#because the situation really calls for it

[fyorina]

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

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you ask: 

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did,” you confirm.

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

“Truth,” he murmurs.

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

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

He voices his first lie, “No.”

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

He refrains, if only barely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

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

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

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

He knows his next question.

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

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

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

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

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

He halts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai snorts.

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

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

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

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

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He forces it out anyway.

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

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

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

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a very lonely four years without you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

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

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

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

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

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

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

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

Dazai gags.

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

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

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

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

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

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

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

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

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

“How-”

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

Okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

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

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

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

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening. 

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you. 

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s. 

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. 

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

[girlgenius1111]

behave

ingrid leaves for 2 weeks for national duty. sol and mapi try to stay out of trouble and fill the time. they are successful at one of those two objectives. some medical trauma discussed.

-------

“And I have an extra one of her inhalers, in the medicine cabinet in our bathroom. She hasn’t had an asthma attack in a while but-”

“-But just in case, Solstråle has one in her backpack, and you have one in the medicine cabinet. Ingrid, relax. It’s going to be fine. You’ve left the two of us before.” 

“I know, but this time it's for longer, and she’s still not really herself. So many things have happened and I’m so worried,” the Norwegian rambled. It had only been a few weeks since everything had happened, and you were doing better. You were adjusting. Ingrid still didn’t really want you out of her sight, but she was due at the airport to fly back to Norway for the international break. She’d already said goodbye to you back at the house, and now she was very anxiously trying to give Mapi some words of advice before she had to go. It wasn’t the first time she’d left you with Mapi to play for Norway, but it was the first time since your mental health had really declined, since Ingrid became aware of how hard of a time you were having. 

“Ingrid, amor, I know. I will take good care of her. Do you trust me?” Mapi said calmly, squeezing one of Ingrid’s hands. 

“Of course, María, I’m sorry, of course I trust you. It’s just… keep an eye on her? Please?” Ingrid’s worry bled through her tone, eyes pleading with Mapi to agree to her request. 

“I promise, Ingrid. We’ll be completely fine. And if we aren’t, I’ll call you.” 

“Okay.” Ingrid said quietly. 

“Alright. Fly safe, mi amor. I love you.” Mapi said, pulling Ingrid into a hug. Her girlfriend clung to her, and Mapi rubbed her back softly, trying to provide some comfort. 

“I love you too.” Ingrid whispered, pulling back to leave a sweet kiss on her girlfriend’s lips, before turning and walking into the airport. 

Mapi sighed, a bit relieved because she honestly wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be returning home with Ingrid after a failed airport drop off. The Norwegian had been increasingly anxious about you in recent weeks, and Mapi knew that leaving you, now, felt like she was failing you as a sister, and as a guardian. She also knew, however, that she had the situation handled. You were comfortable with Mapi, and she was confident in her abilities to keep an eye on you, and make sure you were doing okay. 

She understood Ingrid’s anxiety. The Norwegian had always been a person who needed to feel control. Leaving her very vulnerable sister behind while she went off to play football for two weeks would certainly not give Ingrid the sense of control she craved in every situation that scared her. 

Ingrid had gone, though. Entered the airport, gotten on the plane. And now it was time for Mapi to get back home to you, and begin the 2 weeks of fun she had planned. 

------

Mapi wanted to bond with you, in a way that didn’t involve heavy emotions and tears being spilled. She wanted to do something fun that you enjoyed. Even if it wasn’t something that she necessarily wouldn’t have chosen. When you enthusiastically suggested that you both go to your rock climbing gym, she’d agreed easily. How hard could it be? She was a professional athlete. She was fit and strong, and she knew she could do it. She’d checked with the trainers at Barça, and she’d been cleared for the activity. An important piece of information that she’d forgotten, however, was that she wasn’t the biggest fan of heights. 

Well, it wasn’t that she forgot. It was more that she just didn’t think it would be an issue. Her fear of heights had decreased significantly in recent years. She went on hikes often up tall hills and mountains, and was barely bothered. She didn’t stop to consider that being tied to a wall and climbing to the top with very little support would be harder. 

It was easy to get on the helmet, the harness, and all the gear. It was adorable to watch you expertly tie the knots to her carabiner, very nonchalantly, though Mapi could tell you wanted to impress her. It was fun to learn all the silly little commands she was supposed to shout. It was fun that you knew all the right pointers to tell her, easily getting her going up the wall. It was even fun climbing; it took a specific muscle strength that was slightly different than the one she possessed, and it was just difficult enough to present a challenge, without being overwhelmingly difficult. 

As she got higher up, though, she became more and more aware that the only thing between her and falling a very significant distance to the ground was a rope and a self belaying machine. She kept herself calm, though, until she got to the top of the wall. She allowed herself a small smile, glancing down at where you were cheering for her. 

That was her mistake. The ground was so far away. And once she started to panic she couldn’t really stop. 

You were yelling instructions up to her, ones she could barely hear.“Okay, like I told you. Flip the hand brake to the other side, and let the slack of the rope slide through your hand.” 

“NO!” Mapi shouted, surprising even herself with the volume of her voice. “I can’t.” 

“What do you mean you can’t? Is it stuck?” You replied. It didn’t even occur to you that Mapi might be scared. She was Mapi. She was fearless and confident and she was brave for you when you weren’t sure you could be. 

“No, Sol, I can’t. I can’t.” Mapi said again, and you were floored to hear her start to get choked up. She had a white knuckle grip on the rope in one hand, holding tight to one of the handholds with the other. She looked like her whole body was trembling, and you floundered for a minute, entirely lost on what to do and how to help. 

Though after thinking about it for another minute, the solution was clear. Ingrid could fix Mapi, just like Mapi could always fix Ingrid. 

“Okay, Maps, hold on I’m gonna help you.” You shouted, seeing her nod weakly. There was no getting her down like this. You had to have some confidence in the equipment, and yourself, in order to repel down the wall, and Mapi clearly possessed confidence in neither of those things at the moment. 

You grabbed your phone and called Ingrid. It went right to voicemail. You called again, waving off the worker who came up to ask if you needed help. 

“I’m calling Ingrid, Mapi, just hang on.” 

Ingrid didn’t answer for a second time. You dialed Caro’s number, one you had for emergencies, and she picked up on the first ring, no doubt concerned at the sight of your name on the caller ID. 

“Hello?” Caro said. 

“Caro, are you with Ingrid? Can you get her for me?” 

“Uh… yeah. She’s in the gym, I’ll grab her. Is everything okay?” 

“No, please hurry.” 

It was unsettling to see Mapi this distraught, and you were absolutely flooded with guilt that you’d made her do this. She was clearly terrified and it was all your fault.

You heard some muffled voices over the phone before Ingrid’s absolutely panicked one came over the line. 

“Solstråle? What is it?” She asked, beside herself with worry. 

“Um. Mapi and I went to the climbing gym. And she made it to the top of the wall but now she’s… stuck.” 

“Stuck? What do you mean stuck?” 

“She’s too afraid to come down, I don’t know what to do.” 

Ingrid fought off a smile. The mental image of Mapi stuck at the top of an indoor climbing wall, securely attached to a rope, a thick mat underneath her, in absolutely no danger at all, was comical, she couldn’t lie. 

“Switch it to a video call.” She instructed, for no other reason than to get photographic evidence of this. Alexia would be getting a late birthday gift this year, in the form of this moment, framed. 

You did as she asked, flipping the camera around to show Mapi up at the top of the wall. It was the shortest one in the place, and Ingrid had a very clear view of her girlfriend, holding onto the wall and the rope for dear life. 

“Oh, María.” Ingrid chuckled, finding the whole situation very amusing. She took a screenshot, before you spoke and the situation became significantly less funny. 

“Ingrid, I think she’s crying.” You murmured. That sobered up your sister pretty quickly. It was one thing for Mapi to be scared, and entirely another for her to be so terrified she was moved to tears. Ingrid very suddenly remembered Mapi’s fading fear of heights. Or, what was supposed to be a fading fear of heights. 

“Shit. Can you get up there? With me in your pocket or something?” 

You sounded almost cocky when you responded. “I could get up there with my eyes closed. It’s the easiest wall.” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Okay, get me up to her.” 

You did as your sister asked, attaching your harness to the ropes and getting the self belay machine all set, before you slipped your sister into your pocket, and climbed up the wall, at a speed that could only be described as a sprint. It took longer than it could have, because you went slightly diagonal, trying to get as close to Mapi as you could. When you reached her, she seemed completely spaced out, every muscle in her body tensed, a few tears on her cheeks. 

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, turned the volume up, and held it up so Mapi could see her girlfriend. 

“María?” Ingrid said soothingly. 

Mapi snapped back into herself, her head whipping around to look at the phone, and at you. 

“Ingrid.” she said, relief clear in her voice. 

“Hey. Are you scared?” 

“No, I am staying up here for fun Ingrid.” Mapi snapped. Ingrid looked unimpressed, and Mapi mumbled an apology. 

“Can you listen to what Sol tells you to do? And do it with her?” 

“Isn’t there another way I can get down?” She asked in a quiet voice. 

“Yeah, I can cut the rope and you’d drop right down.” You deadpanned. Mapi looked horrified at you, and you choked back a laugh. 

“Solstråle, that is not nice!” Ingrid scolded. “María, my love, you are completely safe. You’re going to do what Sol says, and you’ll be back on the ground in a second, okay?” 

“Okay.” Mapi agreed, glaring at you. 

“See you in a sec Ingrid! If we make it down alive,” you added, tucking your sister back into your pocket before she could yell at you again. 

When you spoke again, though, it was soft and encouraging, and Mapi knew that you were taking her fear seriously. It is one of those little signs that you loved her, too. You weren’t as good at saying it, having not heard it said to you for a lot of your life, but you showed it. When you’d squeeze her hand during a Barça game, knowing how hard it was for her to sit out. When you’d find a silly cat tiktok and send it to her, even though she knew you didn’t find whatever it was very funny. And now, when you talked her through the whole thing, assuring her that she’d be safe the whole time. 

“It’s gonna be fine, Maps. Flip the handbrake off, and hold tight to the rope. You won’t go anywhere until you let yourself.” 

Mapi found herself following your instructions without much thought. You just very clearly sounded like you knew what you were doing. 

“Okay, good. Now loosen your hand on the rope, just a little. A bit will slide through and you’ll drop. The less you let go of, the slower you’ll descend.” Mapi let the rope go a bit, lowering maybe an inch. You nodded encouragingly, lowering down with her. “Keep your feet on the wall. You’re just going to walk yourself down. You can go as slow as you need to.” 

Very slowly, at the pace of a wounded snail, you and Mapi moved down the wall. You didn’t stop talking the whole time, forgetting, honestly, that Ingrid was in your pocket. 

She was sitting in the hallway, all the way in Norway, wondering what she did to deserve such a sweet sister, who cared so deeply for the people around her. Who adjusted to her girlfriend without a second thought. Who was sensitive and loving, even if you pretended not to be. 

When Mapi got down the wall, she was still shaking too badly to undo the harness. You handed her your phone, un attaching her from the wall, as she spoke quietly to your sister. When she was free, and you were free, you shoved your face next to hers, greeting Ingrid again. 

If Mapi was worried you’d make fun of her, she didn't have to be. 

You just smiled at her. “Ice cream?” You asked hopefully. Mapi and Ingrid felt their lips both tug up into smiles, matching smiles. 

“Definitely.” Mapi agreed. 

The day had been a bonding experience. Just in a very different way than Mapi had anticipated. 

------

You enjoyed spending time with Mapi, you really did. But you were also a person that needed a lot of time to yourself. Maybe it was a consequence of having no one around who paid much attention to you growing up, or maybe it was just how you were wired. Either way, after almost 2 weeks of spending every minute with your sister’s girlfriend, you needed a break. 

Some silence, and a break. 

Which is how you found yourself on a long hike, two days before Ingrid was due home. You’d gone yourself, without Scout, which wasn’t a common occurrence, but you wanted to be gone for a while. Just you and nature and nothing but your thoughts to echo around your head. 

When you got to a fork in the path, you stopped to consider. The right path would lead you back down, and you’d be home within the hour. The left path would lead you through a tricky boulder section of the hike, and you’d be gone another 2 hours. 

Your only hesitation with the left path was that Ingrid had very specifically told you not to take it alone. You’d talked to her before you’d left, and she’d warned you that the boulders were really tricky, and you shouldn’t do it by yourself. She promised to go with you when she got back, if you promised not to do it today. 

Mapi would never know, though. You’d just tell her you stopped at the top to enjoy the views for a bit, before you headed down. And if Mapi didn’t know, Ingrid wouldn’t know. And you really, really, just wanted some more time to yourself. 

So you set off to the left, ignoring the nagging feeling in your gut that you were making a mistake. 

------

You didn’t remember it hurting this bad, having a broken bone. It was definitely broken, though. You’d heard it go, even as your body hit the ground with a loud thump. 

The boulders had been tricky. So incredibly tricky. They were slightly loose and wobbly, and there were big gaps in between where you could easily fall. You had to get up and over a pile of rocks to keep moving, and you were tired. There were only a few more, by your estimations, and you were so relieved to almost be done that you were a bit more careless on the last few. 

It was the final obstacle that you fell from. You lost your footing towards the end of the boulder pile, rolling and tumbling down the last boulder, and onto the dirt path. You threw your arm out to catch yourself, and that was all it took. 

Sitting for a moment, you assessed your hand. It was broken. You knew instantly. You’d felt this before, you knew what it was. You felt strangely calm after making that assessment, carefully testing all of your fingers, and trying to move your wrist. 

Ouch. No, it was definitely broken. You had a couple options. You could call Mapi to come get you. She’d freak out and call your sister, who would be furious that you’d done exactly what she warned you not to. Or, you could finish the hike and get home. Pretend you were tired from your hike, or sick or something, and sneak away into your bedroom. Sleep it off. 

Logically, you knew the second option was bullshit. You couldn’t hide a broken arm forever. The thought of going to the doctor, though, was not something you would even consider. You only had one choice. 

You rose to your feet, the movement jostling your arm just enough to make your stomach turn. You bent over, throwing up onto the path. Straightening up again, you set off down the path, arm cradled close to your body. You could do this. You were strong and independent and you didn’t need anyones help. 

------

You felt like the universe was on your side, with the way things were going. Aside from the broken arm, of course. You were able to slip past Mapi, telling her a small lie that you’d grabbed food on the way home and weren’t feeling well, before you made it to your room. She popped her head in to say goodnight, and if she thought your behavior was weird, she didn’t say anything. 

You waited until she was in bed to shower, knowing she’d be up early for training the next day. You weren’t quite sure what your plan was past that, but you were taking this step by step. 

If Mapi didn’t know, she wouldn’t make you go to the doctor. She wouldn’t tell Ingrid. And Ingrid wouldn’t be mad. 

It was very poor logic, but logic nonetheless. 

You probably could have kept it up for longer, too, if your damn dog wasn’t so intelligent. 

------

Scout wasn’t sure what a broken bone was. Nor was he sure what was wrong with you. But you were hurting, had cried yourself to sleep the night before, and no one was doing anything. The helpful tall one was gone, leaving him with only the annoying and loud short one. Scout didn't think she was very smart, but he’d try to get the message across that someone should probably do something about you, his favorite person on planet earth. 

He followed her around when she arrived home from training. She ignored him. 

When she sat on the couch and turned the TV on, he stood right next to her, staring daggers at her face. She ignored him. 

It wasn’t until he started to whine loudly, and paw at her hand that she got fed up and finally looked at him. 

“Scout, chico, I am begging you to leave me alone.” Mapi sighed. The dog just looked at her, taking a tiny step closer to the Spaniard and letting out a quiet whine. “I swear to god.” 

She stood from the couch, heading for your room. If Scout would listen to anyone, it would be you. And she assumed that he was just pouting because you had shut your door, not allowing him inside. Now that Mapi thought about it, though, she realized she hadn’t seen you at all today, though she had exchanged texts with you while she was at training. Upon arriving at your door she raised her hand to knock, but before her hand could make contact with the wood, she heard a quiet, pained yelp come from the room. 

Mapi frowned. “Nena?” She called, knocking on the door before trying to knob. 

It was locked. 

You never locked your door. 

Mapi paused for a moment, looking down at Scout next to her, who was panting and staring up at her. See, his eyes seemed to say. I told you something was wrong. 

“Solstråle? Can I come in?” 

Inside, you had clapped your good hand over your mouth, realizing that Mapi had heard the sound you’d made. You’d been trying to pull a sweatshirt on to hide the awful sight of your arm, but even the soft brush of the fabric against your arm was horribly painful. 

Fuck. Fuck. Mapi wasn’t going to go away, not without seeing you. You struggled with the sweatshirt further before responding, but you were unable to muffle a cry of pain when your forearm twisted slightly. 

You shut your eyes, fighting back tears. “I’m fine, Mapi.” You replied, though you knew very well that it would not be enough for the Spaniard. 

“You don’t sound fine.” Mapi said, twisting the knob again, as if it would have magically unlocked itself in the last few seconds. 

“I am. All good.” You said back, fighting against the urge to open the door and collapse into her arms; your arm was on fire, the pain so bad that you were barely keeping yourself from openly sobbing. 

On the other side of the door, Mapi shook her head, growing more and more panicked. You didn’t sound right, not at all. Scout next to her had begun to pace, and she was trying to figure out if she could break the door down before she spoke again. 

“Open the door, nena. I am not asking. I need to see that you’re safe.” Mapi said firmly, closing her eyes and praying to god that you were okay. 

You had no choice. You stepped forward, unlocking the door, and Mapi’s eyes fell to you, cradling your arm close to your chest. You arm that looked wrong. It was bent at a slightly awkward angle, turning an ugly shade of purple, and it was twice the size of how it normally was.

“Jesus.” Mapi sighed, stepping closer to you, she missed the pure panic that flashed across your face, but she saw you flinch violently away from her, backing up until you were on the opposite side of the room. There were tears in your eyes, and Mapi froze, raising her hands in the air.

“Sol,” Mapi began, her heart shattering when you shook your head rapidly, wordlessly begging for something, although Mapi wasn’t quite sure what. “It’s just me, Sol. I won’t touch your arm. I just want to look at it, okay? I promise, I will not touch you.” 

You blinked at her for a minute, before nodding slowly. You moved over to your bed, taking a seat on the edge, sitting rather stiffly. It was a testament to the trust you had in the Spaniard that you held your arm out for her to see, a quiet sob falling from your lips. 

Mapi moved closer slowly, like you were a wild animal she didn’t want to scare off, until she was standing right in front of you. She kept her hands behind her back, simply looking at your arm. It was broken. Mapi wasn’t a doctor, but this wasn’t a difficult determination to make. A broken arm is pretty obvious. 

“What happened?” 

“I fell.” 

“How did you fall?” 

“I was hiking along those rocks that Ingrid told me not to climb on and I lost my balance and fell on my arm.”

“This was yesterday?” Mapi breathed, sick to her stomach at the thought that you’d been hiding this from her for so long. That you’d been hiding it at all, but that you’d gone to sleep with an untreated broken bone, that she’d left you alone while she went to training, while you had a broken bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, cariño.” She sighed. “You must be in so much pain.” She studied you closely, and she decided that now was not the time to have a conversation about hiding things from her. “Nena, do you want a hug?” 

Now that she knew, it was even harder to pretend that you were fine. She was right. You had been in a lot of pain. You were acutely aware of that pain, now, and how desperately you wanted someone to take charge of the situation and make everything okay. 

“Please,” you whispered, leaning in her direction. Mapi very carefully wrapped her arms around you, gently rubbing her hand up and down your back. You trembled against her, and Mapi thought at that moment that she would break her own arm if it meant you weren’t in pain. 

Mapi hugged you tight for a minute before she very regretfully pulled back, putting her hands on her shoulders and studying you. “Okay. Okay. Here is what we’re going to do. Tomorrow, we are going to have a talk about hiding injuries from us. Because Sol, this is so dangerous. I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, and you can explain later, but right now we need to go see a doctor.” 

“No.” You said simply, your face hardening as you looked up at the Spaniard. And it wasn’t that Mapi hadn’t expected some resistance; she knew that you had an issue with doctors. It was the decisiveness with which you spoke, and the barely masked fright on your face. 

“Solstråle, we need to get that x-rayed.” 

“No. It’s fine, Mapi.”

“It isn’t fine! It looks broken, nena, we need to get it looked at.” 

“No. No doctors, no hospital, no x-ray.” 

“Solstråle, I will call your sister if I need to. We are going to the doctor.” 

A look of betrayal flashed across our face, and you held your arm tighter to your body in a protective manner. “Please don’t make me.” You whispered. 

Harsh wasn’t working. Demanding wasn’t working. Mapi knew she couldn’t force you. She just had to convince you. She stepped closer, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You are scared, that’s okay. I’ll be with you the whole time, though, nena. Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah.” You said, your voice cracking a bit, looking up at Mapi with wide, wet eyes. 

“I promise you, I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

You considered for a moment. You knew, realistically, that you had to go in. And you also knew that Ingrid was probably going to be furious with you. You craved comfort from your sister, though, you needed to hear her voice, telling you that you were safe. Ingrid knew a bit more than Mapi did about your issue with doctors, even though she didn’t have the full story. Ingrid was safe, and so was Mapi, but you really just wanted your sister. 

“Can I call Ingrid on the way there?”

And even though Mapi winced internally at mere thought of how upset this would make her girlfriend, she nodded. “Of course you can. Come on, let’s go.” 

The care with which Mapi helped you down the stairs brought tears to your eyes. She put your shoes on for you, double knotting the laces like you always did, before she paused, crouched in front of where you sat on the bench by the front door. 

“I promise you, Sol. I am not going to let anything happen to you. Okay? I’ve got you, kid.” She said, watching as you blinked hard, clenching your jaw and nodding. 

“Yeah, thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. Mapi helped you up, then, and you both exited the house. 

Mapi dialed the phone in the car, connecting it to the speaker. Ingrid picked up on the first ring, almost like she knew something was wrong. “Hi mi amor,” she greeted warmly. 

“Hola. We’re in the car, Sol is with me.” 

“Hi solstråle,” Ingrid said.

“Hi,” you replied, not uttering another word. 

“Tell her what happened, mi sol.” Mapi encouraged

“Tell me what? What happened?” Ingrid asked, her tone much more concerned and serious. 

“I hurt my arm. We’re going to the doctor.” You mumbled. Ingrid sighed, but she got the feeling that this wasn’t the worst of what you had to tell her, that it was going to get worse. 

“How? What’s wrong with it?”

“I was hiking and I fell. Mapi thinks it’s broken.” 

“Broken…climbing… on the trail I told you to be careful on- wait, Sol that was yesterday. This happened yesterday!?” Ingrid shouted. “Why are you just taking her now, María?”

Mapi winced. “I didn’t know until now.” 

“YOU DIDN’T TELL MAPI UNTIL NOW?” Ingrid yelled, so loudly that the speakers crackled slightly. 

Mapi glanced over at you to see that there were tears pouring down your cheeks, and your bottom lip captured in between your teeth, as you tried valiantly not to cry. Shit.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Relax, let’s all just take a breath.” She soothed, turning to pull over on a side street. 

“María, I will not relax, this is not oka-”

“Ingrid, stop.” Mapi said firmly, her voice more stern than you’d ever heard it. Ingrid fell silent. “Sol, breathe. Ingrid isn’t mad, she’s just worried. We are okay, everything is okay.”

You nodded frantically, trying to get a handle on your emotions, which were, frankly, overwhelming at the moment. “Sorry, I’m sorry Ingrid, I’m so sorry.” You sobbed. 

Ingrid felt her heart shatter. She hadn’t meant to shout. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, honey.” 

“I just- the last time I hurt my arm mom didn’t believe me and you told me to be careful and I didn’t want you to be mad, and I didn’t know if you’d think I was lying, and I don’t want to go to the doctor, Ingrid, but Mapi is taking me and she says I have to, and-” you cut yourself off with another loud sob, before arms were reaching over the center console and wrapping around you. 

“Shh, nena, it’s okay. You are safe, you are loved. You are okay.” Mapi whispered, loud enough that Ingrid could hear it over the phone. Tears were falling down her cheeks, too, for a combination of reasons. Mostly, though, because her girlfriend was being so absurdly sweet and patient with you. Not that María would ever be anything different, but Ingrid would never stop appreciating it.

Once you’d calmed down a bit, you leaned back away from Mapi, looking at her desperately. “María I really don’t want to go to the doctor, please don’t make me,” you begged. Even as everything in Mapi wanted to give in and take you home where you felt safe, her eyes flickered down to your arm, which was black and blue and swollen, and she knew that wasn’t an option. Before she could speak, though, Ingrid chimed in. 

“Solstråle, switch the phone to a video call and let me see your arm.” 

You did as she asked, fighting back another wave of tears when Ingrid’s face popped up on the screen, looking sympathetically at you. You held up your arm, holding back a groan of pain as you did so, not happy when Ingrid frowned at the sight. 

“Sweetheart,” 

“No,” you cried, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow. This was absurd. Your arm was clearly broken, you were 18 years old, and you were afraid of the doctor. Like a child. It was humiliating and you wanted nothing more than to pretend that this was fine, that you were fine going to get a few x-rays and a cast, but the feelings of anxiety and panic were only rising in you again, and your whole body shook at the thought of letting a doctor anywhere near your arm.

“I know, I know,” Ingrid whispered, sounding like she really did know. While your parents had always dismissed your fear of doctors as you being dramatic, ingrid had always been able to tell that you were completely and utterly terrified of going in for a check up, or going into the hospital. The pure horror in your eyes whenever you had to do so was proof enough, but she’d had to take you once, just to get your flu shot, and you’d silently cried the entire way to the office, thrown up in the bathroom upon arriving, and almost broke her hand with your strong grip while the shot was being administered. 

You hadn’t always been like this, though. It had started when you were 10, and Ingrid had never known the reason. You’d never told her, and your parents hadn’t either. 

“You’re scared, yes? Can you tell me what is making you so afraid?” Ingrid asked gently. 

You took a few shuddering breaths before hesitantly looking at her on the screen. “When I broke my arm? They had to reset it because mom waited to take me to the doctor and the bones were in the wrong spot. 

They told me they were going to put some ice on it and a bandage and then the nurses were holding me down and the doctor was forcing the bones back into place.”

You took a minute, trying to stop the incessant shakes that were running through your body at the memory. You jumped slightly when Mapi’s hand found your uninjured one, but you grabbed on tight, closing your eyes to finish your explanation. 

“I cried and I screamed and mom told me to stop being dramatic, and that I was embarrassing her in front of all the doctors. They made her leave the room then, and it was just me and the doctor and the nurses. The bones didn’t go back right on the first try, and they had to do it two more times before it worked. Mom only came in when they were done and they were putting the cast on. I asked her if I could call you, and she said no, because you were too busy for me.”

It all made sense, now. Ingrid remembered coming back from international duty after you’d broken your arm. You’d seemed so depressed and withdrawn, and she’d assumed you were upset about the injury. Never could she have imagined what had gone on while she was gone.  

“That is awful, nena. You did not deserve that, and I am so sorry that happened to you.” Mapi began, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I understand why you’re scared. I promise you, though, I won’t let anyone touch you until you say it’s okay. They’ll tell you what they’re going to do before they do it, and I’ll be with you the whole time.” 

Your sister could tell that you were slightly more convinced, now. You really trusted Mapi. She’d never given you a reason not to trust her. 

“Solstråle, you really need to get it looked at. I’m sorry I’m not there, I’m sorry I wasn’t there the first time, but Mapi is going to take really good care of you, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, another tear sliding down your cheek. Even as you did so, though, even as you gave Mapi permission to start the car and resume the drive to the hospital, you weren’t sure you could do this. You understood the importance of getting your arm taken care of, and you’d try. Whether you’d get through this hospital trip, though, was a different story.

--------

Mapi was relatively sure she was going to need an x-ray herself; you were holding her hand so tightly, your knuckles were white. You were shaking in the hospital bed, a vacant expression on your face. 

You’d been sort of… despondent since returning from your x-ray. The doctors had insisted you go alone, and after some convincing, you’d agreed. When they walked you back into the room where Mapi was waiting, though, it was clear you were in another place. All she could do was wait for you to come back a bit. 

 “Mapi?” You said quietly, getting the attention of the Spaniard, who had been looking down at her phone, texting your sister.

“Sí nena?” Mapi replied, very gently squeezing your hand. You looked at her, then, making eye contact for the first time since returning from x-rays, and Mapi winced at the terror in your eyes. 

“I don’t feel safe.” You whispered, unsure of what else you could do or say. You needed help, your fear was rapidly becoming overwhelming, especially because you knew that any minute, the doctor would be returning. 

Mapi nodded sympathetically, reaching out with her free hand to push some hair off your forehead. She knew that physical touch was often the only thing that could comfort you when you were feeling anxious. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel more safe?” 

“Promise you won’t leave? You won’t let them hurt me?” 

“I will stay right here with you the whole time. And I will never let anyone hurt you.” Mapi looked at you with such conviction, spoke with such confidence and finality, you had no choice but to believe her. 

“I want to go home.” You whimpered, your voice cracking. 

“Soon, mi sol. Soon.” 

It was only a few minutes later that the doctor returned. She was a kind woman, gentle and cautious. She had some  understanding that you were afraid, and she’s respected that. She told you everything she was going to do before she did it, and she hadn’t once made you feel ridiculous for how you were acting. 

“Alrighty. Got your x rays here. We’re looking at a bilateral forearm fracture, which means both the radius and the ulna are broken. The fractured are clean across, nothing is displaced which is good news for you; that means we can put the cast on, and nothing has to get put back into place.” 

Mapi watched as your body practically deflated next to her, a long sigh of relief escaping your lips. 

The doctor continued. “I am curious, though. Have you broken this arm before?”

You stiffened slightly, and Mapi shifted next to you, moving closer unconsciously in a protective manner. 

“Yeah, when I was 10.” 

The doctor nodded. “I can see it on the x-ray, there’s a line here, where it didn't heal exactly right. That white dot? You’ve developed a bit of a bone spur there where the bones weren’t properly aligned the first time. Does it give you pain?” 

You shrugged. The relief was gone from your face, and you only looked defensive now. “Sometimes.” 

Mapi guessed that sometimes meant often, and she wondered if you ever would have told her and Ingrid that you were having issues with your arm, if this hadn’t occurred. 

“Well, the good news is your bones are not at risk for healing in the wrong spot, so you should avoid a repeat of the first injury complications. There are options, though, if that bone spur continues to give you issues. Physical therapy, steroid injections, and surgery are all on the table.”

You nodded, jaw clenched tightly shut. Mapi could tell this wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have, and she figured you’d been pushed far enough today. 

“Thank you, very much. What is the recovery time like?” She said, effectively drawing the attention away from you as the conversation turned to casts and braces and slings. 

You might as well have been in another room, for all you heard. You didn’t need to get the bones reset. Just a cast. You could handle that. 

Or, you thought you could. It was much more stress-inducing than you expected, when the doctor came in with the items to make the cast, and reached for your arm. You flinched away from her violently, looking helplessly at Mapi. You were thinking about how she said she wouldn’t let anyone touch you if you didn’t want them to, and Mapi knew that. 

“Can you give her a second, please?” Mapi said, not taking her eyes off of you as she slid into the hospital bed you were sitting upright in. 

The doctor nodded, for her part lacking understanding, but not needing an explanation to respect that you were clearly terrified. 

“Sol, breathe. It’s just the cast. They’re gonna put it on, they aren’t going to mess with your arm. You can do this, I know you can.” Mapi encouraged, more than a little surprised when you took a deep breath, nodded, and held your arm out to the doctor.You turned your head away, pressing your face into Mapi’s shoulder, gripping onto her shirt with your good hand. 

You were putting all of your trust in Mapi in that moment, to ensure that the doctor was gentle and didn’t do anything she hadn’t said she would. This wasn’t lost on the Spaniard, and she watched closely as they wrapped your arm, and began applying the plaster. 

She could feel your tears soaking through the fabric of her shirt, though you were completely silent as you cried. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last time, Mapi cursed your mother with everything in her. The woman had given her Ingrid, and you by extension, but she had inflicted so much pain on you in your short life. Mapi ached for the day where these scars weren’t painfully obvious, for the day you could go to the doctor without fear, ask for a hug when you needed one, cry openly when you were hurting, believe with all your heart that you were loved. 

She held tight to you, watching as the doctor put the finishing touches on your cast. 

“I’ve got you, nena.” She whispered. “Almost done.” 

You were too good to have experienced everything that you had. She just wanted you to be happy. 

When you pulled away from her to inspect your arm, she could still see such apprehension written clearly across your face. She wondered how long it would take for it to fully leave. Or if it ever would. Some scars never faded. 

You gave her a watery smile, though, nodding towards the blue of your cast. “Couldn’t get it blaugrana but this is good too, right?” You joked. 

Mapi returned your smile, feeling a very familiar spark of hope inside of her chest. Of course you would be okay. Of course you would. You were one of the strongest, most resilient people she knew. 

“Very good. I am going to draw something so inappropriate on there before your sister gets home.” 

You laughed, and Mapi laughed, both of you felt a bit like everything would be okay. Even if Ingrid scribbled over whatever Mapi drew on your cast. 

-------

You sat blankly on the couch upon arriving home, staring at the cast your hand was wrapped in. You weren’t really sure what to do now, and it didn’t seem like Mapi knew, either. She took a seat next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her. 

“Talk to me, nena.” She encouraged.

“I just don’t feel good. I’m really tired.” You told her. 

“It’s been a long day, your body is coming down from a lot of stress and anxiety. You’re okay, now, so let’s just lay on the couch and relax, s��?”

You agreed, shifting to move into your spot in the corner of the sectional, before you paused. “Can you stay with me?” You asked. 

Mapi smiled at you. “Of course I can. Even if it means your damn dog is going to come lay on my legs and get fur all over my pants.” 

You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly, but you couldn’t give much of an argument because Scout jumped up on the couch right after, flopping down on your legs, making sure to stretch a leg out to rest on Mapi’s legs, too. 

You dozed off relatively easily, clearly drained from a very emotionally and physically exhausting day, and Mapi took the opportunity to call her girlfriend, who she had been updating over text frequently, but who would still be, no doubt, beside herself with worry. 

When Ingrid answered the phone, and only Mapi’s face appeared in view of the camera, Ingrid half convinced herself that you’d locked yourself in a room somewhere and were refusing to come out. Mapi shifted the camera, though, showing you absolutely passed out on the couch, your uninjured hand holding onto her arm, something you’d done completely in your sleep. 

“Hey.” Mapi greeted. She didn’t worry about the volume of her voice; you could sleep through anything. 

“Hi.” Ingrid said, feeling ridiculously emotional at the sight of her two favorite people together. “She’s okay?”

“Yeah. It was really hard for her, I’ve never seen her that anxious. They just put a cast on, though, and she’s relaxed enough now to rest. She was so exhausted, Ingrid, I’d be surprised if she slept at all last night.” Mapi paused as Ingrid hummed. The Norwegian could tell her girlfriend was upset, just from the way her mouth was set stiffly, and the way her eyebrows furrowed slightly. 

“How are you doing my love? That must have been really hard to see.” She commented, studying Mapi’s expression closely. 

The Spaniard just shrugged, though. “I am sorry this happened, I know how worried you must have been being so far away.” 

Ingrid shook her head. “Don’t do that, don’t try to distract me. I want to know how you are doing.” 

Mapi nibbled on her lip for a moment, her eyes everywhere but on the phone in front of her. “I am so sorry Ingrid.” She said finally, the phone dropping into her lap as she wiped impatiently at her eyes. Ingrid had to be furious with her. Had to be. This was all Mapi’s fault, after all. 

Of course, Ingrid had never considered blaming Mapi, not for a single minute. “No, baby, this isn’t your fault.” She said, as if she’d read her girlfriends mind. Mapi could only scoff. “I’m serious, María. These things happen, it’s no one's fault.” 

“She didn’t tell me. She didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” Mapi whispered. 

Ingrid frowned. “No, she trusts you. It’s complicated with her, when she’s hurt. You heard what she said about when she broke her arm the first time. Her response to being hurt was completely based on that experience, it had nothing to do with you.” 

Everything Ingrid said was so logical, Mapi had a hard time coming up with a counter argument. She wasn’t quite ready to forgive herself, though, so she changed the subject. 

“You come home tomorrow.” She said, a small smile gracing her lips. 

Ingrid let the very obvious subject change go in favor of smiling back at her girlfriend. “I do. I’ve missed you both so much.” 

“I have to make sure to sign Sol’s cast before you get here.” Mapi said thoughtfully.

Ingrid grew pale at the thought. “No, María, whatever you are planning to put on there please, please don’t. Just write your name.” 

“Oh, my name will be on there.” Mapi smirked. 

Well, at least it didn’t seem like she was planning something explicit. “Leave room for me to sign too.” Ingrid said grumpily. 

Mapi almost jumped when you chimed in from next to her, throat slightly scratchy. “Ingrid signs first. Those are the rules.” You mumbled, barely opening your eyes to address your sister when Mapi tilted the phone towards you. 

“Ha!” Ingrid said, looking very pleased with herself.

Mapi wanted to argue, she really did. She knew, though, that Ingrid felt insecure about her relationship with you. You were a bit more open with Mapi, a bit more outwardly trusting. Mapi knew this was just because she normally had a much softer approach, though Ingrid’s tougher one was definitely necessary. She knew, too, that Ingrid worried a lot that you preferred Mapi to your sister. So, she let this one go. 

“Fine. I don’t need to sign it. I’ve already got that number 4 tattooed on you.” 

Ingrid paled. “No. No you didn’t. María Pilar León Cebrian, no you did not.” 

“She did. It’s huge, on my right ass cheek.” Next to you, Mapi stifled her laughter, and you did your best to keep a straight face. 

“You better be kidding. I swear to god if I get off that airplane and you have a four tattooed on your ass I will kill you both right there.” 

“How are you going to check? Are you going to pants me in the airport?” You laughed. 

“Solstråle,” Ingrid began, her teeth clenched. 

“Relaaaax Ingrid. I don’t have any more tattoos,” 

She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god.” 

“...Yet.” You added, laughing with Mapi when Ingrid brought the phone closer to her face. 

“NO! No, Solstråle, no no no no no.” 

You and Mapi laughed so hard you could barely breathe, hearing Ingrid repeating no over and over. 

Ingrid rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t annoyed, not really. You were laughing and that was a big change from before. You were on the road to recovery, and you looked adorable all curled up next to Mapi, grinning at your sister through the phone. How could she be upset at your [stupid, idiotic, immature] joke?

Though she really would murder her girlfriend if you had another tattoo when she got home. 

-------

this took me an absolutely absurd amount of time.

hope you enjoy sol <3

ps. please tell me all your sol thoughts comments keep me living and breathing 🫶🏻🫶🏻

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #ingrid engen x mapí leon #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #engen!reader #platonic reader #🍓☀️

[kenntolog]

𝝑𝝔 an: i don’t really like this much :( im feeling so sick ngl reader is me i am reader, just need me a boyfie like sukuna here :((( anyways, i posted this because i felt the pressure to do it sk bare with me please!! i love you all <33 read more about cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader here!!

so you’ve been silent through the whole day, which has been bothering sukuna whenever he was reminded of it. nervously checking his phone at practice every chance he got, which got his teammates interested in whatever the hell happened that got him so invested in his phone(only toji tbh). his mind being focused on you instead of the upcoming game which reflected greatly on his practice and made everyone worried.

sukuna just waved them off and continued calling you with no results and texting you, which also got him nowhere. so of course, he decided to check on you after being done with university.

no one answers your door, radio silence, which leads sukuna to taking out the poorly hidden spare keys from under the fake plant and going in, still uninvited but determined to find you. he calls your name a few times, walking around the rooms with a frown on his face. the sight that greets him when he enters your room is even more confusing than your silence throughout the day.

a big pile of blankets on your bed. the longer he stares at it the clearer he can see the faint movement of it — slowly up and slowly down, up and down. he approaches it, looking over only to find a tuft of your hair peeking out from under it.

“what the hell..?” he mutters under his nose while his hands tug down the blanket to reveal your face.

even in your sleep you manage to frown and you only do that when you’re not feeling well, so sukuna leans in closer, sensing the heat radiating from you, and touches your forehead with his lips, eyes widening at how hot you feel. “the fuck happened to you?”

you blink sleepily before opening your eyes and looking up at him for a few seconds. sukuna sits down by your side, hands caressing your face gently as he inspects your condition quickly, “what’s up, loser?”

you say his name, yet he can barely hear it before you start coughing and turn away from him. he can see your face scrunch in pain; his heart squeezes in his chest when you lie back and this time your lips wobble slightly as you mouth his name, barely audible, “‘kuna~ think ‘m sick~”

“yea, no shit.” he rolls his eyes with no real annoyance in them. “let’s make you feel better, yeah, baby?”

you nuzzle into his palm and he smiles gently at you… until you unintentionally sneeze right into it, leaving slimy boogers and gross spit, and sukuna’s eye twitches as he tries to contain his curses.

of course, first thing sukuna does — calls his older brother jin, because the former doesn’t even remember the last time he got sick and jin always knows what to do, especially in a situation like this since little yuuji hasn’t developed the best immune system yet.

“are you sure you can take care of her properly?” jin asks worriedly from the other end of the line, causing sukuna to roll his eyes.

“have some faith in me, will you?” jin only sighs, barely listening to him as he writes down the list of various medicine and things he must buy to make you feel better. yet, he still catches his younger brother’s almost incoherent mumbling. “i can take care of her like no other.”

“then do just that.”

sukuna hums and presses end call, continuing to look through your kitchen cabinet full of different medicines in hopes of finding whatever the hell jin sent him.

you’re not a very obedient person when you’re sick though, he notices. sukuna can tell you’re still a bit hazed from the high body temperature and trying to sleep it off without any care, yet the sickness makes you more stubborn than ever.

and he can’t find it in himself to push you around when your body is hurting and muscles are sore from spasming in an attempt to warm up. so he just lets you sit on the chair in the kitchen, wrapped tightly in your blanket, dazedly watching him make you some soup.

he feeds you the soup himself, too, agreeing a little begrudgingly of course. you whine a bit with that pitiful broken voice of yours and he just gives in because your eyes are watery and your lips wobble, and he is just a weak man around you. don’t judge him!

sukuna is so caring, though, it makes you fall in love with him all over again. he’s a bit clumsy when it comes to cooking you stuff and making you curing beverages; rough around his the edges about his timing and maybe a little too annoyed with your childish antics, yet never showing it directly like he usually does.

watching your favourite movies and shows with you, when he’d usually just shit on your taste and choose something of his own(which you also eventually like, but nonetheless get angry at him). getting invested in them too — just so he can entertain you afterwards and take your mind off of your ill state.

not commenting on your messy state; sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, complains about cold when changing your equally sweaty shirts to clean ones, whines about the tea being too hot or the syrup being too gross(okay, that one kinda angers him he just shoves the spoon in your mouth to make you drink it since you wouldn’t do it yourself).

he also sleeps with you later that night, ignoring your warnings about him getting sick too :(( holds you tight, shares his body heat and wakes up every now and then to check if you’ve sweated any more.

needless to say, you feel a lot better the next morning!! all thanks to sukuna.

(also he gets sick a day after, but don’t ask about that pls heh).

#— miya writes! #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen fluff #ryomen sukuna x you

[verstappen-cult]

Maybe a lestappen fic were Reader friends are the worst and they comfort her, thank you 💗

You were out with your boyfriends when you saw them across the street, walking out of a shop, talking and laughing without a care. You had texted them yesterday to ask if they were free today to hang out, since you haven’t seen them in a few weeks. The answer? I have to work. I’ll be out of town. I’m sick, just numerous excuses.

Max noticed the change in your demeanor in an instant. “What’s wrong, love?” 

“Oh, I just remember that I need to call mom, or she’ll get mad.” You smile, not wanting to worry him. 

“You can call her once we get home.” He kisses your forehead and holds your hand to keep walking. 

Being around them was enough to make you forget about what you saw and you actually ended up enjoying the day off. 

Until Charles decided that it was time to eat and walked into one of your favorite restaurants in town. A very exclusive but cozy one.

The host just gave your boyfriends a look and it was enough for her to rush to get you three a table. 

“Aren’t those your friends?” Charles asks you, looking behind your shoulders. 

You didn’t want to look but you also didn’t want them to know what happened. So, you simply turned around with a forced smile. 

“Oh, yes! What a coincidence.” 

“You can say hello to them,” Max gives you a little pat on your lower back, encouraging you to go to them. “We will wait for you.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek before walking towards them. 

You notice the exact moment they see you, because they go from laughing to a complete silence. 

“Hey!” You try not to show how affected you are, how much you want to cry. “I thought you were busy today.” 

One of your friends gives you a once over before leaning closer to one of your other friends and whispering something before laughing.

They don’t even try to pretend. 

“Yeah. This was something last minute.” One girl says, taking a sip of her drink. “We forgot to tell you.” 

“Are you following us?” One of your male friends says, not hiding his smirk at all.

“Oh, no, I’m—” 

“Because that’s sad.” 

One of your friends, one you thought was someone you could trust, bursts out laughing before saying, “Even for you.”

You’re one second away from crying now, so you decide to excuse yourself and walk away, not hungry anymore and just wanting to go home. But Max and Charles are by your side in one second and you’re unable to do so. 

“Max, Charles!” 

Everyone’s expression changes just like it changed when you approached their table. The difference is that this time they’re all smiling, sparkling eyes looking up at them as if you are not even there, standing between them. As if you are invisible.

“Are you waiting for a table?”

“You can sit with us. We can make space for you!” 

It’s laughable, really. 

Charles looks at you, his hand on your waist. “You want to sit here, chéri?”

You avoid looking at your “friends” and Max notices immediately. 

“We just came for take out,” Max explains, a friendly smile on his lips. “she just wanted her favorite dessert and we can’t say no to her.”

Everyone on the table laughs. But it’s forced, anyone would notice. 

“Well, we should plan something, then.” A blonde girl you have never seen before says. She’s twirling her hair and everything, and you would feel disgusted if it weren’t for the situation you’re currently in. 

Max holds your hand, rubbing circles on your palm. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Silence. 

A beat. 

And then.

“Some friends you are.”

You are out of the restaurant in ten minutes. Charles carries some take out while Max doesn’t let your hand go, at least not until you’re in front of the car. 

“Are you okay?” Max cups your cheeks, and you finally let the tears fall. 

“We noticed things were weird when you stood in front of their table.” Your Monégasque boyfriend says, his free hand rubbing your back. “We just didn’t realize how bad it was until we heard them.”

“How long has this been happening?”

You sniff, feeling the pad of Max’s fingers wiping the tears off your face. 

“Now that I’m thinking about it,” You laugh, closing your eyes, thinking about how stupid and blind you were. “it has been this way since… forever.”

“Oh, baby.” Charles wraps you in his arms, Max joining the hug without a second thought. 

“You should have told us.” Max whispers in your ear, and you nod because he is right. “We could’ve done something.”

Charles rolls his eyes, giving his boyfriend a little push. “You don't need them, okay?”

“You are an incredible,” Max kisses your cheek, “and amazing person.”

“Most beautiful girl in the world.” Charles kisses your other cheek. 

Your Dutch boyfriend gives you a little peck on the lips before pulling away to look directly into your eyes. “Anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives.”

“Their loss.” You groan against Charles’ shoulder. 

“That’s my girl!” They laugh and you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

“Now,” The blonde-haired boy says, opening the car door for you. “Should we go home to eat in bed while we watch some movie?”

“Can we watch Cars?” 

“Charles, she will choose the movie!”

“But she loves Cars too!”

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱ #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fluff #max verstappen fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

[norrisleclercf1]

hi I hope you are doing good!! what do you think about writing a mafia osc?? I feel like there are not enough fics abt him hehe. Really angsty something abt him finding out his wife/gf was mistreated and abused at her workplace (as a nurse I’d love if she was a nurse) and he brings hells to her workplace

A/N: I'm doing this as a patient having caused harm, to the reader

You don't even know how it happened, one minute you're checking on a patient the next here you are lying in the ER, dazed and bleeding.

People rush around you, yelling muffled as the ringing in your ears becomes unbearable, that you're so close to sobbing. A familiar face hovers over you, saying something but you shake your head unable to understand. Horror and worry are itched into their face as they look up and say something.

Closing your eyes, you squeeze them trying to remember what happened, but nothing but black fills your head, you can't even remember how you got to work, all you know is you're hurt, bleeding, and scared.

Oscar

Your husband's somber face appears, and the tears held together by nothing finally break as you sob, wanting to wipe them away but your hands tied down by IVs and bandages. Your friend leans over you again, and gently wipes your tears, the ringing starts to slow. "Sweetie," You whimper and your friend whispers an apology.

"We've called Oscar, he's on his way. You have a concussion, slight amnesia, a perforated eardrum, with some horrible cuts. Your left hand is broken, we're going to be moving you upstairs soon. I'm not leaving, I'm right here," She whispers low enough for you to hear and you nod.

Oscar

--------------------------

He was far to calm, far to calm for any husband to get a call that your wife has been put in the ER. And while one would panic, being told that your own wife has been harmed at her job, from a patient, Oscar just said okay, and hung up.

Oscar was lucky that he had drivers, because him driving would be a very bad idea. Oscar was that calm that sent his men to tense and be terrified. His men, sat so still he wasn't sure they were even breathing, he didn't care if they were, he was far more worried about only one person.

Pulling up to the hospital, Oscar didnt even let the car stop before he was out and walking with his men behind him. Shoving the ER's doors open, everyone in there freezes, seeing the calm and cold fury of Oscar Piastri. "Mr. Piastri," Your friend calls from your bay, and Oscar feels the hot rage boil under his skin, but he pushes it down.

"Love, baby," He clears his throat, voice cracking as he rushes past your friend as leans over you. "They had to set the bones in her hand, so she's asleep from the sedative," Your friend whispers and Oscar's fingers tighten on the rails of the bed.

"The animal that did this to her?" He whispers, and your friend sighs. "Just had restraints put on them, said that's all they can do. All she did was ask them to take their heart medication, patient has a history of being violent apparently." Oscar nods his head, placing a shaking kiss on the top of your head.

Resting your foreheads together, Oscar takes a slow deep breath trying to stop the shaking in his body. "So that's it hmm, what'd you bosses say?" Oscar knows you don't have the best management, from the countless nights of you coming home to complain. "Said she could've handled the situation differently," That has Oscar's eyes growing wide and looks up.

Shaking their head, Oscar stands to his full height and rolls his shoulders. "Where?" Your friend swallows hard and points down the hall towards the office door closed. "They in there?" Nodding yes, Oscar moves, stalking towards the office door. He doesn't knock, nor slam the door open, just sliently slips in and closes it with the tiniest of clicks.

"Excuse me you're not allowed-" Yelping as they're thrown into the wall Oscar growls as he grabs the pathetic manager by the neck, squeezing slowly. "A patient comes after my wife, and you say it's her fault. Maybe I should put a bullet between your eyes and your euology could be them saying, "it's sad, but they could've handled the situation better and they'd still be here," Oscar whispers, squeezing tighter as your boss thrashes.

"She's done here, if you can't fucking protect her at her own job then you don't deserve her," Oscar seethes and pulls them forward before slamming their head into the wall. "You know who I am, so you'll think twice before you ever, touch my wife again," Oscar snarls, letting them go as they sink to the floor.

Turning Oscar slips back out the same way he came in, heading straight towards your sleeping figure. "Did you?" But your friend stops herself, knowing who Oscar was, knowing what he could've possibly done. He takes off his suit jacket, lying it ontop of you the smell of his cologne has your body relaxing. Pulling up a chair, Oscar sits down and holds your non broken hand, and doesn't move all night.

tagging: @piastrification and @leclerced my little oscy girlies

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 scenario #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri angst #mafia!f1 #f1!mafia #mafia!oscar piastri #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fluff #op81 fic #op81 angst

[clusterbuck]

being unable to keep their eyes off of them please??

Eddie wants to get the hell out of here.

He feels kind of bad about it, because Bobby and Athena throw a great barbecue, and any other day of the week he’d love to grab a beer and settle in for as long as they’ll have him. Any other day of the year, really—

Just not the same day Buck kissed him.

He’d always imagined that if he ever scraped enough resolve together to try something with Buck, it would happen in the heat of the moment. After a close call on a rescue, maybe, or at a bar after a shift sometime, when he has just enough alcohol in him to push past the nagging doubts in his mind.

He’d always imagined that if anything ever happened, it would be because he took that first step. He could, when he was feeling hopeful, imagine Buck would be into it, but it had never even crossed his mind that Buck might want him enough to be the one to cross the invisible line between friends and something more. 

Only—

Two hours ago, he stood in the firehouse parking lot and watched Buck pace and forth in the artificially bright glow of a streetlamp for all of thirty seconds before drawing to a stop right in front of him, toe to toe across the faded outline of a parking space. 

“I’m going to do something,” Buck said, the warmth of his exhale ghosting across Eddie’s skin. “And you can tell me if I’m wrong. But—” he hooked one finger in the belt loop of Eddie’s jeans, tugging slightly, and the movement danced like lightning down Eddie’s spine. 

“—I don’t think I’m wrong.” 

And he tugged on the belt loop again, pulling Eddie closer into his space, and pressed his mouth to Eddie’s.

It seemed to last a lifetime, and it was over far too soon. Buck pulled back, careful, drawing a ragged breath, and Eddie leaned into chase him and found Buck grinning against his lips.

“Not wrong, then?” Buck murmured, and it took Eddie a moment to remember what Buck had said just before.

“Definitely not wrong,” he breathed. The words were half-lost in Buck’s mouth but he must have understood them anyway, because he laughed, bright and clear, before pushing Eddie up against the car behind him to kiss him again.

It was only when Buck’s phone rang, vibrating in his pocket so that Eddie felt it against his own thigh, that they remembered the barbecue. And that they’d promised to bring ice.

So now Eddie’s here, and for the first time he can remember he desperately wants to leave. 

He and Buck hadn’t really talked about it, so he’s trying to act normal. Which is to say he’s trying to act like he doesn’t want to walk across Bobby and Athena’s backyard and grab Buck by the collar to drag him in for another kiss. Or to demand what the fuck it means. 

He would describe himself as moderately successful. 

But in Eddie’s defence, if the rest of them knew the situation he doesn’t think they could blame him for the way his eyes keep getting drawn to Buck no matter where he is, like the universe is shining a spotlight on him. It’s not his fault Buck’s laugh lights up the room and he can’t help but look.

It’s not his fault that Buck catches him looking, sometimes, and smiles a smile that says he’s thinking about what happened in the parking lot. 

A smile that says he’s thinking about doing it again.

And it—well, maybe it is his fault when he grins back, his face trying to settle on something somewhere between wanting and bashful, but there are extenuating circumstances. He is, after all, only one man. 

Overall, Eddie’s pretty sure nobody could blame him for the fact that he wants to get the hell out of here.

Just then, Hen sidles up to where he’s leaning against the kitchen island and settles in next to him, mirroring his position and crossing her arms. 

“You should take your man home,” she says. 

Eddie flushes, and she laughs.

“You’re not being particularly subtle,” she says. “Either of you. I don’t know what happened exactly—” she raises a hand when Eddie tries to open his mouth “—and I don’t need to know. But you should take him home before it happens again on Bobby and Athena’s patio.” 

Eddie’s face feels so warm he’s surprised he can’t see cartoon heat lines wafting off his cheeks. 

Hen laughs again, gentler this time. “No one’s judging you, Eddie,” she says, and nudges him with her elbow. “I remember what it was like in the beginning. So go, take him home. I know you want to.” 

“I—yeah,” Eddie says, and lets himself grin. “I really do.” 

He doesn’t need to look for Buck, because he already knows where he is. He makes his way across the room, through their gathered friends and family, and over to where Buck is talking to Chimney. His heartbeat hammers in his ears as he does it, but Hen said it was obvious anyway, so he takes a deep breath and stands behind Buck, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder. 

“Hi,” Buck says, breathy with surprise but his cheeks pink with pleasure.

“Hen said I should take my man home,” Eddie says, and makes a concerted effort not to look at Chimney. He focuses instead on Buck’s cheek against his, and the way it crinkles when he smiles.

“Did she?” Buck says. “I guess we should listen to the captain, then.” 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Eddie murmurs. They slip through the room, and Eddie tries to avoid Hen’s knowing look as they duck out of the front door without bothering with goodbyes.

As soon as the door closes, Eddie grabs Buck by the hips and pushes him against it, crowding into his space. “This is all I’ve been thinking about all night.”

“It’s only been two hours,” Buck says.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot longer than two hours,” Eddie says, and watches Buck’s eyes go dark. Then he grins. “Besides, do you want to nitpick, or do you want to kiss me?” 

“I can multitask,” Buck says, and Eddie laughs and kisses him for it, and for a moment the world narrows to just the two of them, wrapped up in each other against Bobby’s front door.

“Actually,” Buck murmurs, a moment or three later, when Eddie’s forehead rests against Buck’s and both their breaths come a little heavy. “I wanna change my answer.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “To what?” 

“I want you to take me home.”

send me a blossoming romance prompt 🌸

#911fic #buddie fic #ask emma #emma writes

[euthymiya]

loving is easy (it didn’t used to be) ft. wriothesley

in which a familiar face brings wriothesley to a dark place, a place from where only you can pull him out. you always find a way to staunch the flow of blood from his broken knuckles, one delicate kiss at a time

contains: 2.7k word count ; female reader ; spoilers for wrio’s backstory and quest—briefly touches briefly on murder and child exploitation and trafficking ; mentions of blood and injuries (pankration rank) ; reverse comfort ; established relationship ; angst with a lot of fluff too ; this is slightly a character study of wrio i suppose

“—thesley, stop—wriothesley! you need to stop!”

“your grace, that’s enough!”

one voice calls out to him after the other. slowly. one by one. they register in his ears after being muffled for so long, after only the sound of his own voice rang in his head for so long.

more. he can take more. again. give him another. one more. don’t stop. another punch. punch. don’t stop punching. just keep punching.

he can hear the words repeating in his head as he lands a fist one after the other to the swollen, bloodied face under him.

finally, he stops—he doesn’t have a choice. his shoulders are grabbed, strong sets of multiple hands holding his arms back before his knuckles can make another precise landing to their target.

typically, wriothesley doesn’t participate in pankration rank matches very often. the place is entirely reserved for him to use after hours, when his boxing gloves can come out and a punching bag can take the brunt of his hits.

it’s better that way. it’s less likely to cause injury of inmates, it’s an effective method to get rid of his pent up frustrations through the day, and it’s a wonderful way to exercise and get in a work out.

today, however, he can’t wait that long. the thought of waiting until everyone’s off to their quarters to sleep, until the rank is his alone in the dead of night, until hours have passed and he’s had to suffer simmering in his thoughts is not something he thinks he handle today.

today, on a rare whim, wriothesley decides to join a match himself. he’s done so before—and in all fairness, it’s never exactly turned out poorly. sure, he wins a bit too easily, and, of course, the inmates are typically too nervous to really give him a proper fight. but it’s not the first time, he joined.

but right now, as his senses return to him, as the guards pry his body off the opponent he’s pinned to the ground, as your concerned gasp rings in echoes through his ears and sigewinne’s shocked face quickly approaches the unconscious and bloody figure crumpled on the floor, he thinks this might just be his last match.

“wriothesley,” you whisper, voice shaky and disbelieving, “what in teyvat has gotten into you?”

he stares down at his fists.

blood.

so, so much blood. just like that day—just like that cursed day. his hands shake as they ball into tight fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms. the pain feels good, he faintly registers. it feels like something, anything against the numbness he’s starting feel spread across his entire body.

he’s fairly certain the only reason he’s standing upright anymore is because the guards are there to stabilize his body.

“someone should take him to the infirmary,” you set your shoulders back, a firm tone taking over your voice as you decide to handle the clear poorly tamed situation. you gesture at the limp form on the floor, making guards nod as they rush over and lift the body. “sigewinne, will you be able to take care of him?”

“of course,” she nods, quickly following after the guards as they leave.

wriothesley’s not fit to do anything but stare off in a trance for the moment. you’ll tackle that issue in a bit—first, you turn to the surrounding crowd, voice strict as you say, “everyone is to leave the rank. now.”

inmates at the fortress know better than to question you. at times, they even wonder if you have more authority over wriothesley than he does himself over the entire fortress. they quickly file out of the room, hushed murmurs between them all that you pay no mind to.

what do you reckon has gotten into his grace?

you think that guy’ll be alright?

it’s a good thing i didn’t participate today.

me too.

you catch the faint words every now and then as all the bodies quickly empty out of the rank, leaving you, your boyfriend, and the few guards still holding him upright.

“my lady,” a guard quickly walks up to you, urgently handing you a first aid kit as she adds, “the head nurse has requested for this to be delivered to you.”

“thank you,” you murmur softly, taking the kit in your hands before smiling at the guards that slowly but surely let go of wriothesley’s arms, letting him stumble over until he stops just before your figure.

his eyes are still so distant, so hollow.

“we’ll be off,” one of the guards nods, “we’ll leave his grace to you.”

“of course,” you return the gesture, watching as they slowly exit too, leaving you and the duke to yourselves.

you look at him in concern. he doesn’t meet your eyes, focusing on the blood stains on the floor not too far away.

“baby,” you say gently. delicately. like approaching a small, caged animal as you carefully reach a hand over. he doesn’t pull away, but he stiffens as your hand cups his cheek, “you should sit down. i’ll just clean your hands, okay?”

“i…”

“c’mon,” you guide him by the wrist, slow steps that he follows, completely silent, completely resigned to letting you pull him along as he blindly follows.

you softly push him to sit on a bench at the side, grabbing a hand and slowly setting to work. he doesn’t even let out his usual exaggerated hiss when the sting meets his broken skin as you disinfect it with a cloth.

“i didn’t mean to,” he says quietly after some time, overwhelming guilt coating his words. “i don’t…i can’t figure out what came over me.”

“i know you didn’t,” you reassure, pausing when his eyes stare up at you unsure. “you’d never mean to hurt anyone.”

his face tells you he doesn’t believe you—don’t you know what got him sent here in the first place? how could you say that so confidently when you know his past?

he scoffs bitterly, looking away as he mutters, “yeah, sure.”

“so you meant to hurt that guy?” you raise a brow, making his lips curl into a frown as he pauses, contemplating your words before slumping in defeat and glumly shaking his head.

“no,” he mumbles lowly, voice hardly audible if you weren’t so close, so intent on hearing him.

“okay, what’s on your mind, baby?” you press a sweet kiss to his forehead. his hand is still in yours, cleaned and bandaged now as your thumbs trace over the tough, dried calluses of his palms. “talk to me.”

“nothing,” he says gruffly, not meeting your eyes as you look at him and sigh.

“i’d believe you sooner if you told me you were trying to kill that guy,” you reply—you think you might immediately regret the choice of words as soon as he flinches.

kill.

was he trying to kill the man? it certainly feels like he might’ve been. he didn’t mean to lose control like that, he’d never purposely hurt an inmate in such a manner. but one taunt turned to two, and it’s easy for the cocky opponent of his to get under his skin—something that’s so unusual, so unlike wriothesley.

he can’t remember the last time someone’s, let alone an inmate’s words mattered to him. someone apart from you, perhaps sigewinne.

“you haven’t been yourself since the newest prisoner,” you note, voice taking on a careful lilt as you brush back sweaty strands of hair from his forehead, pressing a lingering kiss to the skin.

he closes his eyes, letting out a stuttering breath.

“what makes you say that?”

it’s a deflection—wriothesley is certain you’ll see through him, but it doesn’t stop him from avoiding the heart of the matter nonetheless. he doesn’t look at you, opting to stare down at the bandaged knuckles of his hands, imagining the blood that was just there moments ago.

he’s familiar with blood on his hands. this wouldn’t be the first time, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. he wonders why he was destined at such a young age to always feel the thick, crimson liquid coat his skin. why he of all people is cursed to feel the warmth of life spill across his knuckles and turn cold.

wriothesley doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even register your hands covering his own, squeezing as gently as possible so you don’t disrupt the sore skin under the cotton.

“wriothesley,” you call, hands moving to cup his cheeks, “it’s okay, i promise.”

i’m here now. you can trust me. i won’t betray you. i won’t let anyone betray you.

that’s what you mean—he can hear the words hidden under the ones you speak, whispering to him like echoes that speak over the calls of his childhood.

they’re enough to make him bury his face into your shirt, inhaling the scent of you to try and forget the wretched scent of blood. he’s so tired of blood.

“that new inmate,” he starts, voice hoarse, croaking so weakly, your hand cups the back of his head to bring him closer, “he was my older brother. when i was a kid.”

wriothesley’s childhood is not foreign to you. you’d read the files before you came down to the fortress for work, and even after your relationship shifts from colleagues to lovers, he tells you. the version that’s seen from the haunted eyes of a little boy forced into the reality of a man. the version that doesn’t speak through the codes of law, but the horrors of a child with no way out. the version that makes wriothesley human, not a criminal.

he doesn’t speak of his siblings, not often anyway. too many of them left before him, before he could have known they needed to be free. he doesn’t know what happened to them, and you think he might never want to know. the ones he set free have lives of their own, he tells you. he took it upon himself to find out, just to be certain.

just to know they’re safe.

you’re sure this recent prisoner must be the first of his older siblings that he’s ever come across past his youth.

“he doesn’t recognize me,” he whispers, fingers hooking into your shirt as he grips you, “i can tell.”

“do you want him to?”

“no,” he admits, “i don’t…he doesn’t know me as wriothesley. maybe that’s for the best—i don’t think knowing it’s me would be very good for him.”

“i’m sure he misses you,” you soothe your fingers through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp as he shivers at the tenderness of your touch. “just like you missed him.”

tenderness has never come to him without a price. his mother’s gentle hands and his father’s kind words all came at the expectation of mora. mora through his mind and body as though it were theirs to sell away like he was nothing. a mere commodity to come by and own rather than a child to love and nurture.

your tenderness comes without a price. without so much as an expectation for the affection in return. your love comes because it wants to, because loving him is the price you earn, not the price you pay.

“i’m too different now,” he says quietly, “i can’t be what he needs. not as a brother—i was too late.”

“too late for what?” you scoff, pulling his face from your shirt much to his disapproval. the soft flesh of his cheeks spill over your palms as you squeeze them together, forcing his head to tilt up and meet your gaze. “too late to what? to setting him free? you were a child.”

“i know,” he sighs, fluttering his eyes closed once more as your thumb strokes the scar under his eye. “we all were.”

wriothesley hates this scar in particular. it’s right under his eye, the first place he glances to when he looks at his own reflection. he can’t even assure his hair isn’t unruly without being reminded of the unfairness life has handed to him—but you love it. he thinks you must, with the way you kiss it so often. feel it under your delicate thumb. look at it so fondly. trace it with your index finger when you think he’s sleeping.

you love such ugly parts of him, he wonders if he’s ugly at all. if maybe he’s just bent, waiting for your hands to come gently mold him to be smooth, undamaged.

but you never try to fix him. instead, you try to love him for all the dents and scratches that he is, unwilling to change him despite all the flaws that stick out like a sore thumb.

that must be what love his, he realizes one day. not spilling blood on your hands for the sake of the ones you love, not leaving them behind so they won’t be tainted by your sins, not pretending they don’t exist so they can be free from being of reminded the horrors that cling to you.

love is you, when you look straight into his terrible, shriveled heart, stomped on and shattered over and over, collecting the shards in awe. loving each piece no matter how tiny, no matter how difficult to hold onto. love is choosing not to put them back together in a cracked, messy version of what it once was, choosing to file away and soften the sharp edges slowly, even as it makes your fingers bleed. love is keeping him close, even when he stands so far, walking extra steps even when your heels and calves ache from closing the distance he puts between you.

love is so easy to you, he wonders why it’s been so difficult the rest of his life. how can something seem so effortless now, after it took blood and tears from his for so long before?

he doesn’t know. but he doesn’t want to return to those dark, wretched days. his mothers hands weren’t kind, they didn’t hold him, didn’t protect him like they should have. his father’s eyes didn’t hold light, they never glowed at the sight of him, never shed a tear for his sake. and his siblings—oh how he once loved his siblings, how he considered himself so lucky, so gifted to run among them with his tiny, innocent feet.

but that’s gone now. those days are over. he no longer uses that cursed name he once answered so gleefully. he’s wriothesley now—duke. administrator. warden. your lover.

he’s fine with just that.

“what’s he here for?” you ask after some time, breaking the comfortable silence as he stays buried into your embrace.

“murder. just like me—the family he was sold to.”

“he’ll be okay,” you hum, trailing your hand to find his back, rubbing up and down the planes of his muscles through his shirt. “i’m sure of it.”

“how can you be so sure?” he asks disbelievingly, “i was at my lowest after my sentence.”

“you didn’t have an administrator as capable as you,” you point out. “he’ll be okay. he has you—whether it’s as his brother or as wriothesley. it’s up to you. either is more than enough.”

“you think so?” he looks up, pressing a kiss to the pad of your thumb as you trace his curled lips.

you nod, grinning gently as you say, “of course. when have i ever been wrong?”

“i suppose never,” he chuckles—his knuckles feel lighter now, as they mold to fit over your hips, holding your waist securely as if he holds his whole world.

he does. he doesn’t tell you, but he does.

“you have an injured inmate you owe an apology to, by the way,” you remind him, laughing as he pouts into your hand, laying his cheek further against your palm.

“i’m injured too,” he protests, “it’ll have to wait until i’m healed.”

you raise a brow, giving him an amused look. “and where exactly are you injured, your grace?”

he holds his hands out to you, the evidence of your tender love and care evident through the careful bandaging. but he’s selfish. because you let him be.

so he asks for more, in a simple plead of, “i need to be kissed better. please?”

you shake your head and laugh as he bats his lashes, but you don’t dare deny him. never saying no to more love, never running out of the affection he doesn’t know if he quite deserves.

“will it allow you a speedy recovery?”

“most definitely,” he confirms, nodding in all seriousness.

“fine then,” you snort. you kiss his knuckles, one press of your feather-light lips at a time.

the haunting feeling of blood goes away—all that’s left is the easy, simple feeling of being loved.

i headcanon that wrio recognizes an inmate when they’re new a bit after he becomes warden as one of the older children he was adopted with and spirals for a few days because their crimes are so similar to his but as an adult. and he mourns that he was too little back then to set the children before him free. and i wish i could tell you why all of my hcs about wrio are so depressing but he’s more fun to write that way bc then he’s that much more in love with reader when she comes into the picture ;)

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

[boiohboii]

A broken house

(Charles leclerc x daughter! Reader)

Masterlist

I just saw remembered this heartbreaking scene from an old theatre play (is that what they're called?), like when colors on tv first became a thing old, and I just had to write it down. WARNING: implications of cheating, abandoning children, Charles is not a good guy at all, a daughter confronting her dad, not proofread, just something quick right before bed

Charles never imagined he would ever be in this situation.

When he first held yn in his arms, his precious, precious daughter, his oldest and the apple of his eyes, he vowed to never hurt her, to never see her cry and to never let her expirence heartbreak, so what was he supposed to do when she's standing right in front of him cheeks flushed, fists by her side and angry tears falling out of her eyes.

He was the reason, he was the reason and he never thought he'd be. And to make it all worse, he doesn't feel sorry. He doesn't know where it all went wrong and he doesn't know when he became so cold-hearted towards the sunshine of his life, his pride and joy. But it's too late now, too late to try and talk, too late to try to explain and too late to even get a speck of the love yn held in her eyes for him. He knew it was too late. It was just too late.

"So what," yn refused to accept her father's silence, she needed to hear him say it, admit to his wrongdoings "you're just gonna leave us?"

"You don't understand," Charles tried to reason, his eyes not even meeting his daughter's identical ones "she needs help."

"THAT'S YOUR REASON!" yn's voice boomed through the empty house, thanking anything and everything that her mother and siblings aren't home yet "that's your reason to abandon us! What about mum huh? what about your wife? The woman WHO SACRIFICED HER YOUTH FOR YOU! TO FOLLOW YOU! TO HELP YOU! And what of my siblings, what are they gonna do? What did they do to deserve this? What did any of us do to deserve this?"

Yn looked at her father, slowly walking towards him, she refused to believe that's the same man who showed her what love is, who carried her on her shoulders to hear her laughter, who promised to sheild her from the world's treachery. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, the man who promised to protect her is the one clawing at her heart and watching it bleed, too much of a coward to even lift his eyes from the floor.

"Please," yn's voice broke as she thought of her home tearing apart, her mother and her baby siblings "please take a moment and think about it, about our family, just for five minutes. Please."

"I'm not going to waste my time."

Yn's breath hitched in her throat, her voice gaining power as her disappointment and anger took over, yet still so quite.

"All four of us don't even deserve five minutes of your time. Are you that impatient to leave with her? Don't worry, I won't hold you back, but I swear to you, I swear on everything that you believe in that you will regret it. There will be a day where you will wish for the time to go back for an hour, a minute or even a second, you will wish you'd have thought this through and really kept in mind who actually loved you before you ruined it all. But even if all the years turn back, we will never forgive you, we will never miss you and we will never think of you as the man you once were. We will never love you again."

Yn doesn't know where it all went wrong, she doesn't know how could 20 years of loving someone, your father, all just go down the drain because of one voice call. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do or what's she supposed to tell her mother, her siblings, her grandparents, but she knew one thing; it was too late to try and talk her father out of it, too late to not let this moment tarnish all the good memories they had together, too late to even leave a bit of her love for her father in her heart. It was just too late.

#charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x daughter reader #daughter reader #f1 x reader #f1 x daughter reader #f1 imagine #charles x yn #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc angst #family angst fic #f1 angst fic #f1 angst #charles daughter fic #charles leclerc daughter fic #f1 x teenage reader

[gloomwitchwrites]

Congrats on 1k! Could you please do Simon Riley with SFW Alphabet. I need all the *feels* please! :)

Thank you! And I can certainly bring the feels.

Simon is such a complex and interesting character. I love reading and analyzing other peoples' headcanons about him. Everyone has a different take on the character, and this bit is just me rambling. Thanks for sending the request in!

Word Count: 1.3k

1k Follower Event Rules

SFW Alphabet Template

ao3 // taglist // 1k follower event masterlist // main masterlist

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

For Simon to show affection, there must be trust. Whether a friend or lover, Simon needs time to build a solid relationship with someone before he drops some of those walls. If he’s cracking jokes with you, you have Simon’s respect and trust. Simon isn’t a gift giver, but he does listen, which is his greatest strength. His form of affection is listening to you mention something off-handedly, and then doing the thing that you need without asking.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Simon would be an awesome best friend, but getting there would take time. Those barriers need to come down first. How would a friendship start? By you adopting him as your new best friend without him having a say. Just look at how his relationship starts with Soap. I don’t think I need to say more.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Simon enjoys cuddles with a romantic partner. Does he enjoy it all the time? No. Not really. He’s more of a “use me as a pillow and I won’t move” sort of person, but after falling asleep? He’ll curl up next to you immediately.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Simon absolutely wants to settle down but isn’t particularly worried about when. Just because he wears a mask, is lethal in the field, and has trauma doesn’t mean he doesn’t want the things that come with settling down. He knows he can be a better partner and a better father than what he grew up with. Simon is immaculate in the field, and I can’t see him not bringing that into his everyday life. Cleaning is a chore to him but he’s efficient. Cooking is hit or miss. Terrible or just okay at most things, but he’s particularly good at a few things.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Quick and blunt. Simon doesn’t mince words. He’s to the point, even if it hurts him (or you).

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Simon longs for commitment. He needs trust to build friendship and then a relationship beyond that. How quick? That depends. Simon will either know right away or it might dawn on him suddenly.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Simon knows when and how to be gentle. Sure, he’s a beast of a man, but there is a reason he often stands back and listens before speaking. This man processes information quickly and knows what needs to happen depending on the situation. That doesn’t mean he always gets it right. Physically, not a problem. Emotionally, Simon struggles sometimes with making the correct call.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Not a hugger. Hates hugs. If Simon is hugging you, you’ve won.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Quickly, if Simon knows what he wants. Simon will say it deliberately, but it might slip during a moment of passion.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Simon can get jealous but only when he thinks someone is moving in on what he believes is his. If this is a romantic partner, that jealousy isn’t directed at them but at the person trying to weasel their way in.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Passionate. Rough. All-consuming. Simon likes kissing the palm of your hand or the inside of your wrist. He loves it when you trail kisses down his neck.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s good with kids. Simon is the guy at the function that all the kids climb and jump on because he doesn’t put up a fuss. He’s a big tree for them to hang on. Outwardly, he might seem annoyed, but Simon enjoys it.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Depends. If there are things to do Simon will easily fall into routine. If there is nothing planned for the day, Simon loves a lazy, cozy morning.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

When he’s not working, Simon enjoys his sleep. He’d be the one trying to drag you to bed. If you’re with him, he doesn’t want to sleep alone.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Simon is slow to reveal things. Trust takes time with him, and even those he deeply trusts don’t know everything about him. For Simon, it depends on the person. He trusts Soap and Gaz, but he’d not going to dump his entire history on them. Price, for example, likely knows a lot more. If Simon is dating someone or married, that too will likely be different.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Simon is not quick to anger. Even in the field he’s mostly a calm cucumber with a bit of spicy pickling when he wants to appear intimidating. For Simon to get angry—like actually angry—there has to be a betrayal of some kind.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Simon doesn’t forget anything. He listens, he hears, he processes, and makes decisions. He considers everything important and if he cares about you, what you say matters. He’d remember your coffee order, the birthdays of your immediate family members, and even the things you say in passing.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Simon’s favorite moment in your relationship is when you said “I love you” back to him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective. Because of his military career, Simon views threats differently from the average person. Old enemies might come circling back, but he’s more worried about your personal safety. He’s likely to make sure you’re hammering something in the wall correctly than watching your every step.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Tons of effort to the point it almost appears seamless to you. I keep stating this over and over again, but Simon is a listener. He keeps tracks of everything in his head, especially dates and any anniversaries, and knows what to gift you because he’ll hear something you mention off-handedly and then just present it like it’s not a big deal. Every day tasks are not an issue for him. If something needs done, Simon does it and you don’t need to make him a “list.” Nah. Simon sees a task and completes it.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Might shut down if he feels cornered or attacked. Will not listen if you try to give him directions and he’s the one driving. Smoking just to keep his hands occupied.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Simon is not vain. He is cocky, and he knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t obsess over it. Skincare routine? Yes, but it’s simple.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Partially. Simon is used to being alone and working alone. That isn’t new for him.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Major sweet tooth. Loves chocolate cake.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Dishonesty. Lack of accountability.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Simon is a dead body in bed. When he’s asleep, you cannot move him, and he tends to spread out.

taglist:

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[sometimesliterate]

blade, ratio, gallagher, sampo, welt yang, and nanook with a shorter s/o

yeah !!! i'm trying something new-ish !! its all mostly fluffy, gallagher's is slightly suggestive and so is welt's. keep in mind of course that they'll all love you regardless and theyre just giants, so you could be like damn near six foot and still be shorter than them. this aint just for 5'0 people ( although it was written by a shortie so,,, yeah ) GENDER NEUTRAL READER !!!

BLADE —

oh you're shorter than him ?

honestly he doesn't even notice half of the time

it's not like he's always searching for someone who's shorter than him so he can take care of them or whatever

it was just life that you were shorter than him and he wasn't really one to make a fuss about anything

but that doesn't mean that he's absolutely immune to your charms, in any case

sometimes he sees that you're struggling with something and that he can help you

other times he finds you to be rather useful yourself

especially when trying to hide when out on a mission, he finds that your height allows you to be a little bit more conspicuous than him

something that he doesn't necessarily mention, but you've come to expect it at this point

if you're out on a mission together, you can best believe that you're the one sneaking into wherever you are while blade is laid low behind you ready to strike if you failed

he'll always always always praise you for your efforts and your abilities to hide in plain sight from others

not necessarily your height, but just your skills in general

sometimes if you have the time to be a little slow with how you moved about, he'd pull you closer and give you a little kiss on the top of your head

affection wasn't necessarily his thing, but if you were doing such a good job helping him, who was he to deny you

you were putting your life down on the line for the mission. this was something that he never took for granted, even though he often went in head first without caring because he didn't have to put down his life for elio's path. he was actively going down this path to reach that finality, but you weren't. you forced him to go about missions with more finesse, because he was absolutely terrified of failing you. often, he would be there as a backup, ready to spring in at a moment's notice if you needed him to be there. you were shorter than him, so you were usually tasked with infiltration, just like now. you could clearly see the goal - it was right there in reach. but of course, with many things, there was also guards hanging around the area, protecting the gem and keeping you at arm's length away from it. of course, blade wanted to cut everyone down and just take it by force, but he knew that wasn't how you did things, and that cutting them down would mean that there was a high chance that more guards would come running. and he couldn't bring himself to put you in that kind of danger, so he let you make a plan in your head. he watched as you snuck past the guards, using things that would show his taller, larger form as a perfect hiding spot for yourself. when you snatched the gem right under their noses, and you came back to him, he couldn't stop himself from grinning a little bit. " good job, " blade whispered once you were in a private area together, allowed some time off. " maybe your height helps you out in certain situations. " " yea- hey ! are you calling me short ? " " yes, " he leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. " but it's cute. you're cute. " you let out a quiet little sigh, but you eventually wrapped your arms around him, feeling the man stiffen up in your arms at the sudden contact, but he soon melted within your touch. " mm. whatever you say, bladie. i just don't think you'd be very good at sneaking around. " he chuckled, sitting his head on the top of your head. " i think you're right about that. "

RATIO —

ratio does not and will not care about your height

your physical attributes were never what attracted him to you in the first place

although you being so attractive definitely helped, but he wouldn't openly admit that unless you held him by gunpoint

he liked the breath of fresh air that you brought into his life

how vibrant and charming you were, effortlessly piercing through his walls with such expertise he almost didn't want to trust it at first

but he still treated you how he treated most people, including scolding you when you did something wrong, and scowling when you suggested something that he didnt want to do

however, there was one thing you could do that made him fold ever single time

the way you looked up at him through your pretty lashes, pouting as you tilted your head up to look at him and whispered your little apology

you just looked so.. cute like that, he can't stop himself from letting out a fake sigh of annoyance before telling you not to do it again and ultimately letting you have your way

there was nothing he could do against you, he had no defenses to protect himself against your pouting

especially when you had to tilt your head so high up just to look at him

if he didn't know better he would be sure that you did this one purpose just to get your way

ratio called your name once from downstairs, and you froze immediately in place, knowing that tone in his voice. he was disappointed in you for something, and you weren't sure what it was, but you were sure that you would get your ear chewed out and that you would get another lecture on your behavior. you debated on whether or not you should just give up easily and listen to him, and resign yourself to listening to his lecture, or you could pretend to be asleep and get out of his disappointment for just a little while, but ratio was not a man who forgot, and you knew that well by now. no matter how much you wanted to run, you knew that you had to own up to what you did. after he called you the second time, you slowly walked downstairs, finding him in the living room, his legs crossed as he read a book, his reading glasses on. " you called me, love ? " you asked nervously, sitting beside him. " are you forgetting something important ? " ratio closed his book, resting his head on his hand that sat on the armchair as he looked at you, his eyes narrowed. you thought a moment, before your eyes widened, and you rushed into the kitchen. you'd completely forgotten that you were baking some cupcakes ! what happened ? you found them already taken out, cooling on top of the oven. " o-oh no, i'm so sorry, ratio- " you apologized profusely. you turned around, just to find him right behind you, his eyes trained on yours. " your little mistake could've ended badly, " ratio shook his head, and you could feel the guilt creeping up into you, knowing that you had messed up, and now you were paying for it. " you're very lucky i had an eye on it. " you pouted, feeling both embarrassed and guilty that you'd forgotten something like this, feeling like you were about to cry, the hot tears welling in your eyes. you looked up at him through your lashes, unsure how to convey your sincere regret. " i'm so sorry, veritas. " ratio stiffened for a moment, looking into your eyes, and he felt his resolve crumble. he couldn't be mad at you when you looked up at him like that. his hand found its way on the side of your cheek, gently caressing the side of your face. " just.. don't do it again, okay ? "

GALLAGHER —

oh man he thinks you're cute

your height was just part of your charm

it wasn't necessarily a make or break thing where you were required to be shorter than him

but he had to admit.. you were absolutely adorable when you wanted something from him

particularly when you wanted to kiss him, and the lengths that you would go to get a kiss from him

( one that he was willing to give you, but he would make you work for it a little first. he's a tease like that )

he'd watch you with his arms crossed as you looked up at him and asked him for a kiss

and when he would say come get it, you would stand up on your tippy toes and try to kiss him

but he would just lean backwards so you couldn't reach him

then you would pout, and your brain would think about all that you could do to get that kiss that you so desperately want from him

sometimes you were silly with it, sometimes you weren't

sometimes you would grab one of the bar stools and use that to add to your height to kiss him

sometimes you would just grab him by his collar and pull him down for a kiss

sometimes you would use your charm to get him to cave and finally give you what you wanted

it really just depended on the day, something that he was always eager to find out

" gallagher, " you called out, approaching him from behind the bar, waving at him excitedly. he looked up at you, his hands busied as he cleaned the rocks glasses, the towel in his hand buffing out any fingerprints on the pristine glasses, making them look just as perfect as penacony itself. you'd come to share some good news with him about your own job, but the way his messy hair was in his face made your heart swell just a little bit, and you smiled, looking up at him through your lashes. he knew exactly what you wanted without you even asking, and all gallagher did was hum in response. " sorry, honey, i'm a lil busy right now, " his gaze flickered from the glass in his hands to you, and then back to the glass. " maybe you'll get a kiss later, yeah ? " you pouted, hoping that you wouldn't have to go through this again, but also secretly rather enjoying this little game that the two of you played. you leaned forward, your hand on his shoulder for support as you tried to kiss him, but he just leaned away from you with a small chuckle escaping his chest. " maybe later, babe. " he shrugged you off, and you just let out a loud sigh. " come on, pleasseee ? " you begged a little, before finally deciding that, fine. he can have it his way. you knew the bar would be closing soon, and that no one would be in, probably. so you just hopped on top of the bar, your hand holding onto his shirt to keep him close, your legs spread slightly so he was as close as possible. " i've got to close the bar, " gallagher tried to half-heartedly tried to reason with you, but his hands were already gripping the bar beneath you, and he was already leaning in for a kiss, his lips grazing over your lips. " you know better than this. " the glasses, you figured, could be cleaned later.

SAMPO —

haha what a loser

imagine being shorter than the great sampo koski

your height is something that he will point out every single chance he gets

ooh he's so much bigger and stronger than you, of course you needed him

it only made sense that you were dating him, he was soooo perfect for you in every way

yeah it helped his ego, and yeah he wasn't going to let it go easily

no matter how much you pouted and complained about his inflated ego and sense of self worth

he would dramatically announce that he was going to do something for you

practically declaring to the world how thankful and loving you should be that he was so benevolent to do these things for you

he's just looking for some praise and a little attention, something that you both knew well

and if you point out how much he just craves your recognition, he'd turn into a sopping wet cat

sampo did the thing for you !! you should say thank you and give him a kiss !!

that's how relationships are supposed to work and he did the thing that he was supposed to do

its only natural that he would want a reward for all of his efforts

even if he spent the last thirty minutes teasing you about your height

" you're just so short, " sampo teased, playfully ruffling your hair as the two of you walked down the streets of belobog while you glanced down at the map in your hands, looking for what you had assumed would be a wild goose chase because sampo said that if you found it, it would make the two of you rich beyond belief. of course, there was a solid chance that it was something that he stole and he was just using this as an excuse to be close to you for a little while. seriously, what are you going to do with him sometimes ? you sighed, shaking your head to shrug off his hand from your head, trying not to get frustrated with him, but he made it so hard sometimes. especially with his nonstop teasing and jokes, like he knew that he was getting on your nerves and yet he continued to do exactly what he was doing regardless. " sampo, are you required to make fun of me every single second of every day ? " " come on, now, doll, i'm not making fun of you ! i'm just pointing out a fact ! you need me, right ? you need me and you can't live without me, and you love me so much. " sampo shot you a cheeky little grin, making your face heat up just a little bit. he was right, but he didn't have to say it like that. " samp- " just as you began to speak, the map you were holding blew out of your hands with a strong gust of wind, flying high up in the air, far too high for you to catch it, even though you did try to reach for it. sampo, however, grabbed the map with ease, oh-so gently place it back into your hands. " see, my point is proven by the winds themselves ! you need me to help you when things fly out of your hands ! " sampo declared victoriously, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side while he walked. you let out an audible sigh, but leaned into him, deciding that he had done well enough. " thank you, sampo. although, we're putting this little treasure hunt on hold, and we're going to grab a snack. i'm hungry, and i have a sneaking suspicion that we aren't going to be rich by the end of the day. "

WELT YANG —

welt does his absolute best not to point out the height difference between the two of you

he knew that sometimes height was a sensitive point so he wouldn't say anything that he thought would bring you discomfort

although, secretly, it's a point of endearment from you

especially when he has to help you out with things, like reaching the top shelf or picking you up a little bit so you could see over a crowd

it made him feel useful and helpful, a feeling that he loved

he liked that you didn't hesitate to ask him when you needed help, no matter what it was

because you were his partner, and he loved you dearly

he'd do anything that you needed him to do, happily

but his absolute favorite thing was when he does things for you without you asking

and then he gets to see your happy face beaming at him while you said thank you

and, as a reward for his kindness, maybe you'll stand up on your tippy toes

and use his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you kiss his cheek

and maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to wrap his arms around you and pull you in for more kisses

what ? he doesn't indulge in himself all too often, he deserves it sometimes, he thinks

the astral express had stopped at a world just for a little while to have a small break. after the events of the last world, you all desperately needed some time to rest and take your minds off of these things. the three trailblazer kids were all out and about, no doubt getting into some trouble no matter how many times someone told them just to enjoy their stays. himeko had left to go ' check up on the coffee shops in town ' as she put it, but you were nearly sure it was just to give you and welt some time to spend together alone, since it very rarely happened. there was almost always someone that you had to take care of within the express, and he always had something else to do, too. not that either one of you minded, since you truly did love everyone on the express. you were up early, making a cake for everyone for when they came back. you knew welt was still in the bedroom, probably just waking up. you had made the cake pretty much on your own, there was just one thing that you needed, that you couldn't find no matter how hard you were looking. you just needed to find some candles to make it look special. who cares if it wasn't a birthday ? you finally found them on the top shelf, and you were almost out of options, about to just climb up on the counters to get it. when welt's body pressed up against yours from behind, his hand on your shoulder as he reached up and grabbed the candles you were wanting. " were you looking for this ? " he asked, handing it to you. " yeah ! thank you, you're the best ever. " despite him just giving them to you, you sat the little package down, leaning against his chest, your hands holding onto his arms. " whatever would i do without you ? " " climb up on the shelf to grab the candles, " welt joked softly, leaning down to bury his face in your shoulder, gently kissing the smooth skin. you laughed softly, turning around in the man's arms to face him, your back pressed against the counter. " mm. yeah, you're right. i could've died. " you stood up on your tippy toes, your arms wrapped around his shoulder as you kissed him gently on his cheek. " thank you, welt. for looking after me. " welt hummed, his hand moving up from your waist to your cheek, tilting your head up so he could press a hungry kiss on your lips. you had a little while until anyone was back home, and you two had an idea how you could spend that time while the cake was baking in the oven.

NANOOK —

to be quite fair,, they're an aeon

everything is going to be shorter than them

you could be the tallest person of your race and you would still be an ant to them as long as they were showing themself as the aeon of destruction

for you, though, it was more often that they had a shorter, more human form

with a little less golden blood dripping down their torso, and a little more legs

unfortunately for you, you were shorter than them in this form, too

who would've guess that they'd be huge even in their human form

they don't really care honestly because they feel like mortals like you should be shorter than them anyways

like a fucked up power play kind of thing

they're a god, you're not. of course you should be shorter than them

they're a very serious being, and its very rare for them to crack any jokes

but they will sometimes use your head as an armrest while just talking normally to another

kinda like they were branding you as theirs ?

after all, who's going to mess with someone who the aeon of destruction is using as their armrest ?

they like how it annoys you, but you won't do anything about it

you'll just sit there and pout while they publicly claim you as theirs

" my liege, " phantylia the undying bowed at the presence of her aeon, a sight that almost no emanators go to see regularly. nanook was always doing something, always at the edge of a solar system ready to reign destruction upon it. to see nanook engaging in anything that wasn't ultimately tearing worlds apart with their bare hands was a rare sight indeed, especially for those who didn't travel the cosmos by their side. you would have to be unfortunate enough to come across them, as phantylia was now. when she picked her head up, she finally took notice of the small human standing next to the aeon, and she flinched for a second, as if she weren't expecting there to be anyone there. " oh- my liege, you have- " " company, yes, " they grumbled out, their large hand gesturing to you, although their words were cold as they regarded you. " do not bother to get acquainted. " phantylia nodded, immediately assuming that you were going to be killed by nanook, or they were forcing you to watch as they burned your home world. perhaps, even, forcing you to hold the lighter as they did so. she almost felt bad for you. almost. she wondered if she would be able to toy with you, too. surely nanook would indulge in one of their emanator's whims, no ? before she could voice her question, her eyes flitted towards nanook, and she noticed that they had their arm resting on your head, and your arms were crossing, looking up at them with a pout on your face. " nanook- " you whined, glaring at the taller aeon. " do i look like an armrest to you ? " " no. in fact, you look less than, " they commented dryly, their gaze turning to you, and phantylia swore she saw something akin to affection in his golden eyes. " but i suppose you offer me a little usefulness from time to time. " " all of this time travelling together and you still treat me like a little lapdog, " you shook your head, and although you were still frustrated with them, you turned to phantylia, giving her an almost warm smile. " sorry about that, they're... weird. it's nice to meet you. " the moment nanook's gaze fell upon her, and phantylia felt like she had been sliced through with a hundred blades just for talking to you, her heart retching in terror from the shear intimidation alone, she figured that it was better for her own self that she didn't answer you. when you were alone that day after phantylia left, you were in their arms, watching with mild amusement as people tried the craziest shit just to get their attention. " why do you do that every single time someone approaches us ? you're always picking fights with the people who probably have at least not horrible intentions. " what's mine is mine and i don't share, " they replied plainly, their attention focused elsewhere. " and there's no point in you introducing yourself again if they'll just be dead before you can remeet. "

#honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #honkai sr #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #hsr x reader #dr ratio #blade #gallagher #nanook #sampo #welt yang #welt yang x reader #blade x reader #nanook x reader #sampo x reader #gallagher x reader #honkai x reader #dr ratio x reader #fluff #hsr fluff #imagines #hsr imagines #star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines

[cowboylikelyric]

too much wine

Summary: Camilla and Fallon's girls night takes a steamy turn as they discuss relationships and desires over wine. With Camilla's guidance, Fallon explores her attraction to women, leading to a passionate encounter witnessed by Camilla's fiancé, Harry. Their night of passion brings them closer together, blurring boundaries and igniting newfound desires.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, threesome, degradation, spanking, daddy kink, voyeurism

A/N: hi guys! this is my first time posting one of my oneshots EVER! so please be kind and if you don't like it, don't read it! please let me know your thoughts!

---

Camilla had too much wine. She knew it for a fact. She also knew that Fallon had far too much wine. 

Tonight was girls night, so Harry had been booted out of the house while Cami and Fallon had their glasses of wine, watched Jeopardy, and gossiped. Tonight was white wine with a side of sex talk.

“You’ve just gotta guide them. If he can’t eat you out now, he’ll never be able to eat you out if you don’t teach him.” She took a sip of her wine. “Talking Harry through it worked like a charm. He's a pro now.”

When she and Harry had first gotten together in college, he was a little… rusty. But he was always really good at taking constructive criticism and applying. Now she was getting what she wanted when she wanted and they were both in this so-called heaven. 

“Ugh, I guess.” Fallon fell back on the couch, almost spilling her wine. “It’s so conflicting because Cody’s such a wonderful guy, he just gets so lost and it's frustrating.” 

“Like i said, you gotta be a teacher.” Camilla nudges Fallon's shoulder, “Miss. Parker.” They both giggle and focus back to Jeopardy.

On the show, they read, “The chapstick Katy Perry tastes in her single, I Kissed A Girl.” 

Fallon shouts, “What is cherry?!” Eventually, one of the players on the show also answers, earning 300 points. She sighs. “Maybe I should just switch directions.”

Cami's head spins, “What?”

“Ya know, tryout for the other team.” Fallon shrugs.

“Yeah, I got it. but, I mean… are you serious?” Camilla wasn’t being judgmental at all, she had dipped her toes before. College was the time for experimenting and things of that nature, so she took the opportunities presented. 

“It wouldn’t hurt, woman anatomy and all that.” Camilla raises her brow at fallon. She huffs. “I’m just saying the a womans gonna know how to eat me out for gods fucking sakes.” 

Camilla was stunned at the frustrated girl sitting in front of her. But then their eyes met, and suddenly Cami understood. They had way too much wine. Definitely. 

Cam shifted towards Fallon, resting her hand on her thigh over her flannel pj shorts. “Take a deep breath.” She rubbed her hand up and down. “So frustrated.” She taunted and felt as Fallon shivered. Camilla traced her finger up the inside of her thigh. 

“Cam…” Fallon whispers. 

“this is what you want, yeah?” Fallon nods her head insistently, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Cody hasn’t been doing his job, has he?” She shakes her head. but something flashes in Fallon's eyes and she grabs her wrist.

“Harry,” is all Fallon can mutter.

Camilla was confident this wouldn’t bother Harry. They weren’t insecure in their sex lives together. They had been engaged for almost a year, but still loved to wade in the water of others. And Harry loved it. But the thing he loved the most was seeing the girl he loved being absolutely devoured with pleasure. So nothing about this situation scared her. She would tell him as soon as he got home and he would get that dark look in his eyes and take her to their bedroom. The only thing they didn’t do with others was kiss them. That was something only for them.

“Shh, it's okay.” Camilla lowered to her knees in front of the couch. “Now how about I get to my job?” 

She lifted Fallon's shirt and kissed down her soft stomach and the hem of her shorts. Fallon’s breath trembles the closer she gets. 

Camilla dips her fingers underneath the waistband of both her shorts and her panties. She brought them down just a touch before kissing her way down to the apex of her thighs. 

Fallon took in the sight of absolute hunger on Camilla’s face while Camilla couldn’t stop admiring Fallon's pretty pussy. Cam brought her finger forward and swiped it down through the bits of hair on her pubic bone to the wetness of her eager cunt. 

“Please.” Fallon whimpered.

“Please what?” Camilla hummed.

“Please, need you.” Fallon thrust her hips forward needily, just begging for the touch of Camilla. That was all Cam needed to dive forward and plant her mouth on Fallon's pussy. 

Fallon squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shaky moan as she kitten licked at her arousal. Camilla wrapped her lips and tongue around her clit, sucking at it before flicking her tongue. 

“Mmm, so sweet, Fal.” Cam tucked herself in further, using her tongue to fuck Fallon’s cunt and her nose to nudge at her clit. “How could Cody not devour something that tastes so good.” 

“Fuck” Fallon ran her fingers through Camilla’s hair, tugging at it. Cam groaned into her pussy, sending vibrations through her. “More, please.” She begged.

Cami pulled herself away, “You want my fingers?” She nodded feverishly. “Maybe if you were this mouthy with Cody, he’d give you what you want.” But still, Camilla ran her fingers through her arousal and fed her one finger. 

“Holy shit,'' Fallon keels over, her chin to her chest. Her head feels like it's spinning with the way Camilla precisely tongues at her versus the way Cody blindly dips in. 

While Camilla only buried herself deeper, Fallon heard the click of the apartment door and looked up to see Harry entering the living room. She let out an involuntary gasp as Camilla teethed at her clit, completely unaware of her fiancé’s entrance. 

Harry felt a desire bubble in his abdomen at the sight in front of him. He leant against the doorway to the living room, keeping eye contact with Fallon, a stoic look on his face. 

Camilla had no idea of his entrance, and if she did, she had no plan of stopping. As she added another finger, her stamina had Harry stiffening in his pants and biting the inside of his cheek. 

Fallon’s abs clenched as she felt herself tiptoe to the edge of her orgasm, especially being watched over by Harry. She lifted her finger tips to her tits, kneading them while also grinding her cunt into camis face. 

“Oh, just like that,” Fallon pushed her face against her, “Fuck”

“Come for me” Camilla mutters against her pussy, shaking her from side to side, her nose nudging her clit even more.

Fallon started to see white as her orgasm took over her entire body. For the first time since Harry walked in, Fallon took her sights off Harry and closed her eyes in pleasure. 

As Fallon slowly came down from her high, Camilla pulled her head away from her pussy, chin dripping in her juices. Harry felt himself twitch in his pants at the pure desire in her eyes. 

Suddenly, Harry began a slow clap and watched as Cami finally realized his presence, previously drowning in her work. 

“Hi baby” Camilla says to Harry, with a sickening smile, arousal still dripping from her face. Harry slowly inched forward, approaching Cam.

“Hello, darling” Harry grabs her face, pulling it upward and off her knees, onto her feet in front of him. “Have fun with girls night?” Harry starts licking Fallon's cum off Cami’s face, making Fallon shiver as she watches. 

“Mm yeah” Camilla hums, “loads” 

He pulls away from her face “Have a sweet treat?” He caresses the side of her face, running his fingers through Camilla's hair. She nods. 

“Was real tasty” She leans up on her tiptoes and smashes her lips against his, both of them acting as if Fallon was not even in the room.

He hums on her lips, pulling away. “Can taste it on your tongue,” He grabs her chin forcefully, making Camilla look at him. “Was she good for you?”

Camilla smirks then looks at Fallon “The best.” 

Fallon starts breathing heavily as they stare at her. 

Camilla nods to Fallon, “You gonna show him how much of a good girl you are?” Fallon bites her lip, slowly nodding. 

“Go on,” Harry says to Fallon, “Touch yourself for me”

Harry and Cami held each other as they watched Fallon slide a hand down her body, slowly making it to her soaked folds. Cami got on her tiptoes again and began to kiss and nip at Harry's neck as he watched Fallon. 

“Gimme a peek,” Harry said and fallon slid two fingers between her lips, spreading them for Harry to see. “Mmm,” he hummed, “Such a pretty pussy baby.” He grabbed Camilla’s hips tight as she continued to kiss his neck. He turned to Camilla, “You just can't wait, can you, baby?” 

Cam shook her head, “No,” She leaned up and bit his bottom lip, “Need you now. Fallon got me so wet.” 

Harry shook his head, feigning disappointment, “Such a needy slut.” He pushed his hand past the waistband of her pants, beginning to rub her clit over her panties. 

He looked back to Fallon, nodding her on. “Touch yourself while I touch Camilla.” Harry watched as Fallon ran her fingers up and down her folds. Fallon had never been more aroused in her life, she was practically dripping onto the couch.

Camilla moaned into Harry's ear, Harry's cock twitching behind his zipper. While he watched Fallon, he blindly tugged at Camillas' pants. She kicked them down her legs, and Harry turned his attention back to Camilla. 

Smashing his lips against hers, he brought his fingers to her sopping pussy, dragging them up and down her folds. 

“Want my fingers baby?” Harry asked. Cami was quick with a high pitched ‘mhm,’ already grinding against his hand. 

Slowly, he fed one finger into her cunt, fucking it in and out. Then he peered over to see Fallon mimicking his actions on herself. 

“Look at you,” Harry mocked, “so pathetic and needy” That didn’t even come close to stopping Fallon, in fact, it made her go faster. 

Camilla was a mess at the way he was speaking to her and Fallon. She was begging for more from him.

“Want me to fuck you?” Harry taunted Camilla. She nodded feverishly. “Course you do, you little slut.” 

Harry brought them both down to the floor as Fallon continued to fuck herself. He popped the button to his jeans open and ripped his shirt off over his head. Camilla dragged her nails down his abdomen, Harry letting out a moan at the pain.

Fallon was turned on beyond belief, watching how in tune the couple was with each other.

Harry pulled himself from his briefs, sighing in relief. Fallon's eyes widened at the size of his cock, not believing her eyes. 

He gave himself a few strokes as Camilla removed her shirt and showcased her tits, pushing them together, accentuating their fullness. 

“Fuck, darling,” Harry moans and Fallon watches as his fist tightens around his dick. Camilla reaches down to rub her clit at the sight of her fiance, melting at her fingertips.

“Please” Cam whimpers, pulling at Harry's hips, trying to get him closer.

Harry turns to fallon who is writhing on the couch. “Gonna watch me fuck Camilla?” 

“Yes, yes!” Fallon bent her knees and placed her feet flat on the couch, giving him a better view. 

“Good girl” He turned back to Camilla, swiping his cock up and down her pussy, his tip circling her clit. “Ready for me to stretch this pussy baby?” He whispered.  

“Mhm” Camilla hummed, looking up at him with this look that made Fallon's stomach turn.

Harry slowly inched his cock inside of her, Camilla moaning at the stretch, Harry moaning at the hug of her cunt. 

“Ooh, shit,” Camilla wrapped her legs around Harry's waist and arms around his back, his cock reaching deeper. 

“So wet,” He pulled his hips back, slamming his cock back into her. “Who got you this wet?” 

Camilla got this smirk on her face before she answered, “Fallon” 

This made Fallon gasp, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut, that is until she hears Harry say “Open your fucking eyes, Fallon” 

When Fallon opened her eyes, Harry wasn’t even paying attention to her, but she obeyed his wish. 

“Fallon got you this wet?” Harry wrapped his hand around Camilla's throat. 

“Ye- yes” She could barely spit out the word between moans. Harry presses his thumb against her clit, halting his hips from their thrusts. 

“Then why isn’t she fucking you right now?” Camilla whined at the loss, clawing at his biceps. 

“Harry…” She begged. 

“If you want me to fuck you then tell me the truth.” Camilla squirmed at the pressure he had on her clit, no longer being able to take it.

“You! You did!” Harry smirked at her confession, looking over at Fallon as he continued to pound into Camilla. 

“Damn right I did.'' Harry leaned down to take Camilla's nipples in his mouth giving them equal attention, all while holding eye contact with Fallon. 

Fallon was falling apart, her legs trembling at the energy in the room and the punch of her fingers to her g-spot. She wasn’t worried about what her and Camilla's friendship would look like after this, all she could comprehend was the metaphorical mountain she was climbing to her high. 

Harry pulls out of Camilla, flipping her around and slapping her ass before entering her from behind. 

“God, I love this pussy” Harry had a strong hold on her hips, his balls tapping her ass as he pounded into her. “‘s all mine, isn't it? All mine to fuck and use.”

“Yes, all yours, Harry” Fallon watched as Camilla drooled onto the floor as she backed her ass onto him. 

“Who?” Harry spanked her. 

Camilla moaned, “You,” He spanked her again, “Daddy” 

That sent Fallon over the edge, screaming as she clenched around her fingers. 

Harry's head snapped to her, his brows furrowed. “Did I say you could come?”  

“N-no” Her thighs shook, abs clenching as she rode through her high. 

Harry shook his head as he quickly pulled out of Camilla again, Camilla rubbing her clit to ease the emptiness. Harry stalked over toFfallon, grabbing her face as he stood in front of her. He grabbed his cock, still sticky with his and Camilla's arousal, slapping Fallon's cheek with it. He pushes his tip against her lips. 

“Suck it, slut” Fallon wrapped her lips around his tip while Harry held his cock at the base.  She sucked lightly, making Harry groan. With his opposite hand, he threaded his fingers into her hair and slowly pushed her further.

“He really likes when you take him to your throat, Fal,” Camilla commented as she pushed a finger in her entrance, “Then you swallow around him” 

And so Fallon did. She followed the push of his hand on the back of her head until his cock poked at the back of her throat.

“Just like that, fuck-“ Harry moaned as Fallon gagged around him. His jaw dropped to his chest, abs clenching, before he pulled his dick from her mouth, a strand of spit connecting the two. 

Harry returned to Camilla, admiring the sight if her grabbing at her tits and fucking her fingers. 

“There's my pretty baby” He grabbed her face and smashed his lips against hers. she took his cock and pressed it against her opening, letting him push back into her. 

Harry felt how Camilla immediately clenched around him as he pushed into her. 

“You gonna cum, baby?” He pounded into her faster than before, her nails digging into the muscles of his back. 

“Yes daddy!” She shouted “Please don’t stop, please.” She lifted her hips to meet his every thrust.

“Let go, baby,” Harry whispered as he lifted her calf to his shoulder, “Give it to me” 

Camilla felt the tingle in her spine explode as Harry slipped even deeper than before. She clenched around his cock and threw her head back, Harry quickly laying his hand between her head and the wooden floor. 

Harry's thrusts started to lose rhythm, pleasure starting to cloud his brain. 

“Cum in me, daddy,” Camilla whimpered, “Please” 

Harry lost it, growling, “Fuck, gonna give you my cum, baby.” His legs trembled as he shot ropes of cum into her pussy. “Take it, take it all.” He moaned beside her ear, burying his head in her neck. 

Fallon’s heart was beating fast as she watched him unravel in front of her, wondering how the hell she was gonna fuck Cody after this. 

Everyone sat quietly in the living room, aside from the deep breaths as everyone settled from their orgasms. 

Harry starts to chuckle into Cami's neck as they all sit quiet. 

“You guys should invite me to girls night more often”

#cowboylikelyric #smut #harry styles #fanfic #writing #sexy content #18+ content #harry styles smut #harry one shot #harry edward styles #harrystyles #wlw #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #oneshot #first post #aesthetic #wattpad

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Silver Tongues, Like Bullets

Chapter 4

Werewolf!141 x Female Reader

Safe to say you aren't adjusting well to being kidnapped. With your anger at a all time high, names are being called and things are being thrown. Patient is running thin with the men, what lengths would they go to to set you straight?

Warnings: MDNI, violation of privacy, gay sex, cock stroking, masturbation, unconsentual nude viewing, dark themes, manipulation, forced proximity, reader comes from a religious household, childhood trauma, abusive parents, talks of self harm, description of self harm, violent behaviour from you, shouting, crying, name calling, mental breakdown, non-con touching, threats of punishment, You get spanked once in this chapter, sorry if I missed any.

Sometimes I forget how long editing can take me....

Silver Tongues Like Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 7k

-28/11/2023

There were vile people in the world. Simon knew that. His pack knew that. You probably knew that. It was an obvious fact many people tended to ignore for their own convenience.

He witnessed that violence first hand as a boy and then again as a soldier. There were people in this world who'd exploit anyone for their own selfish gain. God awful people who'd do it to their own children. People who didn't deserve to have children in the first place. People like your parents.

He's heard you mumbling in your sleep at the cabin and a couple times here when you managed to fall asleep. It was often the same sentences repeated over and over again. ‘Need to get them out’ ‘are they safe?’ ‘my poor babies’. Your ‘babies’ here probably refer to your siblings if Ghost isn't mistaken. He couldn't find any evidence of you having children of your own. But seeing as it was you managing the majority of the childcare at home spoke volumes as to how you're treated by your parents. You had a lot of responsibilities starting from grocery shopping and food management down to school meetings and pickups. God knows what your parents did while you did their job for them. Unfortunately for Ghost he did know.

Ghost didn't consider himself a good person not by a long shot but looking at the information he pulled on your parents had his sanity slipping. He'd have strangled them both if he was given the chance.

But a digital trail of incriminating evidence would have to do. The worst punishment for a narcissist is exposing their lies and damaging their reputation. Digital trails can be quite damning if put in the wrong hands. Good thing they found their way to him. This would scratch his inch for blood. All he had to do was press send and their lives would come crumbling down. And that's exactly what he did. This would definitely help move the investigation about you along. The town already thought you committed suicide because of your parents. This story was a scandal within itself. Especially since your parents were aid workers employed by the church.

He did feel bad about your younger siblings though. Poor souls were sent to live with a relative for the time being. God knows what they're feeling right now being put in this difficult situation.

Your aunt seemed like a decent woman though, strangely enough you resemble her more than you do your mother and father. Gaz using his connections in the police force made sure she was someone that would keep the kids safe. She'd treat your brothers and sister better than your parents ever did. At least something good came out of this whole incident.

Ghost glances at his watch, it was late. He should be in bed with the rest of his pack and the newest addition to this family of his. It was a shame Gaz and Soap had already called dibs on the floor beside you. Not that you wanted them there.

You're much feistier than any of them anticipated. They couldn't really tell at the cabin because of how often they had to drug you. But Ghost quite enjoyed teasing you. Especially when you bit back at his remarks. It stirred a playful attitude in him that he hadn't experienced in a while. Not to say Johnny and Gaz weren't playful, but it was a boyish kind of playfulness with them.

This was different. He knew you were harmless which made it all the more fun when you tried fighting. It was a losing battle from the start yet you continued your struggle. It was endearing in the sort of way when a bunny runs amuck. He’ll enjoy making you all sweet and pliant in his hands. But that was a problem for another day. For now he'd enjoy the little moments he has with you. If you'd let him that is.

-30/11/2023

The situation was escalating. You absolutely wouldn't let anyone near you. Even when they were very sweet and understanding towards your drastic changes in moods. This wasn't what they had envisioned when they took you. That was weighing hard on the boys, especially when you wouldn't eat or drink. They were growing concerned about your wellbeing. Today was no different. Each meal time they tried making something you'd enjoy based on the pictures you posted on your Instagram. But you were adamant with your choice to ignore them.

Food was running low and they needed to go shopping before they left for their deployment. While they were at it they also wanted to buy you winter clothes and essentials for your room. You were probably sick of wearing their sweatpants and t-shirts anyways. They hoped this would warm you up to them even if it was only a little bit. It was decided Gaz and Soap would keep an eye on you until Price and Ghost got back.

Price gave strict instructions to Gaz and Soap before leaving. They were told to keep you calm above anything else and no funny business, that comment was aimed at Soap specifically. Ghost and Price didn't want to leave when you were so unstable but things needed to get done before their departure date.

It wasn't too hard finding what you needed considering they got their hands on your online purchase history. Excluding all the stuff you regularly bought for your siblings you didn't have much in terms of essential items that you used daily. It was all cheap stuff so the two men decided it would be nice to get you better quality clothes, skincare, shampoo and anything else they thought you'd like. Price had to text Gaz for that though. Gaz knew best out of all of them of what products to buy especially for hair.

The most indulgent thing you bought for yourself was your camera. And even that was bought secondhand. They felt guilty that it was partially their fault that it got ruined in the lake. But they swore to make it up to you. For now they focused on making your living space more comfortable. Maybe that would get you to eat. With all the groceries packed and a pretty bouquet of flowers in Ghost's hand they decided to go home to make a nice dinner for you.

Unfortunately for them in the short time they were gone, Soap had managed to upset you again. Upset you quite badly at that too. When they had gotten back with their hands full of blankets, bedsheets and clothing they were greeted with a messy living room with things thrown everywhere.

And to make it worse you were crying huddled in a corner. They didn't even have time to get the groceries before Price let out an audible sigh. They were barely gone for two hours this time. What could possibly have happened in such a short amount of time to make you cry like that? Gaz was trying to soothe you but you cried harder when he tried coming closer.

Soap was looking both upset and guilty sitting on the sofa quite a distance away from you. He was covered in new scratch marks, which in itself gave enough of an indication as to what might have happened. That man really couldn't keep his hands to himself even if he tried. But Price couldn't really blame him. Physical touch was his love language. It's the way he showed his affection for everyone. Which often could be mistaken as him being horny. When in reality he just liked the closeness physical touch brought. Though Soap is horny a lot of the time too.

He wanted to fuck Ghost the first week of meeting him and meeting Gaz wasn't much different. He's an insatiable wolf. They all knew that before forming this pack. But you were fairly new to all this so it wasn't fair for him to pounce on you so quickly. You needed time to adjust to the situation. He'll have to have a talk with Soap tonight after dinner.

“What happened?” Price hands over his bags to Simon.

“I was just trying to relax with her,” Soap muttered. Simon, taking the hint, takes a grumbling Soap with him after he's done sulking. They both leave to go get the groceries out and start on dinner.

“Soap wanted to take a bath with her,” Price approached carefully while listening to Gaz explain the situation.

“Want some privacy luv?” you sniffled to yourself as you looked at them extremely annoyed but nodded your head eventually. Seems like you were still holding a grudge. But you'll come around he knows it. Maybe they should let you get your anger out of your system so they can move past this.

“You can take a bath alone luv, just leave the door unlocked ok? We got you new pajamas, cute ones with strawberries on them.” You stare at them for a while before a soft ‘thank you’ leaves your mouth when Price hands you a bag with all your bathroom necessities.

The rest of the day was spent with you sitting in a corner mumbling to yourself and refusing to eat for yet another day even after they gave you the flowers and made you your favourite dinner. Though your lack of appetite was concerning. He knew you snuck sealed packaged food at night. You just wouldn't eat anything cooked by them. He supposes that it's their fault for drugging you. They'll have to build the trust back up slowly.

Price was growing concerned about when they'll have to leave you alone in the house. He was growing afraid you'd do something to hurt yourself. They were due to leave the coming Monday. But it wasn't like he could push back the deployment any further. They had finally got information on the shadow company and Graves. They weren't going to let that rat slip away again.

But they also had a responsibility to keep you safe. Maybe it would be better to take you with them for the time being. You could stay on base while they figure things out. It would also give you a chance to bond with them. Not that you showed any interest to do so.

Price wishes you'd take more of an interest in them. You just accepted their confession on being werewolves, not a single question was asked in that regard. There aren't many people they would share that information with so they were expecting more of a reaction from you. But they didn't get much of one. Apart from you promising to keep their secret if they let you go.

But then again Simon found your old Whittpad? Wattpad? (Was that how you say it?) history. Apparently it was some app to read stories on and you read your fair share of supernatural romances from what Simon had told him. He did reprimand Simon for digging into personal information about you. Price knows you wouldn't be happy if you knew they knew of your reading habits. Not that they'd judge you for it. Everyone has needs. If that was your preferred method of meeting them, it was none of their business. He did wonder if you learned any silly myths about them through those novels.

Overall the day wasn't the worst they experienced with you. You were clean, dressed nicely and got to use some of the stuff they bought you. Things only escalated when Soap tried apologising to you before bed but you didn't want to let him near you. Some not so nice things were said on your part. And you did end up throwing a few cushions at him to get him to leave.

But at least you looked refreshed dressed in your new pajamas and he knew you'd probably try to find something to eat when they'd ‘fall’ asleep. They'd have to enjoy the small victories for now. This was going to be a difficult journey but Price was a patient man. He knows you'll come around eventually. They just needed to give you time to adjust.

-nearing midnight

The laptop screen finally loaded up. It wasn't for the reason Ghost usually used it for. He needed to see those images of you again. You were strung up today especially after that incident with Soap in the afternoon. More things were thrown and some mean things were said. So Price thought it'd be best to let you sleep alone in the living room since all the doors were securely locked anyway, you weren't going to escape even if you tried.

But Ghost thought Price was being too lax with your increasingly violent behavior. They should nip this in the bud before you seriously injure yourself or someone else. But for now he'll follow the orders he's given. Which means no excessive snooping or going near you for any reason other than necessity.

Despite the violent outburst they were all looking forward to showing you your room tomorrow, just the bars on your window needed to be installed. You'd also get your own ensuite which would give you the added privacy you probably needed. Soap was getting a little impatient but so was he. He just wanted you curled up in arms already but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

There was something bothering Ghost though. His suspicion started at the cabin when he had to undress you. Obviously there was so much going on that it was hard to focus solely on his suspicions but he was sure of what he saw. Your calves were littered with faded scars, he's sure the boys must have got at least a small glimpse of them already. No one has brought it up though. They could very much be old self harm scars. It was a very common occurrence with children in abusive households. He has plenty of his own. Thank god yours looked a couple years old. There weren't any new marks on you apart from a couple bruises you sustained in the forest.

As Ghost goes through your pictures again he realises why you wear stockings in all your pictures. You're never smiling either. There's not a single picture of you smiling. Not on your SD card or on your Instagram. He doesn't think he's seen you smile properly at the cabin either but that was a difficult situation and you were also sick. So that was understandable. He does want to make your life easier here, he wants to make you smile, make you feel loved but you were making things much more difficult than they needed to be.

As he goes through the picture lands on his favourite one. It wasn't one of the exposed pictures of you. You were just holding some wild flowers close to your face. You aren't smiling in it per se but there is a serene expression on your face. You looked the happiest he's ever seen you. Though he's only known you a little over a week but he wanted to make you feel safe. He did have a lapse in judgment at the cabin. His lust and anger spoke for him then. But he wanted to be better for you. He wanted to do better by you. He checks the date of when the picture was taken. And goes to check its correlation to your calendar.

(20/11/23 - 9:00-10:00pm waiting for callback from the London agency)

It was the date you received your job offer in London. His heart felt a little heavy, he felt guilty they took that from you but he had ampled doubt that you'd be able to escape your parents hold even if you did move to London. They'd still expect you to send money back home even if it meant you had to live in extreme conditions to survive in London. That was no life, you deserved better than that. They'll figure out a way for you to keep doing photography. But you needed to learn to trust them first and be a little less violent.

Ghost's door opens just as he's about to close his laptop.

“Ah’ve had enough! Ah made her ah sandwich but she didn't even touch it. Just stared at meh angrily until ah left! How am ah supposed tae be swee-” Johnny stops mid rant, his eyes zeroing in on the image on the laptop. Johnny stares at the screen until the realisation hits him that the pictures were of you.

“Ye greedy bastard! Ye could have told us that ye had them! Ah wouldn't have wasted meh time trying to imagine her naked.” Johnny in a huff just deposits himself in Ghost's lap clearly annoyed at the man for keeping your images to himself. Without asking for permission he quickly finds the picture he's looking for. Ghost wasn't surprised the picture he landed on. Soap was a simple minded man most days. He supposes it's time he makes it up to him, for keeping the pictures to himself.

“It's nae fair if yer the only one having fun! I'm telling Price about this in the morning.” Soap huffs pushing down his grey sweatpants and fishing out his hardening cock.

“Let me make it up to you pup. But you shouldn't treat her so roughly, she isn't like us. She needs time to warm up. Be patient with her.” Ghost lets out an apologetic purr as he nuzzles his nose into Johnny's neck, making sure to leave wet kisses behind as his hands take over Soap's movements on his cock.

“Ah'm nae forgiving ye that easily” Soap throws his head back feeling Ghost fist his cock with more vigor while his eyes stay glued to images of your naked flesh. This is the least he could do for him.

The rest of the night it spent with Johnny on his back begging (quite loudly) for more. He was insatiable with his rut probably approaching. Which was dangerous in this situation. You certainly weren't ready to have sex with all of them. When one of them goes into a rut they all follow pretty quickly. Ghost doesn't falter in his movements as he plows into Soap's stretched hole. Waiting for his knot to catch on Soap's spasming muscles. He thought about covering his hand over Soaps mouth but he desperately wanted you to hear what you were missing out on, on what could be yours if you allowed them to take care of you.

If the spanking was anything to go by it seemed you liked a little rough treatment. But you were still inexperienced so they needed to go slow with you. Kinks and safe words could always be figured out later. It's not long after Ghost's keen ears pick up on the moans of Gaz followed by grunts from Price and the slapping of skin. Seemed like everyone was pent up today. You probably wouldn't get any sleep with the noise they were making.

-01/11/2023

It's been four days, four days of you trapped in this hell, four days of you escaping their wandering hands, four days for you refusing to drink or eat in their presence. Last night being the worst of it all. They had finally let you sleep by yourself in the living room. But the whole night was filled with the noise of slapping skin and lewd grunts and wanton moans.

You bet they did it on purpose too. Your face felt hot remembering how slick and uncomfortable your aching pussy felt the whole night, especially when you had no outlet to relieve yourself. With their stupidly keen sense of smell and heightened hearing they'd know for a fact if you had touched yourself to the sounds of them fucking. It felt like you were trapped in a nightmare with no way out. You just wanted to be rescued already. Please God someone must be looking for you…please anyone…you needed to get home…for them if not yourself…

Your head was pounding, on the verse of bursting from the lack of nutrition and sleep. Your nerves are vibrating with fear, keeping you on your toes. You knew a chase was coming. They had just finished whatever they were doing in that spare room of theirs. The insistent clatter of tools and nails had finally ceased but now you were faced with an entirely new dilemma. A dilemma that involved four men cornering you.

‘Come look at your room’ they said, as if you didn't know that was code for ‘get in your cage’. You weren't stupid despite having ended up in this horrible situation. You knew you wouldn't see the light of day if they managed to get you in there.

Your forever prison. If and only if they get you in there. You didn't plan on entering another type of hell just after trying to escape the last.

“Darling! Please listen! Ow! Sto- Darling!” armed with another padded cushion you don't stop to listen to their stupid excuses as you yet again hurl the non lethal object at the person closest to you. That being Gaz.

We aren't trying to hurt you!”, safe to say you don't listen again as you circle the sofa for the umpt time in the last two minutes.

“Don't come near me! I don't want to look at the room!”

You've been tightroping on a knife's edge for the last four days, making sure they don't get their hands on you for any reason! You weren't going to let all your hard work go to waste! If you were honest it felt so much longer than four days. Hours felt like days when you're trapped in a cage, even if it was a golden one. Time goes so slowly when you have nothing to but wait to be rescued. You watch them circle around you like prey while you try to find any sliver of an opening to escape.

“Look, we know this situation isn't ideal but we promise it isn't forever. You can decorate it however you like later,” Were they purposely acting obtuse? You watch Price put his hands up in surrender. Trying his best to look non threatening while Ghost moves to watch everything unfold from the comfort of the far wall. Stupid prick… You hated the bastard. He's the reason you had to endure such a humiliating punishment.

You don't trust their pretty words, you've already made that mistake once. Well more than once but you get the idea. You weren't going to fall for it again. That you promised yourself.

Price stays back while the younger two of the four men decide to close in on you. They look at you with apprehension and pity. A sentiment you didn't appreciate. You wouldn't even be in the situation if it weren't for them. This entire situation was of their own making. They had no right to be angry with you. Not one bit, but it wasn't like that would stop them from trying to ‘punish’ you. Thankfully they've been busy sorting things out to do anything even with you getting increasingly more violent.

Gaz gives Soap a look and you know what's about to happen, you can tell they were about to pounce. You feel your nerves fraying with anxiety so with your weight pressed against your heels you ready yourself to run. They try creeping closer but the second they decide to take a definitive step you bolt.

“Darling that's enough! You need to stop fighting us!”, Price shouts as you swerve at the last second narrowly escaping the two men when they crowd you. You make a break for the kitchen not listening to their shouts as you evade their calloused hands. Thankfully you manage to get to the other side of the breakfast counter before either Gaz or Soap could reach you. Out of reflex you grab the nearest makeshift weapon at your disposal. That being a very expensive looking vase with the flowers they gifted you yesterday. The very first you ever received and you couldn't even appreciate them because they were given to you by your kidnappers. They both stand on the other side looking less than impressed by your choice of weapon.

“Sweetheart we just want to show you your room, that's all,” you hiss and bare your teeth at Gaz earning you an aspirated sigh from him.

“Don't come near! I-I'll hit you!”, your voice breaks which in turn pisses you off more. Strength! Embody Strength! You shout at yourself internally to steel your nerves. You needed more conviction in your tone to inspire fear. Even if it was only a little bit.

It's a stalemate. They looked annoyed, but more exhausted than anything else. Of course they'd be tired. They were getting fucked the whole night while you suffered….

You know you were making things worse for yourself but you didn't want to be locked in that room. Your chances of escaping would plummet. You just needed to hold out a little longer, just a little longer. Someone must be searching for you. Your friends, your family, at least one person would have reported you missing by now. They must have…you needed to get home…

You watch them with laboured breaths, waiting for them to spring at you again. Waiting for an excuse to get violent and get your built up frustrations out. Price pinches his nose in annoyance before giving up and going to sit on the sofa with Ghost following closely behind. It's only Gaz and Soap cornering you now.

“We promise ye’ll like yer room hen, we even got ye ah fluffy blanket and some plushies. Please stop being difficult. We just want tae take care ye.”

“Fuck off, I don't care! You? y-you?” You have to think for a second for an insult that would hurt them, that would make them dislike you. Maybe then they'd let you go.

“ Y-you?… you Dogs!” You instantly regret the words leaving your mouth kinda grateful you didn't end up calling them mutts. Gaz flinches at your raised voice, or more so at the word ‘Dogs’. Guilt floods your heart the second you see their hurt expression, an apology spills out of your mouth before your anger could block out your guilt.

“I'm sorry that was rude of me…but don't come near.” You look at them wearily, you didn't mean to be derogatory towards their biology. Not that you understood it but you didn't need to be rude about it. Their eyes soften at your apology but you still see the flash of hurt cross their eyes.

“I just want to go home, I promise I won't tell anyone about your secret. Please…please won't you let me go? I have people I need to take care of.” You brandish the vase with shaky hands because they were still on the offensive so you keep your guard up.

“We took you for your own good love. You weren't being treated well at home. We'll give you a better life here. You just need to allow us to.” You’re filled with disappointment at Gaz's words. You feel the ever familiar sting of tears tightening your waterline but you stay strong. No, don't cry! Don't show weakness!

“Hah? A better life? A better life? You must fucking kidding if you think I'd believe that!” You scoff at his ridiculous suggestion. You watch Soap try to approach again only for you to step back vase still in hand.

With your tears pushed down your building anger was rearing its ugly head again. It was boiling your blood to the point where you wanted to scald everything surface near you, you wanted to make everyone feel your pain. After years of working hard to appease your parents, trying to get them to see reason, saving money to escape the cage they put you in. You found yourself in yet another cage. The worst part was you only had two weeks until you left. Just two weeks…

Yet you found yourself locked in again, bound to a fixed location at the mercy of four strangers. This time the bars enclosing your freedom were tinted gold, but they were bars nonetheless. You were slowly losing any form of identity you built for yourself. Any form of escape you manifested was crumbling to the ground, much like an like your sanity. Fear was settling in, you felt it in your bones. The rattling was unsettling, this whole situation was. Why you? Why did it have to be you?

And to top it all off they were supernatural beings. You're more shocked how easily you accepted that fact than you are about them actually being werewolves. You attribute that to all the werewolf wattpad stories you read as a teen…. You had so many questions you wanted answered but you didn't want to ask them just in case they take it as your acceptance to being theirs.

“We'll give ye such ah great life here. Ye’ll want for nothing. We'll buy ye whatever ye want, whatever clothes, whatever makeup, whatever food. We'll even buy ye ah new camera. Ye can take as many naughty pictures as ye like.” You freeze at his words, blood running colder than rivers in the arctic. Shock marred your features as you tried to understand what you were hearing. Gaz clocked it first that Soap had just made a huge mistake. And Soap looked at you with guilt the second he saw your distraught face. They fumble with their apologies but you can't seem to hear. Cold blood rushing to your ears blocks out any sound from reaching you.

They saw…They looked through your camera….they saw you naked. They violated your privacy….

Before you were willing to forgive them for what they did at the cabin, namely because you thought they were helping you when you were sick. But they just needed a convenient excuse to get you naked didn't they? Fucking Perverts!

Feeling anger was an understatement, you were feeling down right ravenous for blood, for destruction. How fucking dare they!

“I WANT TO GO HOME! NOW! RIGHT NOW! I DON'T LIKE YOU! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE! LET ME GO YOU FUCKING PRICKS!” You scream your built up aggravation out at them. You flinch at your own anger. You've never had the guts to voice your anger out like this. The most you've ever done is slightly raise your voice which often ended up with you being backhanded by your dad. You've learnt to either stay silent or placate him with money. Money always seemed to work to calm him down. Money wasn't going to help you here.

It was different here. The one punishment they inflicted made you feel buzzed and tingling in all the sting places. And they haven't gotten maliciously violent with you yet. No matter how angry you'd get with them, they wouldn't threaten to harm you. Any aggression they faced at your hands was often met with patience and coos to soothe you as if you were a skittish bunny. That didn't excuse them of being perverts though. Especially Soap for that matter. That man had a problem keeping his hand to himself.

If the cooing didn't work they'd just let you tire yourself out. It often felt like you were talking to a brick wall when they'd get like this. If your screaming bothered them they didn't let it show, only looks of pity crossed either of their faces. Which only served to aggravate you even more. Gaz tries to take a step closer but you just take another set back continuing to let your frustrations out as tears prickle your already bloodshot eyes.

“DON'T COME NEAR ME! I'll hit you! D-don’t...*sob*..come near..*cries*,” a wave of fatigue washes over you while you raise the vase as a warning. Everything you knew was crumbling around you. You felt sick to your stomach despite not having eaten properly in days.

“Can ye pick ah different vase? Me nan gave meh that…”

You're stunned into silence for a second, your tears also drying up. You’re discombobulated at his, your mind racing to understand what he just said. Guilt sits heavy on your chest as the words unjumble in your head. Your arms immediately lower as an apology leaves your mouth far too easily for your liking.

“Oh..*sniffle* I'm so sor- wait…why the fuck should I care!?"

Right!? Why should you care? You should be angry, you should be breaking things.

But despite you trying to school yourself on maintaining a front, your grip becomes shaky and you're forced to return the vase to its original place. You glare at the two men angrily having put the vase down despite wanting to smash. No matter how bad you wanted to hurt them, this just seemed excessively cruel.

“Thanks for putting down the vase hen. Come on now mah sweet girl, promise ye’ll love yer room.” You stare at him incredulously, more accurately at his audacity.

Tears blur your vision again as you curse your frustrations out at them for the hundredth time today.

“This is your fault! I'm like this because of you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you…” You close your eyes for a split second to clear the falling tears, unfortunately for you that's when both of them take the opportunity to block your escape from either side. You can't do much other than struggle with your limited energy. You haven't been eating out of spite for the last few days. And running around definitely didn't help your situation. Everyone was on edge and your tantrums weren't helping.

Soap wraps his bulky arms around you as gently as he could while whispering his insincere apologies to you. You shout at him not to touch you, to get his ‘filthy hands’ off you. All you were doing was wasting your breath though. Which just serves to aggravate you more. You're upset, you're angry and down right exhausted. You just wanted to go home. The cage at home was better than here. At least you were close to escaping that one.

Soap hoists you up in his arms carrying you towards the living room while Gaz trails behind looking upset and guilty. It seems everyone was at their wits end today. And the boys were due to be deployed this coming Monday, you heard them say as much. Why couldn't they just leave already. You didn't want to be near these perverts.

Once you come into Price's view he ushers Soap to deposit you in his lap while Ghost fiddles with the TV channels. The fight has left you now, you're just limp in Soap's arms while you silently cry out your muddled emotions. Soap gently deposits you on Price's lap and immediately your face is pushed to his neck where you cry harder.

“Our pretty Bunny, it's ok, just cry it out.” Nothing was ok, you weren't ok! You weren't safe from their touches.

“I know. I know. It's ok baby, let us take care of you.” You huff out in anger trying to escape his hold but you just don't have the energy to fight them anymore. So your face remains pushed to the crook of his neck while you're forced to inhale the smell of his aftershave. The worst part was that the scent was soothing your frayed nerves. You inhale the smell of the forest and something slightly fruity and sweet. Strawberry….When did he eat strawberries? You wanted some… You weren't going to tell him that though. Your stomach grumbling does that for you. Traitor…

“Everything we've done we've done for your betterment. I know you're hurt now but you'll understand eventually. Just let us love you darlin. Promise we'll take such good care of you.” You stay silent not knowing how to respond to their bullshit. You'll just have to figure out a way to escape once they leave.

“What is it luvvie? Why are you so pent up today? Do y’need some help making yourself cum? We can smell y’slick cunt since last night.” Ghost coos at you while trying to find a channel to watch on the TV. Your blood boils at his words, your anger that's been simmering erupted like a volcano.

“As if I'd let you monsters touch me! Delete my pictures you fucking perverts!” The simmering violence in you burst out unexpectedly as you grab the spare remote near you to hurl it at his head, hitting him pretty hard.

“Fuc- Ow!” Ghost clutches his covered head. You feel bad immediately after you realise what you've done. You don't even get a chance to apologise before Price is restraining your arms while everyone tuts at your actions. You watch as Gaz goes to check-in on Ghost, they remove his mask away from your sight. Probably checking for any serious injuries.

You hear Price sigh heavily beside you when everything seems fine with Ghost. So you're assuming he wasn't too badly hurt, probably just a little stunned you actually tried hurting him. Before you can try to escape and run you feel an iron grip on your arms halting you. It was just shy of bruising so when you tried to push away from him you weren't expecting him to growl so inhumanly at you, or with so much anger. He seemed pissed, very pissed. Maybe you should apologise but you were too scared to do anything other than try to escape.

“Ghost was right. We can't have you getting violent like this. I think it's about time we teach you a lesson luv. This behaviour has gone on too long.” His voice was deceptively calm, while you only heard grunts of approval from the other men. Your emotions were all over the place on one hand you felt bad for hitting Ghost on the other you wanted to escape by any means, even if that meant you hurting them. You still can't believe they’ve seen your pictures. The humiliation just doesn't stop, does it?

Price had you bent over his knee before you could realise what was happening. You're made aware of the power imbalance from the get go. There was no way you'd escape his hold. If you weren't going to be able to hurt them physically while you struggle, you think perhaps you could use your words instead. The first flurry of curses leaves your mouth as wrists are captured and pinned to the small of your back.

“I hate you! You stupid assholes! Perverts! You don't care about me! Let me go!” You repeat the same sentences over and over and over again. Until your own ears felt like they were bleeding.

“Don't make things harder for yourself sweetheart. I think we've been too soft on you if you're acting like this.” This whole time you felt Price's large hand caressing your back down to your ass cheeks. Giving the plush of your bottom a mean pinch before landing a hard slap over your pajama bottoms. You bite down a groan as the sting travels down to your already drenched cunt. No doubt they know you've been soaked since last night.

“What do you think Simon? How do you want to punish her?

Ghost comes into view, mask still on. Only his obsidian eyes were on display. They looked eerily devoid of emotions. You expected him to be more angry than he looked but then again looks are often deceiving. Soap moves out of his way as he crouches to be level with your face. His glove covered hands come up to wipe away the tears staining your face. He was surprisingly gentle when caressing you.

“That throw was personal wasn't it luv? I'll be nice and forgive you if you apologise.” You shake your head to the best of your ability only to be rewarded with a chuckle. You just glare at him seeing that he found the situation funny.

“How about this? You have a nice big dinner with us and you don't have to get a spanking. But you have to finish your food. Doesn't that sound nice?” You glare not wanting to give the satisfaction of doing what they say. Or getting potentially drugged again. Even though you were extremely hungry. Your stomach being the treacherous bitch she is decides this is the moment she wants attention on her and growls for everyone to hear. Gaz and Soap just watched you with sympathy and you hated that even more. You didn't need their pity. You didn't want their care or affection. You just wanted to go home.

“Oh you poor thing, you shouldn't be so cruel to yourself. Come on… all you have to do is have some dinner. It's either that or Price spanks you so hard you'd be unable to walk without wincing in pain.” You hate that he was making a reasonable offer. It just pissed you off more that they got to pick and choose when they wanted to be cooperative with you.

“So what do you say? Y'want to be good for us?” You glare but don't answer straight away knowing you'd probably get yourself into more trouble. You weigh the options out. Your fear and anger waging a war in your head as you do so. In the end your anger wins. You weren't going to submit to their whims; it was the only thing you could control right now. And you needed the sense of control more than you needed food.

“Fuck you! I want my pictures deleted, you asshole!” That sentence sealed your faith for the night.

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

#Silver Tongues Like Bullets #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #cod x reader #call of duty #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #werewolf au #werewolf!au #werewolf!price #werewolf!ghost #werewolf!gaz #werewolf!soap #poly tf141 #poly!task force 141 x reader #poly!tf141 #tf 141 x reader #tf141 #tf141 smut #tf141 x reader #ghoap smut #pricegaz smut #price smut #ghost smut #soap smut #gaz smut

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not letting my partner meet my parents?

I (26 “F” (closeted nonbinary passing as cis for safety reasons)) am queer, formerly out as a lesbian which my parents knew about for the past 10 or so years. They didn’t accept me at first and it caused serious issues, but around 3 years ago they begrudgingly decided I wasn’t literal satan spawn and don’t need to go to conversion therapy.

The thing is, they’re still very viciously transphobic, and my partner (26M) is a trans man. I never updated my parents on my labels because I don’t talk to them often, and I know they will throw a hissy fit about the mere existance of a transgender person instead of judging him as a person after meeting him. My mom spouts all sorts of transphobic rhetoric whenever I see her because she’s been keeping up with our state’s politics, and she also posts it on facebook all the time. She’s more against trans women than trans men but she still says awful things about both. She’s a bigot.

We’ve been together for a year now. His parents are supportive of him and our relationship and I’ve had dinner with them about 6 times. Unfortunately, his parents have started seriously pressuring him into meeting my parents, which I’ve always shut down in conversation. They apparently told him that it’s a “red flag” that I won’t let him meet my family.

So he asked me why he can’t meet my parents and I said it’s because they’re bigots. It’s true, they will actually say offensive stuff TO RANDOM TRANS PEOPLE they see just existing and minding their own business in public. I don’t want to expose my partner to that. He says he can handle it, but I told him the idea of my parents saying awful things to him makes me angry and uncomfortable, to which he shifted the blame to “me being embarrassed to be with him”. He then brought up that my parents initially rejected me but then came around years later.

I then told him that my parents are physically abusive, when things get bad at home in arguments I often get things thrown at me / hit with stuff. Yes, I’m an adult, I know it’s fucked up and why I don’t visit them if I can help it. He didn’t understand and said to just “call the police” on them if they got physical.

Part of me feels like maybe I should just bite the bullet and bring him to meet my parents and then deal with the shitstorm that will follow, but it’s really avoidable stress that I don’t want to deal with so I stood my ground. My partner keeps warping it into a “trust” thing and refuses to see my side of the situation.

Adding this as INFO bc I feel like people would ask, my partner is visibly a trans man and cannot pass as a cis man or a cis woman in a way that my parents would be “fooled” by, nor would I ever ask him to do something like that for me.

#aita #am i the asshole

[jq37]

So, that lady FH episode was amazing and all, but...

Hoo boy, I already see the discourse around the Ratgrinders' fates forming and it is going to be painful. Be careful around the fandom space.

(I mean, resurrection is still on the table for them, but that's based on if the players feel like it and right now, we're looking at 50/50 odds at bests)

Yeah, don't worry about me. This isn't my first rodeo and also I post a lot about D20 and respond to asks I get but I don't actually personally engage with any of The Discourse (tm).

And I'm not really surprised at the reaction. I know people have been opinionated all season in two main camps (that have a lot of overlap): people dissatisfied with the narrative direction and people deeply sympathetic to the Rat Grinders to the point of being mad at the Bad Kids.

The first camp I mostly understand. I get wishing the cast would explore a certain storyline more. For example, I've been on the Aelwyn redemption arc train since literally the first episode of Fantasy High so I was a little disappointed that when that finally came to a head in Freshman Year, it was a big fight and then very little aftermath/unpacking because Aelwyn was sent to jail right after. And Sophomore Year hadn't been announced so I had no idea that she was gonna get another shot. But I wasn't upset or anything. Adaine at that point still hated her sister. She had no reason to want to reach out. And at the end of the day this is other people playing a game. Brennan presented them all the possible plot threads and they were most interested in self discovery, hanging out with each other, doing Shenanigans, and playing Tomb Raider re: Ankarna. Those are all options they were presented and it's not like they were doing crazy off-roading. It's well within the parameters of what D&D is. If you're gonna watch a show like this (or honestly any show), you have to accept that what's most interesting to you isn't always going to be the most interesting thing to the people in the driver's seat.

So yeah, I feel like this side of things I get (even though I'm fine with how things turned out).

The other camp--people being legit mad at the Bad Kids (and in some cases the actual cast) for treating the Rat Grinders like antagonists instead of victims that they were responsible for empathizing with and redeeming--I find kind of wild.

Like…you're mad at the kids who go to Child Murder School for killing kids who want to end the world and kill them specifically? Literally the first day of school the principal of the school says that adventurers are violent wanderers who engage in shenanigans and enact violence. This is the exact assignment they were given and that's what they're doing.

I think it's wild to at the same time believe that the Rat Grinders (who have killed people) are not responsible for their actions and deserve to be talked down while in the process of causing an apocalypse because they're just kids who were manipulated while at the same time calling the Bad Kids evil lunatics for trying to stop them by killing them (in a world where Revivify and Resurrection exist) even though they are ALSO kids who are doing what they've learned at Child Murder School. The Bad Kids have to be mature enough to thoroughly investigate the situation and have nuance about it but the Rat Grinders don't have any responsibility to not join a shady evil murder plan*? And do the Bad Kids really hate the Rat Grinders to the point where they're doing some overkill in this fight? Absolutely. But it's not like they're killing them because they hate them. They're killing them because they're trying to end the world--and they also happen to hate them. Are we forgetting that Kipperlilly killed Buddy--her own teammate--with a gleeful smile on her face? That was so out of pocket.

They're adventurers! Not guidance counselors! If Jawbone was like, "We need to kill these kids," yeah that would be weird but why would the Bad Kids extend an olive branch to the kids who (1) famously hate them, (2) killed at least one maybe 2 of their own party members, (3) endangered the entire student body population an hour ago, (4) are currently trying to end the world. Hell, Adaine was ready to be mean to her own sister in elf jail literally up until the point Brennan described how rough she looked from the torture and that's when she changed her mind. The Power of Love and Empathy is on the menu but it's a special item you only can get if you know the chef. Everyone else is getting a serving of These Hands. Just because you can find a vegan solution to a problem it doesn't mean you're obligated to.

This all comes down to, "Maybe teenagers shouldn't have godlike powers and the ability to play judge, jury, and executioner" but that's literally the premise of the entire show so you can't get around it without rejecting the show's entire premise. If they were like, "Hmm the systems that underpin our world are questionable and we should change the power structures" instead of, "Let's kill some bad guys!" then that's a totally different thing we're doing here!

And, idk man, this show has always had a Who Framed Roger Rabbit style morality where the normal rules of ethics stop applying when it's funny. They beat the crud out of Ragh and then lied to him that he shit his pants just for the bit. A pirate was rude/kinda racist to Riz so they scared him into killing himself. Riz ate the remains of the sentient (albiet evil) dragon he killed. That's all unhinged behavior but none of that is meant to be serious. Getting upset about Fig sending Ruben to hell to me feels like getting mad that Jerry hit Tom with a cartoonishly large mallet.

None of this is new so I have to assume that people are having a big reaction because they relate to the Rat Grinders or just really like them so it feels bad that the Bad Kids are treating them like fodder rather than beloved NPCs.

But again, this is a world where you can bring people back from the dead and the Rat Grinders have showed intent that is grievously neglectful at best and insanely murderous at worst so I can't muster a lot of sympathy for the fact that the Bad Kids are just taking them down without remorse. I don't think you have to try to empathize with the people who are trying to harm you if you don't want to especially while they are in the process of harming you.

(*And we still don't know how voluntarily they joined this plan. We don't know if they were killed and basically forced into resurrecting with rage or if they just leapt at the chance to join a plan that would let them get one over on their rivals. It literally could be either. We've had kid villains on this show strong armed into being party to evil plans by threat of harm (Aelwyn) as well was kid villains who just had their own selfish motivations and weren't tricked at all (Penelope and Biz). We actually don't have any clear answer on how culpable they are. We don't know if they all have rage crystals (except for Buddy). And we don't know how much having a Rage Crystal effects your actions. The best indicator we got is in this latest ep when Brennan said that there was a mechanic where Porter was going to call anyone with a rage crystal to fight for him but that says to me that he's only directly puppeting them when he uses that action and otherwise they have free will and are just angrier. The Bad Kids don't have a reason to believe definitively that the Rat Grinders are just unwilling puppets even if that is the case so of course they're treating them like enemies. Anyway, this is a whole lot of "I don't knows" but that's only because I've seen a lot of people talking like the Rat Grinders literally aren't in control of their actions but that's not info that we have. It could be true but we don't actually know that so it's not a good argument.)

#asks #dimension 20 #fantasy high #spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high spoilers #brwolf1995 #i've seen ppl say that the bad kids were mean the the RG's for no reason and it's like. #...the reason is that this is a show based on high school pop culture tropes #and they immediately and correctly clocked that KP is tracy flick #like come on man #and there's no reason to believe they can't be rezzed once this is taken care of #idk why ppl are acting like they're dead-dead #ankarna could just raise them like cass raised K at the end of SY if brennan wants #also lmao emily was brutal to ruben but I think that was mostly just irl person emily being like I put all this effort into you #and I never learned anything useful???? then perish #it's not that deep #one of my friends was like 'babe this isn't steven universe' #and I think about that a lot

[kalki-tarot]

Unqiue details about the person on your mind.

This is a general reading and is not guaranteed to be 100% true.

Pick one emoji :)

🌿 🍂 🌻

Pile 01 🌿

They are someone who takes everything seriously, like they are an emotionally sensitive human being and they can't handle "jokes" that demean them or people who make fun of their insecurities.

They cry while watching sad romance movies. 😭

They don't like public attention, they can be an introverted person. Or they just like to keep their achievements to themselves. They don't like public eye because who knows someone may give you an evil eye. 🧿

As I've mentioned in the first point too, they are someone who gets hurt easily, they prefer to be inside their own shell as a mechanism to feel safe. People may have hurted this person a lot with words.

They may have a cold exterior but are definitely very cool on the inside.

They are filled with surprises, evertime you talk to them, you'll find a new thing about them.

They like philosophy, self help, psychology books. They self reflect a lot.

They are a keen observer of people and situations. They have great analytical skills. They know who's bs-ing with whom.

They come from a family/background where they have been emotionally neglected a lot. They don't have a "safe place". They try to understand and validate themselves through reading psychology and self help books.

No matter what, this person is someone very resilient and secure of who they are now.

They are a great humanitarian and they do charity work or they just help people around them financially or emotionally.

They are looking for their soulmate or partner with whom they can share a deep and secure connection with. They are looking for someone long term and are not interested in hook ups etc.

They are very giving in nature and do for others more than for themselves.

Pile 02 🍂

This person likes babies.

They also like slow music and folk music too. They may like listening to Kailash Kher so much.

Their favorite bird is Koyal, idk what you call it in English you can search it online.

They are a traditional person, they value their family and sanskaars.

This person may work with children, can be a pediatrician, child specialist, nanny, caretaker, nursery teacher etc.

This person is a little dramatic, it's like everyone likes them they don't care, but if that one person does not like them, they go mad.

Sorry to say this, but they are a little ungrateful about life.

This person also stays in their mind a lot, they may overthink and create fake scenarios. They can be addicted to being sad ?

They have this tendency to stay stuck in the past, they fear new things, places, people etc. It's hard for to get outside of their comfort zone.

They believe in true love, soulmates etc. And hope to find their own.

It's easy for them to get bored though.

Their past hasn't been the best, they still can't get over their fears and traumas :(

Pile 03 🌻

They like listening to hip hop songs especially the 2000s ones.

This person has a tendency to run away when they feel like things won't go their way.

They may suffer from anxiety or intrusive thoughts.

They may have drinking issues / alcohol abuse is what i see, they get aggressive after drinking.

They may have gambling addictions too.

This person is working hard to overcome these dark obsessions and addictions.

Their father figure had some problems (can be abusive) hence they and their mother suffered a lot in their childhood. Their addictions stem from here.

They may not really like talking about their past sm, it hurts them.

Surprisingly, the song "chupke chupke raat din" is playing and it translates into smth like "I remember crying silently/while hiding."

Very heavy past traumas and issues.

They may show everyone this cool and calm demeanor but from inside they are literally hurting and fighting with themselves. Omg, i feel so sad for this person :(

They may like listening to ghazals a lot.

Bangladesh & Nepal is significant.

They have seen relationships break and turn out worse in their childhood so now they run away or fear commitments and marriage.

Or it can also be that the person they once loved feared marriage or commitment and it made them fall deeper into addictions.

They see marriage as a cage.

This person has emotionally given up on a lot of things in life like career, emotions etc.

They neglect themselves sometimes.

#tarot reading #tarot blog #tarot cards #tarot #pick a card #tarot and astrology #pick a pile #tarot community #tarot asks #tarotblr #tarot witch #witchblr #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #tarot deck #daily tarot #tarot daily #tarot divination #tarot readings #kalki tarot #the divine masculine #channeled message #tarot blr #tarot beginner #tarot lessons #tarot justice #future spouse reading #free tarot

[marzipanandminutiae]

Friend Marzi, why do we have an inclination to believe that all historical clothing was very heavy? Fabrics varied in lightness and for the very heat of summer for example an all-silk or all-muslin ensemble could be made very light and breathable if necessary, even foregoing implements like boning, etc. Like, there are ways to not be dragging your skirts around.

Working people and people with active hobbies were already wearing fewer layers anyway, so we shouldn't expect them to be encumbered. Why do we anyway?

Friend Tumblr User Chasingtheskyline! Hello!

(This answer will focus primarily on conventionally feminine clothing, since that's my area of expertise. Just to disclaim.)

I think it's because of the layering, really. And the idea that, as you touched on, Only Rich People Wore All That (not so much- the basic makeup of chemise/combinations, maybe drawers post-1820s, corset/stays, at least one petticoat, skirt, bodice for women was pretty consistent across most of the social ladder during the 18th and 19th centuries at least) so of COURSE it's heavy and impractical. And as we all know, rich people didn't have lives or do things! They just lounged around being rich and not moving! </s>

We're used to one layer of our mostly-polyester clothing being extremely warming in summer because. It's polyester. Breathability is not something people think about much nowadays, since we're so used to just exposing as much skin as possible to cool down. Ergo, the idea that it's layers of lightweight fabric doesn't really occur to people, I think.

Another element, I think, may be that some of these people have carried reproduction historical garments but never worn them. Or weighed them in a heap on a scale- yes, really -and never taken into account the weight distribution when they're on a body. I've owned garments that were a bear to carry, but perfectly comfortable to wear.

Also, you know. We've long had a vested interest in making our own garments seem like The Best Most Advanced Garments. You can find articles from as early as the 1920s decrying Victorian "trailing skirts and trailing hair" as unhygienic and uncomfortable Never mind that the ADULTS saying this would have known full well that shorter skirts were commonplace for situations where Excessive Dirt would be present and grown women wore their hair up. (Also, you know. Unless you're licking your hem, your skirts cannot get you sick.)

Either you're getting only the experiences of women who hated what they wore before- which would somehow be the same fashion writers who once declared that the gowns of 1915 were the best, or 1910, or 1905 -or they had a vested interest in selling something to the public: in this case, the hottest, newest clothes (and hairstyles that required more regular trips to the hairdresser than long hair pinned up). Of course you get those writers calling earlier clothing heavy- they're trying to get people to buy rayon flapper dresses!

Now, does that mean that nobody in history found their clothing heavy? Of course not. One of Amelia Bloomer's key complaints about the fashions of the 1840s and early 50s was the many layers of petticoats women often wore to create the fashionable skirt shape- and while I'm often loath to take dress reformers as sole arbiters of women's opinion, the invention of the cage crinoline/hoop skirt was widely hailed as a marvel for enabling big skirts with much less weight.

But you're so right that this perception is extremely exaggerated nowadays. I do my best to fight it- had this conversation with a colleague today, as I was wearing a long-sleeved blouse of cotton voile and a long cotton skirt to work in 80-degree (F) weather -but. Well. It DOES get frustrating at times.

#long post #chasingtheskyline #ask #history #fashion history #clothing history