya was right—if you were to love Dazai, you needed to love every part of him, even when it seemed impossible.

A whine escaped you and you were reaching out to him, knowing he’d never let you live down your humiliation, but the future was not a part of your logical thinking, not now. “Want you inside me.”

“Surely you can hold off for a few minutes,” Dazai said, though the way his toned chest pressed to your own, and how he kissed your face with a tenderness you’d forgotten made it nearly impossible for you to refrain. “So desperate for my cock.”

You wanted to touch yourself—you would’ve, had you not been so nervous of the fact that Chuuya could come in at any minute.

“Tell him to leave,” you said, dragging your fingers through his hair, finally kissing him like you’d been wanting to, and the sound was sinful, heavy with lust as you forced a taste into his mouth, wishing every part of him was a part of you too. “I don’t want him or anyone else, just you, I promise—”

Dazai cut you off and ignored your pleas; he smiled against your lips, though it was anything but kind. “I think he’ll enjoy seeing you like this, won’t he? You’ve got such a filthy mouth on you when you’re fucked properly.” He kissed his way down your chest, resting his face just above your breasts. “I bet Chuuya didn’t see this side of you, did he?” Dazai licked a circle around your nipple, tugging it between his teeth. “I’ve done nothing but call you names and you’re dripping all over the sheets.”

You shook your head, feeling pained by how badly you wanted release.

“Of course not.” Dazai sat back up like he could sense Chuuya approaching from the other side of the door, his presence bold and detectible. “He’s forgotten what’s mine, after all.” He smiled at you once more, kissing you with a kind of love that only he could portray, the kind that was nowhere close to innocent. “Don’t cum until I tell you to. Be good for me, okay?”

Dazai had always known what to say to you, even when your relationship was falling apart, even when you hated him more than you loved him. His words could be so tender, the praise melted in with the unkind quips of his tongue. It was the gentlest tone he’d used since your clothes had come off, and you couldn’t help but melt under him, nodding like you’d give him anything he asked of you.

Of course you would.

Dazai traced your features delicately, grinning maniacally, ears attuned to the quiet that broke from the footsteps approaching. His cock was lined up against your dripping hole, and it took every ounce of restraint not to plant yourself on it, trying so hard to please him, the sinful man who held too much power over you.

“You’re so pretty like this, aren’t you? My beautiful little whore, always willing to take whatever I give you.”

“’Samu,” you babbled, blinking away the tears as you latched onto him, wishing you could spare yourself the humiliation, but too drunk on him to care. He shifted you forward, taking your thighs in his hands and placing them around his waist. “I can’t take it all at once—”

“You’ve done it before. Do it again.” He growled, squeezing your throat once more in one smooth motion, thrusting into you. And though you had doubted how prepared you were, he slid into you easily, already so loose and pliant from his fingers. “See? Never forgot the shape of me, sweetheart. Even after you’ve been with another man.”

You let out a choked moan as Chuuya walked into the room, lost in the ache and the burn and the pleasure that came with loving and fucking Dazai.

There was one singular pass of silence before Chuuya spoke, letting the door shut with a quiet click on the hinge. “Boss—” Chuuya was hesitant, though his eyes were immediately drawn to you, raking over your blissed-out form. “You said to—” His hand was still on the knob, though he was distracted, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, ashamed but so full of want that it ached.

“Come in, Chuuya,” Dazai said sharply, his words solid and commanding, and you couldn’t help it when you clenched around him, drawing him further into you with nails scraping down his back. “We should discuss something.”

“Well, can we talk about it when you’re not in the middle of fucking your girl?” Chuuya asked, swallowing down the desire he hid so poorly. His cheeks had flushed, words just on the edge of stumbling and slurring together. “Another time, maybe.”

“This is the perfect time, actually,” Dazai stopped moving, already breathing heavily above you as you stared, whined, needing so badly for him to stop teasing you. “Besides,” his eyes drifted knowingly to Chuuya’s obvious erection as he laughed darkly. “I don’t think you mind so much.”

Dazai pulled back painfully slowly before sinking into you with a quicker thrust, your back arching off the mattress to catch even more of him inside of you. A barely noticeable sweat had broken against his hairline, and you stared at him, mouth slightly agape in awe at the boss of the Port Mafia, the one you somehow had wrapped around your little finger.

Your breathing had grown unsteady as his cock got deeper and deeper inside of you, hitting where you’d never been quite able to get with your fingers, the thickness of him catching on every sensitive part inside of you. His hand was back between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit, and you weren’t sure you could last much longer, not as he carried on a conversation with Chuuya, who watched you with darkened eyes, barely holding himself back.

“Please, Osamu,” you were practically begging now, your cheeks glistening with wetness as you clawed at the muscles between his shoulder blades, surely leaving bruises all down his spine. “Please, please, let me cum.”

Dazai made a tsk noise in the back of his throat. “Not yet. I don’t think you deserve it quite yet, does she, Chuuya?”

Chuuya sniffed, shifting uncomfortably as his pants grew tighter. “Gonna punish her all day, boss? Such a pretty thing should get what she wants, shouldn’t she?”

Dazai dropped his chest closer to you, going deeper into you, and you cried out his name, though your eyes were still locked with Chuuya, as if he were going to be your savior. You remembered how gently he’d touched you, how careful he was, and you wondered why you’d ever wanted that at all.

“Chuuya thinks he can fuck you better than me, darling, but you know that’s not true, don’t you? He’d spoil you too much, but this is what you want, right? You want to be called a stupid fucking cockslut.” Dazai grinned against your lips, whispering in a breath that only you could hear. “Just so that at the end of it all, you’ll be my good girl.”

You whimpered, soaking him as you clenched harder. Your brain had gone numb from the feeling of him. Dazai was smiling viciously, but you could see the underlying tenderness.

“She looks so pretty right now, doesn’t she Chuuya? Not a single thought in that beautiful little head of hers.” He smiled at him knowingly, dark hair flopping into his eyes as the rest of the loose tendrils stuck to his forehead. “You’re lucky. You’ve gotten two chances to see her now. Twice as many as most men who fantasize about fucking a woman that sleeps in another man’s bed.”

Chuuya’s voice was raw, his words cracked. “You’re sick, Dazai,” he said, clenching his hands into fists. “Putting on a show like this just to punish me.”

“You and I both know you’re enjoying this.” Dazai traced your cheeks sweetly, kissing your lips deeply. You let out a strangled breath into his mouth, something on the precipice of a moan. “Can you do one thing for me, pretty girl? One more, then I’ll let you cum, how’s that?”

You nodded, desperately, as Dazai’s fingers finally dipped back down, rubbing agonizingly light circles.

“Tell Chuuya who’s making you feel this way,” Dazai said, pushing your face away from him to stare straight into Chuuya’s dark eyes. “Tell him who you love the most.”

“You,” you gasped out, clenching tighter around him. What an easy request to make—you’d never loved anyone else. “I’m in love with you.”

Dazai sniffed, though he was patient, slowing his thrusts almost to a stop. “Not good enough. I need you to be more specific.”

You cried out, locking your ankles onto his hips, trying to force him back into you. But Dazai didn’t budge, watching you until you provided the answer that he so desired. “I love you, Dazai.”

He frowned, shaking his head once more. “My name. Say it. It sounds so sweet from your lips.”

“Osamu,” you choked out. “I love you, Osamu. I love you. I love you.”

Dazai finally smiled above you, gently tracing your cheeks with his thumb as he slowed down the pace of his hips. “I love you too, darling.” His words were soft, whispered into your lips before he turned away, meeting eyes with Chuuya across the room. “See?”

Chuuya was glowering, stiff as a board, his face pink, and his legs shaky. “I got it, Boss.” He choked out, though his eyes were on you, unable to leave your body, even as he tried so hard to be polite. His aching cock strained against his pants, and he breathed sharply, swallowing over and over. “Do I need to be here any longer?”

Dazai laughed, and you thought he looked so pretty when he did that, his smile flashing wide and alluring, the corners of his eyes crinkling marginally. “Never said you had to stay. I figured you’d want to watch her come undone one last time.”

Chuuya, for as noble as he wanted himself to be, made no move to leave, glued to the spot on the floor beyond your bed. He was just across the room, but you couldn’t focus on anyone but Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, the man who you’d killed and bled and committed horrible acts for.

You said his name again, scrambling to bring his attention back to you, hands on his face with a desperation you didn’t realize you’d possessed.

And Dazai, with the kindness of a man he wasn’t, placed his hands just above your stomach, leaving kisses across your chin as he thrust into you, sweetly, menacingly, one last time. “You did so good, my love. You can cum now. Make a mess all over my cock, beautiful.”

You jerked, squeezing around him as you felt the pressure in you finally release, the colors shifting and changing between your high as Dazai brought you in and out of an orgasm, his words reaching your muddled brain with soothing noises. Your body twitched as your muscles spasmed, sweat gathering in the space under your knees. There was little in your mind, save for the dark-haired man that had quickly become your whole world.

You smiled lazily, lacing your fingers with Dazai as you slowly began to come back to yourself. The world around you was empty. Chuuya had all but disappeared into a block of nothingness as you stared into the world itself. If there was no Dazai, there was no you, and it was as simple as that. He was everything you’d ever wanted—you’d be a fool to ever left him go.

As you regained your breathing, still sensitive all over, Dazai came inside you, spilling hot release into you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care, too busy being satisfied with the feeling of him all over you. His hands never left you—he was delicate, caring, pressing loving touches into your skin as you recovered from your high.

“I’m yours, Osamu,” you said, closing your eyes as you basked against the bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up against him, bury yourself in the warmth of another body.

He smiled against your cheeks, lips flushed and bruised. “I know you are,” he said to you only, before pulling away. You shivered, but opened your eyes, and he’d already held the gun out to you, presenting it as an offering. “That’s why you’ll be the one to kill him.”

It took you all of ten seconds to remember who him was, and that the man who had borne witness to your most intimate moments with Dazai had not disappeared and was still gawking at you from the corner of the room.

“What?” you asked stupidly, your jaw falling open.

“You heard me.” Dazai pressed the pistol into your palm, curling your fingers around the handle. It was like ice against your hot body, and though it’d been years since your first time firing such a weapon, you suddenly felt like you were there again, uncertain, and afraid of the dangerous firearm. “Kill him.”

You stared at Chuuya, the honest man who, even despite his rough exterior, had been there for you since you were kids. You remembered how the three of you had been so close, for such a long time, until Dazai had gone and killed Mori and fucked it all up.

It felt wrong. The entire situation was wrong, and it never should’ve come to this.

“It’s Chuuya,” you said with tired eyes, something in your voice pleading and desperate.

Dazai shrugged, holding you close against him as you struggled to sit up in the bed. Your muscles ached and you were still so sensitive, but reality was coming back to you. This was all a mess, and you wanted so badly to feel shame at everything you had done, but you were trying so hard just to–

“You’d think I’d let him live after what he did?”

“Osamu.” You weren’t sure you could bear it. You’d always sworn to kill whatever adversary Dazai and the Port Mafia faced, but Chuuya would always be an exception. You wanted him in your life as much as you wanted Dazai, someone you could trust without fail, who would listen to you complain even when it hurt him. “I won’t do it. He’s my friend. I thought he was yours too.”

Dark eyes full of disdain met your own, and he pinched your jaw once more, a mixture of devastating anger. “I can’t allow a traitor to live. I’ll kill him if you won’t. Then, I’ll kill you. Then myself.”

You shoved him away, suddenly wishing you weren’t so exposed, on display in the middle of the room. “Then fucking do it already, Dazai. What are you waiting for?” A tear broke free from your eye, and you wiped it furiously, not giving him a chance to mock you.

“Stop.” Chuuya finally spoke, his voice drawing your attention like a commandment, and you fell silent, refocusing on him as he bowed before you, dropping to his knees. Eyes locked onto your own without a single fear, cruel acceptance surrounding dark pupils. “It’s alright. I deserve to die. I’ve broken your trust, boss. I might as well be a traitor to the Mafia.” He swallowed, though he was unwavering. “I don’t want to live with this feeling any longer.”

“Don’t say that.” you spat, hating that such a strong man was giving himself over, exposing every weary weakness that he’d come to carry. “You don’t mean it.”

“I do.” He sighed, straightening his spine as he leaned forward towards your hand, much as you had done before, and you realized that this was such a sick, twisted change of fate. That the affection you’d always doubted was real after all, but Chuuya was still left playing the fool.

Perhaps, you were of the same vein, wanting desperately to die in the heavenly hand of the one you loved most. You could understand him for that. You could grant him one final wish.

“Do you regret any of it?” Dazai asked, as the wheels in your head spun, the decision dawning upon you, handed over from the ancient tragedies, rival even to the gloomy romances of Shakespeare.

Chuuya shifted towards the other man, looking into his cold, distant eyes. “No,” he said honestly, his jaw set. “I don’t regret it because now I know she’ll never love me. She’s all yours Dazai. Always has been. Always will be. Does that satisfy you?”

There wasn’t an ounce of fury in his expression when Dazai smiled back.

“You heard him,” Dazai said, lifting your limp arm by the elbow, pointing it like a skilled tutor. The gun was on Chuuya’s forehead, between his eyebrows, and your finger was on the trigger. Dazai’s whisper was like the Devil on your shoulder, and you were falling fast, your last shred of morality burnt from papery resolve. His hand supported your weakened muscles, guiding you along like you’d never before committed such an act. “You’re an assassin, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, narrowing your eyes before cocking the gun, mustering up the last bit of strength you had left. Chuuya couldn’t have looked more prepared for death, and you basked in Dazai’s prideful smile as he branded it into the crook of your neck.

“You’re certain?” you said to Chuuya, once more, hand no longer shaking despite your guilt.

The man, nothing more than a victim, nodded, and he had the audacity to smile, to look peaceful about his release from this life.

“I’m sorry, Chuuya. You shouldn’t have to bear the weight of my sin.” “It’s mine to carry, just as it is yours,” he scoffed, eyes hard with resolve. “Of all the things that would land me in Hell, I hardly believe this is the worst.”

You nodded, regrettably, and took a steely breath, erasing the heat the stung behind your eyes.

Then, you pulled the trigger. You waited for Chuuya’s brains to stain your floors, for the remnants of his skull to shatter all across the wall behind him. For the life to slowly drain from his stunningly bright eyes, leaving you with nothing but a corpse that would rot away wherever Dazai chose to toss his body.

Though, none of those things happened, and you stared at each other with fierce incredulity, knowing that you’d unwillingly become puppets in Dazai’s dramatic play, a show put on for no one’s entertainment but his own.

You’d been completely senseless, an idiot, really. The gun had felt lighter than usual, and you’d ignored it, even when you should’ve known it housed no bullets.

“Dazai?” you said in a low voice, dangerously, twisting to look at him from over your shoulder. An anger you’d never felt before had bubbled up inside of you, your heart thundering with a fierceness you hadn’t realized was a part of you. “There’s no bullets.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed, taking the gun away like it was but a toy, throwing it onto the armchair in the corner. “I’d never kill the strongest ability-user in the Mafia. You both should know me better by now.”

You scowled, the ugly expression marring your face, and Dazai frowned, leaning forward to appease you. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You played me for a fool. Was all of this an act?” you cried, wondering if maybe Dazai had been lying this entire time. Maybe all those sweet words he said had never been true, and you had fallen for them anyway, like the mindless pawn you were.

“Which part?” Dazai asked, but you could tell that he knew what answer you sought, what lies you wanted to unveil.

“You know which part,” you said, moving away from him, not sure what emotion to grant control. You felt an intense amount of fury, misery, and pity for yourself, who’d never asked Dazai for anything but to be on your side, and he still couldn’t give you that. “Fuck you, Dazai.”

Your lip quivered, but if you’d begun to cry, shame would swallow you up and drown you in the dark abyss of misery. You would have no other choice but to throw yourself out the window, where everyone in the Port Mafia could bear witness to all the ways that Dazai had ruined you.

“Boss—”

Chuuya’s sentence was cut off sharply.

You’d tried to climb out of the bed, but Dazai had grabbed your wrist, stopping you before you could escape from him once and for all. Though he spoke to Chuuya, his eyes were hard on you, never leaving the set he stared into as you swallowed over and over, trying to think of anything but the sick feeling in your chest.

“You can leave now, Chuuya. Consider this your lucky day.” His voice was icy, threatening, and though Chuuya lingered a moment before climbing to his feet, he spared you nothing but a small glance in return.

You inhaled, then exhaled, trying to stop the simmering of blood within your veins, feeling the heavy weight of his hand on your wrist. As you sat there in silence, waiting for him to be the one to break it, you started to wonder how much of this was really Dazai’s fault, and how much you were the one to blame.

“It was a test.” Dazai tried to bring your attention back to him, letting only a fragment of emotion drain into his voice, though it was enough to slowly, slowly pique your fascination once more. “That was all.”

You wet your lips, though your tongue was just as papery. “So none of it was real.”

“What do you mean?” Dazai came to sit in front of you, his skin pale in the dark lighting, and you could see the cracks in his facade, and maybe this splinter in your failing relationship would slowly begin to heal itself. “Everything I said was very much real.”

His soft fingertips traveled up your arm, curling around your shoulder, across your collarbone, before settling in that delicate space between your jaw and your ear. There was a starry look in his eyes, the twin pair that had been exposed.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” you said, scrunching your face in remorse, wanting to slither away from him, even as he drew you closer, close enough to smell the expensive cologne he wore, the liquor that he favored when you were away. His hair had been freshly washed, and the smell of shampoo still lingered, even under the thin layer of sweat.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” Dazai countered, the hurt not veiled in the slightest this time, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. Heat flooded to your cheeks, and you were looking away, wondering why he was pulling you close to his chest when he should be hating you with the passion of a thousand fiends. “How could I trust you after that?”

You parted your lips to speak, but your jaw was locked, and the inside of your mouth tasted like cotton.

“I’m not a good man,” Dazai said, kissing the shell of your ear, your temple, and you squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to his bicep. “You’ve always known this. Yet, for as often as you talk about me with disgust dripping from your words, I’ve never sought to bring you pain.” He breathed in deeply, and you buried your face into his chest, wondering how much longer it’d be before you wept. “You’ve caused me pain.”

You tried to cry out, to tell him that you never thought it would hurt him, but he’d seen the very same in you, hadn’t he? You’d never given him any indication that the coldness in his words was bothering you, that the blurred lines of your relationship were getting confusing and hurtful, and he had done the same.

“We’re not good for each other, Osamu,” you whispered quietly, your lip quivering. The weight of your voice shattered against your vocal cords.

He let out a breathy laugh, smiling against your forehead. “On the contrary, I think we’re the perfect fit.”

For what reason he believed that, you weren’t sure.

You clenched your jaw tight, but it didn’t stop the feeling of tears from overwhelming you, hot droplets that spilled heavy from your eyes, running off your chin to Dazai’s chest. Your hands shook, clenched around his arms so tightly you were sure you were breaking the skin.

Dazai pulled away, monitoring your face with concern. You hated the way he looked at you with such pity when he was the reason for such pain. Yet, you couldn’t help but curl into him, warm, never wanting to escape from his reverence. “Why are you crying, my sweet angel?”

Nausea soured your mouth, and the regret that tinged you, tainted you, was vastly overwhelming. It was horrible in a way that you’d never felt.

It struck you, then, that you’d been blind to Dazai’s every affection, too ignorant to notice the ways that they had shifted as his life did. He no longer held your hand over the table during meetings, but the chair beside his was just as grandiose, and he greeted you with something of a smile when you walked into each room. He no longer accompanied you on assignments, but you were always taken care of, in a hotel most people couldn’t afford with a partner that could singlehandedly take out a hundred men. He no longer picked you flowers from a wild field as he’d done as a boy, but the vase on the table always held a beautiful bouquet of deep, red roses, without a single wilting flower.

Chuuya, all this time, all these years had been right. There was no use in loving Dazai if you couldn’t stand him in his darkest hour, the bitter ugly side of him that no one wanted to see.

You’d never thought about it, really, but you’d changed just as he had. Everyone in the Mafia had blood on their hands, was ruined in more ways than one, and you were no exception. If loving Dazai meant loving those parts of him, then loving you meant just the same.

The tears fell harder, and Dazai seemed panicked, stricken, always so oblivious when it came to the affairs of your heart, and sometimes he tried, but you couldn’t hate him if he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you said pitifully, knowing from the spoiled heart in your very chest had ruined everything. “I’m sorry.” You said it again and again until Dazai was shushing you, running a large, cool palm down your back, the only way he knew to soothe you.

“I wish I’d never done it. I wish I’d just spoken to you, asked you, anything—” you wiped your face, heavy breaths stuttering before Dazai took your hands away, and erased the tears for you. “I just thought you hated me. It was the only thing that made sense.”

Dazai smiled sadly, because no one had taught him to love. How was he to know that he’d been doing it wrong all this time. “I wish I’d seen it before. I didn’t mean to push you away.” He sighed, dropping his head to your shoulder with a weariness that he’d been born with. “I’m sorry.”

A tingling sensation began under your skin, and you were warm all over, realizing just how much that apology had meant to you. For some reason, it felt like coming home.

The strong grip that nostalgia had on you gradually began to melt away.

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